Just dropping a final note to say my newest blog may be found at www.raleightivity.blogspot.com
Drop on in and leave me some comments. I love them comments.
Love you guys,
Nathan
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Formula for Foes of the Far East
Graduating and the Great Beyond...
I think I still have a few loyal readers of this blog. Thanks guys, for caring enough to check back periodically and see me give proof that higher education does not a perfect writer make. We've laughed, we've cried - OK, maybe I was the only one doing those things, but you got to read about me doing them, and the fact that you did counts for something.
College is over now. Today I went to my big, school-wide graduation ceremony first and then made my family follow me from Trask Colliseaum over to Kenan Auditorium where my Film Studies departmental graduation was held. It was a exactly what I was expecting - but, curiously, it was totally different from anything I'd experienced before. I'm not talking about a new experience in the same way as your first frozen chocolate banana or the first time you wrapped your face in plaster of paris to make a life-cast of your head for special effects modeling purposes (what, you guys never did that???). It's more like making a memory - where you know exactly what it's going to feel like when you play it back in your head later, but you know while you're in the middle of it that it really feels very little like that memory upon which you'll rely. I'm probably not making much sense. I guess I felt something impress upon me but the effects of that impression are yet to be seen. In much the same way, the effect of college on the whole is yet to be seen, but I suppose it will make itself apparent in the coming years.
In any case, I'm now a former student of the University of North Carolina Wilmington and to sum the whole thing up, it was a really good time. I dealt with zoo creatures, learned how to be a student for the first time, made friends, lost friends, fell in love, was hurt by love, hung out with the wrong people on occasion but hung out with the right ones far more often. I tried new things and relied on old, sturdy foundations. I ate far too much ramen, hauled tons of dirty clothes around to the wash, flirted with strangers, felt independent, and above all, learned. I learned a whole, whole lot - twice as much outside of the classroom as in, but still a heck of a lot more in them than I did in the 13 years prior.
Sound familiar? It should. Maybe you didn't go to college, or maybe you did, but your ate nutritious food or didn't have to deal with your roommates terrarium full of creatures. Those are just details. My college story has no dramatic twist, heroic score, or blockbuster appeal - but it does have a spectacular ending. It's an ending where I've come to realize that we're all connected in a lot of ways. We all have the same experiences, more or less, and that's not at all a bad thing. I came here expecting the most unique four years in the history of undergraduate careers, and I'm leaving with the knowledge that it doesn't often end up the way we imagined it would. I'm thankful for that. At the risk of sounding cheesier that the dairy drawer of my fridge (which is very cheesy, indeed) this has been a beautifully typical coming of age story, and it's just as much yours as it is mine.
...
Now for the next big thing.
I'll probably post on here one more time with the address of a new site where some of my stuff can be found. I may or may not start up a new blog. To anyone who eventually reads this post, thanks for stopping in. I'll leave all the old posts up and available in the archives menu on the right as long as blogger will allow. To anyone who cares, it has been good for me to write, and I appreciate the comments and your reading my banter. God bless you all.
Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo. (grammatically correct sentence consisting of only one word. Look it up. I learned it in college)
I think I still have a few loyal readers of this blog. Thanks guys, for caring enough to check back periodically and see me give proof that higher education does not a perfect writer make. We've laughed, we've cried - OK, maybe I was the only one doing those things, but you got to read about me doing them, and the fact that you did counts for something.
College is over now. Today I went to my big, school-wide graduation ceremony first and then made my family follow me from Trask Colliseaum over to Kenan Auditorium where my Film Studies departmental graduation was held. It was a exactly what I was expecting - but, curiously, it was totally different from anything I'd experienced before. I'm not talking about a new experience in the same way as your first frozen chocolate banana or the first time you wrapped your face in plaster of paris to make a life-cast of your head for special effects modeling purposes (what, you guys never did that???). It's more like making a memory - where you know exactly what it's going to feel like when you play it back in your head later, but you know while you're in the middle of it that it really feels very little like that memory upon which you'll rely. I'm probably not making much sense. I guess I felt something impress upon me but the effects of that impression are yet to be seen. In much the same way, the effect of college on the whole is yet to be seen, but I suppose it will make itself apparent in the coming years.
In any case, I'm now a former student of the University of North Carolina Wilmington and to sum the whole thing up, it was a really good time. I dealt with zoo creatures, learned how to be a student for the first time, made friends, lost friends, fell in love, was hurt by love, hung out with the wrong people on occasion but hung out with the right ones far more often. I tried new things and relied on old, sturdy foundations. I ate far too much ramen, hauled tons of dirty clothes around to the wash, flirted with strangers, felt independent, and above all, learned. I learned a whole, whole lot - twice as much outside of the classroom as in, but still a heck of a lot more in them than I did in the 13 years prior.
Sound familiar? It should. Maybe you didn't go to college, or maybe you did, but your ate nutritious food or didn't have to deal with your roommates terrarium full of creatures. Those are just details. My college story has no dramatic twist, heroic score, or blockbuster appeal - but it does have a spectacular ending. It's an ending where I've come to realize that we're all connected in a lot of ways. We all have the same experiences, more or less, and that's not at all a bad thing. I came here expecting the most unique four years in the history of undergraduate careers, and I'm leaving with the knowledge that it doesn't often end up the way we imagined it would. I'm thankful for that. At the risk of sounding cheesier that the dairy drawer of my fridge (which is very cheesy, indeed) this has been a beautifully typical coming of age story, and it's just as much yours as it is mine.
...
Now for the next big thing.
I'll probably post on here one more time with the address of a new site where some of my stuff can be found. I may or may not start up a new blog. To anyone who eventually reads this post, thanks for stopping in. I'll leave all the old posts up and available in the archives menu on the right as long as blogger will allow. To anyone who cares, it has been good for me to write, and I appreciate the comments and your reading my banter. God bless you all.
Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo. (grammatically correct sentence consisting of only one word. Look it up. I learned it in college)
Friday, May 09, 2008
FarewellmingSloan
Not quite what I expected...
I was planning on having a ridiculous, multi-paged send-off for this blog since it will be defunct as of Sunday, but with the hectic schedule that I've had, and graduation happening and everything, it's been next to impossible to find time to sit down and write a novel about WilmingSloan and all of college. Instead, I'll write a sad (bittersweet) little story about something that just happened to me that I think sums up my sentiments toward leaving pretty well. If you want ridiculous, light-heartedness - I'll try to bring it along to my final post after Graduation. I've not been in the cheeriest moods as of late because all of my non-graduating friends (including my roommates) have all booked it out of town so I'm left sitting here alone, waiting for my parents.
So I was out on a date the other night and and I was pulling in to drop her off when I came upon a girl being pushed around in a shopping cart. It just so happens that this girl in the shopping cart was a friend of ours, one who lived in Schwartz, my old dorm, on the third floor. I had talked to her about visiting before I graduated just for old times sake, and so the timing was just too perfect, she let us in.
I had forgotten about the whole necessity of signing your guests in at the desk. What a hassle. While that was going on I just looked around at everything, it was so weird. It was like I had entered a time capsule and I was back in my sophomore year. Everything looked the same (sans banana in the elevator ceiling grate) and the kids up stairs in the common room were even watching Star Wars on the big TV - something I'm pretty sure happened a good deal when I was there. Oh! The countless hours of television I watched and Halo 2 I played on that TV back in the day.
I went back to 314 and just stood there. The door was locked because the kid living there had moved out already. I wanted to open it pretty badly - and find Brett Roach on the other side eating a can of peanuts or standing on his computer chair with a banana in his hand. I even wanted to hear the squeaking of those stinking annoying rats of his. If not Roach, I wanted Devin Dimattia to be there, sitting at his desk with his giant iPod shuffle headphones next to him, reading some obscure music blog that told him all of the latest info on random stuff that no one else cared about. I went to the water fountain down the hall and laughed at the sign the current RA had posted above it "If the fountain is clogged it is because some of you are using it to brush your teeth in. Stop this or you will be fined." Though worded a little differently, this is the same sign that Bob had over it when I was there. I walked past the mysteriously loud buzzing utility closet at the end of the hall and through the stairwell to the girls pod where I spent so much time with my friends. Laura and Lauren's room, Amelia and Lindsay's room, Caroline and Amanda's room - going back there almost affected me more than my own pod. I miss these kids, and whereas they were simply on the other side of the stairwell, now I'll likely never see them again.
The worst was when I went back into the common room. There my friend showed me where they had hung the canvas that the 05-06 residents had painted their names on. She pointed my name out to me before I could find it, painted in green and surrounded in red. Everywhere else were the names of distant memories, some fond and others not. Right next to mine, of course, was the purple paint of Caroline's signature. Then I remembered exactly where we were sitting when we painted it - at the corner of the common room. I messed up on mine and had to cover it up with the red paint, then she picked her favorite color and squashed her name in next to mine, in spite of the lack of room around it.
I miss my first two years at college because they were fun. I never worried about the future in those years, it was all about enjoying what I had and getting through the work in front of me. I had a lot of good friends and even more good memories with them. Schwartz, the building, represents that time for me. My college career can easily be split into two separate experiences - underclassman and upperclassman - both with a completely different flavor. My later experiences have been pretty great too, just very different. Going to Schwartz allowed me to visit some of the underclassman experiences that I had carefully pushed under the rug, and unearthing them was good for me.
You always hear old-timers talk about wishing they could go back for just one week, or even one day. I can sympathize, so I guess that makes me an old-timer. It would be nice to lay awake at night and have a philosophical discussion with Roach - or watch an old chick flick with the girls (though I hated it then), even to read the stupid poetry and writing on the bathroom stalls again and just KNOW that I was still there - that I still had time to be young and in college and soak up the experience. It would be nice.
But what I have is nice. And what I'll have in a year will be nice too, God willing. I will miss this campus so much, but what I really miss has long-since left me - transferred out to other schools, graduated and moved-on, or simply faded away in an apartment on the other side of town. I miss those people and the times we had together. I miss being a college kid.
...
But I'll get over it.
I was planning on having a ridiculous, multi-paged send-off for this blog since it will be defunct as of Sunday, but with the hectic schedule that I've had, and graduation happening and everything, it's been next to impossible to find time to sit down and write a novel about WilmingSloan and all of college. Instead, I'll write a sad (bittersweet) little story about something that just happened to me that I think sums up my sentiments toward leaving pretty well. If you want ridiculous, light-heartedness - I'll try to bring it along to my final post after Graduation. I've not been in the cheeriest moods as of late because all of my non-graduating friends (including my roommates) have all booked it out of town so I'm left sitting here alone, waiting for my parents.
So I was out on a date the other night and and I was pulling in to drop her off when I came upon a girl being pushed around in a shopping cart. It just so happens that this girl in the shopping cart was a friend of ours, one who lived in Schwartz, my old dorm, on the third floor. I had talked to her about visiting before I graduated just for old times sake, and so the timing was just too perfect, she let us in.
I had forgotten about the whole necessity of signing your guests in at the desk. What a hassle. While that was going on I just looked around at everything, it was so weird. It was like I had entered a time capsule and I was back in my sophomore year. Everything looked the same (sans banana in the elevator ceiling grate) and the kids up stairs in the common room were even watching Star Wars on the big TV - something I'm pretty sure happened a good deal when I was there. Oh! The countless hours of television I watched and Halo 2 I played on that TV back in the day.
I went back to 314 and just stood there. The door was locked because the kid living there had moved out already. I wanted to open it pretty badly - and find Brett Roach on the other side eating a can of peanuts or standing on his computer chair with a banana in his hand. I even wanted to hear the squeaking of those stinking annoying rats of his. If not Roach, I wanted Devin Dimattia to be there, sitting at his desk with his giant iPod shuffle headphones next to him, reading some obscure music blog that told him all of the latest info on random stuff that no one else cared about. I went to the water fountain down the hall and laughed at the sign the current RA had posted above it "If the fountain is clogged it is because some of you are using it to brush your teeth in. Stop this or you will be fined." Though worded a little differently, this is the same sign that Bob had over it when I was there. I walked past the mysteriously loud buzzing utility closet at the end of the hall and through the stairwell to the girls pod where I spent so much time with my friends. Laura and Lauren's room, Amelia and Lindsay's room, Caroline and Amanda's room - going back there almost affected me more than my own pod. I miss these kids, and whereas they were simply on the other side of the stairwell, now I'll likely never see them again.
The worst was when I went back into the common room. There my friend showed me where they had hung the canvas that the 05-06 residents had painted their names on. She pointed my name out to me before I could find it, painted in green and surrounded in red. Everywhere else were the names of distant memories, some fond and others not. Right next to mine, of course, was the purple paint of Caroline's signature. Then I remembered exactly where we were sitting when we painted it - at the corner of the common room. I messed up on mine and had to cover it up with the red paint, then she picked her favorite color and squashed her name in next to mine, in spite of the lack of room around it.
I miss my first two years at college because they were fun. I never worried about the future in those years, it was all about enjoying what I had and getting through the work in front of me. I had a lot of good friends and even more good memories with them. Schwartz, the building, represents that time for me. My college career can easily be split into two separate experiences - underclassman and upperclassman - both with a completely different flavor. My later experiences have been pretty great too, just very different. Going to Schwartz allowed me to visit some of the underclassman experiences that I had carefully pushed under the rug, and unearthing them was good for me.
You always hear old-timers talk about wishing they could go back for just one week, or even one day. I can sympathize, so I guess that makes me an old-timer. It would be nice to lay awake at night and have a philosophical discussion with Roach - or watch an old chick flick with the girls (though I hated it then), even to read the stupid poetry and writing on the bathroom stalls again and just KNOW that I was still there - that I still had time to be young and in college and soak up the experience. It would be nice.
But what I have is nice. And what I'll have in a year will be nice too, God willing. I will miss this campus so much, but what I really miss has long-since left me - transferred out to other schools, graduated and moved-on, or simply faded away in an apartment on the other side of town. I miss those people and the times we had together. I miss being a college kid.
...
But I'll get over it.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Returning From the Point of No Return
How Grand Theft Auto Affected me Positively
About a week ago, and quite against my better moral judgement, I purchased for my xbox 360 a game that strikes fear in the hearts of conservative parents everywhere, Grand Theft Auto IV. I think it's horrible that any parent would help their kid get a hold of a game that has some of the mature content that is in this one, but being an adult myself, and being one that enjoys high-speed car chases and shooting automatic weaponry in a virtual New York City, I was able to overcome my own moral fear and enjoy playing it.
What I wasn't expecting, was the positive impact it would have on my life - specifically, my social life. I've never been good about keeping in touch with people, just ask any of my friends (the few that are left after my horrible social skills killed everything). I've started playing this game, though, and the way it works it that you have to build up relationships with certain characters in order to get special benefits from them (free taxi, reduced price guns and ammo, etc). This means answering text messages and phone calls and hanging out with people when they want to hang out.
After ignoring some of the characters, and subsequently watching them drop out of my virtual-life, it got me thinking about how miserable I am at keeping in touch with friends in my real one. In just the past week I have made sure to keep in touch with everyone that I mean to keep in touch with and so far, it seems to be working.
So to all those news columnists that love to trump the evils of the GTA franchise, let me just say, "HA!" For responsible adults that can handle playing the game and its mature content, there can even be a good lesson or two in there.
Steak is delicious. Steak and cheese-even more delicious.
About a week ago, and quite against my better moral judgement, I purchased for my xbox 360 a game that strikes fear in the hearts of conservative parents everywhere, Grand Theft Auto IV. I think it's horrible that any parent would help their kid get a hold of a game that has some of the mature content that is in this one, but being an adult myself, and being one that enjoys high-speed car chases and shooting automatic weaponry in a virtual New York City, I was able to overcome my own moral fear and enjoy playing it.
What I wasn't expecting, was the positive impact it would have on my life - specifically, my social life. I've never been good about keeping in touch with people, just ask any of my friends (the few that are left after my horrible social skills killed everything). I've started playing this game, though, and the way it works it that you have to build up relationships with certain characters in order to get special benefits from them (free taxi, reduced price guns and ammo, etc). This means answering text messages and phone calls and hanging out with people when they want to hang out.
After ignoring some of the characters, and subsequently watching them drop out of my virtual-life, it got me thinking about how miserable I am at keeping in touch with friends in my real one. In just the past week I have made sure to keep in touch with everyone that I mean to keep in touch with and so far, it seems to be working.
So to all those news columnists that love to trump the evils of the GTA franchise, let me just say, "HA!" For responsible adults that can handle playing the game and its mature content, there can even be a good lesson or two in there.
Steak is delicious. Steak and cheese-even more delicious.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
To Consume and Entire Stick of Butter
Even more notes on growing up...
I meant to write about this earlier but I didn't really get a chance to. I just had one of those little moments that sort of brings something to light, made it real.
Last Tuesday after my final CCF large group (a.c.r.e., there, for Glen's sake I called it acre) we went out to eat at Flaming Amy's, a favorite spot. Soon after I was seated I heard a girl's voice call out to me that didn't sound familiar.
"Hey, I know you."
I looked around and saw a somewhat crazy-looking girl (I think she would approve of me describing her that way) walk toward me from a few tables over.
"We worked at Caswell together," she said.
"Oh, yeah! Brittany?" I answered.
"No, Shannon."
"Oh, yeah, sorry. How have you been?" I asked, as she leaned down to give me a hug.
She then told me about where she worked and what she had been doing. I remembered her from when we worked together in the summer of 2003, but it had been so long and she had changed so much. Her hair was crazy, but very cool - with exaggerated 1940's curls in front. She apparently had a large blue tattoo across her chest and more piercings than you could shake a stick at. "How times change," I thought.
"Oh, I don't really believe the same things that I believed back then," she said, "But I still have really fond memories of that place. It was really special to me. "
I took this to mean, of course, that she didn't consider herself a Christian. The only time that I had heard of her since we worked at the camp was when one of my other friends told me she had met her at work and they randomly made the connection that they both knew me. She told me that Shannon had opened up and told her that her attitude toward Christianity had changed a lot over the years.
I was still caught off guard by the whole run-in, so I just sort of let her talk and hug me in random intervals. The whole time she went on, however, my mind was buzzing. What got me the most was just how long ago it was that we had worked together. Here was this girl, totally transformed from the one that I knew as a staffer at Christian camp, and her story of where she'd been just exaggerated how much can happen in five years. After 2 or 3 minutes of riminiscing on what she probably assumed was a long-gone memory for me as well, I let it slip:
"Yeah, I'm actually going back there to work this summer," I said, "Pretty crazy, huh?"
She just stopped for a split second, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, wow, that's cool." she said.
We chatted for another couple of seconds and then she walked out, wishing me well. My burrito came and I ate it like a champ. It was spicy chicken and I have to say, it was quite delicious, but on the way back it wasn't the burrito that lingered with me, as one might expect, it was thoughts of Caswell.
Caswell has been a part of my life for a really, really long time. This is something that is usually a one summer thing for people, if that. A few people stick around for two summers, and even fewer, three. There are the hard-core kids that have been there for four or five, but now I feel like I've reached some sort of threshold at my sixth summer. No longer am I within the reasonable bounds for enjoying the camp experience, there is something in me that draws me back and it's not all that normal.
Before I even go back into this summer, I've decided that I'm going to be doing a few things differently. First of all, I'm saying what I've only hinted at in summers past, I'm openly referring to it as my last summer. I never thought I would make it this far, but now that I have, it's time to really let people, (and more importantly, myself) know that I'm done in 2008. I'm not at all embarrassed to have worked at camp for six summers, it's not like I'm ashamed at my age. I know some people who don't start at Caswell until they're 22, so I think it's more of a issue of worrying that there's something else out there I should be doing, or that I'm taking a position that they could be giving to a new staffer. I don't feel that way about this coming summer, but I know that now is the time for me to move on.
It's also going to be different because this time around I'm going to be moving on from Caswell into a very different situation than in years past, school will be over for me and I don't have a job lined up - per say. I know that I should be spending a good deal of my free time this summer looking for jobs, especially if I want to stay in Wilmington, so that's going to be a priority. In any case, I can't think of a better place to be when you're trying to figure out what to do with your life than being surrounded by people who love God and will pray for you. I'm surprised at how comfortable I am with the fact that I have no clue where I'll be or what I'll be doing in 4 months.
The final thing that I want to accomplish this summer, is to get the whole experience down on paper. I know this is it, and I don't want to forget about it in 10 years. I'm going to try to write up a couple of pages a day, pulling from the past and capture special insights from the present as they come to me. Hopefully it'll turn into something that other people can enjoy reading as much as I could, but the main thing is to preserve it for later inspiration.
...
Tonight is the night of Nathanpalooza. The CCF folks have put together a big grad night thing for the graduating members, just like always. Only, not just like always, I'm the only graduating senior this year. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't uncomfortable with the idea of being the center of attention, but I think it speaks volumes about the character of this group that they'd go all out for just one person in the same way they did for 11 people last year. They're a good bunch and I really appreciate them.
Two weeks from today I'll be walking across the stage and on to greener pastures, which begs the question.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO WILMINGSLOAN?
Well, it's the end of an era, and the thus the end of my blogging at this address. I'm going to have some grand, final send-off posts in the next few days, probably more than anyone will ever get around to reading, but they'll be good for me. Time will tell where things go from here.
To my friends, wherever ye be, I love thee all!
I meant to write about this earlier but I didn't really get a chance to. I just had one of those little moments that sort of brings something to light, made it real.
Last Tuesday after my final CCF large group (a.c.r.e., there, for Glen's sake I called it acre) we went out to eat at Flaming Amy's, a favorite spot. Soon after I was seated I heard a girl's voice call out to me that didn't sound familiar.
"Hey, I know you."
I looked around and saw a somewhat crazy-looking girl (I think she would approve of me describing her that way) walk toward me from a few tables over.
"We worked at Caswell together," she said.
"Oh, yeah! Brittany?" I answered.
"No, Shannon."
"Oh, yeah, sorry. How have you been?" I asked, as she leaned down to give me a hug.
She then told me about where she worked and what she had been doing. I remembered her from when we worked together in the summer of 2003, but it had been so long and she had changed so much. Her hair was crazy, but very cool - with exaggerated 1940's curls in front. She apparently had a large blue tattoo across her chest and more piercings than you could shake a stick at. "How times change," I thought.
"Oh, I don't really believe the same things that I believed back then," she said, "But I still have really fond memories of that place. It was really special to me. "
I took this to mean, of course, that she didn't consider herself a Christian. The only time that I had heard of her since we worked at the camp was when one of my other friends told me she had met her at work and they randomly made the connection that they both knew me. She told me that Shannon had opened up and told her that her attitude toward Christianity had changed a lot over the years.
I was still caught off guard by the whole run-in, so I just sort of let her talk and hug me in random intervals. The whole time she went on, however, my mind was buzzing. What got me the most was just how long ago it was that we had worked together. Here was this girl, totally transformed from the one that I knew as a staffer at Christian camp, and her story of where she'd been just exaggerated how much can happen in five years. After 2 or 3 minutes of riminiscing on what she probably assumed was a long-gone memory for me as well, I let it slip:
"Yeah, I'm actually going back there to work this summer," I said, "Pretty crazy, huh?"
She just stopped for a split second, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, wow, that's cool." she said.
We chatted for another couple of seconds and then she walked out, wishing me well. My burrito came and I ate it like a champ. It was spicy chicken and I have to say, it was quite delicious, but on the way back it wasn't the burrito that lingered with me, as one might expect, it was thoughts of Caswell.
Caswell has been a part of my life for a really, really long time. This is something that is usually a one summer thing for people, if that. A few people stick around for two summers, and even fewer, three. There are the hard-core kids that have been there for four or five, but now I feel like I've reached some sort of threshold at my sixth summer. No longer am I within the reasonable bounds for enjoying the camp experience, there is something in me that draws me back and it's not all that normal.
Before I even go back into this summer, I've decided that I'm going to be doing a few things differently. First of all, I'm saying what I've only hinted at in summers past, I'm openly referring to it as my last summer. I never thought I would make it this far, but now that I have, it's time to really let people, (and more importantly, myself) know that I'm done in 2008. I'm not at all embarrassed to have worked at camp for six summers, it's not like I'm ashamed at my age. I know some people who don't start at Caswell until they're 22, so I think it's more of a issue of worrying that there's something else out there I should be doing, or that I'm taking a position that they could be giving to a new staffer. I don't feel that way about this coming summer, but I know that now is the time for me to move on.
It's also going to be different because this time around I'm going to be moving on from Caswell into a very different situation than in years past, school will be over for me and I don't have a job lined up - per say. I know that I should be spending a good deal of my free time this summer looking for jobs, especially if I want to stay in Wilmington, so that's going to be a priority. In any case, I can't think of a better place to be when you're trying to figure out what to do with your life than being surrounded by people who love God and will pray for you. I'm surprised at how comfortable I am with the fact that I have no clue where I'll be or what I'll be doing in 4 months.
The final thing that I want to accomplish this summer, is to get the whole experience down on paper. I know this is it, and I don't want to forget about it in 10 years. I'm going to try to write up a couple of pages a day, pulling from the past and capture special insights from the present as they come to me. Hopefully it'll turn into something that other people can enjoy reading as much as I could, but the main thing is to preserve it for later inspiration.
...
Tonight is the night of Nathanpalooza. The CCF folks have put together a big grad night thing for the graduating members, just like always. Only, not just like always, I'm the only graduating senior this year. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't uncomfortable with the idea of being the center of attention, but I think it speaks volumes about the character of this group that they'd go all out for just one person in the same way they did for 11 people last year. They're a good bunch and I really appreciate them.
Two weeks from today I'll be walking across the stage and on to greener pastures, which begs the question.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO WILMINGSLOAN?
Well, it's the end of an era, and the thus the end of my blogging at this address. I'm going to have some grand, final send-off posts in the next few days, probably more than anyone will ever get around to reading, but they'll be good for me. Time will tell where things go from here.
To my friends, wherever ye be, I love thee all!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Zero Bar (Has My Vote)
because...
Because I have one leg propped up on my knee, lying on my back atop my stupid cloud print sheets in room A-308
Because I think it's 74 degrees outside and beautiful
Because I'm blessed by friends whom I may not see in a few short weeks
Because I just ate a can of Campbell's soup for lunch
Because I hate the fussy lock on my mailbox
Because I'm running on 2 hours of sleep (but I got that paper done last night)
Because in four days I will have reached a milestone. As long without as with
Because Bryan is busy hunting monsters on his PSP
Because someone is coming over soon
Because of Wilmington
Because of all of this
...
Because today I walked out of an undergraduate class for the last time -
and I felt like I should write about it.
(I'm feeling reflective today-haha)
Because I have one leg propped up on my knee, lying on my back atop my stupid cloud print sheets in room A-308
Because I think it's 74 degrees outside and beautiful
Because I'm blessed by friends whom I may not see in a few short weeks
Because I just ate a can of Campbell's soup for lunch
Because I hate the fussy lock on my mailbox
Because I'm running on 2 hours of sleep (but I got that paper done last night)
Because in four days I will have reached a milestone. As long without as with
Because Bryan is busy hunting monsters on his PSP
Because someone is coming over soon
Because of Wilmington
Because of all of this
...
Because today I walked out of an undergraduate class for the last time -
and I felt like I should write about it.
(I'm feeling reflective today-haha)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Animated Grilled Cheese Sandwich Kills Hundreds in Buffalo
Some things I would build if I were a carpenter:
A sweet tree house
Wooden swords
A giant Hollow animal of some sort
a reproduction of the Death Star throne room
a tree made of 2x4s
all-wooden big wheel
splinterizer (block of unsanded wood)
Coffee mug
plasma television
Audi A4
Stegosaurus 1:1 scale
Water cooler
Bamboo yard furniture
Edible yard furniture (for pandas)
a wood-block carving of Space
a really sweet desk chair
A sweet tree house
Wooden swords
A giant Hollow animal of some sort
a reproduction of the Death Star throne room
a tree made of 2x4s
all-wooden big wheel
splinterizer (block of unsanded wood)
Coffee mug
plasma television
Audi A4
Stegosaurus 1:1 scale
Water cooler
Bamboo yard furniture
Edible yard furniture (for pandas)
a wood-block carving of Space
a really sweet desk chair
Monday, April 14, 2008
Ladle Me This
... something bubbling ...
I wish I was a genius.
I have come to think of myself as someone who is right at the cusp of being a truly inspired individual but who has fundamentally missed the qualifications by a narrow margin. I miss the days when I happily fooled myself into thinking that what I said or did had profound impact. I never really believed it, but I played a game in which pretending that my work was important somehow made it so. I'm not complaining, I'm not sad, don't get me wrong - I'm just not quite where I feel like I should be. There is an inscription on my heart that tells my brain that I'm going to be greatly significant, I just don't see the evidence of it anywhere right now. In the end, perhaps we're all playing the same game. That's what leads to a mid-life crisis, isn't it? One day we wake up and realize that we're not the awesome people we hoped we would become and we're running out of time. Why am I going through a quarter-life crisis? It's amazing what impending graduation can do to a fellow.
I like to think I just can't always understand my significance - but that doesn't mean it isn't there - and that maybe my lack of comprehension is in my own best interest.
I wish I was a genius.
I have come to think of myself as someone who is right at the cusp of being a truly inspired individual but who has fundamentally missed the qualifications by a narrow margin. I miss the days when I happily fooled myself into thinking that what I said or did had profound impact. I never really believed it, but I played a game in which pretending that my work was important somehow made it so. I'm not complaining, I'm not sad, don't get me wrong - I'm just not quite where I feel like I should be. There is an inscription on my heart that tells my brain that I'm going to be greatly significant, I just don't see the evidence of it anywhere right now. In the end, perhaps we're all playing the same game. That's what leads to a mid-life crisis, isn't it? One day we wake up and realize that we're not the awesome people we hoped we would become and we're running out of time. Why am I going through a quarter-life crisis? It's amazing what impending graduation can do to a fellow.
I like to think I just can't always understand my significance - but that doesn't mean it isn't there - and that maybe my lack of comprehension is in my own best interest.
SHA-MA-LLAMA
Below I have copied the text I just wrote to a private parking service in downtown Wilmington. It's a dispute for a ticket they gave me. For the record, it's completely true. I did pay for the spot and I was really confused about how their stuff worked. I do suspect that something was wrong with their pay station.
Dispute Letter
To whom it may concern:
My name it Nathaniel Sloan and on April 4th I stopped by the top floor of the Water St. Deck and parked in stall 354. Having never parked there before, it took me a moment to get my bearings and find the nearest pay station. Once I found it, I decided to purchase the space until 6 am and I put in a $5 bill, receiving a one-dollar coin in change. At this point I expected a ticket of some sort or a receipt to be printed, but instead the screen flashed back to the “Enter space number” screen. Since I had already entered my space number and that was the first thing that it asked me for, I found this odd. Naturally, I assumed that the transaction had finished and concluded that you folks must have a computer system of some sort that would let you know that my space was taken care of until I left.
Upon returning to the deck later that evening, I saw a large group of people gathered around the same pay station, and didn’t think much of it. When I got to my car I saw that I have a Parking Fee Imposed ticket (invoice number ********) I was puzzled. I looked back at the group of people at the pay station, I don’t know if they were just hanging out there for a long time or if they were experiencing the same problem that I had of not getting a printed ticket. I would greatly appreciate it if you could dismiss this $25 fee due to the difficulties I was having with the pay station.
I really like the location and convenience of the Water St. Deck and appreciate the service that you provide to the community by doing business with us there. I would hate to feel uncomfortable going back due to the trouble caused by either my confusion with or possible malfunction of the pay station. $29 is a steep price for one night of parking, as I’m sure you’d agree. I understand that it’s important to present proof in the form of a receipt to you that I paid for the spot - unfortunately, I’m not able to include that with this letter, as no receipt was ever printed for me. I’m hoping that there is an explanation for this and that will provide me with some clarity on the situation.
Kindest Regards,
Nathaniel Sloan
Dispute Letter
To whom it may concern:
My name it Nathaniel Sloan and on April 4th I stopped by the top floor of the Water St. Deck and parked in stall 354. Having never parked there before, it took me a moment to get my bearings and find the nearest pay station. Once I found it, I decided to purchase the space until 6 am and I put in a $5 bill, receiving a one-dollar coin in change. At this point I expected a ticket of some sort or a receipt to be printed, but instead the screen flashed back to the “Enter space number” screen. Since I had already entered my space number and that was the first thing that it asked me for, I found this odd. Naturally, I assumed that the transaction had finished and concluded that you folks must have a computer system of some sort that would let you know that my space was taken care of until I left.
Upon returning to the deck later that evening, I saw a large group of people gathered around the same pay station, and didn’t think much of it. When I got to my car I saw that I have a Parking Fee Imposed ticket (invoice number ********) I was puzzled. I looked back at the group of people at the pay station, I don’t know if they were just hanging out there for a long time or if they were experiencing the same problem that I had of not getting a printed ticket. I would greatly appreciate it if you could dismiss this $25 fee due to the difficulties I was having with the pay station.
I really like the location and convenience of the Water St. Deck and appreciate the service that you provide to the community by doing business with us there. I would hate to feel uncomfortable going back due to the trouble caused by either my confusion with or possible malfunction of the pay station. $29 is a steep price for one night of parking, as I’m sure you’d agree. I understand that it’s important to present proof in the form of a receipt to you that I paid for the spot - unfortunately, I’m not able to include that with this letter, as no receipt was ever printed for me. I’m hoping that there is an explanation for this and that will provide me with some clarity on the situation.
Kindest Regards,
Nathaniel Sloan
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Small Spaces
What the fetch?
Facebook (the online social networking utility, not a literal book filled with the pealed faces of serial killer victims) has an application called the "compare people" application. The whole purpose of it is to make people vote between two of their friends, which one is better than the other at something. When I first saw this I thought it was tremendously shallow and refused to add it. In the months that followed, however, my curiosity got the best of me and since I gave up pretending that I don't care what people think of me a long time ago, I decided to give it a try.
After answering a series of questions about my friends, the program finally let me see my results. It ranks you from what you're best at to what you're worst at. I'm not here to talk about what I'm best at, because that's all a bunch of subjective bologna (for the longest time, I was the 1st "Best smelling" person out of my 550 Facebook friends. BEST SMELLING? SERIOUSLY? Who sniffs me?) I'm here to talk about what I scored lowest at. Here is just a smattering:
213th "Better Dancer" (I agree with this)
126th "Smarter"
189th "Funnier"
261st "Most Generous" (what a flippin' low blow)
279th "Rather have dinner with"
Ok, seriously people. Why don't you want to eat with me? Do my eating habits disgust you that much? Is the thought of spending 30 minutes to an hour with me that horrendous? How big of a difference, if any, would it make if I offered to pay?(Note the generosity)
I mean, I could understand if I was a disgusting slob, like that guy on the 60 minutes special about obesity. Look, I'm not going to order two entrees for myself and then try to eat yours as well. I don't require a forklift to exit my home. I won't bring up uncomfortable topics as soon as you put a fork full in your mouth and scratch myself while awaiting your answer. There is no real reason not to eat with me, COME ON!
I'm totally over it.
Facebook (the online social networking utility, not a literal book filled with the pealed faces of serial killer victims) has an application called the "compare people" application. The whole purpose of it is to make people vote between two of their friends, which one is better than the other at something. When I first saw this I thought it was tremendously shallow and refused to add it. In the months that followed, however, my curiosity got the best of me and since I gave up pretending that I don't care what people think of me a long time ago, I decided to give it a try.
After answering a series of questions about my friends, the program finally let me see my results. It ranks you from what you're best at to what you're worst at. I'm not here to talk about what I'm best at, because that's all a bunch of subjective bologna (for the longest time, I was the 1st "Best smelling" person out of my 550 Facebook friends. BEST SMELLING? SERIOUSLY? Who sniffs me?) I'm here to talk about what I scored lowest at. Here is just a smattering:
213th "Better Dancer" (I agree with this)
126th "Smarter"
189th "Funnier"
261st "Most Generous" (what a flippin' low blow)
279th "Rather have dinner with"
Ok, seriously people. Why don't you want to eat with me? Do my eating habits disgust you that much? Is the thought of spending 30 minutes to an hour with me that horrendous? How big of a difference, if any, would it make if I offered to pay?(Note the generosity)
I mean, I could understand if I was a disgusting slob, like that guy on the 60 minutes special about obesity. Look, I'm not going to order two entrees for myself and then try to eat yours as well. I don't require a forklift to exit my home. I won't bring up uncomfortable topics as soon as you put a fork full in your mouth and scratch myself while awaiting your answer. There is no real reason not to eat with me, COME ON!
I'm totally over it.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Spicy Chicken Burrito = Amazing
In a little over 24 hours, I will be 22.
In a little over 4 weeks, I will be a UNCW alumni.
In American Romanticism, we're being made to read Moby Dick. Now, any of you that have seen Moby Dick know that it's a rather large book and I'm having a slow go of it trying to through. Yesterday I went to the library to try and isolate myself and get some good time in. I read for two hours, in one of the first chapters I read, Ishmael and his companion stop by an Inn on Nantucket and are treated to some of the most delicious sounding Clam and Cod chowder ever. Suddenly, this boring soup that I've taken for granted for so long came to life for me. This wasn't something that Campbells canned and forgot about - this was a soup RICH in cultural heritage, the stuff of hardened sea captains and salty harpooneers. It is something that people took great pride in.
Subsequently, I became very hungry. After I was done reading I went to the grocery store, bought one can of clam chowder, went back to my apartment and ate it. I've never appreciated a soup so much in my life.
Random fact: I didn't know what Deli was short for until two years ago
In a little over 4 weeks, I will be a UNCW alumni.
In American Romanticism, we're being made to read Moby Dick. Now, any of you that have seen Moby Dick know that it's a rather large book and I'm having a slow go of it trying to through. Yesterday I went to the library to try and isolate myself and get some good time in. I read for two hours, in one of the first chapters I read, Ishmael and his companion stop by an Inn on Nantucket and are treated to some of the most delicious sounding Clam and Cod chowder ever. Suddenly, this boring soup that I've taken for granted for so long came to life for me. This wasn't something that Campbells canned and forgot about - this was a soup RICH in cultural heritage, the stuff of hardened sea captains and salty harpooneers. It is something that people took great pride in.
Subsequently, I became very hungry. After I was done reading I went to the grocery store, bought one can of clam chowder, went back to my apartment and ate it. I've never appreciated a soup so much in my life.
Random fact: I didn't know what Deli was short for until two years ago
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Then Steve Danced His Way to Freedom
An Open letter to Hottie McCoffee-Pants:
Dear Hottie McCoffee-Pants,
You probably know me as the guy that occasionally comes in and gets a deli sandwich to-go and pays with food dollars on my student ID card. I know I've never asked you for anything aside from an oversized cookie from the baked goods shelf before, but today my request is more personal. All year I have been treated to your unassumingly gorgeous face when I go to get lunch. All year you have been totally unaware of my feelings for you. I would have told you earlier, but one day last fall, you were making a mixed coffee beverage for another customer and you let it slip in conversation with a colleague that you were engaged to be married. I instantly felt that my chances at procuring a date with you were lost. Never again would I enter the coffee shop with the feelings of excitement that I once had. Now I thought all hope was lost.
BUT THAT HAS CHANGED. I had an epiphany! I should just tell you what I have felt so you can just know that I am the one for you. So here it goes.
Hottie McCoffee-Pants, I know you are currently in love with another man to the point that you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life with him, but is that really what you want? Wouldn't you always wonder if you weren't really supposed to be with that guy that didn't ask for a pickle and rarely bought beverages to go with his sandwiches? In 20 years, what will plague your mind? Will it be thoughts of your job or your kid's futures, or will it be how different your life could be if you'd just dismissed your fiancé with no explanation and gone with me to Carabbas, my treat? I know it sounds crazy but I think I represent something for you. I think I have something to offer - a way out. The chance to keep the ball rolling and start again.
I'm relatively sure you wouldn't regret it. Please let me know.
Respectfully,
---
Dear Hottie McCoffee-Pants,
You probably know me as the guy that occasionally comes in and gets a deli sandwich to-go and pays with food dollars on my student ID card. I know I've never asked you for anything aside from an oversized cookie from the baked goods shelf before, but today my request is more personal. All year I have been treated to your unassumingly gorgeous face when I go to get lunch. All year you have been totally unaware of my feelings for you. I would have told you earlier, but one day last fall, you were making a mixed coffee beverage for another customer and you let it slip in conversation with a colleague that you were engaged to be married. I instantly felt that my chances at procuring a date with you were lost. Never again would I enter the coffee shop with the feelings of excitement that I once had. Now I thought all hope was lost.
BUT THAT HAS CHANGED. I had an epiphany! I should just tell you what I have felt so you can just know that I am the one for you. So here it goes.
Hottie McCoffee-Pants, I know you are currently in love with another man to the point that you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life with him, but is that really what you want? Wouldn't you always wonder if you weren't really supposed to be with that guy that didn't ask for a pickle and rarely bought beverages to go with his sandwiches? In 20 years, what will plague your mind? Will it be thoughts of your job or your kid's futures, or will it be how different your life could be if you'd just dismissed your fiancé with no explanation and gone with me to Carabbas, my treat? I know it sounds crazy but I think I represent something for you. I think I have something to offer - a way out. The chance to keep the ball rolling and start again.
I'm relatively sure you wouldn't regret it. Please let me know.
Respectfully,
---
Friday, March 28, 2008
MySpace Blog
I just wrote a rather insightful post on my myspace blog. Since it is intended for a myspace audience, I'll just direct you over there rather than copying it here.
Myspace Blog
Cheers!
Myspace Blog
Cheers!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Data Entry Specialist
Yesterday I got "fitted" for my cap and gown. I put "fitted" in quotation marks because the only question they ask you is how tall you are. Comforting. Gowns are now one-size-fits-all pieces of silky fabric. Graduation gowns are like higher-class ponchos that are only useful for one day. I think that schools should lessen the pomp in graduation ceremonies and give graduating students authentic, colorful ponchos that might actually be of some use after commencement. Imagine a ceremony where the esteemed scholars look a little less like esteemed scholers and a little more like a crowd of vacant-minded wanderers at a flea market.
They didn't even bother to take my cap size, so I guess they're taking advantage of the magic of elastic bands. This means that 50% of the graduates will be comfortable during the ceremony, and 50% will feel their heart beating at their temples for 45 minutes. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, maybe I have the ideal collegiate head.
Etamology of the word "Tidal." Al was the god of keeping the water at a particular point. When Jupiter tied Al up for attempted theft of Mercury's winged sandles, they began to change. Thus, tidal patterns.
They didn't even bother to take my cap size, so I guess they're taking advantage of the magic of elastic bands. This means that 50% of the graduates will be comfortable during the ceremony, and 50% will feel their heart beating at their temples for 45 minutes. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, maybe I have the ideal collegiate head.
Etamology of the word "Tidal." Al was the god of keeping the water at a particular point. When Jupiter tied Al up for attempted theft of Mercury's winged sandles, they began to change. Thus, tidal patterns.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sobriety Test for School
When in the seat of a nation...
So, I was on my way to D.C. a few days ago (awesome trip, btw) and I get a call from my friend Matt while I'm still on the train.
"Dude, I've got to tell you what happened to me this afternoon because its too funny," he said.
"Ok," I said, "go for it."
"Ok, I went to McDonalds at work today to pick some food for Boone and the funny thing about the McDonald's drive through in Benson is that if you tune it to 101.5, you can hear the conversations between the person taking the order and the customer."
"Wait," I said, "So you can just tune in a listen to what they're saying?"
"Yeah"
"How did you figure this out?" I asked.
"Oh, I've known about it for years," he said, "sometimes it comes through so clear you can hear what other people are saying inside the McDonalds.
"Wow, that's special."
"Yeah," he continued, "so I was in line and I hear this black dude come on to place his order and he does it just like this: (yelling) I want a double cheeseburger, no pickles, no onions - this is how it's goin' down!"
I laughed
"Yeah, man," he said, "he did NOT want his order wrong."
...
I don't think print does this story justice, but trust me, it was funny.
Silk worms are the most glamorous of all the worms.
So, I was on my way to D.C. a few days ago (awesome trip, btw) and I get a call from my friend Matt while I'm still on the train.
"Dude, I've got to tell you what happened to me this afternoon because its too funny," he said.
"Ok," I said, "go for it."
"Ok, I went to McDonalds at work today to pick some food for Boone and the funny thing about the McDonald's drive through in Benson is that if you tune it to 101.5, you can hear the conversations between the person taking the order and the customer."
"Wait," I said, "So you can just tune in a listen to what they're saying?"
"Yeah"
"How did you figure this out?" I asked.
"Oh, I've known about it for years," he said, "sometimes it comes through so clear you can hear what other people are saying inside the McDonalds.
"Wow, that's special."
"Yeah," he continued, "so I was in line and I hear this black dude come on to place his order and he does it just like this: (yelling) I want a double cheeseburger, no pickles, no onions - this is how it's goin' down!"
I laughed
"Yeah, man," he said, "he did NOT want his order wrong."
...
I don't think print does this story justice, but trust me, it was funny.
Silk worms are the most glamorous of all the worms.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
A Vegetarian Who Dreams in Hamburgers
A great escape.
In response to my last ridiculously long post I thought I might lighten things up with a briefer one. I'm planning on leaving the great town of wilmington tomorrow night and heaving-ho for new territory for spring break. Friday morning me and Jeff will leave my house and head out to Raleigh where will we catch an Amtrak train to Washington DC. There we will stay for 3 nights in a Double Tree hotel - taking in the sights and sounds of our nations' capital. On the third of March we'll take our return train home. At this point about 80% of my trip money will be spent, but only about 30% of our spring break antics will have happened. We'll wake up early on the 4th and head down I-95 to Charleston, SC, stopping only briefly for a break in-between at South of the Border. After a day in SC's only legitimatly cool city, we'll head back north through Myrtle Beach (beat up Las Vegas) and stay the night in Wilmington. On the morning of the 5th there is a very good chance that we'll pick up a new companion, Jacob, and head north up the coast to the oldest town in NC, Bath. We'll spend the night there at Jeff's place, then wake up early on the 6th and take the ferry over to Oakcracoke Island. We'll spend the rest of the day on either Oakcracoke or Hatteras, then spend the night at a campground in our tent. Then next morning (the 7th) we'll head up to Kitty Hawk and possibly the Great Dismal Swamp. After that fun-filled day it will be back south to Bath where we'll spend another night before heading for Wilmington and the end of our spring break antics on the 8th.
Ok, get this. I have about $130 (after the cost of the train and the hotel) to get them through this entire week. Anything that costs money like sights in DC, South of the Border, DC Metro rides, ect. has to be balanced between needing to feed myself at least twice a day. Add to that the fact that I'd really like to buy some pack film for my camera and you have a pretty crazy situation. I don't really care, I'd go hungry for a couple of days to experience a week like this where I really don't have to worry about anything but having fun. I think it's going to be great. The best part is I'm taking a paper journal with me so I'm going to have it all recorded and I'll be sure to post some stuff here when I get back.
Arrivederci!
In response to my last ridiculously long post I thought I might lighten things up with a briefer one. I'm planning on leaving the great town of wilmington tomorrow night and heaving-ho for new territory for spring break. Friday morning me and Jeff will leave my house and head out to Raleigh where will we catch an Amtrak train to Washington DC. There we will stay for 3 nights in a Double Tree hotel - taking in the sights and sounds of our nations' capital. On the third of March we'll take our return train home. At this point about 80% of my trip money will be spent, but only about 30% of our spring break antics will have happened. We'll wake up early on the 4th and head down I-95 to Charleston, SC, stopping only briefly for a break in-between at South of the Border. After a day in SC's only legitimatly cool city, we'll head back north through Myrtle Beach (beat up Las Vegas) and stay the night in Wilmington. On the morning of the 5th there is a very good chance that we'll pick up a new companion, Jacob, and head north up the coast to the oldest town in NC, Bath. We'll spend the night there at Jeff's place, then wake up early on the 6th and take the ferry over to Oakcracoke Island. We'll spend the rest of the day on either Oakcracoke or Hatteras, then spend the night at a campground in our tent. Then next morning (the 7th) we'll head up to Kitty Hawk and possibly the Great Dismal Swamp. After that fun-filled day it will be back south to Bath where we'll spend another night before heading for Wilmington and the end of our spring break antics on the 8th.
Ok, get this. I have about $130 (after the cost of the train and the hotel) to get them through this entire week. Anything that costs money like sights in DC, South of the Border, DC Metro rides, ect. has to be balanced between needing to feed myself at least twice a day. Add to that the fact that I'd really like to buy some pack film for my camera and you have a pretty crazy situation. I don't really care, I'd go hungry for a couple of days to experience a week like this where I really don't have to worry about anything but having fun. I think it's going to be great. The best part is I'm taking a paper journal with me so I'm going to have it all recorded and I'll be sure to post some stuff here when I get back.
Arrivederci!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Tyrant King and the Princess of Easy-listening
In the den of the godless heathens
This has been a busy, but very interesting week. Every day it has been cold, the way it should be in February, and I have had to deal with going from freezing cold to "surface of the sun" every time I walk into a building on campus. I immediately strip off my coat and/or sweaters because it's so hot in there, I'll pass out if I don't. I have a theory about the school's central heating system. I think they have a dragon that they hit with a mallet to induce fire-breathing and warm the campus. I bet he's a pretty grumpy fellow.
Speaking of fire breathing, that leads me to my next topic - kind of. Before I get to that I must first go back to Thursday. I was walking though campus commons with a couple of friends before my 12:30 class and in the middle of the commons in a big circle were some protesters who were saving the campus trees. Apparently UNCW has decided to cut out a large swath of our campus' 200 acre pine forest to put up a parking garage and new dorm. UNCW is host to the largest patch of pine forest still standing in the city of Wilmington. Naturally, the hippies are upset. Well, I heard that they were cutting almost all of them down, which irritated me, so when my friend suggested we join them, I thought - what the heck.
Let me just say it right now - it feels really great to walk up to a group of protesters and hear their cheers and cries of support as you join their feeble but growing cause. I can honestly say that I now understand why so many people make it their life's work to be activists for so many different causes. In a moment I felt like a stately lion that would devour the jackal of corporate school government. I felt the swelling of my pride - pride that I was one of the few that cared enough to stand for such a noble cause. More than anything, I felt like I really mattered to someone.
It may have been 15 seconds after I sat down, 30 at the most, when I realized that I had made a terrible mistake.
"HAVING CLASS IS NO EXCUSE FOR MISSING A WALK-OUT! JOIN OUR PEACEFUL PROTEST," said the red-bearded fellow who was apparently in charge of everything, "GOING TO CLASS DEFEATS THE PURPOSE, THIS IS A WALK-OUT!"
"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" is all that ran through my head. I had 20 minutes before my American Romanticism class started and there was a paper due in it. There was no way I was skipping that class to shout crudely at passers-by in support of the UNCW forest people. Suddenly, all those feelings of pride, self congratulation, and acceptance came flooding back on me in the horrifying light of knowing I was going to have to stand up and very obviously walk away from all of them in a matter of minutes. The red-bearded fellow kept repeating himself, and every time he said his bit I felt a little queasier. I didn't know how I was going to survive walking away to the jeering and social ridicule that I was sure to get. I had become the protester's arch-nemesis. I was the protester light.
I rocked back and forth like a crazy person as I devised a plan for leaving that involved waiting until someone coughed loudly and tearing off to the southeast. This, I decided, would be a fruitless effort since we were sitting in a circle and some of them would see me no matter what. At some point a funky looking girl with a scarf on her head came over to my friend and I with a piece of art paper paper and some oil paints. On the paper people had already painted several trees.
"We're painting a forest to show the school," she said with a smile, "you can paint a tree and then just pass it around."
I waited as my friend painted her tree. All around me the circle erupted into the chant, "Ain't no power like the power of the people, 'cause the power of the people don't stop (say what?)." They switched between that one and my preferred chant, "Save our trees!"
I wish more of my friends and family could have been there. It was wonderful - I was completely out of my element and I was totally cool with it (aside from the whole having to betray them within 15 minutes part). I lifted my voice and clapped my hands and let the world know that we were serious. I painted a colorful little tree on the paper and thought about how these people were an impassioned group of people that I had spent my entire life boxing up - never dealing with. As a general rule, protesters had annoyed me. I thought of them as whiners for the sake of whining and now I was adding my personal touch to their fruity little painting. I was planting my tree in their forest. Who knew?
Walking out on a walk-out is a pretty miserable experience - I wouldn't recommend it. They turned out to be more lenient than I had imagined. The only thing I heard as I walked away was, "You're scaring them away, dude," which I assume was addressed to the red-bearded fellow. Yeah, I left, but it wasn't out of fear of anything other than failing a paper that I had worked my butt off on.
Now let's jump to last night. I'm in a senior seminar class for film where our one project for the entire semester is to film a documentary on something. My group chose this odd place in Wilmington that all of us had been to a few times, but none of us really understood. It's a hookah bar (hookahs are the weird pipes that the caterpillar smoked in Alice in Wonderland) on Castle street. The place is, quite literally, nuts. There are fire-eaters, poets, comedians, dancers, any just about anyone else you might imagine. The decor is all homemade art and found furniture that has been redecorated to suit their purposes. They serve food, but until yesterday I had never tried it, (I recommend "The Beast" grilled pita, because it's delicious). The people who work there are varied and interesting. They sometimes wear funky hats, always wear funky cloths and they all have nicknames that sound like comic book villains. One day the manager was wearing a confederate civil war jacket - now that's what I call projecting an effective middle-management image. When you first come into that place, if you're like me, you wonder how long you're going to last with the weirdoes in there. In the process of making this film, however, I've found them to be some of the coolest and nicest people I've met in Wilmington. They're all about the arts and it seems like one of their biggest missions is to give an outlet to anyone who does anything, and I do mean ANYTHING. While we were interviewing the owners we caught wind of a bellydancing showcase that was going to happen, and thats why we showed up last night with our camera.
We got the equipment set up and, little by little, the tiny cafe filled to capacity. Old people, young people, people in polos and people in purple sport coats with berets. In my comfortable little Bible-belt life, I've scarcely been exposed to such diversity, and certainly not all in one place. Techno middle-eastern music blasted through the place, filling it with a type of energy you almost have to feel to understand. The only light in the whole place came from dim can lights at the front and decorative hanging lamps the were almost randomly scattered throughout the bar area. I watched from my high up perch on a homemade seating platforms as the shadowy mass of a group of marines melded into a mass of middle-aged hipsters behind them, which melded into the rest of the crowd seamlessly. It was really strangely beautiful.
The belly dancers came out one by one, each performing to their own song and clothed in traditional belly dance garb. It was pretty amazing to watch. One of the owners was dancing and she balanced a saber on her head while spinning around, tell me that isn't impressive. My favorite part was when they introduced the live middle-eastern drum team and let them go crazy until the dancers came out with finger symbols. You can't even begin to imagine how cool it sounded and looked. They finished their set, we took down our equipment, and off we went.
On the way home I kept thinking about how I felt about the place the first time I came there. It's curiously located away from downtown in the middle of a low-rent, mostly African-American neighborhood. As a middle-class white kid from the whitest school in the southeast, I was a bit shook up about going there. I imagined all sorts of scenarios involving guns and dead comic book villains and stolen hookahs. I remember thinking the place looked dirty and poorly put together. Of course, the biggest thing I remember was thinking about how much I didn't fit in - how this was a place for the strange and outcast and I traveled through it like a preppy tourist at a freak-show theme park. Soon I could tell all of my preppy friends about it and sound cultured and cool. I don't belong here - really? Then, where do I belong?
Well, from what I've been taught I must belong in a white, middle-class neighborhood about 4 blocks from the school and 2 blocks from the church. I should have 2.5 kids and eat breakfast with them before I head out to work. My wife will take them to school in the SUV and before she comes back home to her interior decorating business and I work a 9-5 to pay the bills. We all put in our time where its needed in a safe and productive and comfortable manner. This includes God, you know. We put in our time with God like we put in our time at the office. An hour on Sunday, and hour and a half on Wednesday, maybe another hour at small group and, what the heck, throw in 30 minutes of "quiet time" each day. This makes a well-balanced life of ... well, it makes a well balanced life of mediocrity.
Do we really believe that Christ called us to be comfortable and safe in our suburban holes? I know this isn't a new idea to any of you that have been in Church or gone on fabulous campus ministry retreats at camps. This is something that we talk about but that we so rarely take the opportunities to experience. Not even our mission trips really provide up with a opportunity to broaden our horizons much because we make them trips, not lifestyles. There is spiritual warfare out there - in our towns - and we should be in the middle of it, fighting for the cause of Christ. We have an obligation to love and serve everyone, everywhere, regardless of our comfort level in their presence. Truth be told, I feel more comfortable stretching my horizons with new people than sitting in my apartment with CCF buddies because if I sit stagnant long enough, I feel useless.
I thought about this and how the people I've been with this week are the so-called "enemies of the gospel." The hippies that fight for free love and dirty drugs and life experience and the freaks of the gutters, the people who band together in certain spots to feel that they fit in with someone. These aren't our enemies. Their lifestyles can't do anything to us that we don't let them do. These are our friends that we've been neglecting. Even if we never get the chance to have that amazing spiritual dialogue that could prove life-altering, these are the people that Jesus talked about being there for. The people we're supposed to listen to and understand and love - the people that we've been told for so long are our enemies.
When I think about how I would have missed that belly dancing show, I get pretty sad. I don't get sad because the show was awesome (even though it was) but what really sucks is the reason I would have missed it. If I hadn't had that project I would have had plenty of reasons for dismissing it and missed out on that beautiful little nugget of life and on meeting those people because of my fear and discomfort with the area. I still have a long way to go because the Juggling Gypsy and the tree people are both tame compared to the worlds real challenges, but I hope this is a start for me in the right direction that keeps on rolling.
So that was my week. Pretty productive and pretty fun. Next week I'm going to DC!
This has been a busy, but very interesting week. Every day it has been cold, the way it should be in February, and I have had to deal with going from freezing cold to "surface of the sun" every time I walk into a building on campus. I immediately strip off my coat and/or sweaters because it's so hot in there, I'll pass out if I don't. I have a theory about the school's central heating system. I think they have a dragon that they hit with a mallet to induce fire-breathing and warm the campus. I bet he's a pretty grumpy fellow.
Speaking of fire breathing, that leads me to my next topic - kind of. Before I get to that I must first go back to Thursday. I was walking though campus commons with a couple of friends before my 12:30 class and in the middle of the commons in a big circle were some protesters who were saving the campus trees. Apparently UNCW has decided to cut out a large swath of our campus' 200 acre pine forest to put up a parking garage and new dorm. UNCW is host to the largest patch of pine forest still standing in the city of Wilmington. Naturally, the hippies are upset. Well, I heard that they were cutting almost all of them down, which irritated me, so when my friend suggested we join them, I thought - what the heck.
Let me just say it right now - it feels really great to walk up to a group of protesters and hear their cheers and cries of support as you join their feeble but growing cause. I can honestly say that I now understand why so many people make it their life's work to be activists for so many different causes. In a moment I felt like a stately lion that would devour the jackal of corporate school government. I felt the swelling of my pride - pride that I was one of the few that cared enough to stand for such a noble cause. More than anything, I felt like I really mattered to someone.
It may have been 15 seconds after I sat down, 30 at the most, when I realized that I had made a terrible mistake.
"HAVING CLASS IS NO EXCUSE FOR MISSING A WALK-OUT! JOIN OUR PEACEFUL PROTEST," said the red-bearded fellow who was apparently in charge of everything, "GOING TO CLASS DEFEATS THE PURPOSE, THIS IS A WALK-OUT!"
"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" is all that ran through my head. I had 20 minutes before my American Romanticism class started and there was a paper due in it. There was no way I was skipping that class to shout crudely at passers-by in support of the UNCW forest people. Suddenly, all those feelings of pride, self congratulation, and acceptance came flooding back on me in the horrifying light of knowing I was going to have to stand up and very obviously walk away from all of them in a matter of minutes. The red-bearded fellow kept repeating himself, and every time he said his bit I felt a little queasier. I didn't know how I was going to survive walking away to the jeering and social ridicule that I was sure to get. I had become the protester's arch-nemesis. I was the protester light.
I rocked back and forth like a crazy person as I devised a plan for leaving that involved waiting until someone coughed loudly and tearing off to the southeast. This, I decided, would be a fruitless effort since we were sitting in a circle and some of them would see me no matter what. At some point a funky looking girl with a scarf on her head came over to my friend and I with a piece of art paper paper and some oil paints. On the paper people had already painted several trees.
"We're painting a forest to show the school," she said with a smile, "you can paint a tree and then just pass it around."
I waited as my friend painted her tree. All around me the circle erupted into the chant, "Ain't no power like the power of the people, 'cause the power of the people don't stop (say what?)." They switched between that one and my preferred chant, "Save our trees!"
I wish more of my friends and family could have been there. It was wonderful - I was completely out of my element and I was totally cool with it (aside from the whole having to betray them within 15 minutes part). I lifted my voice and clapped my hands and let the world know that we were serious. I painted a colorful little tree on the paper and thought about how these people were an impassioned group of people that I had spent my entire life boxing up - never dealing with. As a general rule, protesters had annoyed me. I thought of them as whiners for the sake of whining and now I was adding my personal touch to their fruity little painting. I was planting my tree in their forest. Who knew?
Walking out on a walk-out is a pretty miserable experience - I wouldn't recommend it. They turned out to be more lenient than I had imagined. The only thing I heard as I walked away was, "You're scaring them away, dude," which I assume was addressed to the red-bearded fellow. Yeah, I left, but it wasn't out of fear of anything other than failing a paper that I had worked my butt off on.
Now let's jump to last night. I'm in a senior seminar class for film where our one project for the entire semester is to film a documentary on something. My group chose this odd place in Wilmington that all of us had been to a few times, but none of us really understood. It's a hookah bar (hookahs are the weird pipes that the caterpillar smoked in Alice in Wonderland) on Castle street. The place is, quite literally, nuts. There are fire-eaters, poets, comedians, dancers, any just about anyone else you might imagine. The decor is all homemade art and found furniture that has been redecorated to suit their purposes. They serve food, but until yesterday I had never tried it, (I recommend "The Beast" grilled pita, because it's delicious). The people who work there are varied and interesting. They sometimes wear funky hats, always wear funky cloths and they all have nicknames that sound like comic book villains. One day the manager was wearing a confederate civil war jacket - now that's what I call projecting an effective middle-management image. When you first come into that place, if you're like me, you wonder how long you're going to last with the weirdoes in there. In the process of making this film, however, I've found them to be some of the coolest and nicest people I've met in Wilmington. They're all about the arts and it seems like one of their biggest missions is to give an outlet to anyone who does anything, and I do mean ANYTHING. While we were interviewing the owners we caught wind of a bellydancing showcase that was going to happen, and thats why we showed up last night with our camera.
We got the equipment set up and, little by little, the tiny cafe filled to capacity. Old people, young people, people in polos and people in purple sport coats with berets. In my comfortable little Bible-belt life, I've scarcely been exposed to such diversity, and certainly not all in one place. Techno middle-eastern music blasted through the place, filling it with a type of energy you almost have to feel to understand. The only light in the whole place came from dim can lights at the front and decorative hanging lamps the were almost randomly scattered throughout the bar area. I watched from my high up perch on a homemade seating platforms as the shadowy mass of a group of marines melded into a mass of middle-aged hipsters behind them, which melded into the rest of the crowd seamlessly. It was really strangely beautiful.
The belly dancers came out one by one, each performing to their own song and clothed in traditional belly dance garb. It was pretty amazing to watch. One of the owners was dancing and she balanced a saber on her head while spinning around, tell me that isn't impressive. My favorite part was when they introduced the live middle-eastern drum team and let them go crazy until the dancers came out with finger symbols. You can't even begin to imagine how cool it sounded and looked. They finished their set, we took down our equipment, and off we went.
On the way home I kept thinking about how I felt about the place the first time I came there. It's curiously located away from downtown in the middle of a low-rent, mostly African-American neighborhood. As a middle-class white kid from the whitest school in the southeast, I was a bit shook up about going there. I imagined all sorts of scenarios involving guns and dead comic book villains and stolen hookahs. I remember thinking the place looked dirty and poorly put together. Of course, the biggest thing I remember was thinking about how much I didn't fit in - how this was a place for the strange and outcast and I traveled through it like a preppy tourist at a freak-show theme park. Soon I could tell all of my preppy friends about it and sound cultured and cool. I don't belong here - really? Then, where do I belong?
Well, from what I've been taught I must belong in a white, middle-class neighborhood about 4 blocks from the school and 2 blocks from the church. I should have 2.5 kids and eat breakfast with them before I head out to work. My wife will take them to school in the SUV and before she comes back home to her interior decorating business and I work a 9-5 to pay the bills. We all put in our time where its needed in a safe and productive and comfortable manner. This includes God, you know. We put in our time with God like we put in our time at the office. An hour on Sunday, and hour and a half on Wednesday, maybe another hour at small group and, what the heck, throw in 30 minutes of "quiet time" each day. This makes a well-balanced life of ... well, it makes a well balanced life of mediocrity.
Do we really believe that Christ called us to be comfortable and safe in our suburban holes? I know this isn't a new idea to any of you that have been in Church or gone on fabulous campus ministry retreats at camps. This is something that we talk about but that we so rarely take the opportunities to experience. Not even our mission trips really provide up with a opportunity to broaden our horizons much because we make them trips, not lifestyles. There is spiritual warfare out there - in our towns - and we should be in the middle of it, fighting for the cause of Christ. We have an obligation to love and serve everyone, everywhere, regardless of our comfort level in their presence. Truth be told, I feel more comfortable stretching my horizons with new people than sitting in my apartment with CCF buddies because if I sit stagnant long enough, I feel useless.
I thought about this and how the people I've been with this week are the so-called "enemies of the gospel." The hippies that fight for free love and dirty drugs and life experience and the freaks of the gutters, the people who band together in certain spots to feel that they fit in with someone. These aren't our enemies. Their lifestyles can't do anything to us that we don't let them do. These are our friends that we've been neglecting. Even if we never get the chance to have that amazing spiritual dialogue that could prove life-altering, these are the people that Jesus talked about being there for. The people we're supposed to listen to and understand and love - the people that we've been told for so long are our enemies.
When I think about how I would have missed that belly dancing show, I get pretty sad. I don't get sad because the show was awesome (even though it was) but what really sucks is the reason I would have missed it. If I hadn't had that project I would have had plenty of reasons for dismissing it and missed out on that beautiful little nugget of life and on meeting those people because of my fear and discomfort with the area. I still have a long way to go because the Juggling Gypsy and the tree people are both tame compared to the worlds real challenges, but I hope this is a start for me in the right direction that keeps on rolling.
So that was my week. Pretty productive and pretty fun. Next week I'm going to DC!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Dictionary, Dictionary
I'm tired.
I bought a new sleeping bag for the trip to Camp Dixie this weekend. This sleeping bag is amazing. It's rated to 0 degrees and it's a mummy bag. I doubt that I'll ever be out in the wild in 0 degrees, but it's still nice to know you have the safety net just in case. I have discovered that there are few better feelings in life that cuddling up in a warm sleeping bag when it's cold all around you. I'd almost go camping for that feeling - when you first get in the bag and shiver a few times and you feel the heat getting trapped as you generate it.
I'm not psychotic, I promise.
Also, this weekend, I had an epiphany. I'm not talking about a "marketable new manifestation of cheese" type of epiphany, more like a spiritual epiphany. See, when I go to church or talk about church in any kind of group setting, I always get this feeling like something just isn't settling right. I know that the gears in my head have been turning, but I've never really let them turn before. Well, after one of our breakout sessions, I grabbed a notebook and went off on it. I don't know if I really figured anything out, but it sure feels like I did, so I'm going to just assume that I'm a genius.
Actually, it was really good stuff (in my biased opinion), stuff that people needed to hear because I'm sure almost every Christian would agree with me. I could write a book about it and get some charismatic person to lead a movement and RAH RAH RAH! But then I realized that I had to check some sources and read up on it a little more. Turns out that there is a book that looks like it's pretty much about what I was thinking. It's called Irresistible Revolution and it's on my short list of books to read. I'll let you guys know what I think of it when I'm done.
I had a conversation this weekend with a couple of random girls about why I wore shower shoes at places like that to avoid getting foot fungus. Of course, I forgot my shower shoes, and the next day after my shower I started thinking about it. Now I'm laying in my bed typing and as I do so, my left big toe is itching. Gulp.
Maybe I am crazy.
I bought a new sleeping bag for the trip to Camp Dixie this weekend. This sleeping bag is amazing. It's rated to 0 degrees and it's a mummy bag. I doubt that I'll ever be out in the wild in 0 degrees, but it's still nice to know you have the safety net just in case. I have discovered that there are few better feelings in life that cuddling up in a warm sleeping bag when it's cold all around you. I'd almost go camping for that feeling - when you first get in the bag and shiver a few times and you feel the heat getting trapped as you generate it.
I'm not psychotic, I promise.
Also, this weekend, I had an epiphany. I'm not talking about a "marketable new manifestation of cheese" type of epiphany, more like a spiritual epiphany. See, when I go to church or talk about church in any kind of group setting, I always get this feeling like something just isn't settling right. I know that the gears in my head have been turning, but I've never really let them turn before. Well, after one of our breakout sessions, I grabbed a notebook and went off on it. I don't know if I really figured anything out, but it sure feels like I did, so I'm going to just assume that I'm a genius.
Actually, it was really good stuff (in my biased opinion), stuff that people needed to hear because I'm sure almost every Christian would agree with me. I could write a book about it and get some charismatic person to lead a movement and RAH RAH RAH! But then I realized that I had to check some sources and read up on it a little more. Turns out that there is a book that looks like it's pretty much about what I was thinking. It's called Irresistible Revolution and it's on my short list of books to read. I'll let you guys know what I think of it when I'm done.
I had a conversation this weekend with a couple of random girls about why I wore shower shoes at places like that to avoid getting foot fungus. Of course, I forgot my shower shoes, and the next day after my shower I started thinking about it. Now I'm laying in my bed typing and as I do so, my left big toe is itching. Gulp.
Maybe I am crazy.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Falsehoods and Fiberboard
Out of Gas.
I think I owe you an apology. No, this isn't a directed post to that guy that I kind of slammed the door into at Morton the other day, although if you're reading this, dude, I'm sorry. No, I owe this blog an apology. I don't know what's gotten into me - like an overconfident band with a hit first album and a series of follow-up-flops, I've just been giving my sub-par ideas the stage for a really long time. So, I'm pretty sure I've made it a habit to say something every few posts about how crappy my writing has gotten but this post isn't to apologize and keep on moving, same as always. This time I think I've found a solution, let me break it down for you.
I think every creative endeavor needs a driving force. When I first started this blog my writing had a spark like a crunched Wint-O-Green lifesaver in pitch darkness (yes, they spark, please try it for yourself). The force that drove that spark in my writing was being in a new place with new people all around me and experiencing new things. I didn't think twice about putting everything out there and a lot of it, though poorly written as far as spelling and grammar, was really just cool. I didn't care, it had spirit even if it was dumb.
I guess what I'm saying is there is this intangible something that is just there, and you can feel it there when you're writing and when you're reading someone else's stuff. It's there in music and paintings and all other creative endeavors, I don't know how to describe it other than the spark of life to the piece. So here is how I'm getting it back. I have a friend who is also a writer and just like C.S. Lewis had his J.R.R. Tolkien, we're going to use each other to push our way into inspiration. Well, thats the plan anyway. Hopefully this will prove to be the way to a fuel up.
Something smells like burnt hair.
I think I owe you an apology. No, this isn't a directed post to that guy that I kind of slammed the door into at Morton the other day, although if you're reading this, dude, I'm sorry. No, I owe this blog an apology. I don't know what's gotten into me - like an overconfident band with a hit first album and a series of follow-up-flops, I've just been giving my sub-par ideas the stage for a really long time. So, I'm pretty sure I've made it a habit to say something every few posts about how crappy my writing has gotten but this post isn't to apologize and keep on moving, same as always. This time I think I've found a solution, let me break it down for you.
I think every creative endeavor needs a driving force. When I first started this blog my writing had a spark like a crunched Wint-O-Green lifesaver in pitch darkness (yes, they spark, please try it for yourself). The force that drove that spark in my writing was being in a new place with new people all around me and experiencing new things. I didn't think twice about putting everything out there and a lot of it, though poorly written as far as spelling and grammar, was really just cool. I didn't care, it had spirit even if it was dumb.
I guess what I'm saying is there is this intangible something that is just there, and you can feel it there when you're writing and when you're reading someone else's stuff. It's there in music and paintings and all other creative endeavors, I don't know how to describe it other than the spark of life to the piece. So here is how I'm getting it back. I have a friend who is also a writer and just like C.S. Lewis had his J.R.R. Tolkien, we're going to use each other to push our way into inspiration. Well, thats the plan anyway. Hopefully this will prove to be the way to a fuel up.
Something smells like burnt hair.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Lovely Day...
Allergies...who needs 'em?
Can I just say I have the most confusing semester for learning professor names ever? I have three professors in a row on Tuesday's and Thursday's...their names? Bushman, Berman, Boren. I constantly forget which one I'm dealing with at any particular moment. I'm in Berman (david)'s class right now and since I just finished putting together a lovely pointless excel spreadsheet for my project grade, I'm killing some time. It looks like he's wandering around a bit so I'm going to make this a very brief rant.
Solidarity, my allergic brothers and sisters! I never had much problem with my allergies until I was a teenager. Around that time, dogs and cats really made me sneezy and teary eyed. It wasn't that bad, I still forced my way through it for the benefit of petting fuzzy animals, but here lately it's getting ridiculous. I can scarce spend 20 minutes in my friend Jacob's house without his cat, Ninja, causing me to tear up a bit. Add to that the fact that Ninja is FLIPPIN' CRAZY and claws you without warning and I start developing big swollen welts at the sight of claw infliction. After all I've done to be supportive to cats...thats the thanks I get.
So all this culminates in a trip to a friends apartment two weeks ago. I hadn't seen these two people in years, so it wasn't at all a "formal" meeting, but I couldn't exactly be 100% my normal self because most of the evening was spent catching up on the past 3 years. Well, to make a long story short, they order a pizza about the same time I feel my throat closing up. Naturally, having never experienced this before, I began to panic slightly. Being the moron that I can occasionally be, instead of excusing myself immediately, I decided to just hang out and wait for the pizza. Let me tell you, if that pizza had been any less greasy, there is no way it would have made it down my nearly asphyxiated esophagus. Finally, I decided I could take no more and excused myself at the same time another old friend showed up - thereby giving them a complex, no doubt.
I love the kitties, but my autoimmune system sure don't.
Can I just say I have the most confusing semester for learning professor names ever? I have three professors in a row on Tuesday's and Thursday's...their names? Bushman, Berman, Boren. I constantly forget which one I'm dealing with at any particular moment. I'm in Berman (david)'s class right now and since I just finished putting together a lovely pointless excel spreadsheet for my project grade, I'm killing some time. It looks like he's wandering around a bit so I'm going to make this a very brief rant.
Solidarity, my allergic brothers and sisters! I never had much problem with my allergies until I was a teenager. Around that time, dogs and cats really made me sneezy and teary eyed. It wasn't that bad, I still forced my way through it for the benefit of petting fuzzy animals, but here lately it's getting ridiculous. I can scarce spend 20 minutes in my friend Jacob's house without his cat, Ninja, causing me to tear up a bit. Add to that the fact that Ninja is FLIPPIN' CRAZY and claws you without warning and I start developing big swollen welts at the sight of claw infliction. After all I've done to be supportive to cats...thats the thanks I get.
So all this culminates in a trip to a friends apartment two weeks ago. I hadn't seen these two people in years, so it wasn't at all a "formal" meeting, but I couldn't exactly be 100% my normal self because most of the evening was spent catching up on the past 3 years. Well, to make a long story short, they order a pizza about the same time I feel my throat closing up. Naturally, having never experienced this before, I began to panic slightly. Being the moron that I can occasionally be, instead of excusing myself immediately, I decided to just hang out and wait for the pizza. Let me tell you, if that pizza had been any less greasy, there is no way it would have made it down my nearly asphyxiated esophagus. Finally, I decided I could take no more and excused myself at the same time another old friend showed up - thereby giving them a complex, no doubt.
I love the kitties, but my autoimmune system sure don't.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Zeake the Plumber
Nostalgia Pal...
...gia?
I have a lot to look forward to. No, really, I believe that. I know there are places I'm going to see, people I'm going to meet, and (possibly) a family to start of my own - all of which sounds fantabulous, In spite of all of this, I came to a realization today and it didn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy.
Many of the moments in my life that I'll remember as my happiest, could have already come and gone.
I could be dead wrong, and I hope I am, but I really think it's true. I don't know if anyone else experiences this, but every once in a while I am hit with a somewhat random, intense bout of what I can only call "nostalgia." It's like one of those crystalizing flashbacks where everything sort of moves in slow motion and you can almost smell, taste, see, and in every other way relive a snippet of your past. It's almost enough to make you want to cue a dramatic swell in music - Lord help me if music ever coincidentally swells up during one of these because I'll think I've lost it.
So, today I'm walking by the library and I walk over this one step that's kind of stained green from the rain runoff. BOOM. I look up and I see the student center - which wasn't there at all when I came here for orientation - and I am almost instantly back in the old Hawk's Nest. I used to go there all the time for supper. I remember the pizza there - it was overpriced but really good. I'd get pizza and sometimes chips and sometimes (because I'm crazy) I'd put balsamic vinegar on my pizza. It was something I only tasted there, only for this brief window of time in my life. If it's possible to get choked up over pizza, I think I almost did. What I wouldn't give sometimes to go back to a random Thursday of my Freshman or Sophomore years. Talk to all of my old friends that I rarely see anymore. Go to those same lame basic studies classes, taste that pizza that I can't even get now.
I remember when I was 18, I kind of knew I was on top of the world. I think I've figured out why it feels so awesome to have just graduated high school. In high school you get progressively cooler the older you get. 18 years old is the climax, then you go to college and begin getting less cool the older you get. All of the sudden your birthday comes and you feel just a teeny tiny bit less excited to have a bigger number. I imagine this just gets more noticeable the more numbers you add. I used to wonder why old people didn't have birthday parties like young people - HA! My Freshman and Sophomore years were wonderful for one major reason - I didn't worry about life. For that period of time I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing, where to be, and I enjoyed it. I enjoy the music I used to listen to in my car, the old janitor man in Schwartz, picking Roach and his rodent friends up from the gas station late at night, walking in the rain from the back parking lot... even the stuff I hated, I love, and that which I loved, I will never forget.
So maybe I'm just a loser that's getting too "old" too fast. I'm 21 for crying out loud! I think it's like this for me because it isn't far enough away yet. One day my true memories will be replaced by placeholder memories, memories of memories. Everyone compartmentalizes to save space in the old noggin'. When that happens I'll remember the things that have been most important to me, but everything else will fall into the fuzzy pink blur that I'll generalize as a positive experience. One day, without thinking, I'll probably lean over to some young whipper-snapper and whisper in their ear,
"You have fun now, ya hear. These are going to be the best days of your life."
For their sake, I hope they don't believe me. I don't want to spoil it for them.
...gia?
I have a lot to look forward to. No, really, I believe that. I know there are places I'm going to see, people I'm going to meet, and (possibly) a family to start of my own - all of which sounds fantabulous, In spite of all of this, I came to a realization today and it didn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy.
Many of the moments in my life that I'll remember as my happiest, could have already come and gone.
I could be dead wrong, and I hope I am, but I really think it's true. I don't know if anyone else experiences this, but every once in a while I am hit with a somewhat random, intense bout of what I can only call "nostalgia." It's like one of those crystalizing flashbacks where everything sort of moves in slow motion and you can almost smell, taste, see, and in every other way relive a snippet of your past. It's almost enough to make you want to cue a dramatic swell in music - Lord help me if music ever coincidentally swells up during one of these because I'll think I've lost it.
So, today I'm walking by the library and I walk over this one step that's kind of stained green from the rain runoff. BOOM. I look up and I see the student center - which wasn't there at all when I came here for orientation - and I am almost instantly back in the old Hawk's Nest. I used to go there all the time for supper. I remember the pizza there - it was overpriced but really good. I'd get pizza and sometimes chips and sometimes (because I'm crazy) I'd put balsamic vinegar on my pizza. It was something I only tasted there, only for this brief window of time in my life. If it's possible to get choked up over pizza, I think I almost did. What I wouldn't give sometimes to go back to a random Thursday of my Freshman or Sophomore years. Talk to all of my old friends that I rarely see anymore. Go to those same lame basic studies classes, taste that pizza that I can't even get now.
I remember when I was 18, I kind of knew I was on top of the world. I think I've figured out why it feels so awesome to have just graduated high school. In high school you get progressively cooler the older you get. 18 years old is the climax, then you go to college and begin getting less cool the older you get. All of the sudden your birthday comes and you feel just a teeny tiny bit less excited to have a bigger number. I imagine this just gets more noticeable the more numbers you add. I used to wonder why old people didn't have birthday parties like young people - HA! My Freshman and Sophomore years were wonderful for one major reason - I didn't worry about life. For that period of time I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing, where to be, and I enjoyed it. I enjoy the music I used to listen to in my car, the old janitor man in Schwartz, picking Roach and his rodent friends up from the gas station late at night, walking in the rain from the back parking lot... even the stuff I hated, I love, and that which I loved, I will never forget.
So maybe I'm just a loser that's getting too "old" too fast. I'm 21 for crying out loud! I think it's like this for me because it isn't far enough away yet. One day my true memories will be replaced by placeholder memories, memories of memories. Everyone compartmentalizes to save space in the old noggin'. When that happens I'll remember the things that have been most important to me, but everything else will fall into the fuzzy pink blur that I'll generalize as a positive experience. One day, without thinking, I'll probably lean over to some young whipper-snapper and whisper in their ear,
"You have fun now, ya hear. These are going to be the best days of your life."
For their sake, I hope they don't believe me. I don't want to spoil it for them.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
I Smell Crazy in the Air
Poe-dunk
It's brutal honesty time. I just had a Sloanin Holiday. That is a word I made up for a day in which I didn't leave the apartment at all. These days are few and far between. The occasion? Well, I have every Monday off but apparently everyone else was off today too - Martin Luther King Jr., you know. Here is the part were I tell you the really embarrassing details so I can wonder why I told you later.
I woke up at 10. I checked email and ate some eggs that Jefe scrambled. I then read some. I played video games. I got online again. I researched the history of grenades for no good reason. I read a lot more. I wrote up a resume and did some career planning (not really, I just daydreamed about it). Then Jefe made pasta - I ate it. I read some more (this time Edgar Allen Poe for my Romanticism class) and then looked up some info on a possible spring break trip. Somewhere in there I hooked up the internet to my xbox and played Halo online for the first time in months. Most recently I caught up on some internship stuff and now I'm right back in the same exact position I was in at 10 this morning. By same exact I mean EXACT. I didn't go out so, naturally, I didn't take a shower. And since I didn't take a shower, why would I change out of my pajamas, right? So that's the way it's been, one of those days. Thankfully, I've gotten enough done to feel a little productive, but tomorrow comes early so I better get some rest and recover from this brutal day so I can actually freshen up a bit before class in the morning.
Heres to Sloanin Holidays!
It's brutal honesty time. I just had a Sloanin Holiday. That is a word I made up for a day in which I didn't leave the apartment at all. These days are few and far between. The occasion? Well, I have every Monday off but apparently everyone else was off today too - Martin Luther King Jr., you know. Here is the part were I tell you the really embarrassing details so I can wonder why I told you later.
I woke up at 10. I checked email and ate some eggs that Jefe scrambled. I then read some. I played video games. I got online again. I researched the history of grenades for no good reason. I read a lot more. I wrote up a resume and did some career planning (not really, I just daydreamed about it). Then Jefe made pasta - I ate it. I read some more (this time Edgar Allen Poe for my Romanticism class) and then looked up some info on a possible spring break trip. Somewhere in there I hooked up the internet to my xbox and played Halo online for the first time in months. Most recently I caught up on some internship stuff and now I'm right back in the same exact position I was in at 10 this morning. By same exact I mean EXACT. I didn't go out so, naturally, I didn't take a shower. And since I didn't take a shower, why would I change out of my pajamas, right? So that's the way it's been, one of those days. Thankfully, I've gotten enough done to feel a little productive, but tomorrow comes early so I better get some rest and recover from this brutal day so I can actually freshen up a bit before class in the morning.
Heres to Sloanin Holidays!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Sausage. Wrapped in Pancake. On a Stick.
I wonder if they clean the keyboards in the computer lab, ever.
I sat down in here today to waste time before my 12:30 “American Romanticism” class. You may know it better by its street name, “I hate my life 101.” That’s a bit harsh and prejudicial, I haven’t even been there yet, but you can imagine my excitement to find out. So far I’ve had two classes and on Tuesday/Thursday they are all three in a row. My first class, something about ethics in writing – a senior seminar, was over in a hot 30 minutes. My second one, Computer Science 105 (yes, I will finally learn how to use those Interwebs!) was also let out early after just 30 minutes. Five dollars says that my last one – the only one that I could use the early release from – will go the whole hour fifteen.
This keyboard looks really clean. I’m watching the two “lab technicians” right now. They’re chatting quietly, only looking up occasionally to swipe someone’s card and give them a computer. Oops, one of them just left. I used to want to do this. You can beat sitting at a computer, surfing the net and doing homework for 5 hours and getting paid for it. My old roommate, Roach, got a job at the lab in Schwartz before it closed down. Every once in a while I’d stop over to see how he was doing. When it was time to close up they had some sort of ritual that they went through but I was never interested enough to stay and find out what it entailed. Hopefully they really do clean the keyboards. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen people cough, sneeze, and pick their nose and then handle this equipment. I’m not a germaphobe but now that I think about it that’s pretty gross.
My documentary class on Wednesdays is in the recently remodeled Kenan Hall where I took Silent and Modern film classes in the most uncomfortable classroom in the world. I can see the little name on the side of it through the window in front of me. I like what they’ve done with the place since they kicked the theater and fine art hippies out and let us film kids in there. Smells a lot better now, anyway. My one complaint is that the new tables the film department put in are large rolling tables that, quite frankly, get on my last nerve. I have a tendency to put my feet on the rail underneath them and found myself apologizing to the bearded fellow next to me quite a few times for scooting his desk away from him.
I’m going to go ahead and make my way back to Morton so I can get a good seat before all the goody students show up early and take them. Here’s hoping I learn something exciting and new in Romanticism and …oh, who am I kidding? I just hope it’s an easy A.
…aaaand I just sneezed on the keyboard.
(just kidding)
I sat down in here today to waste time before my 12:30 “American Romanticism” class. You may know it better by its street name, “I hate my life 101.” That’s a bit harsh and prejudicial, I haven’t even been there yet, but you can imagine my excitement to find out. So far I’ve had two classes and on Tuesday/Thursday they are all three in a row. My first class, something about ethics in writing – a senior seminar, was over in a hot 30 minutes. My second one, Computer Science 105 (yes, I will finally learn how to use those Interwebs!) was also let out early after just 30 minutes. Five dollars says that my last one – the only one that I could use the early release from – will go the whole hour fifteen.
This keyboard looks really clean. I’m watching the two “lab technicians” right now. They’re chatting quietly, only looking up occasionally to swipe someone’s card and give them a computer. Oops, one of them just left. I used to want to do this. You can beat sitting at a computer, surfing the net and doing homework for 5 hours and getting paid for it. My old roommate, Roach, got a job at the lab in Schwartz before it closed down. Every once in a while I’d stop over to see how he was doing. When it was time to close up they had some sort of ritual that they went through but I was never interested enough to stay and find out what it entailed. Hopefully they really do clean the keyboards. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen people cough, sneeze, and pick their nose and then handle this equipment. I’m not a germaphobe but now that I think about it that’s pretty gross.
My documentary class on Wednesdays is in the recently remodeled Kenan Hall where I took Silent and Modern film classes in the most uncomfortable classroom in the world. I can see the little name on the side of it through the window in front of me. I like what they’ve done with the place since they kicked the theater and fine art hippies out and let us film kids in there. Smells a lot better now, anyway. My one complaint is that the new tables the film department put in are large rolling tables that, quite frankly, get on my last nerve. I have a tendency to put my feet on the rail underneath them and found myself apologizing to the bearded fellow next to me quite a few times for scooting his desk away from him.
I’m going to go ahead and make my way back to Morton so I can get a good seat before all the goody students show up early and take them. Here’s hoping I learn something exciting and new in Romanticism and …oh, who am I kidding? I just hope it’s an easy A.
…aaaand I just sneezed on the keyboard.
(just kidding)
Friday, January 04, 2008
New Yeah!!!
Happy 2008
I just looked over my blog and saw that the entirety of 2007 saw just 32 posts from yours truly. In looking over those posts I couldn't help but notice that my writing over the past few years has lost that little spark that it had when I first started this blog. I was over at my brother-in-law's myspace blog (which I would link you to if he didn't have it privacy protected) and it was cool to see the kind of energy and, well, decent writing that goes into and comes out of a new blog with a new blogger.
Last year I made a few predictions and almost none of them came true. Kind of depressing. You know what else is kind of depressing? Knowing that you're going to graduate in a little over 4 months and not knowing what you're going to do after that. I've always told myself something to the effect of "Oh, don't worry about it Nathan. Something will magically fall into your lap when the time comes." Well, the time has come and my lap is lacking. In light of this, I've compiled a list of "Top Jobs" that I'd love to have right out of college. If you, or anyone you know can get me one of these jobs, please contact me as soon as possible.
Glob-trotting Super-Spy Other spies may globe-trot, but they're doing it for some pansy reason, like for their country or their secret service or something. I'm talking about I want to be a super-spy and just do it because I'm that much of a bad @$$. I mean, I'd be willing to pass my info along to an employer but most of the time you'd just do your stuff freelance. I'd be like the male Carmen San Diego, and people would constantly be asking where in the world I was.
Dunder-Mifflin Associate Salesman If you don't know why I want this job, you just aren't "with it." Down with the BIG BOX PAPER SUPPLIERS!
Rock Star I'm still working on this one. Just wait until about 2011 and I'll have a hot album out. Then people will pour in to see me play live. I'll probably have my own version of Guitar Hero. It'll be called "Guitar Hero: The Sloan Chronicles (Note: no one can actually be as heroic as Nathan Sloan)"
Photo-Journalist I'd go all over the world taking pictures of pandas and other endangered wildlife. Probably take pictures of people getting killed and sharks jumping out of the water and stuff. Then I'd write up articles to go with my amazing photography where I showed how deep and intellectual I was and make other people cry as they realize how meaningless their lives are.
Magazine Guru As a head writer/editor for major magazine(s) I would effectively decide what was popular and what wasn't. Who was cool, and who wasn't. How to live, and how not to. I would have an enormous amount of influence and thus, power - but no one would know my name. I would live a prisoner to my own amazing existance and everywhere I went I would be forced to see people I've influenced walk by me without recognition. Then I would sell the rights to my life story for upwards of $30 million and attend the movie premier at age 35.
Filmmaking Guru Basically the same as above, but I do it with films instead of magazines, everyone knows me and I just keep the rights to my story and direct/star in the film myself.
Whip Braider I want to work alongside the greats like David Morgan (before he dies) and that other guy (I forgot his name, but he learned from david morgan) and continue the legacy of fine whip-crafting. I want to make whips like no-other. One day people would buy my whips as accessories to their outfits because they are so amazing. I am willing to apprentice under someone until I get the hang of it. I am also willing to whip it good.
So there you have it. Thats where I'm and and with that being said, I think I'm going to sign off of now. I wish everyone who happens upon this page a very happy 2008.
The fibers of carpet are like little dust magnets and I'm NOT attracted.
I just looked over my blog and saw that the entirety of 2007 saw just 32 posts from yours truly. In looking over those posts I couldn't help but notice that my writing over the past few years has lost that little spark that it had when I first started this blog. I was over at my brother-in-law's myspace blog (which I would link you to if he didn't have it privacy protected) and it was cool to see the kind of energy and, well, decent writing that goes into and comes out of a new blog with a new blogger.
Last year I made a few predictions and almost none of them came true. Kind of depressing. You know what else is kind of depressing? Knowing that you're going to graduate in a little over 4 months and not knowing what you're going to do after that. I've always told myself something to the effect of "Oh, don't worry about it Nathan. Something will magically fall into your lap when the time comes." Well, the time has come and my lap is lacking. In light of this, I've compiled a list of "Top Jobs" that I'd love to have right out of college. If you, or anyone you know can get me one of these jobs, please contact me as soon as possible.
Glob-trotting Super-Spy Other spies may globe-trot, but they're doing it for some pansy reason, like for their country or their secret service or something. I'm talking about I want to be a super-spy and just do it because I'm that much of a bad @$$. I mean, I'd be willing to pass my info along to an employer but most of the time you'd just do your stuff freelance. I'd be like the male Carmen San Diego, and people would constantly be asking where in the world I was.
Dunder-Mifflin Associate Salesman If you don't know why I want this job, you just aren't "with it." Down with the BIG BOX PAPER SUPPLIERS!
Rock Star I'm still working on this one. Just wait until about 2011 and I'll have a hot album out. Then people will pour in to see me play live. I'll probably have my own version of Guitar Hero. It'll be called "Guitar Hero: The Sloan Chronicles (Note: no one can actually be as heroic as Nathan Sloan)"
Photo-Journalist I'd go all over the world taking pictures of pandas and other endangered wildlife. Probably take pictures of people getting killed and sharks jumping out of the water and stuff. Then I'd write up articles to go with my amazing photography where I showed how deep and intellectual I was and make other people cry as they realize how meaningless their lives are.
Magazine Guru As a head writer/editor for major magazine(s) I would effectively decide what was popular and what wasn't. Who was cool, and who wasn't. How to live, and how not to. I would have an enormous amount of influence and thus, power - but no one would know my name. I would live a prisoner to my own amazing existance and everywhere I went I would be forced to see people I've influenced walk by me without recognition. Then I would sell the rights to my life story for upwards of $30 million and attend the movie premier at age 35.
Filmmaking Guru Basically the same as above, but I do it with films instead of magazines, everyone knows me and I just keep the rights to my story and direct/star in the film myself.
Whip Braider I want to work alongside the greats like David Morgan (before he dies) and that other guy (I forgot his name, but he learned from david morgan) and continue the legacy of fine whip-crafting. I want to make whips like no-other. One day people would buy my whips as accessories to their outfits because they are so amazing. I am willing to apprentice under someone until I get the hang of it. I am also willing to whip it good.
So there you have it. Thats where I'm and and with that being said, I think I'm going to sign off of now. I wish everyone who happens upon this page a very happy 2008.
The fibers of carpet are like little dust magnets and I'm NOT attracted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
