One of the joys of apartment life that I get is the opportunity to walk to class with my roommates at least a couple of times a week. The other day I was walking with Jeremy Bryan Boitnott and, as always, stimulating conversation followed.
"So, the Colossal Squid is bigger than the Giant Squid?" I asked.
"Yes," Bryan said, "We used to think that the Giant Squid was the biggest, but we recently found the Colossal Squid species, which is much larger. It's eye is the size of your head."
"So are those deep sea fish?"
"Oh yes, very deep sea. That's why it's so hard to find them. We finally captured a live Giant Squid a couple of years ago."
"Cool! So, is it in a tank or something?"
"No, it died."
"Oh"
"But if we capture a Colossal Squid - that would be amazing."
"So, you plan on concentrating in Squid or something with your Marine Biology major."
"No, I will concentrate in Jellyfish," he said.
"Jellyfish?" I ask.
"Yep." he says.
What are you going to do with a concentration in Jellyfish?"
"Ummmm, Study them," he answered, "I just like Jellyfish."
And so there you have it. A little insight into my life...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Articles of Onions
I love my new apartment. THE LANDING!
I finally got everything packed into my new apartment and when I look at it now all I can think about is how sweet it is. And subsequently how many years into the future I'll be paying for it. UNCW gets a facelift every time I return from summer break and this year is no exception. Where once a mighty wood was, now my bricky apartment complex is. We even have little places of business built-in to our buildings. My building has a coffee shop (talk about struggling with temptation) and there is also a marketplace, post office, and fitness center. I was a little disappointed to learn of the absence of a spaceport and a nuclear processing facility, but apparently those were pulled due to "safety hazards" or some garbage like that.
My roommates are Jeff and Bryan. I have two Bryans in my phone so I have to remember he is the one with the y and not the ian. Jeff is my unofficial style consultant because he knows what is becoming and what isn't. Yesterday we baked cookies for our entire hall, decorated them horrifically, and delivered them (because we're old school). Some of my favorite designs were Brian's boat/dolphin, Jeff's jellyfish, and my state of Colorado.
Today is the day of the annual Beach Blast. This is UNCW's attempt at making the freshmen feel more at home and at making the upperclassmen happy with free pizza. Last year it was canceled and this year Tommy is threatening to drag me out there against my will to fraternize with Caswell folk. I'm not sure if I can handle a packed beach on a projected 99 degree day. That's like...hotter than my mouth. Who wants to hang out in that? Tomorrow classes start and I assume that my normal drone-like behavior will be restored as I learn to walk the same path to classes every day. I'm taking ten-TONS of English because I only need 2 more classes in film to graduate with that major. It's really cool that I'm still able to graduate in May but at the same time it's a little nerve-wracking to have so little room for mess-ups. Next year I don't know where I'll be. Perhaps I'll be standing on the deck of a Chinese freight ship, letting the wind whip my hair while watching the sun retreat on an infinite horizon.
Or maybe I'll work at the sketch zoo down the road and eat Doritos every day. Meh, who knows!?
I finally got everything packed into my new apartment and when I look at it now all I can think about is how sweet it is. And subsequently how many years into the future I'll be paying for it. UNCW gets a facelift every time I return from summer break and this year is no exception. Where once a mighty wood was, now my bricky apartment complex is. We even have little places of business built-in to our buildings. My building has a coffee shop (talk about struggling with temptation) and there is also a marketplace, post office, and fitness center. I was a little disappointed to learn of the absence of a spaceport and a nuclear processing facility, but apparently those were pulled due to "safety hazards" or some garbage like that.
My roommates are Jeff and Bryan. I have two Bryans in my phone so I have to remember he is the one with the y and not the ian. Jeff is my unofficial style consultant because he knows what is becoming and what isn't. Yesterday we baked cookies for our entire hall, decorated them horrifically, and delivered them (because we're old school). Some of my favorite designs were Brian's boat/dolphin, Jeff's jellyfish, and my state of Colorado.
Today is the day of the annual Beach Blast. This is UNCW's attempt at making the freshmen feel more at home and at making the upperclassmen happy with free pizza. Last year it was canceled and this year Tommy is threatening to drag me out there against my will to fraternize with Caswell folk. I'm not sure if I can handle a packed beach on a projected 99 degree day. That's like...hotter than my mouth. Who wants to hang out in that? Tomorrow classes start and I assume that my normal drone-like behavior will be restored as I learn to walk the same path to classes every day. I'm taking ten-TONS of English because I only need 2 more classes in film to graduate with that major. It's really cool that I'm still able to graduate in May but at the same time it's a little nerve-wracking to have so little room for mess-ups. Next year I don't know where I'll be. Perhaps I'll be standing on the deck of a Chinese freight ship, letting the wind whip my hair while watching the sun retreat on an infinite horizon.
Or maybe I'll work at the sketch zoo down the road and eat Doritos every day. Meh, who knows!?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
At the Ready
So, a couple of days ago I was standing on top of a historic fortress firing potatoes from a PVC cannon toward the ocean when it hit me. In less than a week I'll be leaving Caswell. After last summer, I really didn't know if I'd ever come back to the grounds that have - over the past six summers - literally and spiritually become home to me. It was a strange feeling, and this year it's even stranger because I know the chances of a return stay are even less plausible. In 2002 I rededicated my life to Christ here on the biggest spiritual high that I've ever had. In 2003 I grew up, learning what it was like to live away from home as a 17 year old. In 2004 I grew the confidence I needed socially and the strength I needed spiritually before heading into College. In 2005 I made some of the closest friends I've ever had. In 2006 I felt, with intensity, that God has bigger plans for my life than to settle. This year, I don't know what I've gained yet - I just fear I'll be loosing something amazing. A place where God is able to move through the people that so openly love him - where things aren't perfect, but enough of them are. I've laughed here, cried here, felt like the king of the world and the bottom of the barrel. I've cleaned over 60,000 sets of dinnerware, plunged more toilets than I care to remember, run lights for big bands and small bands. I've watched amazing speakers, eaten dinner with famous musicians, and learned the disinfecting value of bleach water. More than anything - I have worshipped God. In solitude on grassy hill and in unison with 70-some voices lifted to the sky on top of Vespers Fort. In my one summer as a camper and five as a staffer, I've experienced God's amazing love firsthand. For the rest of my life, no matter where He leads me, I'll never forget the place where he built me up and prepared my heart for the hardship and happiness of life in humble service to Him. I take great comfort in knowing that God is everywhere and life goes on with His calling, but this place will always stand out. I may leave, but Caswell leaves with me.
Friday, July 20, 2007
TAN hammah
If you're reading this, I just want you to know that I love you.
No, I'm not going to give the standard canned answer for why. "God has charged me to love all people." No, no - my reason is much more shallow than that. I just love you because you're one of the few people that's actually checked my blog. Over the past three years I've slowly stopped posting as often, and the post I do manage are, well, how do I put this gently so as not to harm my own ego...
well...they suck.
Some day I'm quite sure that I'll come back and look at what I've written going into my last year of college and every word of it will be something special that I'll use to ponder over the meaning of life in general. Well, ok, that's a stretch, but when I get to this point in the story of WilmingSloan, it's going to get a bit dry.
In response to the dryness of this recent blogging, I have decided to make up a story of relative excitement and relay it on here. If you're incredibly bored, you can pretend this really happened to me.
--
So the other day I was walking in downtown Wilmington (I get breaks from Caswell occasionally) and this ond man is sitting outside a cigar shop on Front Street. I was with a buddy of mine and the old man stops us both. He tells us that the store is closing down and they need to sell the rest of their stock. I tell him politely that I don't smoke but he just won't listen. Then he starts babbling about the Humo Uno. Finally, after calming him down, we get a solid explanation.
The Humo Uno is a mythical cigar, rolled by the very hand of Cuban Communism, Fidel Castro. He took lessons the early 70s and rolled 20 cigars. Of the 20, only one was deemed smoke-worthy, but no one had the...bolas...to smoke it, including Castro himself. It is said that the night it was rolled, a butler in Castro's palace who was a witch-doctor, cursed the cigar behind his master's back. Fidel had him killed, but kept the cigar in a safe, he was too scared to have it burned or destroyed in any way.
One day, Fidel was moving all of his valuables from safe to safe and they discovered that the Humo Uno was unaccounted for. Considering that the other priceless valuables Castro kept were left in place, he feared for the worst. Someone would use the Cigar and the curse would be let free on him.
28 years went by and no one heard anything about the Humo Uno. Slowly, it became a mere legend, only whispered about in hallways for fear of upsetting Castro. Finally, all people considered it lost.
Back to the old man. He was babbling the history of this cigar and finally he got to the point.
"My HOUSE!" he said, "They're going to take my house, I can't afford to keep this shop....I can't afford to keep - it any more. Please! Buy something, I'm desparate...I'll even sell you Humo Uno for...for...$20!"
Sensing the old man's knack for spinning a good yarn we snorted a little and turned away from him again.
"PLEASE! WAIT!" he said, "$5.00, I am making a mistake but I must do this!"
My friend and I looked at each other. 5 dollars seemed like a paltry price for a good laugh, and I considered it a worthy tip for such a good story, likely made up on the spot.
"All right," I said, "we'll take it."
He led us into the dark and dusty shop, through shelves of ancient carved mahogany and into a beautifully ornate glassed-in humidor room. To our surprise, he didn't slow down. When he reached the back corner he lifted a cigar box and pulled a lever hidden behind it. The back wall opened up and a staircase led down into a cellar as old as Front Street itself. He led. We followed. I heard the familiar click of a pull-string light bulb fixture and suddenly the staircase was illuminated. So was the basement. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Crates and crates of ancient cigar gear. It was like the last scene from Raider of the Lost Ark, only with cigar boxes. The old man moved to the back corner to a light green box with a quarter-inch chain and padlock around it. He took out a key and removed the binding. Mumbling something in spanish under his breath, he opened it. We feasted our eyes on the Humo Uno for the first time.
BLACK. Black like the heart of communism was the wrapper. The strong scent of life, death, and tobacco greeted us instantly. My eyes even teared up for a moment. Speechlessly, I paid him with a lincoln and took my prize.
On the way back, we considered not lighting it. It did have an aura about it, maybe the old man was telling the truth? Staring at it made me dizzy. I couldn't think straight. It was as if it wanted to be smoked. In a daze I laughed it off.
"Yeah, right," I said, "The old man puts a new cigar right back in that box every time and waits for another gullible pair to walk by."
I held it up in the orange glow of the setting sun that poured in through the windshield and spun it on my fingertips.
"Let's smoke it."
Back on Oak Island we picked a random beach access to smoke at. The night was freshly fallen as we clamored over the dunes. We tossed our sneakers off, made our way to a driftwood log and had a seat. My buddy pulled out a silver butane lighter that he kept in his glove compartment. We looked at each other, then at the cigar in my trembling hand. I heard the metal and flit strike, then the hiss of the butane gas. I punched out the back with the help of it's blue light. Slowly, I placed the it between my lips and watched as the flame came closer to the end of the Humo Uno. Those couple of seconds seemed to stretch on for hours as I waited for the fire to hit and the slow glowing of the tip to signal that the time had come.
TO BE CONTINUED
No, I'm not going to give the standard canned answer for why. "God has charged me to love all people." No, no - my reason is much more shallow than that. I just love you because you're one of the few people that's actually checked my blog. Over the past three years I've slowly stopped posting as often, and the post I do manage are, well, how do I put this gently so as not to harm my own ego...
well...they suck.
Some day I'm quite sure that I'll come back and look at what I've written going into my last year of college and every word of it will be something special that I'll use to ponder over the meaning of life in general. Well, ok, that's a stretch, but when I get to this point in the story of WilmingSloan, it's going to get a bit dry.
In response to the dryness of this recent blogging, I have decided to make up a story of relative excitement and relay it on here. If you're incredibly bored, you can pretend this really happened to me.
--
So the other day I was walking in downtown Wilmington (I get breaks from Caswell occasionally) and this ond man is sitting outside a cigar shop on Front Street. I was with a buddy of mine and the old man stops us both. He tells us that the store is closing down and they need to sell the rest of their stock. I tell him politely that I don't smoke but he just won't listen. Then he starts babbling about the Humo Uno. Finally, after calming him down, we get a solid explanation.
The Humo Uno is a mythical cigar, rolled by the very hand of Cuban Communism, Fidel Castro. He took lessons the early 70s and rolled 20 cigars. Of the 20, only one was deemed smoke-worthy, but no one had the...bolas...to smoke it, including Castro himself. It is said that the night it was rolled, a butler in Castro's palace who was a witch-doctor, cursed the cigar behind his master's back. Fidel had him killed, but kept the cigar in a safe, he was too scared to have it burned or destroyed in any way.
One day, Fidel was moving all of his valuables from safe to safe and they discovered that the Humo Uno was unaccounted for. Considering that the other priceless valuables Castro kept were left in place, he feared for the worst. Someone would use the Cigar and the curse would be let free on him.
28 years went by and no one heard anything about the Humo Uno. Slowly, it became a mere legend, only whispered about in hallways for fear of upsetting Castro. Finally, all people considered it lost.
Back to the old man. He was babbling the history of this cigar and finally he got to the point.
"My HOUSE!" he said, "They're going to take my house, I can't afford to keep this shop....I can't afford to keep - it any more. Please! Buy something, I'm desparate...I'll even sell you Humo Uno for...for...$20!"
Sensing the old man's knack for spinning a good yarn we snorted a little and turned away from him again.
"PLEASE! WAIT!" he said, "$5.00, I am making a mistake but I must do this!"
My friend and I looked at each other. 5 dollars seemed like a paltry price for a good laugh, and I considered it a worthy tip for such a good story, likely made up on the spot.
"All right," I said, "we'll take it."
He led us into the dark and dusty shop, through shelves of ancient carved mahogany and into a beautifully ornate glassed-in humidor room. To our surprise, he didn't slow down. When he reached the back corner he lifted a cigar box and pulled a lever hidden behind it. The back wall opened up and a staircase led down into a cellar as old as Front Street itself. He led. We followed. I heard the familiar click of a pull-string light bulb fixture and suddenly the staircase was illuminated. So was the basement. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Crates and crates of ancient cigar gear. It was like the last scene from Raider of the Lost Ark, only with cigar boxes. The old man moved to the back corner to a light green box with a quarter-inch chain and padlock around it. He took out a key and removed the binding. Mumbling something in spanish under his breath, he opened it. We feasted our eyes on the Humo Uno for the first time.
BLACK. Black like the heart of communism was the wrapper. The strong scent of life, death, and tobacco greeted us instantly. My eyes even teared up for a moment. Speechlessly, I paid him with a lincoln and took my prize.
On the way back, we considered not lighting it. It did have an aura about it, maybe the old man was telling the truth? Staring at it made me dizzy. I couldn't think straight. It was as if it wanted to be smoked. In a daze I laughed it off.
"Yeah, right," I said, "The old man puts a new cigar right back in that box every time and waits for another gullible pair to walk by."
I held it up in the orange glow of the setting sun that poured in through the windshield and spun it on my fingertips.
"Let's smoke it."
Back on Oak Island we picked a random beach access to smoke at. The night was freshly fallen as we clamored over the dunes. We tossed our sneakers off, made our way to a driftwood log and had a seat. My buddy pulled out a silver butane lighter that he kept in his glove compartment. We looked at each other, then at the cigar in my trembling hand. I heard the metal and flit strike, then the hiss of the butane gas. I punched out the back with the help of it's blue light. Slowly, I placed the it between my lips and watched as the flame came closer to the end of the Humo Uno. Those couple of seconds seemed to stretch on for hours as I waited for the fire to hit and the slow glowing of the tip to signal that the time had come.
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, July 09, 2007
Itchy Itchy!
I'm having so much fun it's hard for me to find time to post!!!
So I finally came back to it.
Here is what has happened.
My cousin got married and the ceremony was wonderful. Now I have to edit everything together for her wich should prove interesting. Hopefully I'll get that done soon.
Caswell keeps on rolling. Today marks the halfway point of the summer. WOO HOO!
I got bit by fire ants 17 times. YAAAY
So now you're pretty much caught up. God bless you all!
So I finally came back to it.
Here is what has happened.
My cousin got married and the ceremony was wonderful. Now I have to edit everything together for her wich should prove interesting. Hopefully I'll get that done soon.
Caswell keeps on rolling. Today marks the halfway point of the summer. WOO HOO!
I got bit by fire ants 17 times. YAAAY
So now you're pretty much caught up. God bless you all!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Extra-Wide Masking Tape Journals
Well it's been a long, long time. For me, anyway.
I about to finish up my second week of guest services work here at Caswell and it looks like it's going to be a good summer. I like the staff and I especially like the guys that I'm working with in the Reception Center. It's been so good to get back to the most beautiful place on Earth and focus on God and what he's done in my life.
If you look through the past years of this blog you'll notice that in the summers my posting count drops off dramatically. I have no doubt that this summer will follow suit. It's not that I run out of stuff to talk about in the summer, oh no, quite the contrary. I have so much going on that it would exhaust me to write about it all.
Just so that this post isn't entirely lame I will share one snippet about my summer for my friends outside of Caswell and for my own benefit when I'm old and can't remember these details anymore.
I'm in room 8 with Joey Waters, Jason Webb, Jay Washburn, and David Helms. Because of the way our shifts rotate, one of the guest services guys (which excludes David) will be sleeping in the RC all night. There are only 25 or so guys on staff and a whopping 47 or so girls. We have a LOT of room on the guy’s hall and compared to summers past I feel like I could hold a roller-disco in our room and still have room for a snack table.
...
One can only dream.
I get called in to do all types of stuff in this job, like unlock doors, provide first aid materials, and, of course, plunge those toilets. I got my first toilet call two days ago, oh boy! Well, someone has to do it and knowing that my job does it's little tiny part in keeping the camp running gives me a pretty decent sense of pride. I've experienced first hand the blessings that come out of this camp so it is pretty cool to see the people that are experiencing as I do my job.
Well, that's all for now. I just got a call to relieve the security guard so that he can relieve himself. TOOTLES!
I about to finish up my second week of guest services work here at Caswell and it looks like it's going to be a good summer. I like the staff and I especially like the guys that I'm working with in the Reception Center. It's been so good to get back to the most beautiful place on Earth and focus on God and what he's done in my life.
If you look through the past years of this blog you'll notice that in the summers my posting count drops off dramatically. I have no doubt that this summer will follow suit. It's not that I run out of stuff to talk about in the summer, oh no, quite the contrary. I have so much going on that it would exhaust me to write about it all.
Just so that this post isn't entirely lame I will share one snippet about my summer for my friends outside of Caswell and for my own benefit when I'm old and can't remember these details anymore.
I'm in room 8 with Joey Waters, Jason Webb, Jay Washburn, and David Helms. Because of the way our shifts rotate, one of the guest services guys (which excludes David) will be sleeping in the RC all night. There are only 25 or so guys on staff and a whopping 47 or so girls. We have a LOT of room on the guy’s hall and compared to summers past I feel like I could hold a roller-disco in our room and still have room for a snack table.
...
One can only dream.
I get called in to do all types of stuff in this job, like unlock doors, provide first aid materials, and, of course, plunge those toilets. I got my first toilet call two days ago, oh boy! Well, someone has to do it and knowing that my job does it's little tiny part in keeping the camp running gives me a pretty decent sense of pride. I've experienced first hand the blessings that come out of this camp so it is pretty cool to see the people that are experiencing as I do my job.
Well, that's all for now. I just got a call to relieve the security guard so that he can relieve himself. TOOTLES!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Aquafinale
ORDER!
Back in December I got a lovely letter from the office of the Sheriff of Johnston County informing me that I had to go serve some jury duty. Well, Dad pulled some strings and got me deferred because I had to head back to school. I was deferred to May of this year and my second letter came letting me know that I hadn't gotten off that easily.
I went in expecting to get thrown into the heat of some saucy case of ex-lover vs. ex-lover: a battle for control of the above ground outdoor pool that both of us claim to have exclusivly won from that radio station givaway. Rather than a dramatic dispute over who was responsible for the correct answer of "REO Speedwagon," however, I simply got oathed in and watched a short film about the honor of being a juror.
This film made me pine for a couple of house of QVC or Telemundo in its stead. I'd like to let the director know that incorperating moving camera in almost every shot, does not = profesionally produced film. Rather it equals, wow, I can see how horrid this film is from 45-50 obnoxiously different angles.
It didn't last too long, and I was on my merry way home with instructions to call a number later on that would tell me if I had to come back. What do you know?! I did. The next day I walked into the jury pool room, a windoless box about the size of your high school English classroom. Only, this time, there were about 60 people in there. Fighting for air I took a seat inbetween two older gentlemen that looked strikingly similar. One of them had gray facial hair, the other, obviously colored brown. The man on my right was apparenly not discouraged from missing work as he brought it with him. The room was utterly silent as he powered up his laptop and and went all typety away on a spredsheet. I didn't know people actually used Microsoft Excel. Learn something new every day. The man on my left was reading what appeared to be a political novel by an aspiring Tom Clancy wannabe. What I really remember about him, though, is his heavy mouth-breating through gum chewing. It's a very distinctive sound. When I here it I think of doctors or people like that.
Now, while I'm on the subject of this room I have to go off on a bit of a side rant. What the crap is wrong with cell phone companies? I can think of two main instances when one might want to turn off there cell phone.
1) To save power while recharging.
2) To avoid calling attention to oneself in a quiet setting.
Now, neither of these scenarios calls for the cell phone to spontaniously burst into dramatic fanfare. "BLEEPITY BLEEEEEP BLEEEP BLEEEEEEEEP!" Yet, every time I turn my phone off to avoid being a distraction in a quiet place, I forget that it wants to blast a little salsa or a jazz solo just before powering down. ARGH!
After waiting next to Mr. Excel and Darth Minty for about an hour the baliff came in and led us into the old courtroom in Smithfield. Wow, what a beautiful building. I didn't know Johnston county could have such elegance. I must admit, I was ginuinly looking forward to getting assigned to a case and doing my civic duty, but when the Judge read out the names of the plantiff and defendant, I was in for a surprise. I knew the defendant...oh well. When the plantiff's lawyer asked me if I knew him and I told him, yep, pretty much all my life, I was politly excused from the courtroom. Oh well, can win 'em all I suppose. Good luck person I know that I can't reveal!
And that was my adventure in Jury land. I'm safe for two years but who knows if I get called back. If I had to say one thing that I learned, it's that most trials do not last an afternoon, which is what I thought after watching several episodes of Law and Order.
Today is National Marinate Your Pet Day. DON'T FORGET!!!
Back in December I got a lovely letter from the office of the Sheriff of Johnston County informing me that I had to go serve some jury duty. Well, Dad pulled some strings and got me deferred because I had to head back to school. I was deferred to May of this year and my second letter came letting me know that I hadn't gotten off that easily.
I went in expecting to get thrown into the heat of some saucy case of ex-lover vs. ex-lover: a battle for control of the above ground outdoor pool that both of us claim to have exclusivly won from that radio station givaway. Rather than a dramatic dispute over who was responsible for the correct answer of "REO Speedwagon," however, I simply got oathed in and watched a short film about the honor of being a juror.
This film made me pine for a couple of house of QVC or Telemundo in its stead. I'd like to let the director know that incorperating moving camera in almost every shot, does not = profesionally produced film. Rather it equals, wow, I can see how horrid this film is from 45-50 obnoxiously different angles.
It didn't last too long, and I was on my merry way home with instructions to call a number later on that would tell me if I had to come back. What do you know?! I did. The next day I walked into the jury pool room, a windoless box about the size of your high school English classroom. Only, this time, there were about 60 people in there. Fighting for air I took a seat inbetween two older gentlemen that looked strikingly similar. One of them had gray facial hair, the other, obviously colored brown. The man on my right was apparenly not discouraged from missing work as he brought it with him. The room was utterly silent as he powered up his laptop and and went all typety away on a spredsheet. I didn't know people actually used Microsoft Excel. Learn something new every day. The man on my left was reading what appeared to be a political novel by an aspiring Tom Clancy wannabe. What I really remember about him, though, is his heavy mouth-breating through gum chewing. It's a very distinctive sound. When I here it I think of doctors or people like that.
Now, while I'm on the subject of this room I have to go off on a bit of a side rant. What the crap is wrong with cell phone companies? I can think of two main instances when one might want to turn off there cell phone.
1) To save power while recharging.
2) To avoid calling attention to oneself in a quiet setting.
Now, neither of these scenarios calls for the cell phone to spontaniously burst into dramatic fanfare. "BLEEPITY BLEEEEEP BLEEEP BLEEEEEEEEP!" Yet, every time I turn my phone off to avoid being a distraction in a quiet place, I forget that it wants to blast a little salsa or a jazz solo just before powering down. ARGH!
After waiting next to Mr. Excel and Darth Minty for about an hour the baliff came in and led us into the old courtroom in Smithfield. Wow, what a beautiful building. I didn't know Johnston county could have such elegance. I must admit, I was ginuinly looking forward to getting assigned to a case and doing my civic duty, but when the Judge read out the names of the plantiff and defendant, I was in for a surprise. I knew the defendant...oh well. When the plantiff's lawyer asked me if I knew him and I told him, yep, pretty much all my life, I was politly excused from the courtroom. Oh well, can win 'em all I suppose. Good luck person I know that I can't reveal!
And that was my adventure in Jury land. I'm safe for two years but who knows if I get called back. If I had to say one thing that I learned, it's that most trials do not last an afternoon, which is what I thought after watching several episodes of Law and Order.
Today is National Marinate Your Pet Day. DON'T FORGET!!!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Ben Gibbard at Cat's Cradle
I love The Postal Service and Death Cab for Cutie so when I heard the frontman for both of those bands was doing a solo tour and coming to The Cat's Cradle in Carrboro, NC, I snatched up a ticket quickly.
This is the third time I've seen Ben live (the other two being when he was on tour with Death Cab in 05-06). I walked in and found a spot on the floor. MUCH smaller venue than either of the other two and I'm pretty sure I got closer to the stage than I was at Disco Rodeo. A lot of excitment - and three hours of standing followed.
At times I was left to wonder if Cat's Cradle was actually up to code. If you've ever been there you know what I'm talking about. This is the first venue I've ever seen that is, literally, part of a strip mall. It's situated next to a video rental store at the very end. The big red tour bus took up 3/4 of the parking log. Ok, not really, but it looked very out of place.
The coolest thing about this concert was the interactivity between the artists and the audience. Both times that I saw Death Cab there was a large crowd and no one really said much. This time each artist talked and had little conversations with the audience. Had I said "I like your shirt Ben," he probably would have said "Why, thank you." I didn't speak up but Ben chatted with other audience members, told some funny stories about a guy who had stalked him since he arrived, and paused for a poleroid photo-op between songs. Each of the opening acts was up for about 30 minutes and Ben played for a little over an hour. Everyone was fun, energetic, and in a great mood. Well worth the $22.50 I paid to get in.
Below is a video of his opening song, a cover of some sort that he then used to transition into "Brand New Colony," a Postal Service piece. I love Death Cab but seeing Ben perform 3 Postal Service songs was the highlight for me since he so rarely gets the chance to perform them. I was a fan of Postal Service before I had ever listened to any of his other stuff. In addition to this video I took a short clip from his performance of "Carolina," a song from his solo ep which he said he had never played live before. Pretty obvious why he picked it. I missed this part, but right after the clip finishes he changed the last chorus to "North Carolina waits for me." Woot.
`
Sorry for the crappy sound quality. It's a Kodak still camera.
This is the third time I've seen Ben live (the other two being when he was on tour with Death Cab in 05-06). I walked in and found a spot on the floor. MUCH smaller venue than either of the other two and I'm pretty sure I got closer to the stage than I was at Disco Rodeo. A lot of excitment - and three hours of standing followed.
At times I was left to wonder if Cat's Cradle was actually up to code. If you've ever been there you know what I'm talking about. This is the first venue I've ever seen that is, literally, part of a strip mall. It's situated next to a video rental store at the very end. The big red tour bus took up 3/4 of the parking log. Ok, not really, but it looked very out of place.
The coolest thing about this concert was the interactivity between the artists and the audience. Both times that I saw Death Cab there was a large crowd and no one really said much. This time each artist talked and had little conversations with the audience. Had I said "I like your shirt Ben," he probably would have said "Why, thank you." I didn't speak up but Ben chatted with other audience members, told some funny stories about a guy who had stalked him since he arrived, and paused for a poleroid photo-op between songs. Each of the opening acts was up for about 30 minutes and Ben played for a little over an hour. Everyone was fun, energetic, and in a great mood. Well worth the $22.50 I paid to get in.
Below is a video of his opening song, a cover of some sort that he then used to transition into "Brand New Colony," a Postal Service piece. I love Death Cab but seeing Ben perform 3 Postal Service songs was the highlight for me since he so rarely gets the chance to perform them. I was a fan of Postal Service before I had ever listened to any of his other stuff. In addition to this video I took a short clip from his performance of "Carolina," a song from his solo ep which he said he had never played live before. Pretty obvious why he picked it. I missed this part, but right after the clip finishes he changed the last chorus to "North Carolina waits for me." Woot.
`
I saw Ben Gibbard on his solo tour May 11th at the Cat's Cradle in Carrboro, NC. Finally, I got to hear some postal service songs! Forgive the HORRID sound quality.
Sorry for the crappy sound quality. It's a Kodak still camera.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Tootsie Roll...
I like those little birds that run away from the waves at the ocean. Every time I see them I imagine them saying "CRAP CRAP CRAP, HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE, CRAP CRAP CRAP!!!
It makes me laugh.
I love the Squirrels on this campus, too. They act so parinoid. You'll see a couple playing around a tree and then they'll spot you and stick their heads out from the other side, as if to say, "W..w...what's he doing, Eddie? What's up? Is he, CRAP, he just made eye contact...I think we're screwed, Eddie!"
It makes me laugh.
It makes me laugh.
I love the Squirrels on this campus, too. They act so parinoid. You'll see a couple playing around a tree and then they'll spot you and stick their heads out from the other side, as if to say, "W..w...what's he doing, Eddie? What's up? Is he, CRAP, he just made eye contact...I think we're screwed, Eddie!"
It makes me laugh.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Semi-Silly Morsels
I'm tired.
Physically my butt is aching like no one's business, something that happened due to bowling the other night (I'm still trying to understand how), but it stems further than that. I'm tired of a lot of things. For instance, I have very little to do the rest of this semester. I woke up at 12:30, shuffled around for four hours, went out with friends, ate dinner, watched a movie, ate again, and then got ready for bed. I could have easily done all of my work and I did none. I'm lazy and I'm sick of it.
Part of me wants to remedy this with something like a skill, or trade. I'm studying Film and English, so why not write about film on this blog? If I think hard enough I'm sure I can amalgamate the nonsensical humor that is at the very core of this blog with some deep, observational commentary on film or life or, better yet, God. Then again, is that really the change I need? I don't think so. I think the change I need is a change that a lot of people need. Right there in front of every 20-something semi-adult is an incredible opportunity to better the world and impact everything around us forever. Making a big impact with your life is really just consistantly making small impacts when you get right down to it. All I have to do is wake up and say, "Im'll do it." I want to do it and I have a God that I think will show me what I should do, no matter how mundane or futile it may seem at the time. I'm going to extend the helping hand to my fellow man, pray continuously, build God's kingdom and give Him the Glory. I'll seize the moment before it's too late, studying everything I need to know and getting experience where I'm lacking. When I wake up I will make a difference - the difference that we all have it within us to make if we would just abandon the comfort of the ordinary and embrace the hardship of the extraordinary. I am going to do it.
Or will I?
I guess we'll find out tomorrow.
Physically my butt is aching like no one's business, something that happened due to bowling the other night (I'm still trying to understand how), but it stems further than that. I'm tired of a lot of things. For instance, I have very little to do the rest of this semester. I woke up at 12:30, shuffled around for four hours, went out with friends, ate dinner, watched a movie, ate again, and then got ready for bed. I could have easily done all of my work and I did none. I'm lazy and I'm sick of it.
Part of me wants to remedy this with something like a skill, or trade. I'm studying Film and English, so why not write about film on this blog? If I think hard enough I'm sure I can amalgamate the nonsensical humor that is at the very core of this blog with some deep, observational commentary on film or life or, better yet, God. Then again, is that really the change I need? I don't think so. I think the change I need is a change that a lot of people need. Right there in front of every 20-something semi-adult is an incredible opportunity to better the world and impact everything around us forever. Making a big impact with your life is really just consistantly making small impacts when you get right down to it. All I have to do is wake up and say, "Im'll do it." I want to do it and I have a God that I think will show me what I should do, no matter how mundane or futile it may seem at the time. I'm going to extend the helping hand to my fellow man, pray continuously, build God's kingdom and give Him the Glory. I'll seize the moment before it's too late, studying everything I need to know and getting experience where I'm lacking. When I wake up I will make a difference - the difference that we all have it within us to make if we would just abandon the comfort of the ordinary and embrace the hardship of the extraordinary. I am going to do it.
Or will I?
I guess we'll find out tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
