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.
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