As I Go

I walked around campus today. The wind playfully tickled my neck as I took notice of the quickly falling leaves. Not many still stubbornly clung to the trees, leaving them looking like skeletons against the crisp blue sky. I remember I hugged myself, feeling a twinge of nostalgia; I always feel random twinges of nostalgia in November. It's the time of year, the changing temperatures bringing life-giving death and so many of us bundle into ourselves, hiding beneath our layers. I feel safer and sadder. But it's a familiar feeling, and I find comfort in the still green grass reaching their small necks toward a faraway sun. I paused beneath a grove of trees, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I felt more alive when I hid within the shadows of the arms and fingers of those sleeping giants. And then I plunged ahead, into the deceitful sunlight and let it weave it's golden rays into my hair.

Beloved Huskers, Oh How We Miss Them

I know it has been awhile since I have written a blog, but there are some things on my mind. The first of which is the recent Husker performances. (In case you didn't know, I'm a huge husker fan). I'm not talking about this year or even the past few years, but since the last national championship. Tom Osborne's last year, the last year of glory. Many people have been expressing their disappointment in this season's husker team by comparing them to those we grew up with. The early 70's, the early 70's, the entire decade of the 90's. The last three generations have witnessed some of the best games in college football history. What do I think about this comparison? I think it's stupid. I think it's wishful thinking and not going to do anything but "demoralize the troops." However, I do think that these feelings are valid.

The problems lie in the leadership of the team. Whether that is on the player level, the coaching, or the athletic department (heck why stop there--someone else is always responsible), the problem lies in the blatant lack of emotion shown in all levels of management. Although flashes of brilliance have shone here and there this season, there is obviously no heart to this team, no fire. Maybe it's cliche to quote a movie, but in "We Are Marshall," it is stated that winning is all that matters. This is completely true. And, especially on the coaching level, one can see that each game is just a step leading, well, no one seems to know where. Winning becomes virtually irrelevant, and the comments we see are along the lines of "we made mistakes, but our boys played pretty good." Blah. Matt Davison nailed it on the head when he spoke about Nebraska's lack of passion during the Missouri game this year.

Winning is everything. Telling yourself that "it's just a game" or "as long as they have fun..." is a joke. With how much college football generates, money is a convincing enough argument for winning but to suggest otherwise is a delusion. Who heads out on the field on football Saturday in front of almost 100,000 and isn't thinking that they will do everything in their power to win? In college football, a player that is recruited is playing for four years and then he moves on with his life. Whatever road he may take, a college football career is a stepping stone for him, but not for the coach and not for the school; they are the constants. For a student to be made a mere step (in a path that is becoming increasingly longer and more obscure) is disgustingly wrong. I hope for all our sakes that someone wises up and, whether it's through new coaches, staff, players, or mindsets, the Huskers can continue along the path set 117 years ago; the arduous task of an ongoing winning tradition.

Summer

It's been awhile, but not without good reason. Not only was a busy with a summer job and summer classes, but I have been writing a lot and recently have been working on one particular project. Often life throws distractions in our faces, and blogging and surfing the net aren't priorities for awhile. Hopefully, now that the fall semester is starting soon, I'll be more attentive. Keep checking back!

sighing takes lung capacity

It's been a long sigh, old friend.

You're probably wondering what I've been up to. Well, for one, I've found that other peoples' happiness is really quite lovely. I'm so glad my friends are getting married. Now if they could just stay that way, and without the rugrats. No no, I'm kidding. They can be separate things, though. Enough of that. No lectures from me. I love kiddos. I also love freedom. Hey!

It's been perfect skate weather, and I haven't even annoyed my neighbors lately. It's a very sad fact that I'd like to change. Maybe I'll head out tonight, before the rain comes. Maybe tomorrow. Summer classes started today, as did the usual screw-over with student bills and things of that sort. It goes with the learning. Balance, and such.

My new favorite song has this title:
The Unwinding Cable Car
Followed closely by:
There Is No Mathematics To Love And Loss (I just like the lengthy-ness of the title)


Both are by Anberlin. A favorite band of mine. They like to write a bunch of words and then make them fit into great melodies that are supported ever so delicately with walls of ethereal lead lines and harmonious harmonies. See what I did right there? I was redundant. Sorry. It just came out that way.

Name Me!

An event of hilarious proportions has slipped in between the birthday celebrations and finals week. Nathan and I have been on the lookout for a new car for awhile now, but not very actively. When my cousin offered to sell us his 1995 Neon for $80, we jumped on it. While it doesn't look like much, it actually runs quite well and has new tires, brakes, etc. It wasn't until a few days later we had one of those morning after moments. It took a lot of clorox, armorall, a couple seat covers, two kinds of air fresheners, and a deep, deep vacuuming session to start the bonding process. Now I need a name. The car definitely looks pissed off, you wanna see? Here's a pic:


So any ideas?

ohhh

I bought a method brand omop. I wanted to begin to use products that are green. I wanted to become a greener person for my world. And in case you didn't know, omop is an environmentally safe mop, made by method, which is a company that uses environmentally safe products...like the soap for the floor and the microfiber mop pad, also like detergent and shower cleaners and even candles and such. Anyway, I bought it in dreams of having a floor that was worth using it on. A floor that would shine my reflection back at me as I gazed longingly at it....but alas. My kitchen floor is hardly wide enough for the mop. In fact, it's a lot easier to just scrub the floor on my hands and knees. As I do so, Omop sits in the corner, watching, waiting. And as I get out the clorox and other various cleaners, he silently sobs in despair. If only my floor was worthy of him.



Here is the tagline that sold me:


"Making floors friendly to kids, pets, and white tube socks. This omop starter kit contains everything you need to take care of all the floors you love."

The problem, friend, is that I have no kids, my dog can't live with me (sadly, no pets aloud), and I know I don't own any tube socks. (sidenote: I hate socks) The beautiful wood floor in the picture? Not mine. And even if I did have all those things, I don't love my floor. My world, yes, but not my floor. Maybe someday, I'll have enough money to save said beloved world. But until then, its hands and knees and clorox products I use on my dreadful few square feet of linoleum.

Great Minds.....haha

Sometimes, at your darkest, most honest moments, you know you are crazy. But then, if this is true, what is crazy? Crazy=Normal.


Back me down from backing up
Hold your breath now it's stacking up
Etched with marks, but I can deal
And you're the problem and you can't feel
Try this on, straitjacket feeling
so maybe I won't be alone
Take back now, my life you're stealing


Trust you is just one defense
off a list of others, you don't make sense
Beg me time and time again
to take you back now, but you can't win
Take back now, my life you're stealing


Yesterday was hell
But today I'm fine without you
Runaway this time without you
And all I ever thought you'd be
That face is tearing holes in me again
but today I'm fine without you
Runaway this time without you
And all the things you put me through
I'm holding on by letting go of you


And when the memory slips away
There will be a better view from here
And only lonesome you remains
and just the thought of you I fear
it falls away


~This is why I love All-American Rejects. I'm not alone.

puzzling as life is

It's been a few days. I started a book study...something to do with emotional health. I'm glad I get to do it with the people I get to do it with, but it's not what I would've chosen to read for myself. Maybe that's a good thing though.

Anyway, I've had a lot on my mind lately. I feel as though there's literally a ginormous block of hickory wood balanced on my head. It hurts mostly at night, when I am laying down, and there's nothing to support my neck. At least it smells good.

Something different...I've been dealing with this love-hate relationship between me and polka-dots. Sometimes I really get them. They are so great, and I want them all around me. But most of the time they are annoying and I need to escape them, but I can't. They are in everything, if you look close enough. And I do.

Do you ever feel like you live your life as though someone were writing it? All of my thoughts have tag lines, it read this out loud, or better yet think it:
She thought to herself, "I wonder which way is faster?" and then she took the left sidewalk, because she hadn't taken it before.
That is how I think. So maybe I should become a writer. Maybe that is how writers think. But maybe not. Maybe I am just a little strange, a little weird. The best part is when I listen to my ipod and my personal theme music swells as I make my decision to take a new path. And although I'm surrounded by people, not one of them has a clue.

Thought Implants for Blogs

In reference to below, the little diver in yonder picture shall be me someday. Swimmin' with the fishes, as they say. No, not as a murder victim, no no. There's oxygen on my back, for my lungs. This is a picture straight out of my mind. History, earth's last frontier, and swimming shall come together in my last ditch effort to accomplish something in my allotment. On earth. Big e. Pay no attention to the copyright at the bottom of the picture. It means nothing.

Beware: Random Blog

Explore. The. World. In. All. Its. Grandeur. And. Complexities. And. Infinite. Possibilities.

i need an adventure in my life. i'm thinking of just up and going to alaska to become a crab-fisherwoman. if that doesn't work out, then maybe i'll just go to the black forest where the secret dwarf of doodles lives and he will grant me the power to doodle my way into the white house where i shall decree that all men and women shall take every third day off to learn how to become professional snowboarding delivery people so that everyone gets their mail, after all, it's hard to deliver that mail in the mountains, especially the alps. but i've never been. sometimes when you brew the stars on a clear night, heaven speaks its secrets, and only then can one clear up their foot fungus. i like bikes. soon i shall become the first woman to ever ride one.

Elevator Parade

I ride an elevator at least twice a day, and it seems that every time the lift stops on an unintended floor everyone on that floor stops what they are doing to stare at me. As if I am on parade and please, please look at the decorations! I spent a lot of time on them. I feel a bit stiff, as if I am probably one of the big floats with lots of streamers. And there must be something ridiculous about the colors or sounds or way I move, because until those doors slide ever so slowly closed, I am the object of countless people's attention. Of course, the elevator parade only lasts for a few seconds.

Here's a picture of what I may look like (on any given week day of course) to strange men and/or women when the elevator door slides open:


And here's what an elevator looks like: (don't let today's posers fool you, this is the real thing)

In case you were wondering, these happen to be the original plans for the safety elevator (not related to the safety dance, which I'm sure was what you were thinking.) It is very old, so be careful with it.

mmmmm...Cheerios

I'm supposed to be writing an assignment, but all I can think about is Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Here's a picture of them in all their glory:

I'm also drinking apple juice, which I think enhances the natural apple-y essence in Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, while not drowning out the oaky cinnamon flavors that are subtly in each "o."

I should probably go write that paper....

You Catch, We Cook???

Being from Nebraska, I've never been much of a seafood eater. I've always been astounded that there are people out there who very choosily pick out their live prey from a tank and then sit quietly while the poor creature is boiled alive. Then they feast. Must be good eatin'.

light bulbs and love

Last week I went to Love Library and spent hours finding the perfect books for my anthro term paper. I thought of how responsible it was of me, and how I was going to get a head start on it during spring break.

...

So now I'm sitting here wondering why I left all my library books for my term paper (due next week) in a friend's dorm room, which is closed until Sunday. I'm pretty sure that means I'll have another sleepless night trying to be brilliant in a hurry. I'll probably look like this...except I am shorter, with longer hair and other notable differences....and I shall only be juggling light bulbs figuratively.

nonsensical thoughts laid in gold

I had this profound thought today. Maybe it's something not so epiphinatical (word?) to others, but it was pretty huge for me. I realized that I am different. That there is this astounding, pounding passion inside my body that is very vehemently and most recently, violently trying to get out. I see so many different colors, I hear so many colorful sounds. They fuse together and make my heart want to burst. I can't imagine going through life without it. What a mundane existence. I can see people as if they are putting off these colors and sounds, and even view my life in the past like that. I can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices, in their very breath. Emotions are the life-blood of a poetic soul. Of a musician. And sitting here blogging and listening to this music makes me want to get up and start walking towards something great and terrible at the same time. But I have no idea where to go or what to do.

I can't even imagine sleeping right now. My mind is like a machine that won't turn off. Clinking and grinding...it's loud! There's no way I could ignore this THING inside of me.

first at last

So I'm finally blogging. Everyone take note. I can be found elsewhere online, but prepare to hear random bubblings of my inner soul and such other things as can only be found here at rubbernecked.blogspot.com. I'm a traveler of ideas, an inquisitive soul. Yo.