I sat in a restaurant today with dim lighting, and the entire time I felt dazed from the half-light, like my eyes were only half open, even though I knew they were wide open, and the red light filled my eyes. A friend recently told me that in films they use fake blood, and it is referred to as "red"--not blood. It is the viewer that interprets the red as blood, and it's interesting to me and I can't stop thinking about it. So I sat there, in that booth, and I wanted to know why I wasn't seeing blood, in that red light. Or here, in the coffee shop. Why aren't the walls covered in blood to me? They are just red.
Or if you go the other way, why do things that I know aren't real feel so real and tangible? Abstract things? The thought takes me places that I can't quite grasp yet. Why doesn't blood, or other real things, like the black lamp in front of me, represent something else? Why am I not seeing death or depression? Is it because it is a lamp? My mind is one giant knot. Maybe i just need to know the difference between an adjective and a noun.
17 February 2009
12 February 2009
It's Tough Cookies, that is, Telling a Tale
The Jacket
A man walked into the bookstore wearing a bomber jacket with a soft fur lining on the collar. He wore a cap pulled low enough that no one could see his eyes. He sat down in the back row, far away from the woman standing at the front. She stiffened as he walked through the door, and when he sat, she turned her back. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath, steadying herself. She turned back around, her eyes meeting those only in the front row, and proceeded to give a presentation of the book she’d recently written.
The book was about a young woman on a journey of self-discovery. These kinds of books were all the rage, and upon writing it, she found that it was highly marketable. Lots of money flooded in, and the woman found herself in a pickle. Making lots of money drew attention, you see, but she didn’t want that. It was nice to buy the best clothing and have a big condo in the middle of the city, but it wasn’t the motivation for writing. That was internal, a driving force that had to be answered, lest she die.
Now the woman felt silly. What was the big deal? So a strange man was sitting in the back in a bomber jacket. There are a lot of bomber jackets out there. Those were all the rage, too. She decided not to panic, and instead finished her presentation and proceeded to the table that had been set up especially for her. One task at a time. There were two plastic bottles of water on the table, a desk light, and a couple of stacks of books, all with a blonde woman on the cover.
The blonde woman on the cover looked free, with her arms outstretched and a triumphant smile on her face, her eyes almost closed. The wind was blowing her hair, and the title was above her hair, in flowing, happy letters. To the author, the woman was a representation of what she had been searching for the past two years. And what she thought she had found. But no, she couldn’t let her mind wander into doubting herself. She was the strong woman on the cover, the woman on the pages.
The woman sat down, focusing on each autograph, and ignoring the nagging sense of foreboding in her head. She focused on the picture of the happy woman on the cover of each book laid before her. She opened each cover, signed a note to each name written on a small, white piece of paper inside, and handed them back, without looking at the adoring fans in front of her. After a couple of hours, the line diminished, and eventually everyone was content and gone. The woman looked around anxiously, but didn’t see the man wearing the jacket, and so she sighed a breathe of relief and packed up her belongings into a canvas bag.
As the woman walked toward the door, a face across the street caught her eye. Her breath caught in her chest and her hand grabbed her neck. She took one step back, then another, her eyes locked with his. It was the man in the bomber jacket, minus the jacket. For two long seconds, she stared into those eyes, and felt captivated once more. No one else had eyes like these. Her heartbeat resumed as a large dump truck broke her line-of-sight and she quickly turned around. She was heading toward the back door when the bookstore owner stopped her.
“This was left for you, Emily.” He handed her the bomber jacket with the fur lined collar.
Absentmindedly, she replied, “Thanks, Jeff.” She took it and felt the both rough and smooth exterior, the cracks that were a result of years of use. This was the jacket of a man that didn’t care about trends, but wore it instead because it was a part of him. Her hands ran along the inside, feeling the soft fur. She bent, slightly, and rubbed the soft collar on her face, and the smell she found there, for a moment, took her back in time. A million thoughts ran through her head as she tried to make meaning of the gesture. She could go either way, left toward the front door and those eyes, those captivating eyes. Or right, toward the back door, her fancy car, and all she had made for herself. She stood there, contemplating, in the middle of the store, with the jacket in her hand.
And then she took a step forward, leaving the jacket behind.
A man walked into the bookstore wearing a bomber jacket with a soft fur lining on the collar. He wore a cap pulled low enough that no one could see his eyes. He sat down in the back row, far away from the woman standing at the front. She stiffened as he walked through the door, and when he sat, she turned her back. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath, steadying herself. She turned back around, her eyes meeting those only in the front row, and proceeded to give a presentation of the book she’d recently written.
The book was about a young woman on a journey of self-discovery. These kinds of books were all the rage, and upon writing it, she found that it was highly marketable. Lots of money flooded in, and the woman found herself in a pickle. Making lots of money drew attention, you see, but she didn’t want that. It was nice to buy the best clothing and have a big condo in the middle of the city, but it wasn’t the motivation for writing. That was internal, a driving force that had to be answered, lest she die.
Now the woman felt silly. What was the big deal? So a strange man was sitting in the back in a bomber jacket. There are a lot of bomber jackets out there. Those were all the rage, too. She decided not to panic, and instead finished her presentation and proceeded to the table that had been set up especially for her. One task at a time. There were two plastic bottles of water on the table, a desk light, and a couple of stacks of books, all with a blonde woman on the cover.
The blonde woman on the cover looked free, with her arms outstretched and a triumphant smile on her face, her eyes almost closed. The wind was blowing her hair, and the title was above her hair, in flowing, happy letters. To the author, the woman was a representation of what she had been searching for the past two years. And what she thought she had found. But no, she couldn’t let her mind wander into doubting herself. She was the strong woman on the cover, the woman on the pages.
The woman sat down, focusing on each autograph, and ignoring the nagging sense of foreboding in her head. She focused on the picture of the happy woman on the cover of each book laid before her. She opened each cover, signed a note to each name written on a small, white piece of paper inside, and handed them back, without looking at the adoring fans in front of her. After a couple of hours, the line diminished, and eventually everyone was content and gone. The woman looked around anxiously, but didn’t see the man wearing the jacket, and so she sighed a breathe of relief and packed up her belongings into a canvas bag.
As the woman walked toward the door, a face across the street caught her eye. Her breath caught in her chest and her hand grabbed her neck. She took one step back, then another, her eyes locked with his. It was the man in the bomber jacket, minus the jacket. For two long seconds, she stared into those eyes, and felt captivated once more. No one else had eyes like these. Her heartbeat resumed as a large dump truck broke her line-of-sight and she quickly turned around. She was heading toward the back door when the bookstore owner stopped her.
“This was left for you, Emily.” He handed her the bomber jacket with the fur lined collar.
Absentmindedly, she replied, “Thanks, Jeff.” She took it and felt the both rough and smooth exterior, the cracks that were a result of years of use. This was the jacket of a man that didn’t care about trends, but wore it instead because it was a part of him. Her hands ran along the inside, feeling the soft fur. She bent, slightly, and rubbed the soft collar on her face, and the smell she found there, for a moment, took her back in time. A million thoughts ran through her head as she tried to make meaning of the gesture. She could go either way, left toward the front door and those eyes, those captivating eyes. Or right, toward the back door, her fancy car, and all she had made for herself. She stood there, contemplating, in the middle of the store, with the jacket in her hand.
And then she took a step forward, leaving the jacket behind.
19 November 2008
A Little Out There...
This is a change, it is different. Not something I usually discuss in blogs, and definitely not the way I live my life. But I thought this information was, quite frankly, stunningly awesome. So here goes. This all comes from a magazine that came from a vegetarian starter kit that Suzy showed me.
Eating Meat Harms the Planet.
Global Warming:
According to a recent United Nations report, the meat industry causes more global warming (through emissions of carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide) than all the cars, trucks, SUVs, planes, and ships in the world combined. Researchers at the University of Chicago determined that switching to a vegan diet is 50% more effective than switching from a regular car to a hybrid in reducing your impact on global warming.
Water Resources:
More than half of all the water consumed in the U.S. is used to raise animals for food. A totally vegetarian diet requires 300 gallons of water per day, while a meat-based diet requires more than 4,000 gallons of water per day.
Pollution:
Farmed animals produce about 130 times as much excrement as the entire human population in the U.S. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, the run-off from factory farms pollutes our rivers and lakes more tha all other industry sources combined.
"Raising animals for food is one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale-from local to global." -United Nations
"If anyone wants to save the planet, all they have to do is just stop eating meat. It's staggering when you think about it. Vegetarianism takes care of so many things in one shot: ecology, famine, cruelty." -Sir Paul McCartney
So anyway, I'm not naive. I'm a very skeptical person, and honestly, I don't care too much about animal rights. But mass-production and big money are huge problems in the world, both in the financial markets and in within our social structure. I know most people won't stop eating meat-it's sooo good, I know. But remember this stuff. Remember what cutting back can do. Try to get meat from local sources, and fish from the wild, not fish-farms. You do NOT want to know what they do to your food before you get it. Just trust me. And hey, it's fun to try new things and there's no harm in it. I've actually enjoyed trying meatless meats...lol and I LOVE chocolate soy milk. By eating more vegetarian foods, you get healthier and get more energy.
Ok, I think it's time to step down from my soapbox. But if you have any questions or comments, please ask!
Eating Meat Harms the Planet.
Global Warming:
According to a recent United Nations report, the meat industry causes more global warming (through emissions of carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide) than all the cars, trucks, SUVs, planes, and ships in the world combined. Researchers at the University of Chicago determined that switching to a vegan diet is 50% more effective than switching from a regular car to a hybrid in reducing your impact on global warming.
Water Resources:
More than half of all the water consumed in the U.S. is used to raise animals for food. A totally vegetarian diet requires 300 gallons of water per day, while a meat-based diet requires more than 4,000 gallons of water per day.
Pollution:
Farmed animals produce about 130 times as much excrement as the entire human population in the U.S. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, the run-off from factory farms pollutes our rivers and lakes more tha all other industry sources combined.
"Raising animals for food is one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale-from local to global." -United Nations
"If anyone wants to save the planet, all they have to do is just stop eating meat. It's staggering when you think about it. Vegetarianism takes care of so many things in one shot: ecology, famine, cruelty." -Sir Paul McCartney
So anyway, I'm not naive. I'm a very skeptical person, and honestly, I don't care too much about animal rights. But mass-production and big money are huge problems in the world, both in the financial markets and in within our social structure. I know most people won't stop eating meat-it's sooo good, I know. But remember this stuff. Remember what cutting back can do. Try to get meat from local sources, and fish from the wild, not fish-farms. You do NOT want to know what they do to your food before you get it. Just trust me. And hey, it's fun to try new things and there's no harm in it. I've actually enjoyed trying meatless meats...lol and I LOVE chocolate soy milk. By eating more vegetarian foods, you get healthier and get more energy.
Ok, I think it's time to step down from my soapbox. But if you have any questions or comments, please ask!
09 October 2008
Renouncing the Gray
Well it's that time of year again. For some reason, when the leaves start falling and the temperature drops, I get creative and I start to think about things. Lately I've been downright philosophical. I've been thinking a lot about Christianity and what it is about being a Christian that I despise. See, a lot of times, I am ashamed to call myself a Christian. I've been feeling very guilty about this lately, but I think I've figured out where it's coming from, and it came as a bit of a shock to me.
I am not ashamed of Christ. While I may have doubts and questions about how or why, my belief in who is firm. It's the example set by people that call themselves Christians today that gives me this feeling of repulsion. To figure out why this was making me feel this way, I had to think awhile, and this is what I came up with.
I have been to many churches in Lincoln, and never have I felt welcomed by any of the regulars. No one has ever come up to me and shaken my hand or even offered me a smile. Inside the church there is this bubble and anyone new is a threat to disturb the fragile edges that define the boundaries. Anything new or any change is scary, and people don't like to deal with fear.
Maybe this fear of things changing is where judgment comes in. I want to love others. Matthew 22:37-39 (NIV) says .."Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself." People definitely love themselves. I am not exempt by far, but this is something that I've noticed. We are supposed to deny our selves in our service of God so that He can do impossible and amazing things through us. But instead, we crave security and pleasure. We want what we want, and if we want God in this way, then we are trying to make Him work for us.
If we made love the cornerstone of Christianity, then acceptance would be mandatory. I'm not saying that we should say "anything goes" and that sin doesn't matter. It does, but I think that by living our lives boldly in the example of Christ is how we show others what is right or wrong. If we show people the love of Christ...that is what will draw them in. Having strong stigmas and telling someone outright that their lifestyle is wrong will only push them away. But in doing this, we are reinforcing the edges of the bubble, making it stronger. Making it safer inside and more comfortable, and making it impossible for those who are searching to get in.
I am ashamed to be called a Christian, and I've heard that some are calling themselves Christ followers now. I am sick of titles. I love Christ, and I am searching for him. I make mistakes and there is a lot I don't know, but I am honest in my attempt. And I can't deny that God is active in my life. But as far as being a Christian, count me out.
I am not ashamed of Christ. While I may have doubts and questions about how or why, my belief in who is firm. It's the example set by people that call themselves Christians today that gives me this feeling of repulsion. To figure out why this was making me feel this way, I had to think awhile, and this is what I came up with.
I have been to many churches in Lincoln, and never have I felt welcomed by any of the regulars. No one has ever come up to me and shaken my hand or even offered me a smile. Inside the church there is this bubble and anyone new is a threat to disturb the fragile edges that define the boundaries. Anything new or any change is scary, and people don't like to deal with fear.
Maybe this fear of things changing is where judgment comes in. I want to love others. Matthew 22:37-39 (NIV) says .."Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself." People definitely love themselves. I am not exempt by far, but this is something that I've noticed. We are supposed to deny our selves in our service of God so that He can do impossible and amazing things through us. But instead, we crave security and pleasure. We want what we want, and if we want God in this way, then we are trying to make Him work for us.
If we made love the cornerstone of Christianity, then acceptance would be mandatory. I'm not saying that we should say "anything goes" and that sin doesn't matter. It does, but I think that by living our lives boldly in the example of Christ is how we show others what is right or wrong. If we show people the love of Christ...that is what will draw them in. Having strong stigmas and telling someone outright that their lifestyle is wrong will only push them away. But in doing this, we are reinforcing the edges of the bubble, making it stronger. Making it safer inside and more comfortable, and making it impossible for those who are searching to get in.
I am ashamed to be called a Christian, and I've heard that some are calling themselves Christ followers now. I am sick of titles. I love Christ, and I am searching for him. I make mistakes and there is a lot I don't know, but I am honest in my attempt. And I can't deny that God is active in my life. But as far as being a Christian, count me out.
04 August 2008
Sometimes.
Do I give up and concede to the feelings of emptiness and despair that threaten me, even after small victories have given me reason to smile only hours before the storm? If the battle is seemingly lost and all hope flees...when there is absolutely no possible way that the bridge isn't burned, that I can still move forward on the path, do I lay down? Or do I fight anyway? Should I, one who normally pushes the boundaries and has every confidence in the One leading the way, give it all up? Do I follow regardless, especially when the fog rolls in and I cannot see him, but only can see the path at my feet he set me upon so long ago? Is he still there, just ahead, just out of sight, or did he take a turn off the beaten path, when I was looking the other way, when the fog grew thick and the smoke burned my eyes? Sometimes its hard to resist. Sometimes I'm not sure if it matters. Sometimes.
27 February 2008
My Failure and Beyond
When is my time of wandering over? Every atom in my body is running away from me, searching for that missing part that will complete me and they've left me teetering on the edge of an oblivion. But what is down this great chasm? Is it nothing but despair? Or is it a great adventure? While I wait for my season of fulfillment, I continue to waver. Do I lean toward safety? It is what is recommended, what I see by way of common sense is the correct thing to do. But I continue to hang in a delicate balance, the deep unknown calling my heart, calling my soul to chase it beyond everything I know. But then again, I’d be fine without you.
I cease feeling, and the numb drives my heart to skip a beat as I plunge too far forward and I fail and I fall into a foreign space. I remember that risk, oh sweet beautiful risk is my heart’s true desire. But I only wanted the edge, I never asked for this unknown. My mind is consumed by doubt. Did I choose to jump, or did I fall? Despite my uncertainty, I am certainly falling beyond, so far, so deep.
Then a strange thing. Fingers of flavour flood my senses, it's tough hands grip my heart. It pleases my insides; I can feel them laughing incredulously because I am light and free despite my fear. Something is taking hold of me. Now a choice faces me: do I fall in fear, or do I clutch the strands of simultaneous joy and pain as hard as I can and latch on for life? Do I look back or close my eyes and see where I am taken? I choose the latter. God is sweet on my tongue, and the fear of falling takes a backseat to this new quest. I enter the unknown with grace and stride with purpose. This is my adventure now, and it pleases my soul.
I cease feeling, and the numb drives my heart to skip a beat as I plunge too far forward and I fail and I fall into a foreign space. I remember that risk, oh sweet beautiful risk is my heart’s true desire. But I only wanted the edge, I never asked for this unknown. My mind is consumed by doubt. Did I choose to jump, or did I fall? Despite my uncertainty, I am certainly falling beyond, so far, so deep.
Then a strange thing. Fingers of flavour flood my senses, it's tough hands grip my heart. It pleases my insides; I can feel them laughing incredulously because I am light and free despite my fear. Something is taking hold of me. Now a choice faces me: do I fall in fear, or do I clutch the strands of simultaneous joy and pain as hard as I can and latch on for life? Do I look back or close my eyes and see where I am taken? I choose the latter. God is sweet on my tongue, and the fear of falling takes a backseat to this new quest. I enter the unknown with grace and stride with purpose. This is my adventure now, and it pleases my soul.
26 February 2008
Mounting on Walls of Frustration
How do you keep adding and adding things to an already full life? I've been learning about dependency. Dependency on God, but also on others. It's something God's been trying to teach me for a long time, but I'm a little slow. The problem is that I don't want to change. That requires risk. But of course, God's teaching me about that too. I reach out through words, and I want to reach out more. I recently read an article about the difference between the way we speak and the way we write. If you read something aloud, chances are that what you say flies right past the listener's ears. And if you type what you say it looks rather funny. And confusing. I think like I write, but I can't speak like I think.
It's like blowing snow on a windy day, the way my mind works. The pattern of coming back to this moment time and time again has convinced me that what I need is you. And what you need is me. It's so simple, I know. And profound, on striations beneath the level of our eyes. And that brings me to my next problem.
Someone asked how to treasure that dependency recently. This question bothers me. How do we treasure our dependency on God? We can thank him, but we can't put it in a safe or a jewelry box or a secret box with all our old notes and photos that have sentimental value. It's something that needs to be portrayed, out in the open and in the risky places. It's going to get dented and scratched by life. But we humans, as a rule, do not do that to the things we treasure. It kind of reminds me of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade...when they find the holy grail, this elite treasure, and it's plain and used. The least obvious of all of the beautiful treasures in the room. And it's like Jesus. This precious gift we have that is tossed around and discarded time and time again. So how do we treasure Jesus? I don't know. We live our lives for him. But is that treasuring him? I don't know how to treasure something that is intangible. Dependency is too abstract for me to hold on to, like soap in the shower. Once I start to grasp it, it slips away, out of reach.
It's like blowing snow on a windy day, the way my mind works. The pattern of coming back to this moment time and time again has convinced me that what I need is you. And what you need is me. It's so simple, I know. And profound, on striations beneath the level of our eyes. And that brings me to my next problem.
Someone asked how to treasure that dependency recently. This question bothers me. How do we treasure our dependency on God? We can thank him, but we can't put it in a safe or a jewelry box or a secret box with all our old notes and photos that have sentimental value. It's something that needs to be portrayed, out in the open and in the risky places. It's going to get dented and scratched by life. But we humans, as a rule, do not do that to the things we treasure. It kind of reminds me of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade...when they find the holy grail, this elite treasure, and it's plain and used. The least obvious of all of the beautiful treasures in the room. And it's like Jesus. This precious gift we have that is tossed around and discarded time and time again. So how do we treasure Jesus? I don't know. We live our lives for him. But is that treasuring him? I don't know how to treasure something that is intangible. Dependency is too abstract for me to hold on to, like soap in the shower. Once I start to grasp it, it slips away, out of reach.
03 February 2008
Listen to the Waves [sound is good]
Check regularly as I will always be updating and adding songs. Cheers!
26 November 2007
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.
15 October 2007
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.
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.
20 August 2007
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!
21 May 2007
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.
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.
24 April 2007
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?
So any ideas?
09 April 2007
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.
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.
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.
28 March 2007
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.
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.
23 March 2007
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.
22 March 2007
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.
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.
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.
21 March 2007
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....
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....
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