The Aries Experiment

Game of Vikings, Game of Wood

2011-08-27T21:23:00.001-04:00

We made some sets of Kubb. One for my sister and one for the Steele cabin. Also known as viking chess, its a game where you throw wooden dowels and knock over wooden blocks. Its a fine, fine lawn game introduced to us by some fine, fine folks out East. We thought we'd introduce it out West and gain fame and notoriety that way. So we started with some blocks we had cut.

We sanded them down.

Sand, sand...

Sand 'em down good.

Real good.

And then painted them. Here is our second set in progress. Sadly, somehow, we didn't get a shot of the final product with the awesome design Heather made for it. The blue and orange were very striking with astylized leaf design we put on it.

Here's the first set I tried my hand on. For my Moose-loving sister.

Kubb in action. Game of warriors and seafarers.

Too fast to see sometimes...

The sound of the dowell knocking the kubb is so satisfying.

Definitely a game where you don't want to get behind.

A Much Better Blog

2011-08-20T20:12:00.001-04:00

Check out one of my other blogs.

Bread

2011-08-02T20:32:00.001-04:00

She kept saying "bread is forgiving," as she mixed the ingredients with her hands. Calling for more flour. Getting her husband to heat the honey/molasses mixture. She was blind, but she still made bread every week, and was teaching us her special recipe. Trying her recipe on my own, I hoped it was true.

I had to change some things. We were almost out of white flour, so it was going to be mainly wheat instead of mainly white. I was halving it too, and realized only once I'd finished the dough that we'd stopped taking notes once the dough was done, so I didn't know how long to cook it or at what temperature. I hadn't really expected to get past the "add flour until it's just right" part of the recipe though, so what's a couple botches more or less?

Not that I'm horrible at bread, but it seems so hit and miss. Such a mystery. Like when to use a comma. I remember deciding to make some Challa bread as a teenager and it went gangbusters. But I had a friend with some whipped butter on hand to garnish the top which really helped. I tried again a couple years ago thinking it'd go perfect with some lemon curd I was attempting, but the yeast didn't rise. The recipe said to put the yeast in warm water, but my definition of "warm" didn't match the yeast's. It was a dismal. I have since learned that "warm" means as hot as it'll come out of most taps.

So it was with a mixture of apprehension in past attempts, new knowledge of my old foe, and faith in my mentor's attitude about bread that I approached this new recipe.

It was wonderful. It turns out that tasting delicious buttered and be-jam-ed bread that I made myself is one of life's really sweet moments. Couldn't get over it all night.

And it wasn't a fluke. My second batch was just as good. Or better?!

Love vs. Hate

2011-07-14T09:01:00.003-04:00

A week ago we got 20 lbs of Fresh, New Jersey blueberries. They're coming out our ears, and they're awesome. We've been putting them on and everything we can think of. This morning we're low on cereal--cause blueberries are awesome on cereal--and I was thinking of what else I might make for a fancier breakfast that could include blueberries... blueberry oatmeal!?!

Now, I hate oatmeal. I really hate it. No matter how many times I've tried it, it is always the foulest mess of pottage. Other than partially rotted soybeans covered in raw eggs, mustard, and soy sauce, I don't know if there's anything I'd rather eat less. My childhood was largely spent trying to avoid choking down my mother's oatmeal. Gagging on it when I had to. Trying to disguise the taste with heavily jammed toast and silently crying when the toast ran out before the oatmeal. (Nothing against Mom. She loved the stuff and was just trying to feed 10 kids.) But I hated it. And if I avoided it at breakfast, fine, but then that's lunch. Not having it for lunch? Well, by the time dinner came, it was a cold, gelatinous chunk of gag that I was going to eat if I was going to eat anything. I never tried to see if my parents would hold to their guns across multiple days, but those nights alone in the clean kitchen eating the last bowl were bitter indeed. Sigh. Anyway, in spite of my mother's many many attempts, I never got used to it. Hate it still.

But I LOVE blueberries! Big, juicy, plump, full of antioxidant blueberries are awesome in shakes, on cereal, in pies, in jam, in cakes, in muffins, in waffles--in tons of stuff I love, the blueberries make it better. I remember driving home from Yellowstone one year through Idaho and stopping at every--EVERY--road-side huckleberry stand we saw. I never got sick of it.

This is the first time I have ever been excited to make oatmeal. I looked up a recipe online, ignored the orange zest it called for and got to work throwing salt, cinnamon, honey into the oatmeal. I was extremely self-satisfied with myself for this awesome idea and kept wondering why my mom had never thought of doing something this delightful with oatmeal. Maybe because it was zucchinis and apricots coming out our ears instead of blueberries in which case I'm extremely grateful she didn't come up with throwing in whatever surplus plant we had on hand. But I was feeling like a champ. This was gonna turn everything around. The oatmeal was nice and creamy. The blueberries and broken a bit and everything was turning a nice blue. This was going to be the exact opposite of every oatmeal I'd ever had. Redemption by blueberry.

I took a bite. It... tasted like oatmeal. I added some brown sugar, made sure I got a blueberry in there. The blueberry was great. A burst of warm, sweet flavor. Took another bite. Missed a blueberry. Meh. It's kind of a draw. Though maybe a win for blueberry since I am finishing the bowl. I'm not hating this oatmeal. I just don't love it. Which is a huge improvement from hate.

It's certainly not the bluebegeddon I was hoping for, but making oatmeal palatable is no small feat. And I'm willing to try this again with some recipe modification or perhaps a new recipe.

Also to try: Blueberry Grits, Zucchini Grits (grits are to me as oatmeal is to my mom).

Fireflies

2011-07-13T11:06:00.008-04:00

We got back from Utah recently. It was great to be there, and I was really missing the mountains, family, friends, and how close everything is when we were driving to collect 20 lbs of blueberries and there were fireflies EVERYWHERE. Really. Every field we passed had swarms of fireflies. It was awesome. One point for PA.

My attempt to capture the magic... can you see them?

The fields of bioluminescent magic made me wonder whether fireflies--or lightning bugs as I keep calling them in my head--are as fascinating and grotesque as glow worms. They're no more abominable than you're average bug, but evolution and development have created an ironic tragedy for them.

Today I'm at the library and checking out some old National Geographics and happened upon a picture of a jar full of fireflies with a short bit about how the firefly is in decline. All over the world they think populations are falling although they're only starting to keep a tally. They think loss of habitat and light polution are the main culprits. I think of a lone firefly looking for that elusive love and losing him or her amid the distant flashing of headlights, business signs, and bright parking lots.

With firefly populations in decline, China is of course working on a replacement.

Not sure how PA's population of fireflies is compared to the past, but it's lovely to see.

Here's a video which I couldn't tell if it was catching them. But it did a bit. Gives you some idea.

Macbeth

2011-06-08T21:47:00.004-04:00

Three witches tell the warrior Thane
That King Macbeth cannot be slain
He kills the King;
His fortunes swing.
Birnam Wood to Dunsinane.

Limerick Shakes Part 1

2011-06-07T16:20:00.005-04:00

It's been a good long time, and I've been wanting to blog but wondering what about until I got this itch to do all of Shakespeare's plays in Limerick form. Was going to tweet them, but they're just a tad longer than tweets allow. So we'll try them here.

Hamlet

There once was a rotting in Denmark
Which turned the Prince's mood dark.
The ghost told Ham
of his Uncle's scam,
Meanwhile Poland annexes Denmark.

Ok, so I used Denmark twice, but they both rhyme with Dark.

Racing Goats

2010-10-15T22:30:00.004-04:00

"It started out 30 years ago as a joke." That's what the announcer kept saying about the Falmouth Goat Races. Some brothers raced their goats and then found out the neighborhood was teeming with goats and here's where it is 30 years later.

And here.

Pretty awesome.

New Zealand Part 1b: Coromandel Penninsula

2010-09-26T11:24:00.005-04:00

Our first full free day in New Zealand--after a couple days helping our wwoof host start an enormous vegetable patch--we turned our rental car up the winding, fern-lined mountain roads to the Coromandel peninsula. As with most New Zealand roads it seems, the way was lush, beautiful, and skirted tranquil, idyllic bays. Even in winter.

We made it to Hahei (meaning the breath of Hei) and phoned a sea kayaking place and scheduled an afternoon tour, then headed out for some hiking to Cathedral Cove, a pink sand beach dominated by a large white arch diving into the deep green sea. It was lovely, but we didn't dally too long as we had to rush on back to make the same basic trip by kayak.

Which was awesome. It was only us on the tour. Our guide was great. He told us about Hei, who founded Hahei, and who became chieftain of the land because of his nose. See, there was an island in the bay which looked--if you were told to see it--like a nose. Seen from below. Kind of. A battered nose for sure, but forcing people to realize the island really looked like his nose could have become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But for the Maori, if a geographical feature looked like someone's body part, then they could claim the gods had made it for them. In fact, everything you can see from the top of that anthropomorphic bit of land is yours too. Kind of a nice alternative to the homestead act.

We paddled between island, over shoals, through arches and finally back to Cathedral Cove where we went exploring some caves for a bit while our guide made us some nice hot chocolate.

Trying to lay claim to some land.

And then we headed back through a bay full of sting rays in time to get back in the car and leg it to Hot Water Beach. Now this place was awesome. So awesome. At low tide, you can rent a trowel and head out to this strip of beach between some cliffs and the ocean and dig out a natural hot spring. Even walking along the beach if you force your feet down much, you can reach the sometimes scalding water.

We hiked out in the darkening shade even as the sky stayed light blue until we got there. Not that it quite got dark before the colors intensified into a deep blue green. We chatted with a couple from Manchester who let us borrow their trowel while digging out our pool while waves crashed behind us and the lights all went out. Lying on our backs, a cloud of stars and the night wind came out: chilling and gorgeous.

So. Great.

New Zealand Part 2: Becoming Maori

2010-09-05T11:39:00.008-04:00

Before our adventures in the glow worm caverns, Heather and I took a tour of New Zealand's geothermal hot spot, Rotorua. Imagine, though, Yellowstone as occupying 5 or 6 parks all with separate entrance fees except for the smoking ground around the lake and in a couple parks, and a city close enough that you keep the taste of sulfur the whole time you're there. There we enjoyed not only some of the geothermal oddities, but some Maori culture as well.

Steamy geothermal pools

The Maori have found an interesting compromise between tradition and cashing in on modern tourism. Traditionally--because members of other tribes were usually hostile and after either your food, your women, or your naughty dog--no one could enter the marae, or village green, except members of the tribe. Rather than letting that tradition fall by the wayside, they just induct visitors into the tribe, so that they can tour the Marae and village meeting house.

Making it look easy

Still struggling and this was my best shot

We were able to tag along with one of the many school groups coming through Ohinemutu that day.

What I'm used to at churches

What I'm less used to in a church

And it was a lucky thing too because the village itself was really neat. Nearly deserted when we first got there, we were able to wander the Marae, graveyard, Christian church, and various smoking marshes. Walking into the Christian church, I was amazed that even it was covered with intricately carved grotesqueries. It surprised me because I'd assumed all the vicious-looking faces adorning every Maori building were demons or some such thing--although, if I'm being fair, Europe's cathedrals abound in grotesque demons and silly faces (gargoyles being one example which are little demons as far as I know) then the Maori style seems far more appropriate for decorating churches because the grotesque faces aren't demons, they're ancestors. And the faces are threatening because their leaders were men, and sometimes women, of war who tattooed their faces like that to intimidate enemies and keep their people safe. Anyway, it was interesting to learn how natural these really fierce faces ended up being.

Part of becoming Maori

We learned that when a school group came and we got to tag along with them inside the meeting house and see the large portraits of their chiefs going back hundreds of years. We also heard a delightful story of how they came to be in the area that started with one chief's dog digging up some Kumara (New Zealand yams) in another chief's veggie patch, that chief getting angry and then eating the dog and a Hatfield vs the McCoys-type feud ensued which resulted in the dead dog's chief bringing his tribe to the island in lake Rotorua. They stayed there until they realized they could cook and heat their homes without fire if they moved to the shores of the lake and took advantage of the geothermal activity. And they're still there today.

This guy was great. He did a thing at the beginning of the show where he showed how visitors from other tribes would come and pick up either a Wahaika (a wooden axe kind of thing) or a leaf to let the village know they were after peace or war.

That evening we went to a cultural center and had a hangi dinner--our shuttle driver to the car rental had suggested that if we try any food it be hangi--and show with some haka and poi poi and some fun singing and guitar. They also answered our questions like, is it true that Maori warriors would stop a battle if they were winning too easily, kill some of their own warriors to even the odds and then get back to the bloody business? Answer: "Pfff! That's crazy. No way. This village up the mountain from us, they came and just wiped us out. They have NO problem with that. None."

PS, the hangi was so so. I've heard they're incredible, and since they bury the food for hours and hours with blazing hot stones or lumps of iron to cook them, they're pretty dramatic, but I can't say the food's a reason to visit New Zealand. But there are plenty of others.

Haka style jump!

New Zealand Part 3: Glow Worms (Parts 2 and 1 Coming Soon)

2010-07-12T02:18:00.010-04:00

I have no idea how many travel guides we ended up with in New Zealand. There was the Moon Guide we bought before going, the little green kiwi guide we picked up in the airport, the “arrival” magazine we also found in the airport, the map with the main tourist attractions highlighted, the AA accommodations book (that was a thick one), and who knows how many others we found and picked up at the airport, car rental agency, hostels, and actual destinations. Most were never opened after our first day in New Zealand, but they all highlighted some main high points for our South Pacific adventure, and all of them advised seeing the glow worms through some mediated semi to extremely expensive tour group.

We finally made it to Waitomo caves towards the end of our trip. Although I was thinking of it mainly as a must do, I was excited to see in person the strange green constellations glowing in the cave’s dark sky. Looking at the glossy adds of amazed tourists in boats or tubes, I thought it’d be an experience like no other. And that’s exactly what it was, but not at all in the way I expected.

Practice makes pretty.

We hadn’t booked ahead hoping for some kind of winter deal, I suppose and that’s what we found. Rap, Raft n’ Rock gave the best deal and even included a tour guide who gave us some fun impressions of various American stereotypes. He did a mean valley girl. And after jumping into wet suits, donning some head-lamp helmets, and practicing abseiling down into the caves we went.

There was an initial disappointment. Yeah, there were these little green dots glowing in the dark above me, but it seemed just like the adds. Just like them. As in, as good as being there. This sensation was kind of puzzling at first, but I think part of it was that getting up close to something you’ve only seen in pictures usually reveals a wealth of new sensory information and more nuanced impressions. But at first it was, “huh, there they are then.” Exactly as they’d looked in the magazines only now I was standing in a rushing, eel-filled river and it was really dark.

Kill joy, I know. Traveling with me’s a pain.

So, there I was in a fit of underwhelm when we got a close up look at and explanation of fate’s cruel capacity as exhibited in its unstinting persecution of the little glow worm. The disgustingly fascinating facts are these.

Glow worms aren’t worms but maggots.
Their glow lures flies into small, sticky strings which they then hoist up to suck out their insides.
They have no anus.
Their undischarged fecal matter fuels their glow.
They pupate into a fly with no mouth ergo they must mate before starving to death usually within a day or two.

Glow worms far away.

A bit closer: the hanging strings that come out of its mouth to catch flies.

Up close, can you see the little maggot here? Translucent with the glow
on the left and its unexpelled waste towards the right.

Vile, fascinating things. No anus, then no mouth? I feel these bugs need an entire evolutionary apology to explain how nature could miscarry such an abominable creature. The wizard behind the curtain of these lovely-seeming worms is a grotesque monster.

The bioluminescent constellations above us.

My experience with glow worms was also the exact opposite of how I came to understand Maori art which seemed grotesque at first but was actually really lovely. Stay tuned for more on that in this reverse chronological tour of New Zealand.

End of part 3 of 3... or perhaps more. It really was an awesome trip.

Senor Pinata

2010-05-29T01:28:00.009-04:00

Heather and I made this Pinata for Diana's birthday. I asked Diana what her birthday wishes were--meaning in my mind breakfast and dinner foods--and she told me she wanted a fitted baseball cap (I forget the size), roller skates (ditto), and one other thing. Anyway, I'm sounding like a jerk who doesn't care, but I remembered at the time but ignored them to bring her, in almost her own words, 'the best present ever.' A direct quote would be more like this:

Me: Be honest. Is this the best present you have ever received?
Diana: Y--
Me: In your life?
Diana: Proba--
Me: Including the inestimably precious gift of life our sweet mother gave you?
Diana: Hmmm... yes.

Look how happy!

Before the bestowal of the gift, I was imagining all the ritual suicides that would ensue from the Pinata's sheer beauty, from the utter shock of seeing something so perfect and heavenly in this mortal realm.

Part of me realized I might have been setting myself up for disappointment. But another part of me had such faith in the glory that was the pinata, I knew it would absolutely blow their minds back to the stone age. It'd be like the opening scene in 2001 space odyssey if you replaced the monkeys with my family and the black intelligence-bestowing effigy with the pinata.

Anyway, here's what happened:

I was so happy when her petting the Pinata didn't make the fuzzy crepe paper come off.

So, I was probably the most excited. This video captures only the tiniest slice of the ecstasies I felt about the pinata which--let's remember--completely ignored the birthday wishes Diana had given me. But I guess the lesson there is that you don't always know what you want more than anything else in the world. And the lesson in me being such a freak about how awesome it was is that it is more blessed to give than to receive. And the lesson I hope to be learning from the tons of requests for our new and unimprovable Pinata kits is that sometimes doing something awesome can make you millions... millions and millions of dollars... with which you can do more awesome things... not as in something that is more awesome, but as in more things that are awesome... in their own uniquely awesome way.

Oh, and Annie would never have believed that we'd made it ourselves without some pictures to prove it, so here's one for any skeptics out there:

There, that's enough! You've seen enough of our secrets...

Little Pinata doing what he/she/it was made to do.

The Oregon Trail

2010-05-27T03:28:00.013-04:00

The plan was to fly out to Provo, pack Heather’s car and drive it back to Pennsylvania where I had a class to take and a gothic runway to walk down. But after talking to Cort about his upcoming vacation to the Oregon coast, we thought that might be a nicer way to spend a summer.

The first night at the coast, the sea was booming and furious. Boiler Bay—although named for a sunken boiler ship—was white with shaking Oregon’s coast. Later, below our balcony, white-crested waves crashed day and night: sometimes the whole lower half of the windows showed a frothy, white sprawl, sometimes the sea quieted down and we had to wait for a large crash to spread out across the rocks below us.

Then we found some last-minute, ridiculously cheap flights to New Zealand, so away we go. During it all I keep getting emails from my Dissertation Chair wondering when I’ll be back in PA to meet with my committee and get going on this PhD thing. I’ve replied with vague statements so far, but better give him a more definite window sometime soon.

And now we’re in Carson City. We visited an old Mormon fort today: Genoa, NV, the state’s oldest settlement. It got me thinking of Brigham Young and how many settlements he planned and sent people to in trying to create the mighty state of Deseret which would stretch from present day Utah down to the California coast somewhere around San Diego or Los Angeles.

Deseret didn’t quite pan out. Neither did the alphabet Brother Brigham planned out and wanted the saints to adopt (the more phonetically accurate alphabet would have made it easier for immigrants to learn English, and a similar project was funded posthumously by George Bernard Shaw in England.) He didn’t live to see the completion of the Salt Lake Temple either. Probably plenty of things didn’t quite work out for him. So, when I think of the lists and lists of things I’d like to do or write or read or see or research (i.e. accomplish) in my life, I feel (a) a bit comforted from my fears that I won’t get it all done by the realization that of course I won’t get it all done. Who does? Who can? (b) good that I have so many worthwhile projects to work on and dream about, and (c) spurred on to get working.

So plans change, classes wait, roads are and aren’t taken, and I get some things done and leave some newly-invented alphabets for another lifetime or world, and all the time keep moving from the almost violently beautiful Oregon Coast (note: highway 84 along the Columbia is a long, scenic procession of sharp slopes covered in green trees with intermitten cliff faces looking over a sometimes placid river broken by rushing waterfalls—i.e. gorgeous.), to the lovely Carson valley, to a warmer California coast and on to New Zealand which, by the way, is getting kind of close to the farthest point on earth from Hershey, PA where you can stand on land.

Sakura, 桜

2010-04-09T16:56:00.012-04:00

This last weekend I went down to see the Cherry Blossoms in DC. The trees circling the Tidal Basin were a gift from a Japanese Emperor in the early 1912 (or thereabouts) and again a couple decades later. From my time in Japan, I gained a fondness/fascination/love/ardent desire/violence of affection for these trees which the Japanese name for the flower more than the fruit. Cherries, in Japanese, can be translated as "fruit of the cherry blossom," which sounds circular and ridiculous in English, but makes sense in Japanese... that could probably refer to a lot of things actually... quite a lot.

But I digress.

Heading down I was expecting/hoping/wanting a zen experience. Something that connected me with Japan, or my memories of it. Something transcendental. I wanted to stand in light filtered by the cherry blossoms. To have gentle winds come and blow the pink petals over me as I recalled haiku such as

Like the cherry blossoms,
let me fall
pure and radiant
(found in the jacket of a kamikaze pilot)

Watching cherry blossoms fall,

one falls up!
A butterfly.

These are my own translations and from memory, but they still illustrate what I was expecting. Silence, the sounds of petals falling on water, stealing a peek at time as air and water worked on the delicate petals. There were thousands and thousands of others who were perhaps looking for the same sort of experience, and there we were ruining it for each other.

My zen mindset eluded me while shuffling through lines and groups and hordes of visitors. Even when the wind blew and cherry blossoms fell on us all, the jean-clad photographers with cameras larger than newborns standing contrapposto in the hot spring sun scowling beneath sunglasses. But then, while doing laundry a couple days later, I was reading some Kenko, an early Japanese essayist from an anthology I used in a class but never finished. Kenko wrote about visiting a small village, making his way down "a moss-covered path until [he] reached a lonely-looking hut. Not a sound could be heard, except the dripping of a water pipe buried in fallen leaves." Enjoying the "sprays of chrysanthemum and red maple leaves" he is amazed that someone might live there and then notices a fenced tangerine tree enclosed in a forbidding fence and is immediately disillusioned by the whole scene.

Annie knows what I'm talking about...

So, my imagined ideal discomfitingly butting against the actual, is still fairly zen and Japanesey. Plus, Kenko goes on to ask "Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless?" and wonders where the poems written about "going to view the cherry blossoms only to find they had scattered" or "on being prevented from visiting the blossoms." So, perhaps I need to write the poem "on going to see the cherry blossoms and seeing everyone else going to see the cherry blossoms."

Still, the flowering trees out east here: gorgeous.

And I really like DC.

New York^2

2010-03-30T12:22:00.006-04:00

I feel Warhol would have loved this mocking homage.

I was in New York again this past weekend for my birthday and my cousin's wedding. Piggy-backing the two went really well because it meant all my brothers were in town for my birthday and that there were a lot of fun things to do like late night Karaoke and lots of wedding dancing. And this in a town that leaves me with no lack of wonderful things to see and do. Some of my favorites:

Cookies!

They sell fantastically huge cookies. My double chocolate chocolate chip cookie had layers of chocolate chips through the middle. An highrise of sweet sweet goodness.

Cupcakes!

The first time I walked in front of one of these, my taste buds needed a cold shower. They're cupcakes are big, fancy, covered with goodies and filled with creams. For passover weekend they have chocolate covered and candied Matzoh breads and themed cupcakes with Moses, Elijah headlining flavors. Kind of a spiritual cake version of Ben and Jerry's. I.e. yummy! Even the muffins are tempting.

Butternut Squash Soup and Dog Theme!

Went here with some friends, and my only regret was that I didn't have time that evening to get to a nearby Crumbs after. The butternut squash soup was incredible. But then, so was everything. Great food and the dog theme was tasteful but not too intrusive (ie, fun design motif but no dog-themed menu items.)

Doughnuts!

Kitty corner to my newly-wed cousin's place of work, these doughnuts are amazing. My highest recommendations go to the cake donuts (the carrot cake and tres leches blew my mind). Even the filled donuts have hole which makes for perfect filling to doughnut ratio in nearly every bite. Having spoken at length to many people about my love for some "best doughnuts in the world" as found in a basement bakery in the Amish country of Lancaster county, PA, I feel I need to add that if Doughnut Plant borrowed a page from their book and made their yeast doughnuts with potato flour--thus adding a substantial fluffiness to their doughnuts, they'd be unassailable. Peerless. Immaculate.

Ribs and Date Cake!

Cafe Moto is hard to find at first. The intimate (read: tiny) cafe looks like an abandoned building from the outside, but the well-seasoned ribs and mashed potatoes are a delight--but have some napkins and purell handy--and the date cake... oh, the date cake! I don't know how to explain it other than just saying its name in a such a way as to express deep longing and desire while adding, the sauce is incredible and the fresh whipped cream to the side doesn't hurt.

Now if I can find a great place for pies in NYC, I can start putting on some real weight.

And I have to mention a bit about my cousin's wonderful wedding. The bachelor party involved a drunken and rowdy but harmless posse people kept clear of on the subway and in the karaoke bar where we sang long and hard till the wee hours. The wedding was gorgeous and so wonderful to be at. Loved the song the bride came in by

and loved the dancing which was highly encouraged and highly enjoyed.

And loved my cousin's wedding vows which included imaginary numbers, exponential growth, powers, and 1 in there somewhere. Didn't check his math myself, but I think it all adds up.

Basically I had a lovely time even though it was a bit chillier than it ought to have been, and I apparently took pictures of little besides Magnolias which were or were almost blooming.

Ah, spring!

I just love New York...

MLK Jr. Day: Let Freedom Ring

2010-01-19T00:32:00.015-05:00

... by banging resonant rocks at Ringing Rocks County Park. That's right, a County Park. I've never heard of one of those either. Nor have I ever heard rocks that ring like bells when struck with a hammer.

If I had a hammer... I'd hammer out danger. I'd hammer out warning... all over this land. And that's what I did. Climbing over the field of resonant rocks hammering to see which ones were most resonant.

And then hammering some more when we got the hang of it.

Maybe you can't see it, but I'm using a nice floral-print hammer courtesy of Kristen's sister, Emily.

Makes you other rocks seem pretty lame.

Yeah, I'm talking to you, non-ringy rocks!

And as usual...

New York, New York

2009-12-21T16:54:00.010-05:00

New York. Amidst its uniquely offensive smells, while biking along pot-holed roads with the constant threat of being hit by cars and accompanied by their honking refrain, I thought of the relative ills and beauties of this metropolis and kept thinking of how its name conjures one of Basho’s lesser-known haiku about the limestone islands of Matsushima bay. Because, supposedly, he couldn’t conjure the actual beauty of the experience he simply wrote:

Matsushima

Ah, Matsushima

Matsushima

Perhaps I was only told this to further sell me on the tour I was taking, but even that, I think, can be appropriate to New York: home of Capitalisms most holy of holies, Times Square, and the endless, 3D multi-media marketing blitz invading your senses at every angle. My most socialist friend has only lived there 6 months and is already softening to Capitalism under New York’s insistent charms.

New York transforms. It took the torn-edged mountains of my mountain home and the jagged pine-topped hills surrounding my current home and replaced them with squared, even, and endless horizons of cement and steel. The tiny valleys, dales, and canyons of the city were labyrinthine. Every time my sister or a friend took me to a great diner or chocolatier or bakery I asked them how they ever found it. I don’t know that they ever answered me, but maybe it was the same way I found the fanciest food shop I’ve ever seen or how I stumbled upon The Strand bookstore unexpectedly, they just went walking. Still it seems a miracle to know where anything is in a city so large and unwieldy. I loved biking down to the beach, watching the dense city slowly lose its grip on the earth and air till it receded into the background, a more distant noise to the wind and waves.

But they do find these places. And that contributes to my next wonder at New York. So many people in such a complicated and multifarious concatenation of walkers, runners, bikers, drivers, bussers, and taxis, that the mostly fluid execution of so many independent minds, thoughts, and actions not bringing it all down in rubble or at least to a screeching halt is a marvel. Sure, the dance is accompanied by the honks, roar, and stink of the city, but take a step back into Central or Prospect park and the tones soften and take on a certain rhythm and beat that a large portion of the earth is stepping to.

Because I can't resist.

I don’t know if it was this unexpected pleasure of finding anything that inspired me, but I felt almost certain I’d run into some old friend I’d lost contact with at some point during my visit. No one in particular, but it seemed, with so many people, I’d have to run into someone I knew sooner or later. Maybe I needed to sit and wait for it. But it did mean that instead of encountering a faceless horde reflecting how dehumanizing and devouring masses are of individuals, I was always looking out for someone I knew, half-expecting to run into them. In New York such an impossibility seems nigh inevitable.

And the languages. Riding a bus there was Spanish, Italian, and Russian being spoken in the bus while we passed stores with Arabic and Greek on the signs. It’s incredible. It is a world metropolis where languages, cultures, and people abut to create an endlessly fascinating mosaic.

In the end, I decided that just as you shouldn’t trust a man who has no enemies (quotation unknown and probably non-existent), the fact that a city as vibrant, magical, messy, and transcendent as New York exists without a dystopian nightmare future, is miraculous.

Be seeing you soon.

Plying our Manly Oars

2009-11-02T23:53:00.004-05:00

Here's me and Brant leisurely winning our first canoe race--on the Susquehanna no less... love that name. We didn't get the mid part where we have another quick spurt to catch up to the leaders, you get a pretty good sense of the chaos and the sweet, sweet victory.

Falling Water

2009-10-26T00:46:00.000-04:00

The school was going, so I went a long to Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling Water near Mill Run, PA. This is my second visit to the the home that was to Wright's career exactly what Xanadu wasn't to Gene Kelly's. No, this was Wright's Batman Begins, injecting new life into what everyone thought was a career that had seen its peak. But now Falling Water is on a list of 12 places that will change your life, 28 places to see before you die, and the top 50 places to blah blah blah. It even made my mother not begrudge the conservation society its "outrageous" entrance fee. And in that, it is one of a kind.

It's also beautiful, the home, and harmoniously built for its environment. My first visit to the house didn't leave me wondering about just how harmonious art deco right angles and geometric patterns were with the lines of nature. Where were the really organic lines of a Gaudi or a Ghery? In the rough hewn lines of the floor and wall stones, I suppose, but still, there was something that was making me buy less this, "harmony with nature" aesthetic it was selling. Though the spot on the wall where the water from a local spring seeped through the masonry, ran through a channel in the stone, then through a crack in the floor to continue to the river was fairly harmonious with its surroundings as were the beveled, mold-less windows that allowed outer walls to become inner and vice versa. The light and dark of the house echoing the light and dark spaces of the waterfall was a nice tough as well. And the family of lady bugs crawling on the cieling of the guest room. Nice touch, Wright. Very nice.

So, while I accepted less readily the "harmonious with nature" line they were peddling, due to its multitude of sharp lines, the house does integrate the setting--which is gorgeous--with its construction and abstracts, very successfully, the natural features of the land to achieve a home that really is a work of art and one which, just like it did 12 years ago when I first saw it, make me cry that I will never be able to live there. I try to comfort myself with the idea that it would be possible to live in an equally beautiful house.

But I doubt that's possible. Honestly.

Oh, and Dad, that's me at Falling Water in the fall. Eat your heart out.

Liza Lou

2009-09-28T23:23:00.000-04:00

I was read to as a child. I attribute my continued love of reading to that fact. One of the most memorable childhood stories was “Liza Lou and the Yeller Belly Swamp,” by Mercer Mayer. My dad marshaled a host of voices to enliven the episodic adventures of a young bayou girl who’s daily errands took her into the Yeller Belly swamp which was also the haunt of witches, ghosts, ghouls, devils, and trolls. Good child fare. She uses her wits to get the better of them and keep her and her little opossum safe.

A possum. It reminds me of another being-read-to-as-a-child story. My parents had a British friend who came and read me a story about an Opossum. I don’t remember the story, but I remember how odd I thought it was that some people—British ones—put an O in front of possum. Opossum. Seemed unwieldy with the extra letter/vowel/syllable. Sadly the internet wasn’t around to instantly assuage my curiosities at the time. Still, opossum or possum, they were adorable fare for childhood picture books.

So, it was with no small delight that I found there were often opossums prowling about my new neighborhood (ie. Pennsylvania). My first night, dazed and bleary-eyed, driving into town, a white critter appeared in my headlights. On many nights, on many suburban streets, I’ve seen similar specimens of North America’s only native marsupial and it was with no little dismay last week when I turned one into road kill.

Distraught, I called any and everyone I could think of to vent—yes, while still driving, but, no, I didn’t hit another. It was horrifying. A hyper-real horror where, rather than the actual possum I’d just hit and who’s body heft I’d felt filtered through galvanized rubber and steel, I kept seeing Liza Lou’s possum looking startled with it’s big eyes at me, the reader/driver child/man, after sauntering away from Liza Lou’s side while she was telling the swamp devil that she had the parson’s soul in her molasses jar.

But before he could say, “a chicken crossed the road, frogs’ll cross it too, if you’re not real quick, you’ll end up in a stew,” the car shuddered, the darkness took the possum, and I was on my way, a slightly sadder man.

Finding a Home

2009-08-20T00:10:00.000-04:00

There are a couple of flash back blogs I'll do of my last days in Provo this summer, but I wanted to post some pictures of a dreamy neighborhood here in South Harrisburg I went through while trying to find a home. It's right along the river and was the a place the man who owned the local lumber mill made for his workers to live. It's the first place to flood in Harrisburg--which it did a couple years ago so some of the new homes are built with only a garage on the first floor with a latticed wood garage door and balcony and living room on the first floor with arched floor to ceiling windows and fine bricks. It would be heaven to live there, I think.

And let's go back to that word "home." I think that's why I'm having such a hard time finding a place to settle in. I can never get all of the pieces together. It'll be a good price but really run down, it'll be in a great place but my front balcony is a smoking nook for other tenants, it'll be not too far, but only one shared bedroom, it'll be in a lovely neighborhood but with an extra $500 tax--should I worry about this one?--it'll be in a lovely neighborhood with a place for a canoe near the river, but it won't actually exist... that's a real sad one.

I do get hopeful every time. There was a studio apartment I wasn't too thrilled about, but after sleeping on a couch and having nothing but a small suitcase to live out of for more than a week, I was going to take it. No year lease, just sweet freedom and paying for what I get. But no laundry. Kind of lame. But livable. We'll see. And the shared room... also perhaps livable. We'll see. Still looking and having an okay time doing it. And if that canoe heaven turns out to be real... it's far from campus, but oh, man, that'd be the life!

Namers Ltd.

2009-04-21T16:47:00.000-04:00

The other day, don’t know why, I was told that my perfect job was to name things. A namer, I suppose. At the time I had maybe made up a punny nick name for some thing or other, but the next day, walking around the tree streets I started thinking of the names of trees. Hawthorne. Osier. Weeping Willow. Beech. Oak. Sycamore. Rowan. Mountain Ash.

Then I started thinking about how “intuitive” these names are. Weeping Willow is an easy one since it has all those drooping branches like one who might be weeping. Actually it works on many levels. The drooping branches can also be falling tears, or perhaps, in summer, its concealed interior is a perfect place to cry.

But what about the willow part? It perhaps relates to Willows, but that just leads to another association. But what about Osier, is there something there that indicates its wispy branches? Is there something sinuous and strong inherent in Beech? Howthorne’s do have a thorniness to them, but do they have a haw-ness? Doubtful, though I’m sure one could be instructed.

Then I did some thinking of the names of birds, or even the names, sky, moon, morning. I loved testing the sound and feel of the names—mainly of trees—and wondering about how they related to that which they named. I spent a lovely walking doing this, and I think I could spend a lovely life doing the same.

Sadly, most everything’s named already. How lovely must it have been for Adam, God bringing him various creatures, plants and animals, mutable and new, and invited him to attach a name. A certain collection of oral movements, expelled breath, and vibrations of the vocal chords. Eden, where the connections between thing named and name were new and known.

So, if anyone needs anything named, let me know. I’d like to start building up a resume. And, speaking of expelled breath, I’m looking for the word/name for when one expels breath quickly out of the nose or mouth as if in disgust. Similar to a pshaw, but not so heavy handed.

PS. My favorite tree is the Magnolia—again, where’d that name come from? Though I do like that it has a combination feel of broad, delicate, and strong. But that’s probably just what I associate it with because of my feelings about the tree. And that’s another thing I’d love about naming, thinking of what feel certain collections of consonants and vowels would take on through association with thing named. Anyway, they’re in bloom right now. Go find one to sit under right now; the blooms don’t last.

Ambidextrous

2009-03-11T18:03:00.000-04:00

It was from a picture of Danny Kaye, a still from one of his movies, that I had my first dream: ambidexterity. It had all the purity of childhood dreams. I can’t remember a particular reason or purpose for this dream, but there was something utterly delicious to me in the ability to write equally well with BOTH hands! I’m failing utterly to recreate the loftiness I felt about this dream. There was some exquisite joy to be had in this rare skill. Everyone could write, but who could write equally well with both hands? No one I knew.

And perhaps that was the joy. As the seventh of ten who wasn’t as important as my naughty older sisters, or as good an artist as my older brothers, or as good a singer as my younger sisters, it was something I could do that no one I knew could do. That was unheard of in my world of second-place ribbons in running, spelling, et al. I was good, but unremarkable, so unlike an ambidextrous man.

Some dreams need to be kept close and nurtured in the dark like beans rolled in a damp cloth sprouting in my Jr. High shop locker. But I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know there were dreamers and pragmatists. So I took my dream and excitement to my mother and told her of my dream.

“Who would want to be ambidextrous?”

Her words crushed me. I was too shy a child to defend myself. What if I lose my right hand? No problem, that’s what! What if they have a contest in school where they tie your good hand behind your back? I’d be ready! What if little miss Kinghorn looks over while I write her love notes with both hands at the same time? World class reciprocal crush, that’s what! But none of these scenes were lighted on the stage; the curtain had already come down.

Such was the death of my first dream.

Until last week playing the Napoleon Dynamite board game. One of the tasks requires you to draw with your “bad” hand. My sister said she could do that task as she was ambidextrous. My heart stopped and I travelled back in time, aghast.

“You taught yourself that?”

“Yeah.”

“I so wanted to do that as a child. But told mom and she thought it was a dumb idea.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell mom.”

We won that round and the game, and instead of crying for that first, lost dream, I thought, it didn't have to die. Even though it’s kind of pointless now that I type way more than write, even though I still have a working right hand, even though miss Kinghorn is probably now Mrs. Kinghorn, and even though—bitterest of all?—it won’t even serve to make me special or unique in the family like I once dreamed it would. It could still make me smile.

Or maybe I need to look at some other dreams and decide which one I ought to unearth and give a second, if stumbling and zombie-like, life.

Kaleidoscope

2009-03-11T17:58:00.000-04:00

What do you see? That’s the delight in Kaleidoscopes, I suppose. I remember a cheap one in my house that I played with near the patches of sun thrown through the living room windows onto our tan carpet. A cardboard tube covered in red paper, I held its clear, sleekness in both hands, the better for twisting and tumbling what looked like left over pieces of plastic from more expensive toys. This was the bologna and hotdog of the toy world.

At first I turned it eagerly, excited to rush to each new collection of reality made fantastic through multiple reflection. The colors and shapes slid and plopped into new and infinite patterns again and again. Sometimes I’d be shocked by the intricacy, sometimes the banality, of this closed magical tube of infinity.

Then I stopped turning it. I held it in one place when I realized the patterns don’t repeat. They’re unique in the world. This cheap, left-over plastic aided by three mirrors was forming unique patterns that would only be seen by me, and only once, before disappearing forever. I felt strange to be responsible for these fleeting and unique patterns, to know that their existence required me to hold them indefinitely.

But I couldn’t hold them indefinitely, so I dropped it on the ground, imagining the pattern newly created by the fall looking for an eye that would not. And there I left it forever after because soon I stopped picking up kaleidoscopes altogether. They made me feel old.

Thoughts of a Grandchild

2009-02-24T23:15:00.000-05:00

Visiting my grandparents I wonder if I’m too serious. Like my grandpa. What I really mean is I’d like to make my grandma laugh. She laughs when I’m there but mostly at her own jokes and stories. Like the one where she comes back from Germany with her parents, 10 years old, speaking German, and fat from eating cake instead of the dark German bread.

It occurs to me later that I made my grandpa laugh by eating a big bite of apple pie. “That would take me at least three bites,” he says while I try to mentally divide my piece into three while thinking I could accommodate a lot more. This is apple pie. The bite was slightly ungainly, but quite doable even with my sticky jaw joints that don’t like opening all the way. Did they?

I don’t remember if my jaw did or not. I do remember clearing away plates and cleaning and putting away the card table they used for a visit from my grandpa’s sister and her husband. I remember talking with my grandparents. I remember feeling as I left that I wanted to make my grandma laugh. Not the way she nervously laughs when I carry her up and down the stairs at my parent’s, but by being playful and precocious as she nears 92.

And now I’m thinking about what I can give my grandma. The woman who started teaching me how to read. The woman who attached buttons to knotted string in ketchup bottles to make toys, who fired the best omelets over a blue gas flame, who embarrasses and delights me by telling jokes to strangers. I can adjust her mattress when it slips, shovel her driveway, take out the trash, trim the weeds growing up in the sidewalk cracks, and other chores. And maybe after a hard lifetime of chores, that’s what she needs.

I’d also love to get my mother a maid to end her lifetime of chores, but I know she’d prefer travel. She’d prefer exploring Thailand or Vietnam with me to not having to cook and clean in an increasingly vacant home. She’d also prefer to provide wants to needs. I remember finding her after one of my dad’s “let’s show Mom how much we love her” programs. Mom was down. Everyone had mentioned how much she did for them which left her feeling, ‘is that all?’

Needs and wants. The first seems boring, the latter exciting as evidenced by the maid versus world travel scenario or mattress adjusting versus jokemeister-G. Am I bothered by being a boring need fulfiller rather than a want provider? A source of comfort instead of excitement?

Or am I a perpetual discontent? When I was young, I was smart and good, but I wanted to be fun and popular. Then I was fun, but I missed being thoughtful. So I contemplated more but wanted surety. I’m helpful in ways to my grandma. I want to be good to her, but why is the role I seem to fulfill at the moment one that is not good for what it is, but lacking for what it isn’t? Her favorite granddaughter brings her dinners and plays skipbo with her. A relief because she hates cooking—hates—and a delight because she loves games.

So I worry about giving people what they need but not what they want even though it’s not true. For one, I’m not even that good at providing needs. I help only rarely my mother or my grandma. Plus, I’ve told grandma some zingers. When taking her to visit my grandpa in the hospital, she asked why the orange went to the doctor. I guessed, “He had a naval infection?” The alternate punch line stopped her. She cooed, ‘ooh, that’s good,’ before going on to say, “He wasn’t peeling well,” with a naughty smile. Every nurse, receptionist and visitor we passed heard the joke with both punch lines, my grandma graciously crediting me with the one I had come up with.

So embarrassing.

The Bookless

2009-02-07T16:02:00.000-05:00

This last week I didn’t read anything. Nothing big anyway. No books, no blogs, no comics, no articles. Nothing. I did read labels and emails—as long as they didn’t seem too constructed. If they seemed conversational, I categorized them with texts and IMing and read on. I also wrote and in revising my work read my own words, that was legal. The idea is that with less input of words, I’ll free the passages and increase my output of words.

To clarify: I am not one of those Nimrods who never reads and is proud of the fact. This is just one week.

First thing I learned is that reading is my drug, and my room is my heroin den. Books are everywhere. Two piles of seventeen volumes sit on my bedside table alone. Splayed out in front of the table on the floor are nine more not counting three family histories lying there. They’re technically folders. And then there are two full bookcases and another two shelves. All full of books. All off limits.

A sample of some nightly thoughts:

Monday, Jan 26, 2009

Night is when it’s worst. I can’t sleep. TV’s not helping. Catching up on Battlestar Galactica, 30 Rock and SNL aren’t helping. Books are everywhere, glaring at me. I glare back. I write an opening scene to a screenplay I’ve been thinking about a lot. Like it. Still can’t sleep. Write notes for a Sci-fi novel I’m working on. Like that. Still not sleeping. Work on some dirty haikus. Still awake. Write in my journal (the absolute last straw), and I am still awake. Finally about 4 or 5 I drift off. Hell.

Tuesday, Jan 27, 2009

Coming home from an evening in SLC, I’m drowsy. Good sign. Really good sign. But, another bookless night means another sleepless night. A nightly read is as necessary to me, apparently as a morning cup of coffee is to some people. Ah, what a creature of habit. Interesting experiment, but I’d love to get some sleep. TV again?

Wednesday, Jan 28, 2009

Travelling all night. No sleep expected. Do a crossword instead of reading on the flight. I start getting a bit of help from the empty seat’s copy of the in-flight magazine for difficult words, but soon am using it as a reference, hoping the people across the isle aren’t watching me.

Thursday, Jan 29, 2009

Read a bit of an online comic over a friend’s shoulder. Feel kind of silly for not reading.

That kind of thing. When the readinglessness ends, I keep it up for a couple of days then finish “Stumbling on Happiness” which is a fascinating book about how the brain works to predict and ensure future happiness from past experiences. It cites many fascinating studies, and I’m glad to be reading again. I also get caught up on news stories and comics and some articles on how spam works. Interesting stuff.

Did not reading increase output? Somewhat, by not sleeping I was left with no choice but to write. It did quiet the voices inside a bit too and, surprising side effect, I’m going without the radio and singing in the car more.

Experiment with Posh

2009-01-25T20:38:00.000-05:00

It's maybe been a year or more that I've been eying the sweet bottles of pure maple syrup at Costco, Maceys, Smiths, anywhere I go to buy breakfast stuffs--which is, if you don't know, about all the food I buy and keep in my home because it's the only meal I reliably eat there.

Going through Costco after Christmas--when I had received, among other things, a Waffle Maker--I decided it was finally time to give into my long-time desires and get some pure maple syrup. Oh, yes. As I checked out, my checker was a bit more talkative and asked me about the pure maple sryup--big news, I know--and I told her that I've always wanted to try it and I finally am. Then she said 'yeah, it's so expensive though. you've got to mix it with regular syrup to make it go farther.'

Hmmm..., I thought. Interesting. That doesn't sound like what I want to do with my new premium priced luxury item, but I'll think about it. I did. I thought it was ridiculous to buy specially good syrup just so I can make my regular cheap syrup taste a little better. When I order a steak at a restaurant, I don't put ketchup on it! Total waste. Nor was I going to mix my pure maple with Mrs. Butterworth's bargain basement maple. As buttery as it is.

No, forget that. I choose the other extreme. I bought fresh blueberries, whipping up lavender flavored cream, and bought some premium orange juice for the to eat with my blue corn waffles. That's right, got some special blue corn meal and buttermilk for the recipe which I highly recommend. They taste as clean as carrot juice or a fine sushi. Nice, clean, and pure. Like pure maple syrup.

And I still have a lot of posh syrup--I did get it at Costco--so if anyone out there has great Waffle recipes, I'm in the market/mood even if it requires soaking Quinoa overnight. Any "best waffles I've ever had," I'm interested. Viva la waffle.

Moonbeams

2009-01-04T02:35:00.000-05:00

Reading a friend's blog about mishearing alpaca lips for apocalypse, I smiled because that kind of thing happens to me all the time. I couldn't think of a single instance of that actually happening though. This made me sad. But not to worry, later that day at Ms. Fin's house, I heard one of her friends mention, as she held her son with one arm, that she had moonbeams on her pants. I started a bit. She is living in San Diego, so that's entirely possible. Then she started rubbing her pants to get the moonbeams out. Turns out it was green beans. I'd heard moonbeams. It left a lovely image in my mind, though. If moonbeams are going to get all over our clothes, I hope they're hard to get out. I hope they're hard as the dickens to get out.

Year in Review

2009-01-03T15:31:00.000-05:00

Favorite Books this Year
(which all happen to be authors I had never read before)

Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges

Read it on the beach in Costa Rica and it was perfect. Couldn't stand to read anything else until I got his collected fictions. Haunting and beautiful.

American Pastoral by Philip Roth

Should be required reading for all Americans. Amazing.

Join Me! by Danny Wallace

Delightful. I want to be a British Journalist who does crazy/cool experiments like Danny Wallace and Jon Ronson... his "Them" should probably be on this list too.

The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton

Can't remember how I found this, but read it, loved it, bought it for a loved one... who I don't think has read it.

Books I'm looking forward to reading:
A Time of Gifts by Patrick Leigh Fermor, The Idiot by Dostoevsky, East of Eden by Steinbeck, Collected Fictions by Borges, Born Standing Up by Steve Martin, many more... in fact I can no longer go to Borders--even with their non-ending supply of great coupons in my email--because I get too antsy thinking of all the things I want to read and am not reading while I look for other things to read.

Favorite Movies of the Year

Slumdog Millionaire

Some will say it gets cheesy and the adult actors are overshadowed by their child counterparts. All that may be true, but I love Danny Boyle, loved the catharsis I felt at the end, and loved the movie.

The Fall

Loved the contrast of the mundanity in the 'real world' scenes with the stunning cinematography in the story world. Lovely story and the little girl is probably the only thing in the world cuter than WALL-E. Also not technically a 2008 movie, but this is when I heard about it.

Rocket Science

A delightful story that continually defied my expectations in wonderful ways. Great writing and acting.

WALL-E

I lied earlier, WALL-E is the cutest thing the world has ever known.

The Dark Knight

Even though Christian Bale's Batman still needs a lozenge, I loved Bruce Wayne's disgusting wealth, Heath Ledger's Joker was amazing. Pretty much everything was really well done.

Movies I'm looking forward to:
Star Trek, Watchmen, Defiance, X-Men Origins: Wolverine... I know, doesn't seem to keep with my "favorite movies of the year" selections in general.

Favorite TV

Pushing Daisies

Was told I'd love this, so I've been watching it with my sister. I'm still in the first season, but I love the story-telling, the concept, narration, actors, dramatic tension, and overall beauty. Kudos to Lee Pace for making the list twice. So sad it's being canceled. It can now join a list of other awesome shows whose amazing-ness and popularity were somehow inversely proportionate: Arrested Development and Firefly come to mind.

30 Rock

Was also told I'd love this and after seeing the "Midnight Train to Georgia" episode again and again, figured I'd start up with the new season. Love it. The High School reunion episode in particular was hilarious and genius in its presentation of high school meanness. Oh, and the elevator jokes side gags were awesome.

TV I'm looking forward to:
Lost, Battlestar Galactica

Best Goal
Finish my thesis. I did. Actually graduating and becoming a "Master" was hardly noteworthy in comparison. Besides, no one even calls me by my new title. Finishing all my PhD applications (10 of them) well before the final deadlines was also great.

Worst Goal
Experimenting with the cosmos for a year to find out if horoscopes are accurate. I say this was the worst, not because it's necessarily a bad goal--I wish I'd done it throughout the year--but because stupid facebook's horoscope was not as dependable as the movement of the planets. Oh, no. The horoscope only lasted till April or May and even before that was spotty. Then it cut out altogether and I was left using guest horoscopes and other experiments for the rest of the year. Oh, and I'm almost as dependable as facebook's horoscope.

Favorite New Skill
Ukulele

Skill to pick up next:
Mandolin, Melodica, Accordion, Ranching

Costa Rica: Experiment with Waves as Driftwood

2008-11-24T00:56:00.000-05:00

I was feeling John Muir-ish. To know what that means you ought to know that all I know about John Muir is that he was a Scottish naturalist who spent a lot of time in the Pacific Northwest advocating for protected land, laying on rocks to figure out how glaciers moved and getting up into pine trees during storm to feel the sway of them and figure something out with that.

It’s the later part that’s important to how I was feeling John Muir-ish in Costa Rica. It was a rainy day—jungle’s got to stay green—and we’d ditched everything but our swimsuits and sandals at our hotel and run down a beach secluded between some large stones. The rain and win chilled us, but the ocean was warm. We dove in, let it enclose us which it was eager to do, sending waves upon waves—sometimes double—to douse and cover us.

After struggling against the waves and riptides, I retreated to the shore, letting the rain pelt my upturned face and body. It pooled in the sand around me. I had to get up when a group of tourists on a soggy sunset beach ride passed. I didn’t want to be trod upon.

I hadn’t had my fill of John Muir-ish-ness though, so I lay on the sand at the water’s edge letting the waves crash and push me higher up the strand, of pull me into the water. It was hard not to cheat and help the pull since I looked stupid lying limbs awry, sand covered, on the beach. Also, the larger waves got sand in my mouth and eyes—hair and ears too though that was less bothersome—and the sand was getting uncomfortable generally.

So, still not Muir-ed out, and definitely not satisfied with how these experiments were going, I gave the pull some more help by crab-walking* into the surf, turning over, and going limp except to hold my nose—also don’t like sand going there. I would float as long as I could hold my breath, face down in the water until I came up for gulps of air and then back down. Where would the tide take me? The experiment was on.

I could of course tell when it pushed me out and pulled me back. It seemed to keep me about 20 feet from shore in1-3 foot deep water. My toes, knees, hands, elbows, and knuckles dragged and traced arcs in the water. Eyes closed and face down, I couldn’t tell how much turning of my body the arcs indicated. I couldn’t tell what pattern my body was tracing in the churned up and soaked sand.

To solve the problem, I imagined attaching imaging devices to my various joints in order to trace their movement with a computer which I could then render as an image later. The lines would be color coded and I could make it so you could see all the various lines traced, or isolate one for closer scrutiny. In imagining this, my only reference was behind-the-scenes looks at video games and cgi action films and it seems that you needed a blue screen or some flat color behind the cameras, so I’d need to lay that over the sand too. It seemed a bit impractical when I thought I of asking my friends. I’d ask them when I was done John Muir-ing as driftwood. Surely they were paying attention and fascinated by this human performance of driftwood and sea.

Later, when I finally finished, I asked them “Did you see how I was moving in the turf?”

“Yeah, back and forth.”

They were not helpful. They were not in a John Muir mood.

At one time I think I turned around even though my lighter, upper body was usually towards land and my heavier, lower end pointed out to the deep blue. Other than that, my ability to learn something of just how drift wood is acted on by the sea is still a dark, hazy lurching to and fro. And maybe that’s what I already knew, but now I’ve experienced it. Oh, I also learned that it takes a lot of patience to really learn how these processes work, because most of the time, it’s just the same old stuff with tiny variations building into something unseen.

It occurred to me later that I could have just had one of my friends go dead-float for a while and I could have observed them. But I was far too gone in my imaginations of fusing with nature and ferreting out her secrets. I wanted to experience, but I also wanted to understand and analyze what was happening. Not just experience what it was like to be part of the swell and release of the ocean, but to gain some understanding about nature’s secret methods. That’s what I am really after, but that’s not something nature readily gives up. So, for now, I’ll have to be content with being blown by wind, spattered by rain, and rocked gently to and fro in the cradle of her arms.

*editor’s note: The author, if given the chance to create a mythology, would pick the crab as the god of the wind. The crabs seen in Costa Rica ran and scurried as if they had captured the wind and let it out stingily for their own, quick, erratic, graceful flight across the sands.

The 9-5 Experiment

2008-10-09T17:29:00.000-04:00

Always eclectic, my new experiment is in commuting and the 9-5 work day. A glorious experiment I have been able to put off for 29 years now. So, it's about time I try it, I suppose. Here are my observations so far.

-Working 9-5 leaves little else in my day--especially with a commute that makes it more like 6:30-6:30. This is lame and makes me wonder if the 9-5 life is worth living in the long run.

-I've gotten used to getting up before 6 am fairly quickly although historically it's been near impossible.

-I'm being trained to sleep in moving vehicles.

-I'm getting some good reading done.

-I love the sun. I miss it.

-Sometimes my soul spontaneously cries out "I want to live!" while waiting for the bus.

-According to the book I just finished commuting is a detriment to happiness and physical health.

-I've become more aware of the positions of the sun and moon.

-I'm becoming a connoisseur of spam and bus drivers.

More on that last point:
This morning on the bus, I realized that I am starting to be a bus lover. I'm seeing things, noticing shades of difference between this and that seat, this and that driver. Yesterday my morning bus driver who has a kind smile and slight nod when I get on was replaced by a beef cow. Nothing but meat behind the eyes. I didn't think much of it yesterday, just headed back to my seat with the extra leg room, opened my book, and eventually folded my arms and took a nap. But this morning, getting on and receiving again the kind look and half smile, I realized I have a rare morning bus driver indeed.

Not only is he kind, he knows how to drive and take corners. A skill not found in every driver. Yesterday on the way home our bus driver was being trained. It was her first run down to Provo from Salt Lake. She didn't even know about the no talking to the driver while driving rule because she chatted the whole time. Mostly about how driving buses in California is better than driving buses in Utah. Honestly, she was talking about how their buses have this or that high tech addition, how their highways make more sense, how this or that regulations is more logical.... Now, I can accept when Californians brag and act superior about their beaches, their redwoods, their Trader Joe's, their In-n-Outs, but their buses? Is there nothing they won't brag about? Where does this superiority complex/little-man syndrome come from?

A wise man said the deepest rivers make the least noise. If that's true than California's awesomeness is a painfully shallow river. Except it's not. I've been there. It's a great place. A couple days of beach living makes me regret my entire Utah childhood. Maybe the non-beach-livers feel like they should live in a great state, but don't get the benefits, feel gyped, and have to take it out on others. Maybe they're unfulfilled with paradise, but since it's paradise can't complain and so have to belittle other places. I don't know. But I may just have a doctorate dissertation in there somewhere.

Guest Horoscope, the Onion

2008-09-03T04:55:00.000-04:00

Aries: Though you are a vindictive, cruel, and miserable son of a bitch, you will be rewarded with great happiness and good fortune this week. This is just how the universe works.

The day before I read this I was walking past a gas station that sold California state lotto tickets. And as I gazed at the orange and yellow sun surrounding the sea and baby blue L like a halo on the Cal State Lotto Logo--sorry for all the noun strings, folks--I had something that I've only had a couple times in my life. My lucky feeling. Now, as I say, I don't have this feeling too often. Two times will hopefully illustrate the strength of my lucky feeling.

1. I had it once in high school at the Utah Sports park where I was really wanting a bandanna to tie my hair (long as was the fashion) down on the way back to Provo in my friend's convertible. The Sports Park had a game room with tickets which could be won and traded for prizes. One of the prizes was a white, with red rose, Harley Davidson bandanna. Having recently bought a motorcycle, I thought this was ideal. It only cost 450 tickets. Now to win them. There was a baseball game where you rolled quarters into holes marked single, double, triple, home run, out, strike, ball, etc. You can guess how big, small, easy to hit, hard to hit the respective holes were. Well, the bases were loaded, so if I got a home run, I would win the jackpot which was a little over 450 tickets as I remember. I'd just have to curve the quarter around a big out, have it hop some quarters littering its path, and get it into the quarter sized home run hole. Well, I had that lucky feeling and didn't have my hair whipping into my face on the way home. Yay!

2. This last Christmas BYU's newspaper the Universe had a 12 days of Christmas giveaway sponsored by the bookstore. They had daily prizes of hundred dollar shopping sprees and some grand prizes like a big flat-screen TV, a lap top computer, an iPod of some sort. Neat electronic stuff basically. Well, I had a lucky feeling and went to do the required "game" which would make sure I read the Universe to get the prize. Well, the game was completely idiotic, so I didn't do it. But, i still had that lucky feeling like the Universe--not the newspaper--wanted to do me some good. The final day, I thought of it again and entered. On the way to school I picked up a Universe--the newspaper--to check if I'd won the $100, I hadn't. I thought, shoot, and went to work. Well, i got a call, was put on speaker phone and ended up winning the lap top. It's huge. It has tons of RAM and stuff. It's the grandest of the grand prizes. Triple yay.

So, I had that feeling again. We walked past the gas station--as we didn't need gas--to get some B-grade electronics and sun screen at Rite Aid. On the way back though, I went with the lucky feeling and got my lotto ticket. The numbers were 29, 31, 34, 40, 44 and "mega" 26. They seemed inauspicious numbers. Not much of a spread. Kind of had all my eggs in one over 29 basket--though I am 29 and that could be read as a good omen. Plus, I had that lucky feeling, though it was lessened by the fact that I didn't act on it immediately, and so someone else may have come and bought the winning, random-computer-generated number.

So, in light of the lucky feeling and its track record, I lived the couple of days till I found out as though I really were going to win the 17 million jackpot to be paid out in 26 or 1 installment. Which should I go for? I thought. How should I spend it? Immediately I thought of the maid I would buy for my mom, the senior trips with one or two companions I would offer my nieces and nephews, an out-of-this-world nice wedding present, the help I could give my sister starting her MA, helping myself and others out of debt. Investing $100,000 off the bat for retirement. It's not like I'd miss that little, right? Lots of altruistic stuff. And of course the eye surgery, the car, the new apartment, the many trips to South/Central America, New York, Boston, Hawaii, Iceland, Thailand etc for me. I imagined I would still start and go to my job this coming Monday. No use letting wealth make me a lazy a$$ (get it? dollar signs?). Though I may have quit after a bit to really focus on writing before I went to get my doctorate next year. I mean, that was the plan anyway.

But I did have some darker thoughts as well. I thought, this will make me. I will never actually have to work another day in my life. I will not have to strive for anything in my life. I would be comfortable and secure as far as finances go. Period. It would never be a worry. Anyway, I thought of interacting with friends, going to school reunions, or just being known/remembered by those I know in general and I figured I'd be the guy-who-won-the-lottery guy. I wouldn't be the pilot, i wouldn't be the ukulele-maker, I wouldn't be the professor, the writer, the traveler, or anything. I'd be the lucky punk who got everything he never deserved. Cause who deserves to win the lottery? No one. I can think of people I'd be happy for if they did, but no one deserves it. And then I thought of "Teen Pregnancy: The Musical" and how it speaks out against everything that winning the lottery means and brings.

So I waited. I thought and waited and when i closed my eyes I seemed to see the horizon undulating endlessly--I was also doing a lot of boogie boarding while waiting.

Then the day came to check.

And the winning numbers were:

5, 7, 11, 20, 22, and "mega" 11.

Yep. Not even close. Though I suppose my initial disbelief at the clustering of my numbers was also fallacious. So, I don't have my money set, my mother doesn't get a maid--yet--and me and my siblings won't be set for life. Sad. Luckily, however, I may yet be known and remembered for something other than the lucky bastard who won the lottery. And that is something to be happy about.

In the meantime I'm supporting education. Yay.

The Navy Seal Workout

2008-08-23T16:20:00.000-04:00

So, for those of you who have talked to me for the past 6 months, you probably know that I've been doing the Navy Seal preparatory workouts which they say you must be able to do to even think about making it through training. Well, I completed the many weeks. It was an experiment because I was very doubtful I'd be able to complete the final week which involved 20 sets of 25 sit ups, 20 push ups, 15 dips and 5 sets of 12 pull ups. That means 500 sit ups, 400 push ups, 300 dips and 60 pull ups. Well, I recently found out that it is possible to do that many of those things, and I now have the best body of my life as I'm pushing 30. Woo hoo! Not that that's old or anything, but I have heard that whatever body you have at 30 you will have that or worse the rest of your life. It's very hard to push to a higher level after 30, so it's good to be there now.

The only problems have been that I have lost 10 lbs--though I guess I had 10 to lose??--and many of my pants have gotten ridiculously baggy and thus unwearable. Though the pants thing is fine because I found some boot cut jeans at American Eagle that I love so much I feel slightly guilty.

So, another experiment arguably more successful than the overall horoscope one. Though I am about to go searching for some Chinese horoscopes in honor of the Olympics. Hooray for Michael Phelps!

June 25 Guest Horoscope II: Free Will Astrology

2008-06-27T15:06:00.000-04:00

Aries: Welcome to Part Two of your outlook for the second half of 2008, Aries. We're checking up on how you're progressing with the challenges you were given near the end of last year. I'm hoping that by now you're well on your way toward leaving your amateur or rookie status behind for good. I trust that you have had a vision of exactly what you need to do in order to boost your level of professionalism, and that you have taken aggressive steps to carry out that vision. If for some bizarre reason you have not yet begun this glorious work, jumpstart yourself immediately. Fate will conspire dramatically on your behalf if you do. Now here's a tip on how to make sure that your inner warrior is operating at peak efficiency: Assume there's always more you can do to raise your standards and aspire to a higher grade of excellence.

I recently wrote in my journal for the first time since the end of last year. My last line was “And that’s how you don’t write a thesis.” At the end of last year I was really spinning my wheels, feeling tons of pressure about writing my thesis but not making any progress on it. I will defend that thesis on Monday, and then will be free to focus my energies and newfound work-ethic and focus on other writing projects like Teen Pregnancy: The Musical, a screenplay about my grandfather’s experience in WWI, many travel narratives and personal essays as well as some plays I haven’t finished. Then I get to read a lot of classics to prepare for the GRE subject test, research PhD programs in folklore, English, Religious Studies, Comparative Studies, MFA programs in Screen and Playwriting, and prepare compelling applications for same. Some time in there I also need to get a job to stem the mighty exodus occurring with my bank account. So, is there more that I can do? Yep. I still don’t get a ton done on the typical day except maybe reading. But I’ve been intending to reinstate daily schedules. Looks like it’s time. Yeah, things are that serious.

June 18 Guest Horoscope: Free Will Astrology

2008-06-18T14:43:00.000-04:00

Aries: We're halfway through 2008. It's a perfect moment to take inventory of how well you're capitalizing on this year's unique opportunities. So let me ask you, Aries: Are you working your ass off in order to stoke the fire in your belly? In other words, are you doing everything you can think of to get more motivated? Are you trying hard to supercharge your ambitions and refine your passions? If so, this will be the year when you finally figure out how to do what you love to do a majority of the time -- and how to get rewarded by the world for doing it. It's high time to answer your highest calling.

A quick note about Free Will Astrology, it is the greatest horoscope ever, and I recommend it to anyone and everyone. It got me hooked when, a couple years ago, I read this entry for Aries. Dynamic and applicable. Rob Brezny's oracle nearly always speaks to me. That may lead one to wonder why i haven't been blogging about Rob the entire time. Well, for a couple reasons, his horoscope doesn't need experimentation in my mind, it's less predictive and more advisory, thus it isn't necessarily true or not, but something that I can listen to or not. Also, it tends to treat fairly personal matters I wasn't sure I was comfortable blogging about. That being said, let's blog.

This one is right on. This entire year i have planned that if I didn't get into a PhD program--which I didn't--I would use the time to focus on writing to see if there were any indicators whether I could really make it or not as a writer. That's the thing I want the world to pay me to do and do most of the time. Is my motivation where it needs to be? Not yet. My time management skills are making this dream suffer as well as the ever present thesis. Of course those are just excuses, so I've got to finish revisions on my thesis--though draft 1 and 2 are luckily behind me, yay!--and get into a serious schedule where I focus on my many writing projects. And that brings me to the first thing I need to do: make a list of the writing projects that are most important/most likely to get me going and get to work. So, more on that later.

Thanks, Rob, for the reminder that the years half over and my higher calling is still waiting in the wings.

Hisashiburi

2008-06-18T14:38:00.000-04:00

That's Japanese for "long time no see." While I could go through many excuses about how my facebook thesis--ah hem, I meant page--never updates the horoscope anymore, that still doesn't account for the 2-3 horoscopes from April and May that I never got around to responding to though I did save them. I tried to update them the other day, but it's been too long. It would taint my scientific results... which are already tainted tomatoes since I seem to have no more horoscopes from facebook. Booooo, facebook. Boooo. So, I have decided to use some "guest" horoscopes until, and if ever, facebook horoscopes get their act together and start posting horoscopes again because I was finding them fairly relevant. So, new guest horoscope coming soon, and just so you know, Chili-cheese fries at Red Robin at Provo Towne Center Mall are awesome. Four stars easy with great chili, cheese, fries, AND real bits of bacon. Lovely, though the most expensive at $9.

Apollo Burger and JCWs

2008-04-03T18:12:00.000-04:00

So, I have surveyed two more establishments on my great chili cheese tour of Utah Valley. Provo's own Apollo Burger, and I even ventured as far as distant American Fork's State Street for some of JCWs fine fries.

Apollo Burger: Very good. Much better than Carl's Jr for one because the fries were much bigger--and bigger seems better in this area--and the chili was also better and more evenly distributed, creating a nicer overall picture to look at. That being said, the cheese used was nacho cheese, a big no no in the chili cheese fries world I think. It's common sense that you melt the cheese on the heat of the chili, thus pre-melted or soft cheeses should not even be considered. Still, tasty, 2.5 stars.

JCWs: These are the most expensive to date, and probably the best. They tasted great, the chili and cheese were spread evenly and there was enough to attach to nearly every fry. The fries weren't as big as Apollo Burger's, but bigger than Carl's Jr--a fine size fries really. Plus, the cheese was orange and white and melted by the chili just as should be. Good, but pricey. Also the portion was a tad stingy. Still hit the spot. 3 stars.

April 2

2008-04-02T19:51:00.000-04:00

Aries: Today is perfect for dreaming up new schemes and programs for all aspects of your life. Your intellectual energy is primed and you ought to find that brainstorming comes more easily to you.

Well, today is perfect for dreaming up new schemes and programs not necessarily because my brainstorming faculties are in prime condition but because I found out late last night that I didn’t get into Bloomington’s Doctoral program, so I now have the necessary task of figuring out how to spend this next year of my life at least. Though I already have some ideas: work, make money, pay off debts, take a road trip to Tierra del Fuego, write, write, write. But, let’s say I don’t know what to do with this next year. I will brainstorm.

Things I can do with this next year
-live and work in China
-teach English in Japan
-listen to Aqua’s Cartoon Heroes until I figure something out
-write a screenplay, novel, children’s book, all of the above
-live and work at a national park this summer (Arches, Zion, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Mesa Verde…)
-work for a car rental company
-sell insurance
-work as a paleobotanist
-teach English at a Jr. College somewhere near or somewhere exotic (this could include somewhere near a beach or in Europe)
-go WOOFing in Australia—dodge out on student loans for a while—or elsewhere.
-work at a bookstore
-work as a mechanic
-kick start struggling t-shirt business
-start an online web comic
-edit, freelance or otherwise
-join a doomed expedition to somewhere unknown
-move to Alaska, find a vein of gold, mine it
-make an awesome youtube video, post it, accept job on SNL, make $$$$
-get body of a navy seal, sell images of same for $$
-get a massage license
-buy shovel, work
-learn how to beat box or break dance, change image, hit the streets, gain cred, live the life
-find every way to gain grants from the government
-refine psychic powers so I can walk through walls/disrupt bodily functions of others from a distance
-make documentary of the same
-start conspiracy theory of…

But then I’ve already said too much.

March 17

2008-03-17T18:28:00.000-04:00

Aries: You're all set to heat up your love life -- though you may not know what's happening until you're right in the middle of it! You often prefer it that way anyway, so get set for a wild ride!

Just when I’d given up hope on my fickle, non-updatatory horoscope on facebook, just when I’d decided to can the Aries Experiment and move on to the chili-cheese fries experiment, just when I’d already gotten chili-cheese fries for said experiment from Carl’s Jr., just when I’d decided that it only got another half star to add to the one it came with on the bag, just when I was ready to describe the poor presentation (a relative term when dealing with chili-cheese fries) of the blobby cheese and chili on the mediocre fries, just when I was searching for fine chili-cheese pictures on the internet for said post, facebook finally updates its horoscope. And what can I say about it? Well, not much. I guess I’ll have to wait and see, but perhaps this chili-cheese fries tour of Utah County will help me get ready get set for the forecasted “wild ride” coming up in my love life. I’m not much of an exhibitionist, but in the interest of the experiment, I may allude to whether it seemed true or not by my next post. Depending on how true it ends up being and how demure I feel when I post.

Not all astrological omens lend themselves to immediate analysis. It’s surprising even that I’ve gotten this far without having to leave things in suspense.

Also, if anyone knows of places to get Chili cheese fries in Utah Valley, let me know.

March 4: Special Tuesday Post

2008-03-04T16:14:00.000-05:00

Aries: Today sees you pretty much right where you want to be and your recent activities have paid off in a big way. Now might be a good time to re-evaluate your long-term goals in light of recent successes.

The Aries Experiment exists for these days. The first sentence seems right on. I mean, after a lunch at Chuck-a-rama with great friends and the curmudgeonly father of one, how can I not say I’m where I want to be? Besides that I’ve reached page 40 on my thesis—a fine milestone in a 60 page project—and other areas of life seem to be going great. So, a point to the dubious-at-best facebook horoscope and another point for updating on Tuesday instead of every Friday. Oh, Horoscope, you do keep me guessing.

As for the second part, re-evaluating long-term goals, that’s always kind of hard. Maybe this is a reminder to get working on my writing again as I’m getting a handle on other parts of my life. Not that I could say any of my recent successes make me think of my long-term goals any differently thus necessitating a re-evaluation. Though maybe this takes me back to Chuck-a-rama where my friend had the idea of getting a job with the British tourist something or other mapping and creating an online database of GPSed hikes with picture and audio recordings. So, that would definitely be a re-evaluation of my future goals. Send me down a different but very enjoyable path. That’s not necessarily a re-evaluation in light of recent successes though, and since the ol’ horoscope’s doing so well today, I don’t feel like cutting it any slack, not when it’s bringing it’s A game. Though, my thesis is on a similar subject… so in light of recent successes/milestones on my thesis, I may be thinking about a big, long project in England. Better check their website….

Thought: is part of this experiment to go so far as to really act on these interpretations?

Feb 29, 2008

2008-02-29T13:41:00.000-05:00

Aries: You like to keep a brisk pace in your daily activities, but today demands care and attention, so go slow. If you start to get frustrated, take a breather and remind yourself of what's important.

I'm feeling this leap-day horoscope is a little anti-climactic. Is that just me liking a "brisk" or more exciting pace? Slow down it tells me. Enjoy me in my banality.

Sometimes I do like a brisk pace. The days when I don’t sleep in until noon—very rare these days—or get up and putter around my room “cleaning” and shuffling papers into various piles, I do like a brisk pace though it may be closer to the truth to say that I don’t like a slow pace. But that’s what I need today evidently. I don’t know if sleeping in a half hour and being awakened by a phone call to find out my library teaching time was 10 instead of 2 counts as taking it slow because it’s the opposite of attention. Though I was being nagged by something in my mind to check the exact time last night. Just didn’t. My day was looking fairly easy-going, but now that I’m cautioned against frustration, I remember that I need to type up and print a worksheet for my GRE class tomorrow. That might make things hectic. But what’s important? Writing three pages on my thesis. Getting it done. And making sure I see/hear Billy Collins here at BYU. Speaking of which, if I’m going to have a slow walk with care and attention over to the JFSB, I better go.

Later the same day:
So, my day was largely a very brisk affair. Didn't really things down except once in the afternoon and in the evening. But it occurred to me that had I done as planned I may have been able to show the illustrious Billy Collins to the bathroom as I was able to do for Derek Walcott. Perhaps with a little more care and attention the importance of showing famous people to the nearest urinal would have been remembered... and enjoyed. Sigh.

Feb 22, 2008

2008-02-26T13:52:00.000-05:00

Aries: You're feeling a bit of pressure at home or at work to take care of responsibilities that are boring but vital. It's a good day to get them out of the way -- there's not much happening to distract you.

Note: This activity is being less scientific than perhaps it could be. Because I only write on horoscopes I have a response to, this experiment is flawed in that it isn’t representative of all horoscopes. Though perhaps one could note the dates and assume that those were the noteworthy journals and thus infer how often an accurate—or somehow applicable—horoscope occurred.

Well, I guess this was technically yesterday and, that being the case, it may not have been too far off. So, I’m always feeling pressure at work/school to take core of responsibilities/thesis and it is boring/tedious but vital/my life-is-on-pause-until-I’m-done. All these slashes make me wonder how concrete these terms are. Are the substitutions I’m making viable? When does authorial intent come into the scene? There are rarely stated authors for horoscopes, so the author, I think, can really and truly be said to be dead. So, the words do mean anything they can. In fact, I think the author has to be dead for any of these things to mean anything. What is “a bit of pressure” anyway. That can be felt almost at any time about anything. It nearly stretches my mind to think of a time when I wasn’t feeling even “a bit of pressure.” I’ve experienced it once in my adult life. It was a day spent on the couch watching MTV’s the Real World with New Zealand’s number two delegate to the UN in Vienna. Didn’t feel even a bit of pressure—except perhaps on the inner bladder every now and then.

Jan 23, 2008

2008-02-26T13:42:00.000-05:00

Aries: Your family issues are at the forefront today and you may find that your people are a bit easier to deal with than usual. That doesn't mean that everything will go smoothly -- just that now is the time to act.

Wow, this one seems right on the money. Today I talked about my past with my counselor. Before we got to that I mentioned how I was foolishly feeling shame and guilt about having less than favorable things to report to my counselor which I thought was ridiculous because he’s my counselor. He said he felt like I was putting him in a father-type role and to maybe talk about my feelings about my father. So I did. Without going into too much detail, I considered emailing and telling my father what I would tell him if he were there. Then I leave, read this horoscope and think "So, now is the time to act?" Which leaves the question, am I actually going to be spurred to action by a horoscope??!! That sounds like a disaster in the making even though I have two horoscopes I follow now. Still, do I want to be that kind of person?

Well, I did.

Didn't work too well...

Jan 17, 2008

2008-02-25T14:10:00.000-05:00

Aries:
Today is perfect for taking stock of your possessions or other assets. Not only will you uncover some forgotten treasures, you'll also reassure yourself that things are okay in deeper ways.

I sort of did this a couple days ago when I itemized all the things the universe had dropped into my lap including a laptop, three trips to Europe, a trip to Japan teaching English for a summer, and a lucky white bandanna (since lost). I don’t know if I uncovered any forgotten treasures, but I was reassured that the universe does seem to have my best interests in mind which is comforting ultimately, but there’s always that fear that—at some point—my best interests will be on the far side of some hellish times.

The Premise

2008-02-25T13:57:00.000-05:00

The purpose of this blog is to see how accurate my horoscope on facebook is. I'm an Aries, and my horoscope updates every Friday when I will read it and comment on how accurate, relevant it is to my life and whatever else it makes me think of. I guess I'll do it for a year and see what happens. It would be nice if this was a good look at how much the stars do influence my life, but it's probably more of a look at how well I can interpret some faceless person's predictions to my life. Which brings up a really good question I've never thought of--how do the writers of horoscopes get their info? What kind of astronomical omens are they interpreting to give me my horoscope? Can I get a hold of these star charts and do my own thing? Or is personal astrological revelation simply not done? We'll see.