This past week in my life has been rather, for lack of a better word, depressed. It seems like everything is frustrating - from school, to love, to family, and finally to self. School continues to defy me. Love is my constant yet often superficially so transparent by the many thousands of miles. My family seeks the solid ground so long departed. And I seek myself and God, with very only a few assurances to give me rest until the next derision of panic hits. Silly things, though they all seem to define me.
All that said, in the past few days I have fundamentally smiled and found contentment through various experiences. I would like to share them.
Yesterday evening as I finished a read through with Meredith (my partner on the final project for Acting), I saw Rique. Rique is a truly lovely person I met at Campus Crusade for Christ last year. Though I never went back to the KKK (a nickname of affection) except for a few times, Rique and I seemed to form a quick, shallow but deep friendship - shallow meaning I think I've only seen and talked with the guy five times, never for more than 2 minutes. I think he might be the kind of guy who does that with everyone he meets, but I'll entertain thoughts otherwise. Seeing him was a great end to the night. We hugged and chatted for the tiniest bit of a moment. Jessica, a friend from highschool and the KKK, once told me that a true friend is one who enligtens your day. Last night I experienced that. Though I believe I experience that whenever I speak with my true friends, seeing Rique seemed to encapsulate that thought.
Earlier that day, in between my talking to the girl, I called Damion. I was returning a wonderful message he left me....on some day of this week...whichever it might have been.........yeah. Damion, I told you yesterday, but I gladly say again - it was so fantastic hearing from you. I was delighted we could talk and catch up the littlest bit. I would like to say you're the queerest bit of fresh air in my life. But no, I think I am probably the screwiest facet in my own life. So you must take second cake, my dear man.
Today I learned that Chris, a friendly acquiantance from two of my Economics classes, landed one of the internships I applied for earlier in the semester. It was sad to have hammered home again my inability to be desirable enough, and I admit some jealousy. However, I am happy for him. He's an awesome guy and I know he'll do fantastically in such a job (guaranteed after graduation). And he's so freakin' tall. I'm convinced tall people are it in this world. *sighs*
Finally and most fundamental, after talking to Damion, Elisabeth and I were able to talk. Nothing completes my day nor allows me to smile again like escaping my world and entering ours.
The past two days have been good. Now to hell and back with two papers and a test in the two busiest weeks of my life. Wahooo!
(Erin has just the cutest picture of a puppy. Well, she and the puppy are cute together. But...you know...I'm focusing on the puppy here, people.)
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Monday, November 14, 2005
I Lost My Virginity on 11-4-05
...my moving virginity, that is. Most women complain that their first times are rather painful due to rushing and inexperience. Everything I did that day was rushed and ensconced in the embrace of inexperience. And yet, the moving was not painful. Of course, those women might have been talking about sex. Who knows.
This is the fascinating part of having no close friends in close proximity - no one knows where it is I lived for the better part of my life, except for Elisabeth of course. (I have had the rather happy opportunity to show the girl my home and the town I grew up in before I had to so quickly leave it. I never actually thought I would get the chance. So, bully on me.) Most of my friends live in excess of 40 miles away from me (really 100+ if we count Marshall living permanently in Chapel Hill). So it is a strange and perhaps complicated thing to impart the utter wonder and disbelief that can well up at the thought of moving. Of course, now that I have moved, the disbelief is as minimal as can be, I think. Yet it still remains - the house was as much a part of my childhood as my parents, pets, and childhood friends were. So to leave it, the walls of my youth and rather misstepping manhood, is rather like leaving that cherished loved one. It truly is time to go, not because the relationship has soured. But because the time is right and ripe to be taken. Yet timing does not take away the sting of leaving my childhood.
I believe I can say without mispeaking, my house is a manifestation of my life (or, at least, parts of it) because of how it lived with me. As I child, my house defined who I was. I - the very energetic, eccentric child - was not only the redhead but also the kid whose house was a towering pink/white/grey Victorian, 3 story with an acre of lawn, and a lovely white picket fence. Kids in school identified the house with me and me with the house. So much so that, in highschool, friends of mine would honk their car horns as they passed the house or even shout my name. I was never the most social creature outside of school (see protective parents), so the shouting and the honking was a very demonstrative way of keeping in touch. I also remember as a very young one that my similarly young peers used to rib me for living in a house that was actually paint, in part, pink. I never really understood why kids made fun of it, though I can imagine why now.
My house, or rather my perception of it, grew as I grew. When I was young, it was often scary and too very big. My mom, as the time struck for me to jump into bed, had to turn on the hall lamp which lit the stairs and a part of the upstairs so I wouldn't have to trundle to my room in the dark. Lots of very high ceilings inspire lots of very deep shadows which can inspire, even now, my imagination to think more upon the supernatural than usual. So you can just imagine how my mind raced as a wee thing. I remember, encouraged by various creaks and bumps in the night, that I would convince myself a monster was not only in my room but laying on the right side of the bed (had I chosen the left to curl up in) next to me. Of course I promptly fell asleep, but those were a terrifying few moments before sleep actually carried me away.
My house was just....big. And as I grew up, its largeness became comfortable, comfort which manfisted itself into a relaxed, "large" understanding of life. I realize now that I like space. But not wasted space, as, sadly, the space in my house was at times. I enjoy depth, heighth and width in tandem with the delicacies of decoration. There is something undoubtedly expansive and impressive to my mind when one can take a 30 foot by 15 foot room (my dinning room) and make it smaller and more intimate, all the while not hiding the fact of a huge ass room. I love my house - not for any silly sense of perfect design, though. No, I love my house because of it's character. There's a feeling of family, warmth, comfort, excitement, intelligence (dude, we had three book rooms, two with floor to ceiling shelves), and above all, again, family. Perhaps every house with the right people feels like that. I simply have no idea if that's true. All I know is that my old house was wonderful because it was another part to our family - as mushy as that sounds. I look forward to experiencing the creation of the kind of house I grew up in - with children, a wife, family, and friends. If any house can ever feel like the house I just moved out of, I will be so happy.
I also liked the way my house smelled. There are very few houses that my nose appreciates, and by golly, mine was certainly the standard by which all others were sniffed.
A thought just occurred to me, I am leaving behind the bodies of 5 pets. How odd to not have thought of that before. Conrad (my beautiful, like-minded English Spaniel) we buried where a pecan tree grew - torn down by Hurricane Hugo. Willie (some sort of sheep dog of my parents), Albert (a black tabby of my mother), Harry (my cat whose death inspired the only two sermons I've heard my father give), and Hal (my "would sleep upside down in your hands if only you kept still long enough" cat) were all buried along the fence, just a few paces down from our garden. As they left us in this life (and inspired many frank and whimsical conversations about the presence of pets in Heaven), so we shall now leave what were their bodies. I do not feel like I am abandoning them, nor desecrating their resting places. However, over time, the earth where they are buried will be overturned and their bones discovered. Who shall find them? ...in the digging will there be any pause? Will their discovery launch some frenetic police and FBI hunt in the hopes of catching the murderer of the unidentified 5 youths? *sighs*...I hope for the latter.
My yard was also where I spent a decade of my life dedicating myself to the art of pitching. It always amazed me how quickly the earth healed itself of the the many deep, wide scars my taloned feet etched into it. (My cleats were the most impressive things ever.) Thousands of balls rolled in the grass, marking both inaccuracy and accuracy. And now no more shall. Now the land will have even more time to heal itself after witnessing what I hoped would be a brief respite after college became too much to juggle with intensive physical training. How strange it is to consider such an end.
And how strange, I am sure, to read intimate words concerning many things that many will have no context for. I hope I gave something to make a picture.
I miss my house. But I'm having fun with the new one. It smells a bit too much like something not ours, but we'll work on it. Unfortunately we have only one cat to assault disparaging smells. Goodness, that reminds me: I was convinced our two remaining cats would die before we moved. One did, my beautiful little Blackie. And yet, to my surprise, Chipsie still lives! (Can you guess that an 8 year old me named both of them?) I am glad she did, a blessing it always is to keep as much family around you. Especially during these times.
This is the fascinating part of having no close friends in close proximity - no one knows where it is I lived for the better part of my life, except for Elisabeth of course. (I have had the rather happy opportunity to show the girl my home and the town I grew up in before I had to so quickly leave it. I never actually thought I would get the chance. So, bully on me.) Most of my friends live in excess of 40 miles away from me (really 100+ if we count Marshall living permanently in Chapel Hill). So it is a strange and perhaps complicated thing to impart the utter wonder and disbelief that can well up at the thought of moving. Of course, now that I have moved, the disbelief is as minimal as can be, I think. Yet it still remains - the house was as much a part of my childhood as my parents, pets, and childhood friends were. So to leave it, the walls of my youth and rather misstepping manhood, is rather like leaving that cherished loved one. It truly is time to go, not because the relationship has soured. But because the time is right and ripe to be taken. Yet timing does not take away the sting of leaving my childhood.
I believe I can say without mispeaking, my house is a manifestation of my life (or, at least, parts of it) because of how it lived with me. As I child, my house defined who I was. I - the very energetic, eccentric child - was not only the redhead but also the kid whose house was a towering pink/white/grey Victorian, 3 story with an acre of lawn, and a lovely white picket fence. Kids in school identified the house with me and me with the house. So much so that, in highschool, friends of mine would honk their car horns as they passed the house or even shout my name. I was never the most social creature outside of school (see protective parents), so the shouting and the honking was a very demonstrative way of keeping in touch. I also remember as a very young one that my similarly young peers used to rib me for living in a house that was actually paint, in part, pink. I never really understood why kids made fun of it, though I can imagine why now.
My house, or rather my perception of it, grew as I grew. When I was young, it was often scary and too very big. My mom, as the time struck for me to jump into bed, had to turn on the hall lamp which lit the stairs and a part of the upstairs so I wouldn't have to trundle to my room in the dark. Lots of very high ceilings inspire lots of very deep shadows which can inspire, even now, my imagination to think more upon the supernatural than usual. So you can just imagine how my mind raced as a wee thing. I remember, encouraged by various creaks and bumps in the night, that I would convince myself a monster was not only in my room but laying on the right side of the bed (had I chosen the left to curl up in) next to me. Of course I promptly fell asleep, but those were a terrifying few moments before sleep actually carried me away.
My house was just....big. And as I grew up, its largeness became comfortable, comfort which manfisted itself into a relaxed, "large" understanding of life. I realize now that I like space. But not wasted space, as, sadly, the space in my house was at times. I enjoy depth, heighth and width in tandem with the delicacies of decoration. There is something undoubtedly expansive and impressive to my mind when one can take a 30 foot by 15 foot room (my dinning room) and make it smaller and more intimate, all the while not hiding the fact of a huge ass room. I love my house - not for any silly sense of perfect design, though. No, I love my house because of it's character. There's a feeling of family, warmth, comfort, excitement, intelligence (dude, we had three book rooms, two with floor to ceiling shelves), and above all, again, family. Perhaps every house with the right people feels like that. I simply have no idea if that's true. All I know is that my old house was wonderful because it was another part to our family - as mushy as that sounds. I look forward to experiencing the creation of the kind of house I grew up in - with children, a wife, family, and friends. If any house can ever feel like the house I just moved out of, I will be so happy.
I also liked the way my house smelled. There are very few houses that my nose appreciates, and by golly, mine was certainly the standard by which all others were sniffed.
A thought just occurred to me, I am leaving behind the bodies of 5 pets. How odd to not have thought of that before. Conrad (my beautiful, like-minded English Spaniel) we buried where a pecan tree grew - torn down by Hurricane Hugo. Willie (some sort of sheep dog of my parents), Albert (a black tabby of my mother), Harry (my cat whose death inspired the only two sermons I've heard my father give), and Hal (my "would sleep upside down in your hands if only you kept still long enough" cat) were all buried along the fence, just a few paces down from our garden. As they left us in this life (and inspired many frank and whimsical conversations about the presence of pets in Heaven), so we shall now leave what were their bodies. I do not feel like I am abandoning them, nor desecrating their resting places. However, over time, the earth where they are buried will be overturned and their bones discovered. Who shall find them? ...in the digging will there be any pause? Will their discovery launch some frenetic police and FBI hunt in the hopes of catching the murderer of the unidentified 5 youths? *sighs*...I hope for the latter.
My yard was also where I spent a decade of my life dedicating myself to the art of pitching. It always amazed me how quickly the earth healed itself of the the many deep, wide scars my taloned feet etched into it. (My cleats were the most impressive things ever.) Thousands of balls rolled in the grass, marking both inaccuracy and accuracy. And now no more shall. Now the land will have even more time to heal itself after witnessing what I hoped would be a brief respite after college became too much to juggle with intensive physical training. How strange it is to consider such an end.
And how strange, I am sure, to read intimate words concerning many things that many will have no context for. I hope I gave something to make a picture.
I miss my house. But I'm having fun with the new one. It smells a bit too much like something not ours, but we'll work on it. Unfortunately we have only one cat to assault disparaging smells. Goodness, that reminds me: I was convinced our two remaining cats would die before we moved. One did, my beautiful little Blackie. And yet, to my surprise, Chipsie still lives! (Can you guess that an 8 year old me named both of them?) I am glad she did, a blessing it always is to keep as much family around you. Especially during these times.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
On Pat Robertson
The issue of intelligent design versus evolution is the dominant, explosive springboard into the broader argument over the separation of Church and State. We cannot question that our Fathers founded a State in which Religion must not be governed. And for Religion to escape governmental control it simply cannot emerge in the government's many spheres of influence. "What is Caesar's, give to Caesar. What is God's, give to God." A horrific paraphrase, yet spoken by Jesus Christ and, I think, a fundamental guideline to how Christians should approach their relationships with Government and God. Identity is as fluid as relationships - fluid meaning inherently dynamic. Therefore, relationships with God and Government do change and have always changed. However, we have guidelines and should strive to meet them in ways that promote the words of our Fathers.
Sadly, those guidelines are being blurred, if not erased, by the oncoming tide of so-called Evangelical Christians. The greatest manifestation of this tide are the various battles in many states that strive to inject the theory of Intelligent Design alongside the theory of Evolution in the classroom. I have often justified the struggle because of my own struggles with Evolution. However, as I see these fights and the continued polarization, if not hatred, they inspire, I realize I simply cannot justify the desire to teach Intelligent Design in addendum to Evolution. I believe Evolution is still not enough to explain the complexities of the natural world. Yet to go as far as I would like to explaining the world, would be to announce and explore the Creator side by side with the Creation. But I will not and cannot condone the teaching of such in public education. If the thought of Intelligent Design is only a hop, skip, and a jump to God for most people, then so be it - reason enough not to consider it a part of the curriculum. The bridge to God is obviously why most people believe in Design. And strikingly, to imply Design is to imply a Designer. Our educational system does not exist as a trumpeter of faith - faith the act of belief in facets of this world that exist outside of man. We can't allow the government to be in the business of promoting faith, even if it is ambiguous (especially if it's not ambiguous at all). So that leaves one option to teachers and parents who choose to become involved in public education - the study of only the natural world and Evolution.
To be honest, I don't know what I believe when it comes to Evolution. The adaptation of the species is a fact of history and the fossil record. I have studied adaptation in way that make the history and fact of it unquestionable. And yet I struggle to accept the proposed logic of the argument that since we can see adaptation, therefore it must be part of a larger process that encompassed eons instead of thousands of years - that process being Evolution. I recently read an article positing the fact and theory of Evolution and am reading a book regarding the unification of Christian belief and the fact of Evolution - both efforts of mine to increase my knowledge about a subject which often stupefies me. I've no doubt that many who could read this would simply chalk my difficulties of belief to my the blindness of my Belief. I express no doubt about that because I know such holds a great deal of truth. Foremost is the issue of time: Evolution is defined by time and the ability through those trillions of days to allow growth, change, and selection. I don't know, man, but that's pretty freakin' hard to believe in. And while I do realise I believe in an entity whose existance is proved through the words of a book, the feelings of heart, and other fuzzy experiences, I find it fundamentally hard to accept that all things can be reduced to chaos. ...Charles Darwin charges that his theory allows for the complete reducibility of complexity. And yet, within Evolutionary science there is a phenomenon called the Irreducibility Complex which establishes that (for the sake of simplicity) the motor that moves bacterium cannot be reduced by the theories of science even though it is constructed of smaller units, proteins. And I don't know what to do with that knowledge (knowledge gained by researched scientific claims of Intelligent Designs, so who knows, it might just be the creation of some desperate Christian). **If I am wrong on any of this, enlighten me. I do not present any of it besides my belief in God with 100% certainy. I never wish to speak falsely, so correct me if I have.**
Regardless. While I may not be able to reconcile my belief in an almighty God with a much established scientific fact and do not possess enough knowledge to satisfy my unsated desire, I do know one simple thing: humanity does not speak for God. And even more, Christians neither possess the complete voice or mind of God.
Thus, I say without hesistance or regret: Fuck you, Pat Robertson.
I am a Christian, unapologetically and joyously. As a rational human being, I would gladly turn my back on God to escape the entanglements of devotion, sacrifice, and unadulterated love. Yet I cannot and will not because of the joy, revelation, and communion I experience on levels that define and equate spirituality and physicality. However, I have come to learn one simple thing in my life: I hate most Christians.
That may seem ridiculously harsh and perhaps even hypocritical - these people, these Christians are supposed to be my brothers and sisters in a union that is should define our experience in life. But I deny that supposed harshness. I hate them because they are either no more my brothers or sisters than my cat or because they hide, obscure that relationship so well they may very well be just another whore on the street. I often express my hatred in humour - such as after seeing the "Women's Bible," a Bible constructed as a woman's magazine, or the "Hunter's Bible," dressed in fatigues. I think to myself, "the stupid things these people come up with to justify themselves in this world." But this hatred for Pat Robertson drives forth out of disgust and sadness.
In response to the upsurption of 8 of the 9 Dover, PA school board members (all of whom favoured and voted for the inclusion of Intelligent Design), Robertson said, "I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: If there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God. You just rejected him from your city." He then attempted to clarify himself with this: "our spiritual actions have consequences." Yes, and all that we do and say also have consequences...whatever those consequences might be.
Pat Robertson typifies exactly what I hate about most Christians - this self-important, self-aggrandaized, self-righteous demeanor that pervades all that they are, especially their relationship with God (at least the relationship that I can see). They go so far, I think, to define even God through themselves. So, I suppose, then, they have no problem with encouraging murder (Chavez) and calling down the judgment of God. It disgusts me that Robertson even mentioned God's name in his fury over some stupid council election. And it saddens me that a man looked up to by millions calls down judgment over political beliefs without any reaction from the Christian faith who should be as horrified as I by this self-important stripe of a man. I have learned by my faith and my walks in this world not to judge those who surround me. There is already a Judge, I believe, who is Christ. He judged (and will) those who deserved to be judged (the hypocrites) and spent his time with the perceived dregs of society. And yet Robertson uses His name to chastise those who would dare defy some ridiculous ideology - the people, no doubt, Robertson perceives to be the dregs of our society.
Who are you to call down a reign of fire? Who are you to speak for God? Who are you to judge in His name?
You are no one, not a thing, and not God.
So fuck off, Pat Robertson.
Sadly, those guidelines are being blurred, if not erased, by the oncoming tide of so-called Evangelical Christians. The greatest manifestation of this tide are the various battles in many states that strive to inject the theory of Intelligent Design alongside the theory of Evolution in the classroom. I have often justified the struggle because of my own struggles with Evolution. However, as I see these fights and the continued polarization, if not hatred, they inspire, I realize I simply cannot justify the desire to teach Intelligent Design in addendum to Evolution. I believe Evolution is still not enough to explain the complexities of the natural world. Yet to go as far as I would like to explaining the world, would be to announce and explore the Creator side by side with the Creation. But I will not and cannot condone the teaching of such in public education. If the thought of Intelligent Design is only a hop, skip, and a jump to God for most people, then so be it - reason enough not to consider it a part of the curriculum. The bridge to God is obviously why most people believe in Design. And strikingly, to imply Design is to imply a Designer. Our educational system does not exist as a trumpeter of faith - faith the act of belief in facets of this world that exist outside of man. We can't allow the government to be in the business of promoting faith, even if it is ambiguous (especially if it's not ambiguous at all). So that leaves one option to teachers and parents who choose to become involved in public education - the study of only the natural world and Evolution.
To be honest, I don't know what I believe when it comes to Evolution. The adaptation of the species is a fact of history and the fossil record. I have studied adaptation in way that make the history and fact of it unquestionable. And yet I struggle to accept the proposed logic of the argument that since we can see adaptation, therefore it must be part of a larger process that encompassed eons instead of thousands of years - that process being Evolution. I recently read an article positing the fact and theory of Evolution and am reading a book regarding the unification of Christian belief and the fact of Evolution - both efforts of mine to increase my knowledge about a subject which often stupefies me. I've no doubt that many who could read this would simply chalk my difficulties of belief to my the blindness of my Belief. I express no doubt about that because I know such holds a great deal of truth. Foremost is the issue of time: Evolution is defined by time and the ability through those trillions of days to allow growth, change, and selection. I don't know, man, but that's pretty freakin' hard to believe in. And while I do realise I believe in an entity whose existance is proved through the words of a book, the feelings of heart, and other fuzzy experiences, I find it fundamentally hard to accept that all things can be reduced to chaos. ...Charles Darwin charges that his theory allows for the complete reducibility of complexity. And yet, within Evolutionary science there is a phenomenon called the Irreducibility Complex which establishes that (for the sake of simplicity) the motor that moves bacterium cannot be reduced by the theories of science even though it is constructed of smaller units, proteins. And I don't know what to do with that knowledge (knowledge gained by researched scientific claims of Intelligent Designs, so who knows, it might just be the creation of some desperate Christian). **If I am wrong on any of this, enlighten me. I do not present any of it besides my belief in God with 100% certainy. I never wish to speak falsely, so correct me if I have.**
Regardless. While I may not be able to reconcile my belief in an almighty God with a much established scientific fact and do not possess enough knowledge to satisfy my unsated desire, I do know one simple thing: humanity does not speak for God. And even more, Christians neither possess the complete voice or mind of God.
Thus, I say without hesistance or regret: Fuck you, Pat Robertson.
I am a Christian, unapologetically and joyously. As a rational human being, I would gladly turn my back on God to escape the entanglements of devotion, sacrifice, and unadulterated love. Yet I cannot and will not because of the joy, revelation, and communion I experience on levels that define and equate spirituality and physicality. However, I have come to learn one simple thing in my life: I hate most Christians.
That may seem ridiculously harsh and perhaps even hypocritical - these people, these Christians are supposed to be my brothers and sisters in a union that is should define our experience in life. But I deny that supposed harshness. I hate them because they are either no more my brothers or sisters than my cat or because they hide, obscure that relationship so well they may very well be just another whore on the street. I often express my hatred in humour - such as after seeing the "Women's Bible," a Bible constructed as a woman's magazine, or the "Hunter's Bible," dressed in fatigues. I think to myself, "the stupid things these people come up with to justify themselves in this world." But this hatred for Pat Robertson drives forth out of disgust and sadness.
In response to the upsurption of 8 of the 9 Dover, PA school board members (all of whom favoured and voted for the inclusion of Intelligent Design), Robertson said, "I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: If there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God. You just rejected him from your city." He then attempted to clarify himself with this: "our spiritual actions have consequences." Yes, and all that we do and say also have consequences...whatever those consequences might be.
Pat Robertson typifies exactly what I hate about most Christians - this self-important, self-aggrandaized, self-righteous demeanor that pervades all that they are, especially their relationship with God (at least the relationship that I can see). They go so far, I think, to define even God through themselves. So, I suppose, then, they have no problem with encouraging murder (Chavez) and calling down the judgment of God. It disgusts me that Robertson even mentioned God's name in his fury over some stupid council election. And it saddens me that a man looked up to by millions calls down judgment over political beliefs without any reaction from the Christian faith who should be as horrified as I by this self-important stripe of a man. I have learned by my faith and my walks in this world not to judge those who surround me. There is already a Judge, I believe, who is Christ. He judged (and will) those who deserved to be judged (the hypocrites) and spent his time with the perceived dregs of society. And yet Robertson uses His name to chastise those who would dare defy some ridiculous ideology - the people, no doubt, Robertson perceives to be the dregs of our society.
Who are you to call down a reign of fire? Who are you to speak for God? Who are you to judge in His name?
You are no one, not a thing, and not God.
So fuck off, Pat Robertson.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Contemplative Moodiness
So many things are going on right now in the world. It's a veritable mind trip to attempt to sort them all out. Every event seems so massive and yet, at the same time, so small in signficance. Meaning, one might guess, that all things are both the most important and the least important. God knows, that's the truth. However, some things in the past week or so have struck me as incredibly significant.
I meant to comment on the Democratic Party when they staged a secret meeting of Congress 2 weeks ago. I was going to wax on about the late-in-coming attempts by the Democrats to grab some real power in D.C. However, given yesterday's election results - the Democrats aren't attempting anymore, they're grabbing the power. All I can say is, FINALLY! I have no great profusion of love for either the Democrats or Republicans. Perhaps specifically because of personal ambiguity in political affinity, I am particularly disgusted with the political situation in Washington right now. Everyone can shout to high heaven about scandal, idiocy, and political ineptitude that borders on devil worship. However, the distressing facet to D.C.'s facade is it's lack of any political competition. I am fundamentally disturbed by the accepted standard of a two party political system. Yet, two parties would, at the very least, be more representitive and efficient than one towering, juggling juggernaut. In economics we learn that competition fosters not only efficiency but a sounder, less expensive product. There is no competition in Washington and clearly no desire for a rational meeting of the minds. It's a sad thing that we must wait 3 years before a substantial change occurs again in the House and Congress. My only hope is that, if Democrats continue this resurgence, President Bush will not fight the turning tide. I have not much confidence that he won't given everything I've seen lately, but I do hope. And I am thankful that the nation is recognizing a second voice. (Now if only we can get those 3rd, 4th, and 5th voices an adequate podium.)
The peasant revolt in France. What in the hell is going on? When France banned students from wearing Muslim headcoverings and Christian crosses in schools, I was upset at the double standard in the world media and even within France that allowed such a significant and disgusting lack of respect for religion without any kind of reaction. Now that France is embroiled in a peasant revolt (yes, I realize they are immigrants, however, I think the comparison is completely adequate and even approriate), the world media is doing one thing, and one thing only - reporting the events of the youth riots. Why, oh why, dear soldier, are they not reporting on why these riots are taking place? Why are we hearing so little nothing about the recent hotel fires in France that have killed many of the immigrants packing themselves into hotel rooms like clowns piling into a funny car? I realize America is the superpower and all its many faults will be put under the microscope - much like Bush's many faults are scrutinized to the point of obsession. So they should: Bush leads the US and the US leads the world. However, something very, very dangerous is going on in France and we, at least I, am hearing nothing significant about it. Humanism and socialism are havocing a storm in France. Yet it almost seems as if there is no chance for any kind of dialogue to form. Why?
Speaking of no chance for a dialogue, a recent race scandal erupted on campus last week. I hope to write on it more, but the essential jist was that an opinion piece stated a belief that "reverse racism" is as pervasive and wrong as the well accepted racism that has so defined and continues to define America. The responses that occured only serve to underline this sad fact: race is not an accepted discourse. No, let me clarify. Race is a perfectly accepted and encouraged discourse for minorities. Yet it is as taboo as incest and bestiality for the majority to discuss. Such is intensely interesting.
The world frightens me in many ways. Yet when it frightens me, I read about sex. And today I discovered something lovely through perusing such sex. (Isn't it amazing? Through that ambiguity I could be talking about pornography, sex blogs, articles about sex - such as the recent one about an increase of sex on TV - books reviews, opinion pieces, or any of the other rampant things that have to do with sex and yet you cannot tell. There really is no way to tell. That's so intrinsically fascinating.) Regardless: whenever I am frightened now, all I shall have to do is remember I am:
AND
I meant to comment on the Democratic Party when they staged a secret meeting of Congress 2 weeks ago. I was going to wax on about the late-in-coming attempts by the Democrats to grab some real power in D.C. However, given yesterday's election results - the Democrats aren't attempting anymore, they're grabbing the power. All I can say is, FINALLY! I have no great profusion of love for either the Democrats or Republicans. Perhaps specifically because of personal ambiguity in political affinity, I am particularly disgusted with the political situation in Washington right now. Everyone can shout to high heaven about scandal, idiocy, and political ineptitude that borders on devil worship. However, the distressing facet to D.C.'s facade is it's lack of any political competition. I am fundamentally disturbed by the accepted standard of a two party political system. Yet, two parties would, at the very least, be more representitive and efficient than one towering, juggling juggernaut. In economics we learn that competition fosters not only efficiency but a sounder, less expensive product. There is no competition in Washington and clearly no desire for a rational meeting of the minds. It's a sad thing that we must wait 3 years before a substantial change occurs again in the House and Congress. My only hope is that, if Democrats continue this resurgence, President Bush will not fight the turning tide. I have not much confidence that he won't given everything I've seen lately, but I do hope. And I am thankful that the nation is recognizing a second voice. (Now if only we can get those 3rd, 4th, and 5th voices an adequate podium.)
The peasant revolt in France. What in the hell is going on? When France banned students from wearing Muslim headcoverings and Christian crosses in schools, I was upset at the double standard in the world media and even within France that allowed such a significant and disgusting lack of respect for religion without any kind of reaction. Now that France is embroiled in a peasant revolt (yes, I realize they are immigrants, however, I think the comparison is completely adequate and even approriate), the world media is doing one thing, and one thing only - reporting the events of the youth riots. Why, oh why, dear soldier, are they not reporting on why these riots are taking place? Why are we hearing so little nothing about the recent hotel fires in France that have killed many of the immigrants packing themselves into hotel rooms like clowns piling into a funny car? I realize America is the superpower and all its many faults will be put under the microscope - much like Bush's many faults are scrutinized to the point of obsession. So they should: Bush leads the US and the US leads the world. However, something very, very dangerous is going on in France and we, at least I, am hearing nothing significant about it. Humanism and socialism are havocing a storm in France. Yet it almost seems as if there is no chance for any kind of dialogue to form. Why?
Speaking of no chance for a dialogue, a recent race scandal erupted on campus last week. I hope to write on it more, but the essential jist was that an opinion piece stated a belief that "reverse racism" is as pervasive and wrong as the well accepted racism that has so defined and continues to define America. The responses that occured only serve to underline this sad fact: race is not an accepted discourse. No, let me clarify. Race is a perfectly accepted and encouraged discourse for minorities. Yet it is as taboo as incest and bestiality for the majority to discuss. Such is intensely interesting.
The world frightens me in many ways. Yet when it frightens me, I read about sex. And today I discovered something lovely through perusing such sex. (Isn't it amazing? Through that ambiguity I could be talking about pornography, sex blogs, articles about sex - such as the recent one about an increase of sex on TV - books reviews, opinion pieces, or any of the other rampant things that have to do with sex and yet you cannot tell. There really is no way to tell. That's so intrinsically fascinating.) Regardless: whenever I am frightened now, all I shall have to do is remember I am:
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Yay COLTS!
I am ecstatic this morning. For whilst I did not catch the game due to moving lots and lots of modern/classic paintings and sketches, the freakin' Colts beat the freakin' Patriots! Yahoooooooo!
Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts have been my favorite team in the NFL ever since 1) Steve Young retired from the San Francisco 49'ers and 2) I began playing Madden 2001, kicking ass with the Colts. The Colts define what is wonderful about sports - class and character. So many times in today's modern age of sports, it's all too clear that players really couldn't care less about anything but themselves - Terrel Owens comes right to mind. A few others do as well: Barry Bonds, the hundreds of other guys taking steroids, the Vikings, only to name a few. In spite of all that - the Colts are it. When they lose, they don't whine. When they win, they don't gloat. And hardly anyone on the team celebrates in gratuitous fashion when they get a touchdown. Now that's unheard of in today's NFL. (Don't get me wrong, I loved Chad Johnson's river dance as much as anyone - probably more so - but it is so nice to see a guy score and just hand the ball to the ref.)
While the Colts have been my favorites for a while, they just did not have the wholistic image of a team they needed to get to the Superbowl. This lack of a hardened defense and finishing offense manifested itself over the past 5 years in Indy's inability to defeat the Patriots. No knock against the Patriots, a true dynasty who has won 3 Superbowls out of the past 4. (Though I still say Gruden's Raiders should have played the Rams, it was a forward pass!!) However, the Colts just didn't have it together. But, boy howdy, do they ever now!
Defense: Check. Finally Tony Dungy has brought to Inday what defined Tampa Bay during his tenure there and Gruden's as well. Kick ass defense that'll stop the run, punish receivers, and take on the quarterback without any pussy-footing around. Finally!
Offense: Check. The Colts always had the offense man. With Manning, James, and Harrison the Indy offense has always been electric. Heck Manning set the passing TD record last year. And yet, something is different this there, there's more of a ground instead of a limitless ceiling. Admittedly they are starting to get electric again, but it's heartening to see the defense starting to match the offensive prowess.
Hot damn man, I'm hoping with fingers crossed and a hopeful heart that some of the most decent and truly best players in the league will finally overcome the second hurdle to Manning's decade long search for a Superbowl ring.
So as I said, yay COLTS!
Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts have been my favorite team in the NFL ever since 1) Steve Young retired from the San Francisco 49'ers and 2) I began playing Madden 2001, kicking ass with the Colts. The Colts define what is wonderful about sports - class and character. So many times in today's modern age of sports, it's all too clear that players really couldn't care less about anything but themselves - Terrel Owens comes right to mind. A few others do as well: Barry Bonds, the hundreds of other guys taking steroids, the Vikings, only to name a few. In spite of all that - the Colts are it. When they lose, they don't whine. When they win, they don't gloat. And hardly anyone on the team celebrates in gratuitous fashion when they get a touchdown. Now that's unheard of in today's NFL. (Don't get me wrong, I loved Chad Johnson's river dance as much as anyone - probably more so - but it is so nice to see a guy score and just hand the ball to the ref.)
While the Colts have been my favorites for a while, they just did not have the wholistic image of a team they needed to get to the Superbowl. This lack of a hardened defense and finishing offense manifested itself over the past 5 years in Indy's inability to defeat the Patriots. No knock against the Patriots, a true dynasty who has won 3 Superbowls out of the past 4. (Though I still say Gruden's Raiders should have played the Rams, it was a forward pass!!) However, the Colts just didn't have it together. But, boy howdy, do they ever now!
Defense: Check. Finally Tony Dungy has brought to Inday what defined Tampa Bay during his tenure there and Gruden's as well. Kick ass defense that'll stop the run, punish receivers, and take on the quarterback without any pussy-footing around. Finally!
Offense: Check. The Colts always had the offense man. With Manning, James, and Harrison the Indy offense has always been electric. Heck Manning set the passing TD record last year. And yet, something is different this there, there's more of a ground instead of a limitless ceiling. Admittedly they are starting to get electric again, but it's heartening to see the defense starting to match the offensive prowess.
Hot damn man, I'm hoping with fingers crossed and a hopeful heart that some of the most decent and truly best players in the league will finally overcome the second hurdle to Manning's decade long search for a Superbowl ring.
So as I said, yay COLTS!
Friday, November 04, 2005
The Glory of God
...or the glory of nature, however one wants to describe it.
As I drive to school I pass over the Catawba River, a meandering scope of water that is a comforting presence. Just before the bridge over the river is a small valley of sorts with those incredibly large electric skeleton towers. Typically as we pass into the colder days of fall my morning drive to school is shrouded in mist, the shock of cold air against the relative warmth of the water always inspires me to close my eyes and imagine for just a second that this ordinary mist was that of Avalon. There is something so ethereal about fog and mist, the known now hidden becoming all too secret. Fantastically stirring to my very wanting mind - wanting of magic and the possible.
Today, however, there was something different in the midst. As I drove past the valley I was startled to see the sun hovering in the middle of the valley, penetrating the mist. I don't know if it was because of the sun and some shift in the wind, but I saw a separation of the mist. Half clung to the ground, like a comforter draped over a bed - slightly mishapen but completely wrapped and radiantly warm. Then, I don't know how to describe it, there was a break which allowed only the rays of the sun through. The sun couldn't penetrate the ground layer of mist but it shone magnificently in the clear sky it conquered for itself, highlighting the middle of the electric towers. And then, where the sun was, the the top layer of mist remained, too powerful at it's origin to allow the light to completely shine through. The mist not only recreated the sun as a hazy, orange orb, it hid the tops of the towers so much that only the dimmest of outlines remained.
I will often stare at a particularly glorious sunset, sunrise, or any other event that causes to make the sky even more beautiful than it is at present. But this...this was shocking in it's beauty. I couldn't imagine putting such an image on a postcard and selling too many copies, yet I fundamentally wished I had a camera and the time to veer my car off the road and take as many pictures as I could of this setting of sun, mist, hills, and the structures of man.
I hope I in some way captured what I saw this morning. That would be likewise beautiful.
(Forgive me for absence. I have been thinking of many things to write yet am hampered by the trials of school and moving. Yep, moving out of the house that defined so much of my life. ....more on that later.)
As I drive to school I pass over the Catawba River, a meandering scope of water that is a comforting presence. Just before the bridge over the river is a small valley of sorts with those incredibly large electric skeleton towers. Typically as we pass into the colder days of fall my morning drive to school is shrouded in mist, the shock of cold air against the relative warmth of the water always inspires me to close my eyes and imagine for just a second that this ordinary mist was that of Avalon. There is something so ethereal about fog and mist, the known now hidden becoming all too secret. Fantastically stirring to my very wanting mind - wanting of magic and the possible.
Today, however, there was something different in the midst. As I drove past the valley I was startled to see the sun hovering in the middle of the valley, penetrating the mist. I don't know if it was because of the sun and some shift in the wind, but I saw a separation of the mist. Half clung to the ground, like a comforter draped over a bed - slightly mishapen but completely wrapped and radiantly warm. Then, I don't know how to describe it, there was a break which allowed only the rays of the sun through. The sun couldn't penetrate the ground layer of mist but it shone magnificently in the clear sky it conquered for itself, highlighting the middle of the electric towers. And then, where the sun was, the the top layer of mist remained, too powerful at it's origin to allow the light to completely shine through. The mist not only recreated the sun as a hazy, orange orb, it hid the tops of the towers so much that only the dimmest of outlines remained.
I will often stare at a particularly glorious sunset, sunrise, or any other event that causes to make the sky even more beautiful than it is at present. But this...this was shocking in it's beauty. I couldn't imagine putting such an image on a postcard and selling too many copies, yet I fundamentally wished I had a camera and the time to veer my car off the road and take as many pictures as I could of this setting of sun, mist, hills, and the structures of man.
I hope I in some way captured what I saw this morning. That would be likewise beautiful.
(Forgive me for absence. I have been thinking of many things to write yet am hampered by the trials of school and moving. Yep, moving out of the house that defined so much of my life. ....more on that later.)
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