I've had a dream. It's burned within me since the moment I was born.
One day, I will be free.
You see, I've spent my entire life as a slave. At first I was a slave to my parents desires. Then I became a slave to my friends' expectations. Occasionally people did favours for me expecting something in return, and I became a slave to them too.
In college I became a slave to my professors, who endeavoured to use their status as slave owner to tell me to do whatever they wanted in hopes of making me a better person. I also became a slave to a number of creditors who underwrote that education.
And now, back at home, it all comes full circle. A few well-placed fists to the head illustrated this quite nicely.
My parents bought me for a price. They invested their entire livelihood into me, hoping that I might succeed. Every day they pour their hearts out before God hoping that I might become what they want me to be.
I was bought at a price. And because of that, I will never be free.
But it's okay. I'm hoping freedom ends up being overrated.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Insert Title Here
I was playing a computer game and had the option to go to a zone that resembled the Southwest US, or to a zone that resembled something a little more northerly. I opted for the Southwest zone, because it was newer.
As I was exploring, I had a mission to enter a Home Depot filled with people trying to kill me, grab a special item, and leave. I grabbed the item and managed to escape with my life by cycling faster than the zombies chasing me. I continued to run away over dry hills until I got to a ravine.
Once I got there, I found a church where I Cantori was on tour. After they finished I joined them on tour. We were driving in a heavily forested area of New Mexico, when we got to a bridge where we all had to get out and walk over it on foot.
It was a three level bridge. The top level was for buses and cars, the middle level was for bicycles, and the bottom level was for pedestrians. I took of my shoes (because everyone was), left them on the pedestrian level, and wheeled my bike through the bicycle level. Once I got there, I watched I Cantori get back on the bus, but then I noticed I was supposed to carry my shoes over myself, and I hadn't. So I left the bike and went down to the pedestrian level to go get my shoes.
As I was walking through the pedestrian area of the bridge, which was so low it was a tunnel, I noticed a tunneling machine blocking passage, and there were about three or four workers repainting the tunnel due to water damage. They began talking about how the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel (highway 19, apparently) was significantly longer, and invited me to join them. While they were talking about that tunnel, the pedestrian tunnel morphed into the tunnel they were talking about, and I was now in Virginia. So I joined them in painting this 55-mile long tunnel. I was mixing blue and white paint together when I woke up...
As I was exploring, I had a mission to enter a Home Depot filled with people trying to kill me, grab a special item, and leave. I grabbed the item and managed to escape with my life by cycling faster than the zombies chasing me. I continued to run away over dry hills until I got to a ravine.
Once I got there, I found a church where I Cantori was on tour. After they finished I joined them on tour. We were driving in a heavily forested area of New Mexico, when we got to a bridge where we all had to get out and walk over it on foot.
It was a three level bridge. The top level was for buses and cars, the middle level was for bicycles, and the bottom level was for pedestrians. I took of my shoes (because everyone was), left them on the pedestrian level, and wheeled my bike through the bicycle level. Once I got there, I watched I Cantori get back on the bus, but then I noticed I was supposed to carry my shoes over myself, and I hadn't. So I left the bike and went down to the pedestrian level to go get my shoes.
As I was walking through the pedestrian area of the bridge, which was so low it was a tunnel, I noticed a tunneling machine blocking passage, and there were about three or four workers repainting the tunnel due to water damage. They began talking about how the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel (highway 19, apparently) was significantly longer, and invited me to join them. While they were talking about that tunnel, the pedestrian tunnel morphed into the tunnel they were talking about, and I was now in Virginia. So I joined them in painting this 55-mile long tunnel. I was mixing blue and white paint together when I woke up...
Friday, December 3, 2010
Mahatma
The Old Soul sighed. "My old bones ache."
The Young Child asked the Old Soul, "Soul, why are you always sad?"
The Old Soul replied, "Child, every time I see suffering in the world around me, I take the suffering, and place it within my heart, where I carry it with me."
"Why?"
"You learn not to judge others rather quickly. But greater than that, I think it is a communal reflex. The world can be a very harsh place sometimes, and we all need to bear the suffering together in order to carry it all."
The Young Child looked confused. "But if you can bear other people's pain, why can't you share other people's joy?"
For a moment, the Old Soul smiled. "How can I be happy, when the old widow down the street cries herself asleep every night because of the empty bed beside her?"
"Does your misery relieve the old widow's pain?"
"No, but when our eyes meet, there is a look of understanding. I think it makes the world a less lonely place."
"And when was the last time you looked that widow in the eye?"
"I don't remember."
The Young Child was by now indignant. "You're just making things up. Why can't you be happy?"
The Old Soul sighed. "I've done too much. I don't deserve happiness."
"Well I think you ought to forgive yourself."
"How can I forgive myself for doing something I continue to do?"
The Young Child looked lost for a moment.
"Young Child, defend your innocence. Don't ever give your conscience reason to bother you. A mind at peace is the most valuable thing you can ever own."
"But Old Soul, what could you have done that is so bad that you cannot forgive yourself?"
The Old Soul betrayed a look of fear.
"I know you, Old Soul. You are so kind-hearted, yet you allow yourself no joy. Whatever it is you are doing cannot be so bad that it deserves your life of sorrow, can it?"
Once again the Old Soul remained silent.
"Haven't you ever been happy?"
A twinkle came into the Old Soul's eye. "Oh yes, once. I was so young and naive. But the love I felt... so deep, so... wonderful! alas..."
"Whoever it was must have been a terrible person for not seeing you like I do."
"Oh no, not at all! They were all wonderful people. I love them all very much."
"Then why... oh!" The Young Child jumped as an idea struck her across the face. "You think that if these people, who were so wonderful, rejected you, that the problem must then lie with you."
"No, no, no!" The Old Soul's head shook vigorously. "Sometimes things happen that are nobody's fault."
The Young Child was not deterred. "So you're hiding yourself under a sad face because you're afraid of bad things? You're hiding your heart because you don't want it to be broken again?"
The Old Soul could only look into Young Child's eyes.
"Come on! Old Soul, you're so silly. You're keeping yourself sad just so you'll never have to feel sad again. What is the point in that?"
The Old Soul smiled grimly. "Young Child, keep your conscience clear."
Then with a tearful eye, turned away.
The Young Child asked the Old Soul, "Soul, why are you always sad?"
The Old Soul replied, "Child, every time I see suffering in the world around me, I take the suffering, and place it within my heart, where I carry it with me."
"Why?"
"You learn not to judge others rather quickly. But greater than that, I think it is a communal reflex. The world can be a very harsh place sometimes, and we all need to bear the suffering together in order to carry it all."
The Young Child looked confused. "But if you can bear other people's pain, why can't you share other people's joy?"
For a moment, the Old Soul smiled. "How can I be happy, when the old widow down the street cries herself asleep every night because of the empty bed beside her?"
"Does your misery relieve the old widow's pain?"
"No, but when our eyes meet, there is a look of understanding. I think it makes the world a less lonely place."
"And when was the last time you looked that widow in the eye?"
"I don't remember."
The Young Child was by now indignant. "You're just making things up. Why can't you be happy?"
The Old Soul sighed. "I've done too much. I don't deserve happiness."
"Well I think you ought to forgive yourself."
"How can I forgive myself for doing something I continue to do?"
The Young Child looked lost for a moment.
"Young Child, defend your innocence. Don't ever give your conscience reason to bother you. A mind at peace is the most valuable thing you can ever own."
"But Old Soul, what could you have done that is so bad that you cannot forgive yourself?"
The Old Soul betrayed a look of fear.
"I know you, Old Soul. You are so kind-hearted, yet you allow yourself no joy. Whatever it is you are doing cannot be so bad that it deserves your life of sorrow, can it?"
Once again the Old Soul remained silent.
"Haven't you ever been happy?"
A twinkle came into the Old Soul's eye. "Oh yes, once. I was so young and naive. But the love I felt... so deep, so... wonderful! alas..."
"Whoever it was must have been a terrible person for not seeing you like I do."
"Oh no, not at all! They were all wonderful people. I love them all very much."
"Then why... oh!" The Young Child jumped as an idea struck her across the face. "You think that if these people, who were so wonderful, rejected you, that the problem must then lie with you."
"No, no, no!" The Old Soul's head shook vigorously. "Sometimes things happen that are nobody's fault."
The Young Child was not deterred. "So you're hiding yourself under a sad face because you're afraid of bad things? You're hiding your heart because you don't want it to be broken again?"
The Old Soul could only look into Young Child's eyes.
"Come on! Old Soul, you're so silly. You're keeping yourself sad just so you'll never have to feel sad again. What is the point in that?"
The Old Soul smiled grimly. "Young Child, keep your conscience clear."
Then with a tearful eye, turned away.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Internal Dialogues
"My gums hurt. I wonder what the cause is."
"What causes gums to hurt?"
"Scurvy!"
"Yeah, maybe it's scurvy."
"Wait, no, scurvy is caused by vitamin C deficiency, and I've been eating a lot of those vitamin C thingies that taste like candy."
"Hmm, I guess that isn't it."
"Should I be worried that the first thing that came to mind was scurvy?"
"What causes gums to hurt?"
"Scurvy!"
"Yeah, maybe it's scurvy."
"Wait, no, scurvy is caused by vitamin C deficiency, and I've been eating a lot of those vitamin C thingies that taste like candy."
"Hmm, I guess that isn't it."
"Should I be worried that the first thing that came to mind was scurvy?"
Monday, October 25, 2010
I Was Reading the News Today
I was reading the news today. Specifically, the comment sections.
This is what I read.
Regarding a 15-year old captured terrorist who was convicted solely on circumstantial evidence. (A slight oversimplification, but his story isn't significant to the point of this post.)
"I fervently pray that this product of conception is tortured and killed by another prisoners while incarcerated. The sooner the better. He and his family are dispicable creatures."
"This is why you don't take prisoners. Should have killed him on the spot."
"I won't be terribly surprised to hear of ACLU offices being bombed before long. In fact, I might just applaud such efforts."
"[He] should have been executed when he was first captured."
"They need to change the policy in the field regarding the taking of low-level operatives as prisoners. There's no benefit in capturing and prosecuting guys like this. Two shots center mass and one through the head should be the standard method of disposition in the field for enemy combatants."
"A firing squad is too good for him. He should be beheaded and dragged thru the streets. However, turning this POS to a pink mist by firing squad accomplishes the same thing: Justice."
The above is but one example of what can be read in the news every day.
Let's assume, for a moment, that he's actually guilty. Is hate the proper response? Does murder merit this?
Yes, he did bad things. But all I can feel is pity and compassion. I feel for him, because life led him to make bad choices. But anyone who's lived knows we've all made bad choices. No, they weren't bad to the extent of murder, but we all know how little it takes to end up on a bad path in life.
I feel awful for the family of the murder victim.
And finally, I feel awful for all the people out there, who allow a simple murder to spin themselves into a whirlwind of hatred.
Murder is bad. Hating the murderer changes nothing except the person who hates. It is not healthy to store up that much hate inside of yourself. Hate the crime, not the person.
But to take it further, I fear for the future of the world.
Forgiveness is a memento of the past. In politics, any one misstep is enough reason to force a resignation. The same philosophy is spreading out into workplaces and relationships. No forgiveness, no mending brokenness: just hatred.
So much hatred... my heart breaks at seeing it all. What a world will we be living in 20 years from now?
Why do people hate?
This is what I read.
Regarding a 15-year old captured terrorist who was convicted solely on circumstantial evidence. (A slight oversimplification, but his story isn't significant to the point of this post.)
"I fervently pray that this product of conception is tortured and killed by another prisoners while incarcerated. The sooner the better. He and his family are dispicable creatures."
"This is why you don't take prisoners. Should have killed him on the spot."
"I won't be terribly surprised to hear of ACLU offices being bombed before long. In fact, I might just applaud such efforts."
"[He] should have been executed when he was first captured."
"They need to change the policy in the field regarding the taking of low-level operatives as prisoners. There's no benefit in capturing and prosecuting guys like this. Two shots center mass and one through the head should be the standard method of disposition in the field for enemy combatants."
"A firing squad is too good for him. He should be beheaded and dragged thru the streets. However, turning this POS to a pink mist by firing squad accomplishes the same thing: Justice."
The above is but one example of what can be read in the news every day.
Let's assume, for a moment, that he's actually guilty. Is hate the proper response? Does murder merit this?
Yes, he did bad things. But all I can feel is pity and compassion. I feel for him, because life led him to make bad choices. But anyone who's lived knows we've all made bad choices. No, they weren't bad to the extent of murder, but we all know how little it takes to end up on a bad path in life.
I feel awful for the family of the murder victim.
And finally, I feel awful for all the people out there, who allow a simple murder to spin themselves into a whirlwind of hatred.
Murder is bad. Hating the murderer changes nothing except the person who hates. It is not healthy to store up that much hate inside of yourself. Hate the crime, not the person.
But to take it further, I fear for the future of the world.
Forgiveness is a memento of the past. In politics, any one misstep is enough reason to force a resignation. The same philosophy is spreading out into workplaces and relationships. No forgiveness, no mending brokenness: just hatred.
So much hatred... my heart breaks at seeing it all. What a world will we be living in 20 years from now?
Why do people hate?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
I Was Smarter As An 8th Grader
I was recently going through my old things, and I discovered a few mementos from my 8th Grade year.
Things I did in Grade 8:
- Wrote a perfect paper on a national math competition, something that got my name in the local paper.
- Drew political maps of the world, complete with capitals in their correct locations, from memory.
- Taught myself how to program in C+ out of a book, for fun.
- Joined the school's cross-country team.
- Arranged a number of pieces for small instrumental ensemble.
- Made up fake mutual funds and tracked them regularly from the paper's business section. Once again, for fun.
- Grew a garden. Also collected seeds and split old bulbs.
- For a class assignment, wrote a 60-page novella about two anti-globalization terrorists attempting to hi-jack a plane carrying a trade mission to china.
- Painted a replica landscape picture of a group of seven artist. (In acrylics instead of oils; but accurately sized.)
So, um, yeah, about that potential...
Things I did in Grade 8:
- Wrote a perfect paper on a national math competition, something that got my name in the local paper.
- Drew political maps of the world, complete with capitals in their correct locations, from memory.
- Taught myself how to program in C+ out of a book, for fun.
- Joined the school's cross-country team.
- Arranged a number of pieces for small instrumental ensemble.
- Made up fake mutual funds and tracked them regularly from the paper's business section. Once again, for fun.
- Grew a garden. Also collected seeds and split old bulbs.
- For a class assignment, wrote a 60-page novella about two anti-globalization terrorists attempting to hi-jack a plane carrying a trade mission to china.
- Painted a replica landscape picture of a group of seven artist. (In acrylics instead of oils; but accurately sized.)
So, um, yeah, about that potential...
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Life Lessons
Don't let your fears stop you from trying something daring.
But at the same time, don't do things you know you'll regret later.
We are blessed to be in a world of forgiving people who give us many, many second chances and opportunities to redeem ourselves. That said, the one thing that does not forgive is time. We will never live the 21st, or the 22nd, or the 23rd years of our lives again.
Too many people spend their lives waiting. Waiting for class to start, waiting for work to get out, waiting for the weekend, waiting to be asked out, waiting to graduation... and in the meantime while waiting they find various, usually pointless things to do, to "pass the time." Don't live your life passing time--do something with it.
Other people spend days, weeks, or months in a frantic rush constantly doing things, while never stopping to smell the roses. If you've spent a day or two inside, go outside, stand still, close your eyes, and feel the world around you. Feel the wind blowing around your arms and legs; feel the sun/moon beams on your face. Hear leaves rustling in the trees and the birds singing. See the world around you with your eyes closed and know that nothing you do will change any of that.
Have the courage to break routines you don't actually like but do anyways because it's habit and habit is comfortable. You'll be happier in the long run.
If we were supposed to live in the future or the past, we would have been created there. Instead, we were created in the present, so don't spend your time living in the future--you'll miss out on today.
Don't regret. Life is what it is. Every decision you make is a reflection of you. Every decision you make also permanently changes who you are for the rest of your life, making it more likely you'll make that same decision in the future, whether it's a decision to continue or a decision to stop.
Life is too short for regrets. The past is unchangable, and people are not perfect. Today is a new day--make things right by the way you act from now on, not by your apologies.
Random Acts of Kindness don't require a reason.
And the person who needs all of the above lessons the most is me.
But at the same time, don't do things you know you'll regret later.
We are blessed to be in a world of forgiving people who give us many, many second chances and opportunities to redeem ourselves. That said, the one thing that does not forgive is time. We will never live the 21st, or the 22nd, or the 23rd years of our lives again.
Too many people spend their lives waiting. Waiting for class to start, waiting for work to get out, waiting for the weekend, waiting to be asked out, waiting to graduation... and in the meantime while waiting they find various, usually pointless things to do, to "pass the time." Don't live your life passing time--do something with it.
Other people spend days, weeks, or months in a frantic rush constantly doing things, while never stopping to smell the roses. If you've spent a day or two inside, go outside, stand still, close your eyes, and feel the world around you. Feel the wind blowing around your arms and legs; feel the sun/moon beams on your face. Hear leaves rustling in the trees and the birds singing. See the world around you with your eyes closed and know that nothing you do will change any of that.
Have the courage to break routines you don't actually like but do anyways because it's habit and habit is comfortable. You'll be happier in the long run.
If we were supposed to live in the future or the past, we would have been created there. Instead, we were created in the present, so don't spend your time living in the future--you'll miss out on today.
Don't regret. Life is what it is. Every decision you make is a reflection of you. Every decision you make also permanently changes who you are for the rest of your life, making it more likely you'll make that same decision in the future, whether it's a decision to continue or a decision to stop.
Life is too short for regrets. The past is unchangable, and people are not perfect. Today is a new day--make things right by the way you act from now on, not by your apologies.
Random Acts of Kindness don't require a reason.
And the person who needs all of the above lessons the most is me.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A Performance
I had an odd dream last night.
I was in church performing with the Wind Symphony and Mr. Beck was giving one of his long introductions. He came to a point where he wanted the brass to play something so he could demonstrate an idea he was trying to communicate, but the brass were sleeping and didn't respond. That said, the brass wouldn't have had much chance to respond, because the snare drummer beat them to it.
Mr. Beck looked a little puzzled and tried again, but once again the snare drummer hit the drum a few times. He then tried to move on but the snare drummer couldn't stop hitting the drum. It sounded accidental, but I couldn't see too well. I do recall the reaction of the snare drummer wasn't horror--it was laughter. They were trying desperately to hold it in.
I was in church performing with the Wind Symphony and Mr. Beck was giving one of his long introductions. He came to a point where he wanted the brass to play something so he could demonstrate an idea he was trying to communicate, but the brass were sleeping and didn't respond. That said, the brass wouldn't have had much chance to respond, because the snare drummer beat them to it.
Mr. Beck looked a little puzzled and tried again, but once again the snare drummer hit the drum a few times. He then tried to move on but the snare drummer couldn't stop hitting the drum. It sounded accidental, but I couldn't see too well. I do recall the reaction of the snare drummer wasn't horror--it was laughter. They were trying desperately to hold it in.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The Joy Luck Club (aka The Return of the Travelling Adventures)
It was a dark and stormy night. Inside a Tim Hortons, four weary travellers sat around a table strewn with empty coffee cups.
"Do we even know each others names?"
"Nope."
"We know the details of each others lives, yet we don't even know each other's names!"
One of the girls stepped outside for a cigarette.
* * * * * * *
The trip started innocently enough. On Monday morning after attending to work responsibilities and an appointment with one of my professors, I had 30 minutes remaining to pack and walk to the railroad tracks to catch the Grapevine. As anyone who knows me might have expected, that walk became a run as I ended up a few minutes behind schedule. But luckily the Grapevine was also a few minutes behind schedule.
Okay, so apparently the bus is actually called the Grapeline, but I like Grapevine better so I'm sticking with it.
As I got on the Grapevine I began reading my material for this trip: The Wind in the Willows. I had never read Wind in the Willows before, but I was instantly taken by the Mole, running about in the spring meadow enjoying himself. And thus I vowed to do a better job of opening up my senses to the wide world around me and enjoy the beauty.
* * * * * * *
"So where are you going?"
"I'm headed up to Smithers."
"Where?"
"It's a little town near Terrace."
"Where?"
"It's a 16 hour bus ride north of here."
"Oh, that's terrible. What are you going there for?"
"I live there, and my baby girl is there. I was down in Oregon for the last two weeks taking a vacation from my baby."
"..."
"My baby girl is wonderful and amazing, but I just need a break sometimes."
* * * * * * *
I arrived in Vancouver shortly before midnight. While I was hoping for a good veggieburger from Harveys or Burger King, along with a side of Poutine, a quick glance outside the station made it abundantly clear my only quick choice was McDonalds, so instead I settled for two large fries and a Mint Aero McFlurry.
The world cup was on, Italy vs Paraguay. As I sat there enjoying the game, the restaurant workers gradually closed one door, then the other. Then they cut the power to the television as a gentle hint to leave. I took the hint.
* * * * * * *
"Okay, whose turn is it to ask a question?"
"I think I asked the last question."
"Alright, then it's me. How many times have you been in love?"
"What do you mean by 'love?'"
"I mean like really in love, not that infatuation thing."
"Do you have to have been in a relationship?"
"Take it to mean whatever it means to you."
"Well I've never been in a relationship, ever. I've gone on one or two dates, depending on whether the second counts as a date. So I guess by your standard that would be zero."
"None at all? I think you need to live in a big city. There can't be a lot of opportunities in a small town of 44,000."
"Well..."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have to say two and a half."
"Why half?"
"I thought I was in love but then I wasn't really."
"Then you weren't really in love."
"But I thought I was really in love."
"What about you?"
"Hmmm... Five. There was the first guy who I lost my virginity to in high school; but then he moved away because his mother was an alcoholic. There was the man who fathered my baby girl. We were together for five years. And there is my current boyfriend who is so amazing to me and wonderful."
"Well I'm going to have to say two and a half too."
* * * * * * *
My flight was supposed to leave from Vancouver airport at 4:30pm the next day, but the last Greyhound bus that would get me there on time arrived in Vancouver at midnight, so I figured I'd just sleep in the bus terminal. After all, I'd slept in the Vancouver bus terminal before, and the Seattle bus terminal, and many airports besides.
At least, I thought I'd sleep in the Vancouver bus terminal...
A short, burly security guard approached me and addressed me in a thick Russian accent.
"The station closes at 12:30. Just making sure you know."
Was he... kicking me out? Really?
Out of shock I exclaimed "then where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Don't blame me, the government made the rule."
So it was that I found myself sitting on a park bench shortly past midnight, contemplating my options.
* * * * * * *
"Alright, your turn. Where are you going?"
"I am travelling home to watch my sister graduate from high school."
"Where's home?"
"Toronto."
"What are you doing out here?"
"I am attending college at Walla Walla University, studying music education. I play oboe."
"What's an oboe?"
"It's like a clarinet."
"When's your bus?"
"I leave from the airport at 4pm tomorrow."
"Oh that sucks. We all leave at 6 and 8am."
* * * * * * *
I look around. I have absolutely no idea where the nearest hostel is. As it's past midnight, I'm a little hesitant to start wandering around the city trying to find one. As such, I begin to warm to the idea of sleeping on the bench. After all, I've always wanted to experience life as a homeless person.
Two girls walk out of the bus terminal and start heading toward me. I recognize them from the Greyhound I had taken from Seattle.
"Hey, you get kicked out too?"
"Yep."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure, but this park bench is looking pretty good right now."
"Don't do that, you should come with us to Tim Hortons."
"Is there one nearby?"
"Yeah, there's one just around the corner."
"Are the open all night long?"
"Yeah, it's Tim Hortons."
And so I went with them to Tim Hortons.
* * * * * * *
"My turn for a question: What's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I've never drunk alcohol in my life."
"What about something stupid you've done on a caffeine high?"
"I haven't drunk a cup of coffee either. I've drunk three cokes total. And I'm a vegetarian, so you could say I'm a health nut."
"Well... you have anything that you've done that could count?"
"There was this one time I stayed up for 72 consecutive hours. I think that's pretty close to drunk."
"Sure, that works. What did you do?"
"Well I was going on a camping trip. Except I left town too late in the afternoon so I ended up barely out of the city on the first night, so I just slept in a ditch. Which didn't work out so well because I didn't get any sleep. Then the second night I was on this mountain and it started raining and I didn't have any rain gear and I started freezing because it was March so I headed back down the mountain and ended up spending the night huddling on some bridge over a creek that led to a camp. The closest I came to sleeping that night was when I felt myself fall away to the left so I threw out an arm and barely caught a bridge girder, which ended up being the only thing that saved me from falling into a creek."
"Um... wow."
* * * * * * *
After spending the entire night awake at Tim Hortons, we went back to the bus terminal.
"Did you just shave your legs?"
"Yep. They still smelled strongly of coffee. Hopefully that isn't a problem."
"I hope this guy is worth it."
Two of the four of us got on their bus shortly afterwards, leaving me and a girl to wait for another two hours before her bus would leave. I bought some Raspberry tea in a vain attempt to stay awake and keep her company, but it was all for naught. I awoke around 10am by myself, with a cold cup of tea.
* * * * * * *
"And where are you going?"
"It's a long story."
"We have a lot of time."
"Well I was coming up to see my girlfriend, but she broke up with me a few days ago. So I figured, I already had the tickets, I might as well go up to Victoria and have some fun."
"Do you have anywhere to stay?"
"I don't know yet. That's part of the fun."
* * * * * * *
It was now 11am, and I had three hours before I needed to be at the airport. Ordinarily, I'd grumble about the long layover, head to the airport early and wait at the gate reading. But what misfortune is to some people is opportunity to others. I'm in Vancouver, with hardly any luggage to drag me down and time to kill. What more could I ask for?
Thus I struck out on foot to explore the town.
After travelling through a somewhat industrial, run-down part of town, I discovered a Gelato factory. I'd never had Gelato before! Clearly this was opportunity ripe for the picking.
I found a door to a staircase saying 'offices on the second floor' and decided that maybe this wasn't an 'opportunity ripe for the picking.'
* * * * * * *
"Canadian customs people are so mean. Whenever I go through American customs they're like 'welcome home, bro.' This last time I went across the border the customs officer asks me where I'm going. I say I'm going up to see my girlfriend. He asks where I met her and I say online. Then he asks if I've ever seen her before, and I say no. And the customs officer gives me an incredulous look like I'm stupid or something."
"Well, you ARE travelling a long ways to see some girl you met online a few weeks ago..."
"So he asks what I'm bringing up with me and I have $3600 and a ton of clothes with me and he asks if I'm planning on moving up here. He finds my cellphone, calls up my girlfriend and asks if she knows who I am to check my story. He almost didn't let me through, held up the bus for 30 minutes, everyone on the bus was so angry at me."
* * * * * * *
Leaving the abandoned warehouse section of the city, I passed into what seemed at first sight like a standard busy city street. The sidewalks were teeming with people scurrying this way and that way, storefronts gleamed with fresh sales, while ahead of me the silvery shoulder of a curb and foamy tumble of an intersection, arm-in-arm with a rather ordinary looking concert hall, that held within a turn the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra, filling the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that I could only hold up both hands and gasp 'Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!'"
I walked further down the street when I happened upon a rather odd building: The Geological Survey of Canada Bookstore. Could it be? Could it be? I ran inside and begged as a favour to unpack all the maps all by myself; and the clerks were very pleased to indulge me, and to sprawl the charts at full length on the table and rest, while excited me shook out the geological surveys and spread them, took out all of the mysterious maps one by one and arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, 'Oh my! Oh my!' at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the sales clerks said 'Now, pitch in, young fellow!' and I was indeed very glad to obey, for I had started my travels at a very early hour the previous morning, as people will do, and had not paused for bite or sup; and I had been through a very great deal since that distant time which now seemed so many days ago.
* * * * * * *
"So what's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I can think of a lot of things... but the story I'm going to have to go with was the time I almost went home with two cougars."
"What?"
"Well I was over at a friends house for a party, and apparently I got so drunk I went home with two 40-year old women who apparently had plans for me."
"So what happened?"
"Well my friend thought about saving me but thought it was too funny to watch so he just let it happen."
"Some friend."
"I know, right?"
"So how did you get out of it?"
"I don't actually know. I woke up and didn't remember anything about that night."
"Feeling better about having never drunk alcohol yet?"
* * * * * * *
"In another life I would have been a geographer," I remarked.
"You still can be," the sales clerk replied. "Nothing is too late at your age." The sales clerk appeared to be of South Asian origin, with long, starting to grey hair. "What are you taking in college?"
"Music Education."
"Then I will see you playing with the symphony down the street some day."
"I play the oboe. Yes, I know, it's a fairly rare instrument."
"Then I will have to catch you on TV instead," she replied with a smile.
An old, grey-haired man walked in with a smile and hugs for all of the workers.
"He is our old director. He's in town for a rare visit."
"Is there more to this building than the store?"
"Oh yes, there's three floors of offices above us where the geologists and geographers work. We send out survey teams all across the west coast."
"Cool..." And for a brief moment, I regretted not chasing my childhood dream of a career in geography.
After all of this, I couldn't possibly leave without purchasing anything, so I bought a "trees of Canada" guide for some as of yet unknown future purpose.
* * * * * * *
"Whose turn is it for a question?"
"Who asked last? You? I suppose it's mine then: What is your biggest regret?"
"I'm not certain I regret it yet, but I think possibly dropping Engineering for Music."
"Oh, good choice."
"?"
"I just graduated with a Civil Engineering degree and I'm not going to use it. I just don't want that kind of a job."
"Yeah, a job is the reason I dropped. I had an internship that involved sorting traffic accident reports all day and plotting them onto a GIS. Paid well, but it was really, really mind-numbing."
"How about you?"
"Hmmm... I have a few, but I think I would have to go with starting World of Warcraft."
"Oh, yeah, that's something to regret. I once broke up with a boyfriend over that."
"Really, what happened?"
"Well I told him that if he started playing I would break up with him. I know what the game does to people. I'm an engineer--those are MY people. He said he was just going to do the 10 day trial, but I said that was it."
"Oh, I remember my gaming days. This one time I played Age of Empires for 29 hours straight..."
"I remember those missions would take 8 hours."
"Eight hours for normal people, maybe, but I always played super defensively."
"Like triple walls and stuff?"
"Oh yes, oh yes! I played that way too. Those were the days... Wait! Stop talking about games! I'm getting tempted now. Don't think about it, don't think about it..."
* * * * * * *
As it neared lunch, I started getting hungry, not the least of the reasons having been skipping breakfast. After a long search for fine Canadian cuisine, I settled on Poutine and Cherry Blasters, and sat at a bench near the waterfront, inhaling the salty ocean air. Could life get any better?
As I began eating, a gull walked up to me and began eyeing me over. "Oh, alright..." and I threw the gull a french fry. The gull hungrily devoured the french fry and proceeded to return to its original position. I threw the gull another fry, a little farther this time, in hopes it would get lost on the way back, but no such luck.
"Oh, come on, little bird. You're not 'one of the least of these, my brethren.' I'm under no obligation to help you." The gull continued to stare at me with the puppy eyes look. "Oh, fine." I threw the gull another fry. However, the fry gets caught on my fork and lands at my feet. The gull eyes me suspiciously. "So what, I've been feeding you, and you don't trust me?" The gull cautiously approaches me, grabs the fry, then runs away.
As I finish my meal, I throw my last french fry at the bird, which again lands at my feet. This time the gull won't take it. "Oh, fine, I'll move." I get up to throw the container out, and the gull grabs the fry, then noticing that I have nothing left, flies away. "I see right through that innocent veneer. You were just here for the free food, weren't you?"
The gull takes off, struggles to get about four feet off the ground, then realizes this whole flying thing isn't happening, at which point it settles back down on the ground and walks away. Suddenly I don't regret feeding the gull as much of that artery-clogging goodness as I did.
* * * * * * *
"Alright, your turn: where are you headed?"
"I'm taking the bus to Victoria to see my boyfriend."
"Great! How long have you been dating?"
"Oh, I met him in a hostel in San Francisco last week."
"..."
"It feels great! I'm doing something completely crazy and impulsive. I've never done anything like this before."
"I hope it works out for you."
* * * * * * *
With an hour left before I need to head to the airport, I figure a trip through Vancouver would be incomplete without a visit to the famous Vancouver Chinatown. Relying on my memories of studying maps of Vancouver as a 10-year old, I navigate my way through downtown city streets until I see a bank with Chinese writing, and I can just begin to smell that unmistakeable Chinatown smell wafting through the air. Imagine the smells of live seafood, mixing with that of ripe tropical fruit and concrete on a rainy day, and you'd begin to have a faint idea of what Chinatown smells like.
I began to follow my nose, with little success; the smell was soon gone, and all the retracing I could do couldn't bring it back. I began walking in a wide radius around my initial spot of discovery, again to no avail. Around the time I discovered a map of Vancouver, pointing out that Chinatown was in fact two miles away from where I had thought it was, it was time to head to the airport. Oh well--I can get it on the return trip. Also, apparently my childhood memories are not nearly as good as I thought they were.
* * * * * * *
"Aaagh!"
Our Civil Engineer friend had picked up her cup of coffee, assuming it was empty, to look inside, and managed to spill the remaining coffee in her lap.
"See this is why you don't destroy coffee cup lids."
"Great. I'm about to see my boyfriend and I've got coffee stains all over my lap."
"Coffee crotch!"
"You could always claim you were really excited to see him."
* * * * * * *
"You know, I don't feel so crazy anymore after hearing all your stories."
"Isn't that the point?"
"I don't know, are stories supposed to have a point?"
"Good question."
"Do we even know each others names?"
"Nope."
"We know the details of each others lives, yet we don't even know each other's names!"
One of the girls stepped outside for a cigarette.
* * * * * * *
The trip started innocently enough. On Monday morning after attending to work responsibilities and an appointment with one of my professors, I had 30 minutes remaining to pack and walk to the railroad tracks to catch the Grapevine. As anyone who knows me might have expected, that walk became a run as I ended up a few minutes behind schedule. But luckily the Grapevine was also a few minutes behind schedule.
Okay, so apparently the bus is actually called the Grapeline, but I like Grapevine better so I'm sticking with it.
As I got on the Grapevine I began reading my material for this trip: The Wind in the Willows. I had never read Wind in the Willows before, but I was instantly taken by the Mole, running about in the spring meadow enjoying himself. And thus I vowed to do a better job of opening up my senses to the wide world around me and enjoy the beauty.
* * * * * * *
"So where are you going?"
"I'm headed up to Smithers."
"Where?"
"It's a little town near Terrace."
"Where?"
"It's a 16 hour bus ride north of here."
"Oh, that's terrible. What are you going there for?"
"I live there, and my baby girl is there. I was down in Oregon for the last two weeks taking a vacation from my baby."
"..."
"My baby girl is wonderful and amazing, but I just need a break sometimes."
* * * * * * *
I arrived in Vancouver shortly before midnight. While I was hoping for a good veggieburger from Harveys or Burger King, along with a side of Poutine, a quick glance outside the station made it abundantly clear my only quick choice was McDonalds, so instead I settled for two large fries and a Mint Aero McFlurry.
The world cup was on, Italy vs Paraguay. As I sat there enjoying the game, the restaurant workers gradually closed one door, then the other. Then they cut the power to the television as a gentle hint to leave. I took the hint.
* * * * * * *
"Okay, whose turn is it to ask a question?"
"I think I asked the last question."
"Alright, then it's me. How many times have you been in love?"
"What do you mean by 'love?'"
"I mean like really in love, not that infatuation thing."
"Do you have to have been in a relationship?"
"Take it to mean whatever it means to you."
"Well I've never been in a relationship, ever. I've gone on one or two dates, depending on whether the second counts as a date. So I guess by your standard that would be zero."
"None at all? I think you need to live in a big city. There can't be a lot of opportunities in a small town of 44,000."
"Well..."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have to say two and a half."
"Why half?"
"I thought I was in love but then I wasn't really."
"Then you weren't really in love."
"But I thought I was really in love."
"What about you?"
"Hmmm... Five. There was the first guy who I lost my virginity to in high school; but then he moved away because his mother was an alcoholic. There was the man who fathered my baby girl. We were together for five years. And there is my current boyfriend who is so amazing to me and wonderful."
"Well I'm going to have to say two and a half too."
* * * * * * *
My flight was supposed to leave from Vancouver airport at 4:30pm the next day, but the last Greyhound bus that would get me there on time arrived in Vancouver at midnight, so I figured I'd just sleep in the bus terminal. After all, I'd slept in the Vancouver bus terminal before, and the Seattle bus terminal, and many airports besides.
At least, I thought I'd sleep in the Vancouver bus terminal...
A short, burly security guard approached me and addressed me in a thick Russian accent.
"The station closes at 12:30. Just making sure you know."
Was he... kicking me out? Really?
Out of shock I exclaimed "then where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Don't blame me, the government made the rule."
So it was that I found myself sitting on a park bench shortly past midnight, contemplating my options.
* * * * * * *
"Alright, your turn. Where are you going?"
"I am travelling home to watch my sister graduate from high school."
"Where's home?"
"Toronto."
"What are you doing out here?"
"I am attending college at Walla Walla University, studying music education. I play oboe."
"What's an oboe?"
"It's like a clarinet."
"When's your bus?"
"I leave from the airport at 4pm tomorrow."
"Oh that sucks. We all leave at 6 and 8am."
* * * * * * *
I look around. I have absolutely no idea where the nearest hostel is. As it's past midnight, I'm a little hesitant to start wandering around the city trying to find one. As such, I begin to warm to the idea of sleeping on the bench. After all, I've always wanted to experience life as a homeless person.
Two girls walk out of the bus terminal and start heading toward me. I recognize them from the Greyhound I had taken from Seattle.
"Hey, you get kicked out too?"
"Yep."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure, but this park bench is looking pretty good right now."
"Don't do that, you should come with us to Tim Hortons."
"Is there one nearby?"
"Yeah, there's one just around the corner."
"Are the open all night long?"
"Yeah, it's Tim Hortons."
And so I went with them to Tim Hortons.
* * * * * * *
"My turn for a question: What's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I've never drunk alcohol in my life."
"What about something stupid you've done on a caffeine high?"
"I haven't drunk a cup of coffee either. I've drunk three cokes total. And I'm a vegetarian, so you could say I'm a health nut."
"Well... you have anything that you've done that could count?"
"There was this one time I stayed up for 72 consecutive hours. I think that's pretty close to drunk."
"Sure, that works. What did you do?"
"Well I was going on a camping trip. Except I left town too late in the afternoon so I ended up barely out of the city on the first night, so I just slept in a ditch. Which didn't work out so well because I didn't get any sleep. Then the second night I was on this mountain and it started raining and I didn't have any rain gear and I started freezing because it was March so I headed back down the mountain and ended up spending the night huddling on some bridge over a creek that led to a camp. The closest I came to sleeping that night was when I felt myself fall away to the left so I threw out an arm and barely caught a bridge girder, which ended up being the only thing that saved me from falling into a creek."
"Um... wow."
* * * * * * *
After spending the entire night awake at Tim Hortons, we went back to the bus terminal.
"Did you just shave your legs?"
"Yep. They still smelled strongly of coffee. Hopefully that isn't a problem."
"I hope this guy is worth it."
Two of the four of us got on their bus shortly afterwards, leaving me and a girl to wait for another two hours before her bus would leave. I bought some Raspberry tea in a vain attempt to stay awake and keep her company, but it was all for naught. I awoke around 10am by myself, with a cold cup of tea.
* * * * * * *
"And where are you going?"
"It's a long story."
"We have a lot of time."
"Well I was coming up to see my girlfriend, but she broke up with me a few days ago. So I figured, I already had the tickets, I might as well go up to Victoria and have some fun."
"Do you have anywhere to stay?"
"I don't know yet. That's part of the fun."
* * * * * * *
It was now 11am, and I had three hours before I needed to be at the airport. Ordinarily, I'd grumble about the long layover, head to the airport early and wait at the gate reading. But what misfortune is to some people is opportunity to others. I'm in Vancouver, with hardly any luggage to drag me down and time to kill. What more could I ask for?
Thus I struck out on foot to explore the town.
After travelling through a somewhat industrial, run-down part of town, I discovered a Gelato factory. I'd never had Gelato before! Clearly this was opportunity ripe for the picking.
I found a door to a staircase saying 'offices on the second floor' and decided that maybe this wasn't an 'opportunity ripe for the picking.'
* * * * * * *
"Canadian customs people are so mean. Whenever I go through American customs they're like 'welcome home, bro.' This last time I went across the border the customs officer asks me where I'm going. I say I'm going up to see my girlfriend. He asks where I met her and I say online. Then he asks if I've ever seen her before, and I say no. And the customs officer gives me an incredulous look like I'm stupid or something."
"Well, you ARE travelling a long ways to see some girl you met online a few weeks ago..."
"So he asks what I'm bringing up with me and I have $3600 and a ton of clothes with me and he asks if I'm planning on moving up here. He finds my cellphone, calls up my girlfriend and asks if she knows who I am to check my story. He almost didn't let me through, held up the bus for 30 minutes, everyone on the bus was so angry at me."
* * * * * * *
Leaving the abandoned warehouse section of the city, I passed into what seemed at first sight like a standard busy city street. The sidewalks were teeming with people scurrying this way and that way, storefronts gleamed with fresh sales, while ahead of me the silvery shoulder of a curb and foamy tumble of an intersection, arm-in-arm with a rather ordinary looking concert hall, that held within a turn the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra, filling the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that I could only hold up both hands and gasp 'Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!'"
I walked further down the street when I happened upon a rather odd building: The Geological Survey of Canada Bookstore. Could it be? Could it be? I ran inside and begged as a favour to unpack all the maps all by myself; and the clerks were very pleased to indulge me, and to sprawl the charts at full length on the table and rest, while excited me shook out the geological surveys and spread them, took out all of the mysterious maps one by one and arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, 'Oh my! Oh my!' at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the sales clerks said 'Now, pitch in, young fellow!' and I was indeed very glad to obey, for I had started my travels at a very early hour the previous morning, as people will do, and had not paused for bite or sup; and I had been through a very great deal since that distant time which now seemed so many days ago.
* * * * * * *
"So what's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I can think of a lot of things... but the story I'm going to have to go with was the time I almost went home with two cougars."
"What?"
"Well I was over at a friends house for a party, and apparently I got so drunk I went home with two 40-year old women who apparently had plans for me."
"So what happened?"
"Well my friend thought about saving me but thought it was too funny to watch so he just let it happen."
"Some friend."
"I know, right?"
"So how did you get out of it?"
"I don't actually know. I woke up and didn't remember anything about that night."
"Feeling better about having never drunk alcohol yet?"
* * * * * * *
"In another life I would have been a geographer," I remarked.
"You still can be," the sales clerk replied. "Nothing is too late at your age." The sales clerk appeared to be of South Asian origin, with long, starting to grey hair. "What are you taking in college?"
"Music Education."
"Then I will see you playing with the symphony down the street some day."
"I play the oboe. Yes, I know, it's a fairly rare instrument."
"Then I will have to catch you on TV instead," she replied with a smile.
An old, grey-haired man walked in with a smile and hugs for all of the workers.
"He is our old director. He's in town for a rare visit."
"Is there more to this building than the store?"
"Oh yes, there's three floors of offices above us where the geologists and geographers work. We send out survey teams all across the west coast."
"Cool..." And for a brief moment, I regretted not chasing my childhood dream of a career in geography.
After all of this, I couldn't possibly leave without purchasing anything, so I bought a "trees of Canada" guide for some as of yet unknown future purpose.
* * * * * * *
"Whose turn is it for a question?"
"Who asked last? You? I suppose it's mine then: What is your biggest regret?"
"I'm not certain I regret it yet, but I think possibly dropping Engineering for Music."
"Oh, good choice."
"?"
"I just graduated with a Civil Engineering degree and I'm not going to use it. I just don't want that kind of a job."
"Yeah, a job is the reason I dropped. I had an internship that involved sorting traffic accident reports all day and plotting them onto a GIS. Paid well, but it was really, really mind-numbing."
"How about you?"
"Hmmm... I have a few, but I think I would have to go with starting World of Warcraft."
"Oh, yeah, that's something to regret. I once broke up with a boyfriend over that."
"Really, what happened?"
"Well I told him that if he started playing I would break up with him. I know what the game does to people. I'm an engineer--those are MY people. He said he was just going to do the 10 day trial, but I said that was it."
"Oh, I remember my gaming days. This one time I played Age of Empires for 29 hours straight..."
"I remember those missions would take 8 hours."
"Eight hours for normal people, maybe, but I always played super defensively."
"Like triple walls and stuff?"
"Oh yes, oh yes! I played that way too. Those were the days... Wait! Stop talking about games! I'm getting tempted now. Don't think about it, don't think about it..."
* * * * * * *
As it neared lunch, I started getting hungry, not the least of the reasons having been skipping breakfast. After a long search for fine Canadian cuisine, I settled on Poutine and Cherry Blasters, and sat at a bench near the waterfront, inhaling the salty ocean air. Could life get any better?
As I began eating, a gull walked up to me and began eyeing me over. "Oh, alright..." and I threw the gull a french fry. The gull hungrily devoured the french fry and proceeded to return to its original position. I threw the gull another fry, a little farther this time, in hopes it would get lost on the way back, but no such luck.
"Oh, come on, little bird. You're not 'one of the least of these, my brethren.' I'm under no obligation to help you." The gull continued to stare at me with the puppy eyes look. "Oh, fine." I threw the gull another fry. However, the fry gets caught on my fork and lands at my feet. The gull eyes me suspiciously. "So what, I've been feeding you, and you don't trust me?" The gull cautiously approaches me, grabs the fry, then runs away.
As I finish my meal, I throw my last french fry at the bird, which again lands at my feet. This time the gull won't take it. "Oh, fine, I'll move." I get up to throw the container out, and the gull grabs the fry, then noticing that I have nothing left, flies away. "I see right through that innocent veneer. You were just here for the free food, weren't you?"
The gull takes off, struggles to get about four feet off the ground, then realizes this whole flying thing isn't happening, at which point it settles back down on the ground and walks away. Suddenly I don't regret feeding the gull as much of that artery-clogging goodness as I did.
* * * * * * *
"Alright, your turn: where are you headed?"
"I'm taking the bus to Victoria to see my boyfriend."
"Great! How long have you been dating?"
"Oh, I met him in a hostel in San Francisco last week."
"..."
"It feels great! I'm doing something completely crazy and impulsive. I've never done anything like this before."
"I hope it works out for you."
* * * * * * *
With an hour left before I need to head to the airport, I figure a trip through Vancouver would be incomplete without a visit to the famous Vancouver Chinatown. Relying on my memories of studying maps of Vancouver as a 10-year old, I navigate my way through downtown city streets until I see a bank with Chinese writing, and I can just begin to smell that unmistakeable Chinatown smell wafting through the air. Imagine the smells of live seafood, mixing with that of ripe tropical fruit and concrete on a rainy day, and you'd begin to have a faint idea of what Chinatown smells like.
I began to follow my nose, with little success; the smell was soon gone, and all the retracing I could do couldn't bring it back. I began walking in a wide radius around my initial spot of discovery, again to no avail. Around the time I discovered a map of Vancouver, pointing out that Chinatown was in fact two miles away from where I had thought it was, it was time to head to the airport. Oh well--I can get it on the return trip. Also, apparently my childhood memories are not nearly as good as I thought they were.
* * * * * * *
"Aaagh!"
Our Civil Engineer friend had picked up her cup of coffee, assuming it was empty, to look inside, and managed to spill the remaining coffee in her lap.
"See this is why you don't destroy coffee cup lids."
"Great. I'm about to see my boyfriend and I've got coffee stains all over my lap."
"Coffee crotch!"
"You could always claim you were really excited to see him."
* * * * * * *
"You know, I don't feel so crazy anymore after hearing all your stories."
"Isn't that the point?"
"I don't know, are stories supposed to have a point?"
"Good question."
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Recital
So it's the night of my senior recital. It's stormy outside, with lightning and thunder, and possibly wind but I can't tell because I'm inside the FAC. (In case the last sentence didn't give this away yet, this was my dream from last night.)
The auditorium is relatively packed. I'd say about 50-100 people.
It comes time for the string piece to start. We walk on stage, but all the chairs and stands are out of position. So we move them into position. Except coordinating four people moving chairs into position doesn't work so well. So we move them into position again. And no matter what we do, the chairs are always out of position.
The floor gets scratched up. After 5 minutes or so of moving the chairs, the music department desk workers show up and start doing something to the floor--it looks like they're scraping off the varnish.* Any time we try to move the chairs into position they move them out of the way; but this fact does not occur to me. Rather, I think they're trying to help but they're just doing it wrong. After all, none of us can get the chairs into position.
After 40 minutes of moving the chairs, one of the workers gives the reason for their activity--"All your chair moving has scratched up the floor and we need to repair it now. Don't worry, we'll only charge you the cost of the materials." For some reason, the cost of the materials feels like an exorbitant sum, yet the gesture of only charging me the cost of the materials feels like a favour.
At this point, I begin looking for somewhere else to finish the recital. I walk out to the foyer, where one of the friends of one of the string players is babysitting the children in either/both the art gallery and the conference room. She's in the conference room most of the time, checking up on the majority of the kids in the gallery on occasion, who are running wild, but this fact does not seem to bother anyone.
The audience is getting antsy. I call the quartet together and ask if we should play the piece in the foyer. However, before I can call for a vote, people start walking up to me to shake my hand and say they have to leave. The audience begins evaporating and the recital ends like that.
Then I wake up.
-------------------
* I'm assuming this part of the dream was inspired by the time I attempted to lock a certain practicing organist in the auditorium on her birthday by krazy-gluing doorstops to the outside of all the doors to the floor. Not only did that prank not work, but I ended up having to spend my afternoon scraping the glue off of the floor.
The auditorium is relatively packed. I'd say about 50-100 people.
It comes time for the string piece to start. We walk on stage, but all the chairs and stands are out of position. So we move them into position. Except coordinating four people moving chairs into position doesn't work so well. So we move them into position again. And no matter what we do, the chairs are always out of position.
The floor gets scratched up. After 5 minutes or so of moving the chairs, the music department desk workers show up and start doing something to the floor--it looks like they're scraping off the varnish.* Any time we try to move the chairs into position they move them out of the way; but this fact does not occur to me. Rather, I think they're trying to help but they're just doing it wrong. After all, none of us can get the chairs into position.
After 40 minutes of moving the chairs, one of the workers gives the reason for their activity--"All your chair moving has scratched up the floor and we need to repair it now. Don't worry, we'll only charge you the cost of the materials." For some reason, the cost of the materials feels like an exorbitant sum, yet the gesture of only charging me the cost of the materials feels like a favour.
At this point, I begin looking for somewhere else to finish the recital. I walk out to the foyer, where one of the friends of one of the string players is babysitting the children in either/both the art gallery and the conference room. She's in the conference room most of the time, checking up on the majority of the kids in the gallery on occasion, who are running wild, but this fact does not seem to bother anyone.
The audience is getting antsy. I call the quartet together and ask if we should play the piece in the foyer. However, before I can call for a vote, people start walking up to me to shake my hand and say they have to leave. The audience begins evaporating and the recital ends like that.
Then I wake up.
-------------------
* I'm assuming this part of the dream was inspired by the time I attempted to lock a certain practicing organist in the auditorium on her birthday by krazy-gluing doorstops to the outside of all the doors to the floor. Not only did that prank not work, but I ended up having to spend my afternoon scraping the glue off of the floor.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Distractions
Paul put it so beautifully. That which I want to do, I do not; that which I don't want to do, I do.
This morning I woke up vowing to complete the remainder of my homework for the quarter.
Today, I spent playing computer games from about 11am to 11pm.
(No, not non-stop. I do certainly hope those days are over. At least, my eyes certainly hope so.)
How did this happen?
Well, I woke up, and decided to eat breakfast. While eating breakfast, I loaded the news. I read through it rather quickly, and as there was still cereal to eat, I figured I could play a quick game or two.
About three or four hours later I caught myself and broke myself away from my game long enough to ponder doing homework. But by then it was lunch time, so I made myself some lunch. As I said down in front of my computer desk, which is also my dining table, I started to browse some web pages to keep my occupied while chewing...
Why do I get distracted? Distractions have been the story of my last couple of years. I had many big plans. Many pieces of music I wanted to write, many pictures to take, many adventures to go on, many stories to write. Most of them ended up not happening for various reasons or another.
I always had good reasons to postpone. Bills needed to be paid, my room was a mess, I needed to take a shower, the trash needed to be taken out, I simply wasn't in the mood, there was no way half an hour would be nearly enough time to get started, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. (Now, if there was two or four "et ceteras," then that would have looked odd, but for some reason one or three is fine, despite the fact they're odd numbers. Wait, sorry, got distracted.)
I suppose I could get myself treated for "distraction addiction." I've already been in to see the shrink about "computer gaming addiction," but all I've managed to prove so far is that if I ban myself (successfully) from computer games, I'll simply pick up another distraction, be it wikipedia, googling your name, sitting in a closet for hours on end going on imaginary adventures, or even--heaven forbid--reading a novel!
Besides, psychology was founded a century ago. I always wondered how those Renaissance-era people were able to survive without counselling for depression and addiction.
I got distracted again. Why do I get distracted? Is it a cultural phenomenon? Is this generation going to be forever remembered as the distracted generation? Do I have ADD? Did people have ADD before the 19th century?
...
(Sorry, ended up fidgeting with a "Final Notice--Power being disconnected in 48 hours unless we get paid" sign that was hung on my door for a few minutes. I wonder how many of those I can score before I graduate? Mmm, graduate. Sorry, got distracted. What was I talking about?)
Right, distractions. Why do I get distracted? Wait, I said that already?
Anyways. I get distracted. Do I just lack vision? Is it because I'm a perfectionist to the nth degree and won't start something that's actually important to me unless I'm capable of doing it to the best of my ability? (i.e. when I'm in the "mood?") Is it because I can't stand to spend 30 seconds sitting still that I must constantly fill every minute of my life doing something? I mean this very literally, in case you don't believe me. While the computer is booting is a great time to brush your teeth, pour a bowl of cereal, refill a glass of water. I don't remember the last time I watched my computer boot.
And of course, whatever activity I choose to fill those 30 seconds with doesn't always take 30 seconds. And a few hours later, "what was I supposed to be doing again?"
Nah, that answer sounds too neat. Life is rarely neat and organized. Gold doesn't sit there on the Earth's surface waiting for someone to walk by and pick it up.
So why do I get distracted? Do I simply need to sit down and actually do it, regardless of whether I feel like it? Do I need to relax instead of constantly filling every moment of my life with some action or another? Do I need to bring back the planner? I don't think lack of an agenda was a problem. I truly did have an agenda for today. I just got distracted.
Perhaps the relaxation isn't it. I distinctly remember as a high school student using the five minutes in between each class to get a head start on the homework for that night.
So that leaves... perfectionism? Really? Hmmm. There has to be something more.
A lack of urgency? I suppose sitting locked away in one's room all day long can lead to complacency, where you don't realize every day someone dies and every day an opportunity vanishes and every day changes the course of the rest of your life.
A lack of God? I have managed to read my devotions on occasion the last few years. God ought to be the direction of my life; the setting of the tale; my raison d'etre. But the last couple of years it feels like I take God out in the morning and put him away when I walk out the front door.
I just don't see anything holy in turning in a paper, or throwing an hour of practice at a wall, or reading through a chapter in a textbook. Granted, I'm usually too distracted to do any of these things. But life has to have greater meaning, at least for me, or else I'll end up stabbing myself just to see if I can feel something.
I don't like jumping through hoops. So many times it feels like they just throw hoops at you because you're moving too fast and "they" need to find a way to pass some time. Like an old boss said, "stop working so fast, or we'll have nothing left to give you and have no justification for keeping you around for the rest of the summer." (In case you're wondering, that was government work.)
I suppose it's hard to focus on the holy when your religion classes ask of you the same as your other college classes, which is to question your previously held beliefs, and eventually when you question so much you lose sight of what answers really are and what facts really are and what reality really is. Questioning is a great thing; but people need a foundation, you know? When an artist chips away at a block of stone, removing everything wrong and unnecessary, you end up with something beautiful; but when you take everything away all you have left is powder.
I suppose this means I will have to ponder the question of God for myself. I've been putting that off for a while. What is this question of God, you ask? What does He expect me to do? Here, on this Earth? Here, for my life?
Somehow this question relates to "Did the Hebrews really cross the Red Sea?" and "Is the Bible factually accurate?" The world was so much simpler when it was black and white. Even now it still feels like I'm struggling with trying to figure out whether such and such a shade of grey is closer to black or white.
Wasn't I supposed to be writing a post about distractions?
I suppose when you hammer away at something with enough dedication you eventually find the real issues. It's pretty hard to find the holy in the every day when you're not even sure what the holy is.
But that, unfortunately, is a post for another day. Distractions abound--in this case, sleep.
This morning I woke up vowing to complete the remainder of my homework for the quarter.
Today, I spent playing computer games from about 11am to 11pm.
(No, not non-stop. I do certainly hope those days are over. At least, my eyes certainly hope so.)
How did this happen?
Well, I woke up, and decided to eat breakfast. While eating breakfast, I loaded the news. I read through it rather quickly, and as there was still cereal to eat, I figured I could play a quick game or two.
About three or four hours later I caught myself and broke myself away from my game long enough to ponder doing homework. But by then it was lunch time, so I made myself some lunch. As I said down in front of my computer desk, which is also my dining table, I started to browse some web pages to keep my occupied while chewing...
Why do I get distracted? Distractions have been the story of my last couple of years. I had many big plans. Many pieces of music I wanted to write, many pictures to take, many adventures to go on, many stories to write. Most of them ended up not happening for various reasons or another.
I always had good reasons to postpone. Bills needed to be paid, my room was a mess, I needed to take a shower, the trash needed to be taken out, I simply wasn't in the mood, there was no way half an hour would be nearly enough time to get started, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. (Now, if there was two or four "et ceteras," then that would have looked odd, but for some reason one or three is fine, despite the fact they're odd numbers. Wait, sorry, got distracted.)
I suppose I could get myself treated for "distraction addiction." I've already been in to see the shrink about "computer gaming addiction," but all I've managed to prove so far is that if I ban myself (successfully) from computer games, I'll simply pick up another distraction, be it wikipedia, googling your name, sitting in a closet for hours on end going on imaginary adventures, or even--heaven forbid--reading a novel!
Besides, psychology was founded a century ago. I always wondered how those Renaissance-era people were able to survive without counselling for depression and addiction.
I got distracted again. Why do I get distracted? Is it a cultural phenomenon? Is this generation going to be forever remembered as the distracted generation? Do I have ADD? Did people have ADD before the 19th century?
...
(Sorry, ended up fidgeting with a "Final Notice--Power being disconnected in 48 hours unless we get paid" sign that was hung on my door for a few minutes. I wonder how many of those I can score before I graduate? Mmm, graduate. Sorry, got distracted. What was I talking about?)
Right, distractions. Why do I get distracted? Wait, I said that already?
Anyways. I get distracted. Do I just lack vision? Is it because I'm a perfectionist to the nth degree and won't start something that's actually important to me unless I'm capable of doing it to the best of my ability? (i.e. when I'm in the "mood?") Is it because I can't stand to spend 30 seconds sitting still that I must constantly fill every minute of my life doing something? I mean this very literally, in case you don't believe me. While the computer is booting is a great time to brush your teeth, pour a bowl of cereal, refill a glass of water. I don't remember the last time I watched my computer boot.
And of course, whatever activity I choose to fill those 30 seconds with doesn't always take 30 seconds. And a few hours later, "what was I supposed to be doing again?"
Nah, that answer sounds too neat. Life is rarely neat and organized. Gold doesn't sit there on the Earth's surface waiting for someone to walk by and pick it up.
So why do I get distracted? Do I simply need to sit down and actually do it, regardless of whether I feel like it? Do I need to relax instead of constantly filling every moment of my life with some action or another? Do I need to bring back the planner? I don't think lack of an agenda was a problem. I truly did have an agenda for today. I just got distracted.
Perhaps the relaxation isn't it. I distinctly remember as a high school student using the five minutes in between each class to get a head start on the homework for that night.
So that leaves... perfectionism? Really? Hmmm. There has to be something more.
A lack of urgency? I suppose sitting locked away in one's room all day long can lead to complacency, where you don't realize every day someone dies and every day an opportunity vanishes and every day changes the course of the rest of your life.
A lack of God? I have managed to read my devotions on occasion the last few years. God ought to be the direction of my life; the setting of the tale; my raison d'etre. But the last couple of years it feels like I take God out in the morning and put him away when I walk out the front door.
I just don't see anything holy in turning in a paper, or throwing an hour of practice at a wall, or reading through a chapter in a textbook. Granted, I'm usually too distracted to do any of these things. But life has to have greater meaning, at least for me, or else I'll end up stabbing myself just to see if I can feel something.
I don't like jumping through hoops. So many times it feels like they just throw hoops at you because you're moving too fast and "they" need to find a way to pass some time. Like an old boss said, "stop working so fast, or we'll have nothing left to give you and have no justification for keeping you around for the rest of the summer." (In case you're wondering, that was government work.)
I suppose it's hard to focus on the holy when your religion classes ask of you the same as your other college classes, which is to question your previously held beliefs, and eventually when you question so much you lose sight of what answers really are and what facts really are and what reality really is. Questioning is a great thing; but people need a foundation, you know? When an artist chips away at a block of stone, removing everything wrong and unnecessary, you end up with something beautiful; but when you take everything away all you have left is powder.
I suppose this means I will have to ponder the question of God for myself. I've been putting that off for a while. What is this question of God, you ask? What does He expect me to do? Here, on this Earth? Here, for my life?
Somehow this question relates to "Did the Hebrews really cross the Red Sea?" and "Is the Bible factually accurate?" The world was so much simpler when it was black and white. Even now it still feels like I'm struggling with trying to figure out whether such and such a shade of grey is closer to black or white.
Wasn't I supposed to be writing a post about distractions?
I suppose when you hammer away at something with enough dedication you eventually find the real issues. It's pretty hard to find the holy in the every day when you're not even sure what the holy is.
But that, unfortunately, is a post for another day. Distractions abound--in this case, sleep.
Monday, May 17, 2010
On the Readership of Blogs
Which is to say, none. Why do we keep writing when no one reads?
Granted, I did stop writing for some time, so perhaps this question is particularly applicable to me.
I think part of the reason is the human need to be creative. A psychology professor once walked into a classroom. "How many of you can remember something important about your parents?" The entire class raised their hands. "Alright, now how about your grandparents?" Once again, most of the hands stayed up. "Now, how many of you know something important about your great-grandparents?" Most of the hands went down. "Therefore, in three generations, most of you will be completely forgotten. What will you do to be the one that is remembered?" He then left the classroom as most of the class sat there in stunned silence.
I'd say most of us want to be remembered. If we're forgotten, do our lives have any lasting meaning?
This is why I think we have this need to be creative--to make something that will last beyond this mortal shell.
In the past people built houses. Kept diaries. And, of course, made children. Today? We draw. We write music. We blog. And we still make children.
Which brings us back to the question: if a blog is written and no one reads it, does it make a sound? Does it fulfill our creative need?
Probably not. And given the readership of most blogs, I'd say that's a problem.
On the other hand, while most blogs claim a readership of zero, my own activities make me wonder if that's really the case.
I have a list of blogs I stalk. Some of these people are close to me, others have never met me before; a few others are in-between, faint acquaintances who may have forgotten all about me.
Why do I stalk? Because hearing about other people's lives makes me feel better about my own; it's easy when you spend most of your day without any social interaction whatsoever to come to the conclusion that you are an oddball who really has no place in this world and perhaps aren't really human. My staunch perfectionism forces me to admit that I am a failure and that everyone else must be perfect because I don't really know everyone else and who am I to judge, anyways? Knowing that other people are, in fact, human, with their own daily needs and concerns and faults and loves and tribbles is rather comforting.
Because humans must love. This has been an odd year. I spent the first two-thirds of the year without any love interest. And the result was not really moving on from the old one without really being attached to the old one which really meant floating around without meaning, for some odd reason. Humans are weird: they go around planning their entire lives around someone they haven't said hello to yet when they fall in love, and from these plans their lives have structure. Without structure you float around without meaning; you get depressed and end up not actually doing anything. You don't actually have to say hello; you merely have to have a dream, a reason to be optimistic instead of resorting to the obvious conclusion that you're probably never getting married, will never mutually fall in love with someone and never have a family of your own.
Because it's a way to remember people you'll probably never see again and keep them alive in your heart.
Because it's another way to procrastinate.
I'm sure some of these people who I read would be completely horrified if they found out I read their blogs. (My pessimistic self-esteem isn't breaking through, is it?) But of course they're not going to find out.
And, by the way, to all those blogs I read that claim you have no readers, I just proved you wrong. We all know the only blog without any readers is this one.
Granted, I did stop writing for some time, so perhaps this question is particularly applicable to me.
I think part of the reason is the human need to be creative. A psychology professor once walked into a classroom. "How many of you can remember something important about your parents?" The entire class raised their hands. "Alright, now how about your grandparents?" Once again, most of the hands stayed up. "Now, how many of you know something important about your great-grandparents?" Most of the hands went down. "Therefore, in three generations, most of you will be completely forgotten. What will you do to be the one that is remembered?" He then left the classroom as most of the class sat there in stunned silence.
I'd say most of us want to be remembered. If we're forgotten, do our lives have any lasting meaning?
This is why I think we have this need to be creative--to make something that will last beyond this mortal shell.
In the past people built houses. Kept diaries. And, of course, made children. Today? We draw. We write music. We blog. And we still make children.
Which brings us back to the question: if a blog is written and no one reads it, does it make a sound? Does it fulfill our creative need?
Probably not. And given the readership of most blogs, I'd say that's a problem.
On the other hand, while most blogs claim a readership of zero, my own activities make me wonder if that's really the case.
I have a list of blogs I stalk. Some of these people are close to me, others have never met me before; a few others are in-between, faint acquaintances who may have forgotten all about me.
Why do I stalk? Because hearing about other people's lives makes me feel better about my own; it's easy when you spend most of your day without any social interaction whatsoever to come to the conclusion that you are an oddball who really has no place in this world and perhaps aren't really human. My staunch perfectionism forces me to admit that I am a failure and that everyone else must be perfect because I don't really know everyone else and who am I to judge, anyways? Knowing that other people are, in fact, human, with their own daily needs and concerns and faults and loves and tribbles is rather comforting.
Because humans must love. This has been an odd year. I spent the first two-thirds of the year without any love interest. And the result was not really moving on from the old one without really being attached to the old one which really meant floating around without meaning, for some odd reason. Humans are weird: they go around planning their entire lives around someone they haven't said hello to yet when they fall in love, and from these plans their lives have structure. Without structure you float around without meaning; you get depressed and end up not actually doing anything. You don't actually have to say hello; you merely have to have a dream, a reason to be optimistic instead of resorting to the obvious conclusion that you're probably never getting married, will never mutually fall in love with someone and never have a family of your own.
Because it's a way to remember people you'll probably never see again and keep them alive in your heart.
Because it's another way to procrastinate.
I'm sure some of these people who I read would be completely horrified if they found out I read their blogs. (My pessimistic self-esteem isn't breaking through, is it?) But of course they're not going to find out.
And, by the way, to all those blogs I read that claim you have no readers, I just proved you wrong. We all know the only blog without any readers is this one.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Conversations with Children
Today, I was observing a special ed classroom for one of my college classes. This one student in particular attracted my interest.
Upon arriving he said, in a fairly loud, partly monotone voice “I said the A word.” He repeated this sentence several times while he was there. His teachers would then remind him that that was the reason he was in trouble. At the end of class, he stayed behind because a teacher was filling out a report of sorts for him to take home to his parents. As he was just standing there, he noticed me and said “hi.” (It might be more appropriate if every time I quoted him I used all-caps.) This was notable because I think he was the first student to notice me while I was there.
I replied “hi.” He then said “do you have a pet?” I said, “no.” He asked “why?” I said “because pets take time and love and I don’t have any time leftover to give a pet the love it needs right now.” He said “you should get a parakeet.” After a moment’s pause, he continued: “I had a dog once. But then it got a rare disease and died.” At this point whoever was with him has been getting more and more horrified as this conversation progressed and got his attention to end the conversation.
Well, it turns out said teacher still had stuff to do, so the student walked over to me to continue. He said, “nice hair.” I said “thanks.” Then he asked “do you have a wife?” I replied “no.” This student then said “you should wait until you find the perfect woman.” (Just wanted to remind you that everything he’s said so far has been half-yelled.) I replied “the problem with that idea is that there are as many perfect women out there as there are perfect men.” The student then nodded in understanding, saying “it’s okay, there are actually women out there who are into that beard and moustache thing.”
Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.
Upon arriving he said, in a fairly loud, partly monotone voice “I said the A word.” He repeated this sentence several times while he was there. His teachers would then remind him that that was the reason he was in trouble. At the end of class, he stayed behind because a teacher was filling out a report of sorts for him to take home to his parents. As he was just standing there, he noticed me and said “hi.” (It might be more appropriate if every time I quoted him I used all-caps.) This was notable because I think he was the first student to notice me while I was there.
I replied “hi.” He then said “do you have a pet?” I said, “no.” He asked “why?” I said “because pets take time and love and I don’t have any time leftover to give a pet the love it needs right now.” He said “you should get a parakeet.” After a moment’s pause, he continued: “I had a dog once. But then it got a rare disease and died.” At this point whoever was with him has been getting more and more horrified as this conversation progressed and got his attention to end the conversation.
Well, it turns out said teacher still had stuff to do, so the student walked over to me to continue. He said, “nice hair.” I said “thanks.” Then he asked “do you have a wife?” I replied “no.” This student then said “you should wait until you find the perfect woman.” (Just wanted to remind you that everything he’s said so far has been half-yelled.) I replied “the problem with that idea is that there are as many perfect women out there as there are perfect men.” The student then nodded in understanding, saying “it’s okay, there are actually women out there who are into that beard and moustache thing.”
Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Cycling
So today I got on a bicycle for the first time in a long time and rode out to the other end of town to investigate this Asian "closet" I was told about that potentially sold Asian food. The store was indeed small, but had plenty of good stuff.
Anyways, on the way back, I was riding on the road, as a car approached from behind... and another car approached from the other way. I had been riding on the road because it seemed right. Well the car coming from behind passed me so close that I reacted by trying to get my bike to jump the curb... and failed, and I took a spill.
A few scrapes and scratches later I was off and away. I soon passed by a bus stop with many people waiting, so I tried to go around them, and I ran into the bus stop sign. Miraculously, this did not result in a tumble--I did get thrown from the bike, but I managed to hold on to the handlebars and so I landed on my feet.
I just thought it was ironic that a near-collision resulted in bumps and scrapes, whereas an actual collision resulted in nothing. Also, I was rather disappointed that the day went without me adding to my total of bicycle-motorized vehicle collisions, because then that would have been something worth writing about.
I guess the short of all of the above is that it was good to be back on a bicycle again.
Anyways, on the way back, I was riding on the road, as a car approached from behind... and another car approached from the other way. I had been riding on the road because it seemed right. Well the car coming from behind passed me so close that I reacted by trying to get my bike to jump the curb... and failed, and I took a spill.
A few scrapes and scratches later I was off and away. I soon passed by a bus stop with many people waiting, so I tried to go around them, and I ran into the bus stop sign. Miraculously, this did not result in a tumble--I did get thrown from the bike, but I managed to hold on to the handlebars and so I landed on my feet.
I just thought it was ironic that a near-collision resulted in bumps and scrapes, whereas an actual collision resulted in nothing. Also, I was rather disappointed that the day went without me adding to my total of bicycle-motorized vehicle collisions, because then that would have been something worth writing about.
I guess the short of all of the above is that it was good to be back on a bicycle again.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Parable of the Talents
For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods.
And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightaway took his journey.
Then he that had received the five talents went and traded on the stock market. But that year was a bad year for the economy: the market crashed, and he lost every talent he had.
In the meantime he that had received two properly read the market and took advantage of the situation, making two more talents beside. And likewise he that had received one, he also gained one other.
After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them.
So he that had received two talents came and brought two others, saying, "Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained beside them two talents more."
His Lord said unto him, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord."
And likewise he that had received one talent was also rewarded by his Lord.
Then he which had received five talents came and said, "Lord... why? Why was I given great ability if I was only going to use it to lose all the talents you trusted to me?" And the man knelt down and wept bitterly at his master's loss; or perhaps more truthfully, at his own failure.
And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightaway took his journey.
Then he that had received the five talents went and traded on the stock market. But that year was a bad year for the economy: the market crashed, and he lost every talent he had.
In the meantime he that had received two properly read the market and took advantage of the situation, making two more talents beside. And likewise he that had received one, he also gained one other.
After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them.
So he that had received two talents came and brought two others, saying, "Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained beside them two talents more."
His Lord said unto him, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord."
And likewise he that had received one talent was also rewarded by his Lord.
Then he which had received five talents came and said, "Lord... why? Why was I given great ability if I was only going to use it to lose all the talents you trusted to me?" And the man knelt down and wept bitterly at his master's loss; or perhaps more truthfully, at his own failure.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Hello, World!
#include stdio.h
main()
{
printf("Hello World!")
}
* * * * * * *
So it has come to my attention that it has been eight months since I last posted on this blog. I don't actually know if there are eight months between April and September, and while I could quite simply do the math myself and find out with minimal effort, I'm really too lazy to do so.
Okay, it was seven months. Apparently I did feel like counting.
What has happened in these past seven months? Well, I've been wandering around and about in a bit of a fog. It's not that I haven't wanted to share my great thoughts with my wonderful readers. I simply haven't had any. Any worth reporting about, that is. I suppose that whole not bothering to verify the number of months between September and April should have been evidence of this.
Or perhaps I'm simply setting the standard too high? This blog is entitled "Adam's Reverie" after all. Have I always wandered about in a fog? I don't know. The fog seems stronger these days, but part of it might be because I'm choosing to give in to the fog and ride along with the flow. Of course, if that were the case, I'd have lots of stories for you, so perhaps that isn't actually true.
Are you sure there are seven months between April and September? April is the fourth month, and September is the tenth month... no wait, it's the ninth month. Never mind, I got it.
So what am I up to?
I'm preparing for my senior oboe recital about the same way I prepared for winter quarter juries this year, which is to say not at all. I keep postponing that desperation five-hour practice session I need to do at some point. I think my various accompanists are practicing more than me.
One of the cool things about walking around completely clueless is that you can get away with so much more. Like on Monday morning this week I missed all of my classes because I thought it was Sunday morning. At least that's what I told my bosses and teachers. Now, was it true? Absolutely. I really did think it was Sunday morning.
Wait a second...
Where was I going with this? Sorry, my mind completely blanked.
Ah yes. Things I've been up to. Hmmm... I think that's about the list right there. Been kind of depressed I'm not graduating this year. I do believe some of my students I taught on the island are going to graduate before me.
I need focus. I need a raison d'etre. Any good suggestions?
I know, I'll flip for it.
Heads I'll be good this weekend, tails I'll be selfish.
(Flips Quarter)
(Almost Drops Quarter)
Heads. Hmmm. Now isn't that a tizzy.
This could require some thought.
main()
{
printf("Hello World!")
}
* * * * * * *
So it has come to my attention that it has been eight months since I last posted on this blog. I don't actually know if there are eight months between April and September, and while I could quite simply do the math myself and find out with minimal effort, I'm really too lazy to do so.
Okay, it was seven months. Apparently I did feel like counting.
What has happened in these past seven months? Well, I've been wandering around and about in a bit of a fog. It's not that I haven't wanted to share my great thoughts with my wonderful readers. I simply haven't had any. Any worth reporting about, that is. I suppose that whole not bothering to verify the number of months between September and April should have been evidence of this.
Or perhaps I'm simply setting the standard too high? This blog is entitled "Adam's Reverie" after all. Have I always wandered about in a fog? I don't know. The fog seems stronger these days, but part of it might be because I'm choosing to give in to the fog and ride along with the flow. Of course, if that were the case, I'd have lots of stories for you, so perhaps that isn't actually true.
Are you sure there are seven months between April and September? April is the fourth month, and September is the tenth month... no wait, it's the ninth month. Never mind, I got it.
So what am I up to?
I'm preparing for my senior oboe recital about the same way I prepared for winter quarter juries this year, which is to say not at all. I keep postponing that desperation five-hour practice session I need to do at some point. I think my various accompanists are practicing more than me.
One of the cool things about walking around completely clueless is that you can get away with so much more. Like on Monday morning this week I missed all of my classes because I thought it was Sunday morning. At least that's what I told my bosses and teachers. Now, was it true? Absolutely. I really did think it was Sunday morning.
Wait a second...
Where was I going with this? Sorry, my mind completely blanked.
Ah yes. Things I've been up to. Hmmm... I think that's about the list right there. Been kind of depressed I'm not graduating this year. I do believe some of my students I taught on the island are going to graduate before me.
I need focus. I need a raison d'etre. Any good suggestions?
I know, I'll flip for it.
Heads I'll be good this weekend, tails I'll be selfish.
(Flips Quarter)
(Almost Drops Quarter)
This could require some thought.
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