Late Summer, Part One

• Friday, 9/1/6 - Night: went to Paramount's Great America, for free, to watch Jared's dress rehearsal for the parade. He was marshalling a float, then danced around in a funny hat. Went from there to play root beer pong, which was objectively lame, at the Crusade house, with the guys, who are objectively not lame. Note to self: Xbox Live is hard. Peter was going to play the gig tomorrow night with me, but informs me now that he can't after all.
  
  
• Saturday, 9/2/6 - I got up early. I packed my car with sound equipment, guitars, lyrics, blankets, and clothes. I drove to San Francisco.
  
  San Francisco. I got disoriented when Highway 1 merged with 19th Street. I pulled a u-ey, and continued south on 19th after it split from 1. I had never seen this part of town, and decided to navigate by my gut. "North by northeast," I told myself aloud, "and head downhill to the sea." I was looking for Market Street and Pier 1 (not the store, the actual pier.) I turned left onto Randolph, then (because I know a guy named Sean Head), I turned left (north) on Head, which veered right (east) and dead-ended on Ashton Avenue, where I turned left (north) and found myself at Ashton and Ocean Avenue. I went right (east) on Ocean, which overpassed Interstate 280, and then I turned left (north) on Alemany Boulevard. Alemany ran north by northeast, parallelling 280 till it reached Highway 101, where I opted for the freeway north, which I knew would take me to my general destination. All of the navigational decisions to that point were blindly improvised.
  
  At Market Street I picked up my east coast friend and former debate coach Heather. We wended our way to Height Ashbury, parked, and sauntered through Golden Gate Park for an hour or so, talking about times we'd had in times past. I met one of Heather's co-workers from the gulf coast Katrina crisis team, and her husband, who both seemed nice. They were from Nevada. Heather delivered my long-lost folder of CD's to me, which I had lost on my east coast trip last year. Around 2 or 3 in the afternoon, I set out for the Sacramento area by way of Interstate 80.
  
  Interstate 80. Unfortunately, the Bay Bridge, which is on 80, was closed for the weekend, and I ended up going south and getting nearly lost in a town called South San Francisco. Finally, I decided to forgo the San Mateo bridge and wend north along the Golden Gate, through Sausalito, across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge (which is on interstate 580 and leads to 80). This took hours. It was nearly 6:00 p.m. by the time I reached 80 north. The show was supposed to start at 8:00 p.m.
  
  The Sacramento Area. I arrived in Woodside, at Julia's house, by about 7:15 p.m., and after shooting a little breeze with her parents, got directions to the little vintage clothing store where I set up my equipment and got on my 20's/70's get up. Julia and Jacob played an introductory show at about 8:30, and I played for about an hour starting at 9:30. The songs went over well, and the drummer who accompanied me (we were billed "Gabe and the Troubadours") was good enough to make it a spicy set. Then J&J played a series of covers, occasionally forgetting the words.
  
  
• Sunday, 9/3/6 - By the time the show was over, it was midnight. We spent about a half an hour cleaning up, and I made my way south on Interstate 5, toward Stockton.
  
  Stockton. At about 1:30 a.m., I pulled into Grandma's driveway, in the nice part of town, on Euclid, about a block from University of the Pacific. I awoke at about 11:00 a.m., and found Peter and Grandma already long done with breakfast. We set up Grandma's computer, and hooked her up to the internet for the first time.
  
  
• Monday, 9/4/6 - Labor Day. I had planned on leaving at 7:00 a.m., go home and change, and be at work by 9:30 a.m. But since everyone else was off, I didn't have to. I spent a good portion of the day with Grandma instead, then got to work in Cupertino about 3:00 p.m., and worked till 6:00 p.m.
  
  
• Tuesday, 9/5/6 - My boss wants me to never use the internet for any purpose. This will make my job and my life a lot more difficult. I can be creative.
  
  
• Wednesday, 9/6/6 - It took some time to explain to my boss that my computer prints and saves files through the network, onto other computers and printers, and cannot be disconnected from the internet by just pulling the plug. By 7:00 p.m. I am home, frantically getting my bags packed and readying to drive to San Francisco International Airport.
  
  San Francisco, CA (again). Two hours later, I am informed by the AirTran counter that the baggage check closes at 9:00 p.m. A very classy, attractive, professional looking African-American young lady behind me stammered that "it is only 9:02!" We were instructed to take our bags to "oversize," and given poor directions there. I got through security only to be informed, in broken English, that "oversize" is before the security checkpoint. I argued with the man at "oversize" until he accepted my apparently undersized duffel bag, then proceeded through security again. I reached my gate for my 9:45 p.m. flight at 9:35 p.m., and literally caught them closing the door of the jet.
  
  
• Thursday, 9/7/6 - I awake with a start. The plane is still in the air, and I don't remember falling asleep at all. I do know we're close to Atlanta, our destination.
  
  Atlanta, GA. Upon arrival at Atlanta, I find that my baggage has not arrived with my flight. It was 5:45 a.m. and the next flight from San Francisco arrives at 8:20 p.m. I rode the north on MARTA, which is Atlanta's answer to the Washington, D.C., Metro, switched trains at the Five Points Station, and rode east and deboarded at the fourth stop, "E4 Edgewood/Candler Park."

Rob met me there... on a bicycle. Note to self: don't take AirTran: Rob had all but known I wouldn't have baggage. We walked back to his apartment, which was only a few blocks away. He lived right off a street called Euclid. We had kiwi, turkey bacon, and distilled water for breakfast, and I rolled out some extra bedding and crashed while Rob went to work a few hours at the bicycle shop.

I awoke upon Rob's return, and several hours had passed. It was lunch time. Rob gave me a guided tour of his neighborhood, which backed up against a park, and was a couple blocks from a neighborhood I quickly learned to call Hipster Station. The restaurant wasn't a dead giveaway. It could have just been a hip joint nestled into a busy town. We ordered pizza by the custom slice, which was a rare treat, which was accompanied by a veritable bucket of sweet iced tea. The food was high-quality. Rob and I had our usual conversation about girls, God, and the music industry (with the occasional explanation of Rob's bicycle racing background or my political training). But after leaving the pizza joint, I found myself confronted by independent record store after independent record store, vintage clothing outlet after vintage clothing outlet, DIY-chic restaurant after DIY-chic restaurant. There was even an American Apparel store. The refurbished theatre headlined Cat Power's show, coming next week. Band of Horses was slated for the following weekend.

Having taken in the wannabe hipsters, we returned to the apartment, and drove to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Site. I promised myself to note that as we two whiteys walked into an all-black tribute, we found ourselves alone in a crowd of Asians. Weird. Heard Dr. King preach the Word. Rob and I talked more about God, and girls, and about racism, and how we didn't understand it too well. We admired Coretta Scott King's newly laid memorial garden.

Back at the apartment, we passed the afternoon in different ways, mostly talking things over more, and Rob spraypainted his old bike frame with some paint we had just bought. That night we went to the airport, picked up my baggage from the incompetents at AirTran, and went to a club to try to catch Bang Bang Bang's show. We missed them, and instead saw Pasadena (a woeful Wilco ripoff) and Greenwheel (who would have rocked if they hadn't been allowed to listen to Incubus growing up.)

• Friday, 9/8/6 - At the apartment again, we stayed up till past 2:30 a.m. talking, while Rob's alcoholic roommate and his alcoholic bosses tried to get their car unstuck for two hours. We parted ways better friends than before, with Rob insisting about our conversations again that "we really should blog this stuff." I crashed on the couch.
  
  I woke up at about 10:30 a.m., which was bad since I still needed to shower and pack my bags before Kenneth Farmer arrived at 11:00 a.m. I was nearly ready by 11, but it didn't matter, since Kenneth was lost in Atlanta. He finally found the apartment, and I threw my stuff in the back of his Ford Explorer, but realized I had just locked my boss' electronic camera in Rob's apartment. I called Rob and got his access code for the building, and before Rob could ask me to be careful, Farmer had popped the locked door open with one smooth motion of his credit card. Camera in hand, we locked up and departed.
  
  Woodstock, GA. Kenneth took me to another town in Georgia, the name of which I do not remember. We came to a large megachurch-type building, which was clustered thickly with 15-passenger vans and minivans. I witnessed the first practice of this year's home-school orchestral brass section, taught/led by Farmer, who is a trumpeteer by trade. By three in the afternoon, we were back on the road. We talked of religious things, and mysterious females, and the problem of clashing egos with arrogant pig-like fellow colleagues, as we drove through Jasper, GA, and over the Georgia border and into North Carolina. I took pictures of things we passed, such as water towers and the piggy graveyard outside a hillside BBQ joint.
  
  Asheville, NC. Upon arrival in town, directed by cell phone, we parked "under the bridge," where Interstate 240 overpasses North Lexington Avenue, in a gravel lot. We walked uphill, south on N. Lexington past several hippie/hipster bars and restaurants. As we approached the park, there was a low runbling noise that got louder, and louder, pulsing, and rhythmical. Lights and people were spinning and whirling about the center of a circle of hand drummers larger than I had seen before. The atmosphere was celebratory, and contagious. Note to self: hand-rolled Bali shag smokes well.

After the drumming ended, Cannone spoke for a while with a homeless friend of his, and we sang some old hymns and depression tunes for him, in unpracticed four-part harmony. He seemed grateful, and passed around the whiskey bottle, saying he was blessed. We walked from there a few blocks back, to Rosetta's Kitchen, at 116 N Lexington Avenue, just south of the overpass under which we were parked. A few hours of conversation and a couple glasses of mead later, we sauntered back to our vehicles, Cannone, Farmer and I bound for Washington, D.C.

Involuntary Physical Rejection, & Click, Click, Click

Yesterday, I cleaned the scab that has become a part of me, my own little embarrassment on the end of my finger. Turns out there really is still a fragment of something left over from my surgery in there. If you ever are directed to Rodney Z. Wong, M.D. (D.O.?) do not go to him. He just shrugs his shoulders at me and charges me money to inspect his mess. Regardless, the little piece of something has finally shown itself, and I hope to be rid of it soon.

Nothing is going on, but I am so busy. John Lennox preached last night, on the first part of Revelations, though not exegetically at all. Nice thing, he appeals directly to the logic of the mind. He's a mathematician championing a spiritual truth, and it is refreshing. No I'm not sharing anymore than that. This is an event log.

Tonight is eventful, tomorrow is planned solid, and the weeks following full. You know the feeling of a slowly climbing rollercoaster, that never seems to get to the top? The feeling when it finally gets there, and pauses, is the story of my life this Friday afternoon. I'll wave goodbye to the summer of the dreams, because by the time I surface for air again, it'll be a fond memory.

Hermanos, Herman's Hermits

Thursday night I went to the church on the hill for my first Hispanic pick-up soccer game. Most of them are Christian brothers, and they play every Thursday. Translation: I plan to play every Thursday, too. Sporting, I could actually keep up, especially on defense. Keeping up with the language, however, was a different story.

Friday (last) night Peter, Katie, Trent, and I drove over the hill in Trent's car and met the girls at the Boardwalk. We saw Herman's Hermits live on the beach. I am certain it was lacklustre compared to the original phenomenon, but at least it was actually Herman, still doing his thing. ("Baby, baby, can't you hear my heart beat?") Proceeding to Seabright beach by 9, Peter and I built a fire, and we roasted the hot dogs and s'mores the Callahan girls had brought. I tried to keep Beck's guitar in tune. My clothes smell like smoke. Late summer should always be this good.

True Dreams, Artificial Awakenings

Monday I helped Mike with his house. The guests from Italy are coming, because the intern program starts soon. I got paint on my jeans. Octavia asked me about some events that happened a couple months ago, and how that's going. I didn't know what she was referring to at first, and the poor gal was trying not to say anything too specific, and making faces like it might be a sensitive topic. I finally figured out she was talking about a girl I had sortof dated. I made nothing of it, because I really hadn't thought about her in a while. But then Monday night I dreamed about it. Must have gotten my subconsious stirred up. Anyway, the funny thing about the dreams, which woke me several times in great discomfiture of mind and heart, weren't your typical fictional fare, but a mere tape of the relationship rewound and replayed, with everything but the awkward parts edited out. I woke up early, glad the night was over.

Tuesdays are 65¢ night at The Beach Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, so we went over. We spun ourselves sick, rode rollercoasters, drove bumper cars, and watched people. I played the original Tetris arcade game for a bit. The sticky "Rotate" button made it a little challenging. I also went into the bathroom to wash my hands, and found on the way out that I had been in the women's restroom. Some lady looked at me funny, but I looked at her funny right back, like "what're YOU doing here?" She had to go out and double check that she was in the right bathroom, but by the time she came back I was gone. Anyway, our whole crowd had ice cream at this decent little joint that had a lot of unusual flavors. The goateed, ponytailed, snaggletoothed late-twentysomething guy started making Big Lebowski references. Overall, a very fun Tuesday night with friends.

De, [LAT. "down from"] (also 4th Letter of the Spa. Alphabet) | Re'ah [HEB. "companion"]

FOREWORD. I bought a plane ticket to Atlanta last week. I bought a plane ticket back home this week. From where? Virgina.


De

I also registered for Spanish 5 online. I pulled up my transcript, and got a shock. Apparently, I was misled in thinking I had gotten a B+ in the class. That must have been my grade on the final, because my transcript says I have a D in Spanish 4. No wonder, transferring from Spanish 2, which I took in 2003. Gah. De priore.

Re'ah

But the big deal is the following. Today I will write this as an altar to the faithfulness of God. I will name it Re'ah, which means "close companion," or "a good friend." May I not forget how, following the Lord, I finally surrendered my right to bring my friends with me, and consented to leave them behind (to "hate" them, as Jesus said) if He so requires. This week in Sam, and in Trent, and in Joel, and in Joelle, and in Kenneth, and in Alissa, and in others, I am encouraged that, on the contrary, the Lord will be faithful to bring His own alongside Him, and I need not strive and struggle for them, nor will He withhold the fellowship that heartens me in my faith. We serve a God who is characterized by lovingkindness, and he is faithful and just. To Him be glory, majesty, dominion and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.

The Times, Quickly Becoming a Weekly

Nothing is going on.

I have spoken a lot on the phone with Kenneth, Cannone, Julia and a little with Rob and Jacob. Hung out a bit with Trent, Katie, and the posse this weekend. Played some old songs with Peter for the new girls. Saw the Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Funny, but sadly overrated. Seeya when something noteworthy happens. I shall duly note it.

Collision Collateral

My mood today was largely determined by something that happened January 6th. On that date of this year, someone slammed into the back of the car I was driving, wrecking both the car and my spine.

Today, I was woken by my cell phone. The fellow who is indefinitely babysitting my wrecked car called. He needs a car cover on it before the 10th, which is when his landlord will see it. The car is thrashed.

Midday, I went to my old friend Josh Sikora's wedding reception (the wedding was elsewhere a couple weeks ago). The rest of the day was spent on various odd jobs around the house. I can't begin to explain how shooting low back pain, tight neck muscles, numb hands, and sharp pain between my shoulderblades can slow a fellow down. Just trust me, it was bad today. Afte hours of helping clean our garage, tidying my own room, then poring over documents at the office, the pain is just frustrating. It would be less so, if I thought it would be gone soon.

My band is still looking for time to have a first practice. Tomorrow I will play worship music while my brother leads. Monday, I must find a place to get x-rays. Gotta stop avoiding that.

Nothing Is Going On

But my boss says I'm "churnin' and burnin'," referring to the large volume of work I have been turning in this week. And that, well, that's cool.

Headaches and Merry Hobgoblins

Yesterday I had a headache of migraine proportions. Every sound seemed a thunderclap to me. I left work early, and slept off some of the throbbing and nausea. I woke and lolled about, finishing A Midsummer Night's Dream by dim desklamp. I had picked it up, after intending for months to read it, because a statue of Puck in San Luis Obispo reminded me to. Dougie needs to read it, too; he didn't even know the merry troublemaker Puck at all. Anyway, having finished that, I began One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel García Márquez. Es muy interesante.

 

Tonight, I intend either:

jugar al fútbol

tocar el guitarra con mi conjunto nuevo

ir a "The Boardwalk" en Santa Cruz con mis amigas, o

hacer nada.

Aggressive Amusement

Wednesday night, Brett, Brianna, Matt, Peter, and Bri's friend (and now our friend) Brittany piled into a minivan and made our way to L.A. At around 1 am we arrived and crashed at our Hotel.

Thursday, Friday, and yesterday we ground-pounded all over Disneyland and the affiliated California Adventure theme park. Brett and his sister Bri are very aggressive theme-park goers, who knew the park and its nuances well, and liked to start early and end late. We tried to keep up with them, and with the exception of sleeping in on Saturday, we paced with them well. Turns out it's better to not plan the day ahead of time, but just as the day goes, an hour or so ahead and no more. Otherwise, unpredictable dynamics (weather, closed rides, crowds who had the same idea) can cause high stress levels. Lesson learned (not the hard way): amusement is best had when laid-back. In other words, Disneyland was awesome. Ariel the mermaid flirted with me, and my brother had a fun date with the girl from the corndog stand. It was cute. Last night a plumber had left an unpleasantly unfinished mess in our hotel room. So this morning we were given a refund at checkout, which in the end was quite a welcome turn of events.

Today we saw Pirates of the Caribbean, Dead Man's Chest at the El Capitan Theatre in Hollywood, and wandered the walk of stars afterwards. It was lovely, as was the drive home on hwy 5. Truly a delightful, sunny day, with blue skies and golden, waving hills. God knows when we want some simple happiness, and He doesn't deny it, may He be praised.

An Important Day

This is a rare post, in that it does not detail something I did or am doing. But it's an event in our lives, yours and mine, all the same.

Today is the day I will begin to be more pleasant to people.

Mark it on your calendar. It's not something I will do, but something I trust Someone will do in me, because today, I finally let go.

The Weekend

Friday, I did some reading on housekeeping, and took some measurements of my room. I also filled three trashbags with clothes and things to take to the thrift. The heat was oppressive, so everyone swam at Grace's place after Friday nite Bible study.

Saturday, I charged up the battery on my old smashed Corolla and found that it still runs quite smoothly. I drove it down the street and onto my friend David's trailer, by which means it was safely transported to the lot behind Trent and Shawn’s place, for storage. It no longer need mar my parents' driveway, thank God. I found my happy tie and my Cars' Greatest Hits cassette in the glove box before leaving it. Pete, Trent, and I beat the heat by seeing an air-conditioned showing of Lady in the Water (which was fun, 3.5 stars) and later swimming at Grace’s house again.

Yesterday, the weather topped 110°, and we went to Santa Cruz after church for Danni’s birthday. It was significantly cooler there, and Michael and I hit the cool waves for a little body surfing. Most excellent.

Wednesday Spending, Thursday Earning

Wednesday, I worked a little on my latest mix, which attempts to prove that there is some cool Christian music out there. It’s hard work, and in looking for this album:

I stumbled across Rasputin’s $3.99 rack of rock albums, which were on sale for $1.99. I had to buy Mander Salis new for full price (which I do not regret), and I got this one:

for $5.99, but I also got all of the the following for one easy payment of $15.00:







Thursday, my hard work paid off and I was given a $1 an hour raise.

El Gaberino Rides Again

As of Thursday I had no plans for the weekend. But certain circumstances caused me to seek solace in the road. On Friday night, I wended my way, in my Accord, from San Jose to Paso Robles to visit Dougie and his family.

Saturday we played music, and the heat was brilliantly affirmative of the spirit of summer. Dougie suggested we go to Boo Boo's in San Lu, so we went, then drove back. I acquired the following, and recommend both, though for entirely different moods:



Upon returning to Paso, we met up with Amanda and her friend Debbie, and we hung out till midnight and a half.


Sunday morning D and I got up early-ish and booked it past L.A. down to Perris. We talked about Romans 6 and parts of 1 Corinthians the whole ride down. I met up with Louisa in Perris, and Lu and I both jumped out of an airplane at 12,000 feet. After landing and getting myself calmed down (I wa stoked), we hung out all afternoon and evening, swimming to keep off the 110 degree heat, and then I drove back 400 miles home last night. Got back at 3:30 am. It was a great weekend.

Last Night, She Said...

"...good job leading music. It was beautiful."

George Dawson is speaking at our church three nights. Last night he hovered around 2 Peter a lot, and Ps. 103 a little, with some Romans and other books for good measure.

I have decided that fielding worship-leading compliments was the most awkward thing this week, besides maybe the huge jug of Sunny Delight I bought last night. How can I go into a store looking for a headband and come out with ridiculo-size Sunny D, 3 bags of beef jerky, and an AFI album? Only at Wal*Mart, baby. I can't think in there. The mediocrity stifles me. I didn't even get the headband.

The Summer of the Dreams, pt. IV

Today at work I had a terrible time trying not to nod off as I worked on my epic data entry project. Six pages of size 10 medical shorthand, and I am not half done

Two of the things I typed into a MS Excel column were the following:


"...time to ice the cake..."
and
"stop climbing about in the attic!"

I awoke by means of becoming frustrated with myself for an orthographical faux pas. As I dreamt, I misspelt the word "attic," by putting a "k" on the end. What a way to realize you're dream-typing: by dream editing, eh?

St. John, Halo, St. Paul, & the readvent de las chicas

Friday night I taught the college group. We went through John 19:1-16, which is the second half of the account of Jesus' interaction, during his trial, with Roman proconsul Pilate. We talked about how not to end up like the Jews, who waited for a Messiah and then missed Him because they were pissed off, or like Pilate, who didn't choose Christ for fear of personal loss. It was good.

Saturday, in a rare display, the fellows from Grace Bible Chapel and Hillview Bible Chapel got together and played Halo. All day.

Sunday morning, I taught from II Corinthians 2:17 and 3:1-3, discussing how to be an authentic Christian. We decided that unless Christ personally has his hand in it, having a good attitude or good actions are never going to lend us the authenticity we need. If your Christianity is someone else's recommendation letter, and you're just the paper, and God's both the author and the ink, then the more interaction with him, the better.

At noon the girls came back from Mexico. They built a house there. They were all covered in paint, and scrapes from a lathe they had been using. They were complaining of getting insulation all over themselves. I could relate. Last night some of the crowd from Fairhaven (San Leandro) came down to San Jose to play soccer and hang out at my place. It was a blast.

Delay of Raise, Relay of Praise

Today my boss told me that due to a negative report he received a few weeks ago, the promised raise is now contingent on three more weeks of productivity mirroring my current highly approved pace. I think I can, I think I can.

Also, in the absence of our fearless elder/college group leader Beck, I am unofficially running the college group ministry. Which means that since our guest-speaker-hopeful Silvenas will not be joining us this Friday night, I will be teaching Bible study. John 19:1-16. This further means that I must pass the worship leading (i.e. glorified cumbaya strumming) to brother Peter.

4 for 4, Plus 1 More

Debuilding - I had a four day weekend culminating in the 4th of July. Most of it was spent tearing down someone else's house, for an add-on they are doing. They (my friends Mike and Nancy) will be hosting Bible students in the fall. My head was covered in dust. Insulation, drywall, and sawdust.

Cussion - I led college group Bible study on Sunday, since half the group is out of town in Mexico. That was difficult because not everyone was interested in tracking with the lesson. Biblical discussion leading is sometimes maddening, and that's not good. I want to get better at it.

Apsychotica - It recently got back to me that one of the girls, behind my back, cited my brother Peter and I as the only "normal" guys around. Thanks, I think.

Supeman Simplex - On the 3rd, Mike and I replaced my master cylinder and lubed the power windows. (Note to self: older car = broken stuff. It's a '91 Accord and a lot of it is still original stock parts. I think the next thing to go will be the starter.) Then I went with Peter to see Superman Returns. It is an instant American classic. Superman is a gentleman and a scholar, even if he does have a child out of wedlock.

Existentialization - On the 4th itself, my dad and I rebuilt our picnic table. All these things make a man feel very tactile, solutions oriented, and purposeful. I was all ready to watch the sky get shot to pieces in a blaze of existentialized glory last night. Here's to the all-American summertime blues.

Gabe's Mango Salsa Verde

As served to my co-workers, classmates, and family yesterday, to rave reviews.

INGREDIENTES

2 medium ripe mangos
3 tomatillos, (2-3" appx. diameter)
1 tomato, (2-3")
1 yellow onion (3½")
1 jalapeño pepper
1 relleno pepper
2 or 3 limes, (or ½ cup of lime juice)
salt & pepper
2/3 cup loosely packed cilantro
2 tbsp secret ingredient

DIRECCIONES

Dice the riper of the two mangos, and half the onion. Seed and cap the peppers, hull the tomatillos, and finely chop the cilantro. Puree the tomatillos, tomato, both peppers, the other mango (without the seed, duh), and the other half of the onion. Mix in the juice of two (or more) limes, the cilantro, the diced onion and mango, and salt & pepper to taste. (Oh, pour in the secret ingredient, too. Don't worry, it's still good without it. But I'll give you a hint. It's not green, and it's got antioxidants!)

Chill.

Serve.

Presentaciones y Cine Cómico de Lucha Libre

So last night was fine. I do need to email that stuff to la profesora though. Las presentaciones de los estudiantes last night were almost unbearably long. And we had to have the obligatory presentation about Frida Kahlo, the most overrated woman in the history of mankind. Sure, her life sucked, and she painted well. But she was sortof morbidly self-obsessed as well.

So last night my brother and I took in the new Jack Black flick. Not gut wrenchingly, I-can't-breathe-it's-so funny, but definitely a finely-tuned, chuckle-inducing piece of comic genius. The lack of one-liners will probably hurt the DVD sales.

Chewing the Homework Cud

I really don't like checking my email in the community college library. Even if it is for school. It's just sortof... naked. What makes it worse is I forgot to email myself my re-done Spanish 4 assignment. And I have 15 minutes till class. So I cannot re-chew this stuff again right now. I am an educational cow. I can't chew and swallow just once. I have to do it a couple times.

Last night I went up to the east bay. San Leandro, to be precise. I went up to see my friends from Summit this year and last year. Since they are cool guys, it was a good time. I also found out their church, Fairhaven Bible Chapel, has their breaking of bread service every Sunday night instead of Sunday morning. They teasingly say they're more correct since it's the Lord's "Supper." The perk was, one Sunday, two BOB services. And the Spirit was there, so it was good. Go read Psalm 116-118, Revelation 19:7-10, and Luke 22:14-20. If you wanna know what I got out of all that, ask me later.

Additional note: Baker's Square's "4 Alarm Burger" seems tame till it hits your stomach. The heat was mild, but the indigestion was horrible.

Gigbreakfastcoil

Last night I played a show at City Espresso near Blossom Hill Rd. and Chesbro, in South San Jose, in the 408. I liked it. I could see people following the lyrics, sometimes inquisitively, sometimes approvingly. Julia drove down just for the show, with a friend, which was all cool. The set consisted of newer material, such as "Little Bird (End of Your Songs)" and "I Believe It, It's True," along with some older stuff, such as "Retail Boy," and that song I wrote for Sam a long time ago, "The Storied Breaking and Hooking of Up."

Today I went to Jeffrey's Restaurant down on the south end of Gilroy. We had a surprise birthday breakfast for Trent. We bought him a bike, a pretty damn nice one. Rock hopper. I bought myself some "chicken fried steak" and biscuits w/ gravy. Greasy, but Tabasco makes up for everything like that. What is it about "small coffee cup, perpetual coffee, large tip" that some truckstop waitresses don't understand?

I also fixed my car today. Turned out to the coil on my distributer was burned out. I am out a whole $52.

Bought Some Albums

Just had Bible study tonight. I admit; I hate topical studies. People who write these things approach the Bible with a topic they want to uncover, and more often than not, a point they are trying to make. Inevitably, verses get presumptively misapplied.

Last night, after finals, I went to Rasputin Records and spent the gift certificate my office people gave me for my birthday. I spent a little of my own cash too. My goal was to fill in some gaps, aquiring (a) albums I already like but haven't gotten around to buying, and (b) new albums I have been anticipating. The results:

Aftermath

Spanish 4: Last night I gave my final presentation, and took my final exam. The presentation was about Ibrahim Ferrer and Compay Segundo, (dos de los músicos más famosos de Cuba.)

I was right; I slept the night before, and I paid for it. But I probably passed.

Music: tomorrow night, I will play a show at City Espresso in south San Jose, near Blossom Hill and Cahalan.

Technical Difficulties

Sorry about the pop-ups. I will try to fix that.

In other news, today at work was my worst in a long time. Hard to please the boss sometimes. Tomorrow night's test is going to be horrible if I sleep at all between now and then. Prayer would be appreciated.

To This Date

Spanish—6/19/6, Monday—I am in a Spanish 4 class on the quarter system, at DeAnza College. This is the rough equivalent of Spanish 3 on the semester system. The final is this Wednesday; Spanish 5 begins with the advent of July. Tonight we studied subjunctive clauses for the thousandth time, and heard presentations about Brazil and Salvador Dali, among other things.

Father's Day Soccer—6/18/6, Sunday— Pete and I took Dad to buy soccer gear. He was happy as a clam, with new cleats, shorts, a jersey and everything. It was fun, especially when he got to donn it all for the inter-church soccer game the same evening. Awesome.

The Buddhist Monk Look—6/14/6, Wednesday—In a coup over our steady office boringness, I convinced my coworker (and comrade in harmless office shenanigans) Christina to go with her urge to switch her naturally blonde hair to dark brunette. She, in turn, encouraged me to change my look. Well, I HAD been thinking of shaving my head. I have thought about it for some time, but I particularly feel lately that I have no one to impress, so off it went. I now shave my head with a razor daily. Tanning is slow.

My First Full Sermon—6/11/6, Sunday—The topic: I was assigned Acts 18:1-11, to continue our church's Acts series. I spoke about Paul's retail job, and waiting for God, waiting for direction. I incorporated a section of Lamentations 3, talking about waiting for lovingkindness, hope, and purpose. If you want a copy just ask.

Major League Ballpark—6/8/6, Thursday—My birthday, but we observed Dad's, which had been 5/30, by redeeming his birthday present: Giants baseball tickets. Los Gigantes won, which was nice. After a lifetime rooting for this team, this was the first game I ever had the opportunity to attend. There are a lot of attractive girls at baseball games. Most of them seem to be suffering from a lack of substance, or something. Boring, pretty girls.

Starting this new blog.

The nature of my xanga requires that I post something thought-out and coherent. I am not sure if these pressures come from my audience or my own perfectionism. Either way, this spot will hopefully provide mere context for whatever contextless expressions I should choose to implant at The Whole Brevity Thing (something of an ironic title, to be sure.)