Anthems

Monday, Oct. 24, was a workday set to ludicrous speed. I got things done but I felt as though moving in slow-motion. This song begged to be suggested to the Hillview worship team, and the second item found its way into my wishlist.

Source: amazon.com via Gabe on Pinterest

After work I met up with Tim and Dan for dinner at Rojoz, and then worked editing my client's book manuscript for a while at Sanjay's house, before clocking out in favor of inspired conversation.

Tuesday, Oct. 25, I woke up a little late after co-conspiring with Sanjay and Tim till 2 a.m., working through problems of faith, sin, ministry, and Christ's complete and undivided calling on our lives and hearts. My mind wandered when I got home, after so much heavy thinking, and my guard was a little bit down, and that was enough to go the wrong places in my heart and head for the shortest period of time. How delicate we are, stupid and wandering like sheep, that we can find the highest place and not innately know to just stay there. I fell asleep at 3 a.m. praying for closeness and mercy. I would be so hopeless if I were to fall away from my Savior, but walking with him I am always strong.

Wake late, verses by text from Dan:

Show me your ways, O LORD, 
   teach me your paths; 
guide me in your truth and teach me, 
   for you are God my Savior, 
   and my hope is in you all day long. 
Remember, O LORD, your great mercy and love, 
   for they are from of old. 
Remember not the sins of my youth 
   and my rebellious ways; 
according to your love remember me, 
   for you are good, O LORD.
Psalm 25:4-7 (NIV1984)

...and from Sanjay. Both were very encouraging to me. Especially verses from Dan are a wonder. I have spent so long knowing him as someone who reviles God and things of faith, so to see him become a man of faith has been like watching a miracle unfold. The level of humility and commitment he has inadvertently developed, out of nowhere, is heartening.

...and on my way out the door my roommate Trent told me he sent me an awesome email, and that I am going to love it. I was wondering what he could possibly have sent me that would be so delightful. He was right though. [Baseball] plus [my country] plus [Zooey] equals [what a great video!]. The video's focus on inevitable Hall of Fame inductee, baseball superstar, and godly man Albert Pujols was a nice touch too.

Editor's note: the video originally posted here, which is the same one Trent sent me, has been removed from YouTube by the person who originally posted it, so I have removed its empty link. But trust me, Ms. Deschanel did the anthem justice, by singing it in true form and not elaborating on its melody the way many abusive, bungling vocalists commonly do at sporting events.

No Introduction Necessary

Friday Sept.30, I had planned to work eight hours, but was feeling the bitter tail-end (a man can hope) of this head-cold and arrived late. I had to predict how long the day would be for me, since my pay would be issued before the hours were logged. I said I'd leave at five, forgetting that John Vinci would probably have scheduled the Alumni Board meeting according to the Eastern Standard workday, and disregard mine. Being that this was the board meeting before the Annual Alumni Business Meeting with the general assembly of Alumni at Homecoming festivities, this board meeting was important. We would be announcing the need for a new organizational charter, and that announcement might cause a stir. I clocked out early, and three sixteen, and told myself I'd make it up later.

The Board meeting went well, and my personal concerns about the future financial independence of the Association from the College were heard and roundly agreed upon by everyone except the hedging Mr. Vinci. I spent the evening in a pleasant and somewhat carefree interview with the lovely Miss Spilker, and took in Amelie for the first time.

Saturday Oct.1 brought another teleconference to attend the Annual Business Meeting itself, this time at 6 a.m. I set my speakerphone and listened to people talk while I had coffee, smoked a pipe on the porch in some comfortable old jeans and Levi's thrift-store shirt, and made and consumed two eggs over easy. The first one I neatly cut apart, white from yolk, and took the latter in one bite, the second I entered whole, which was quite rewarding. The meeting was hard to picture, being far away and presumably held in the new building. I did say a piece about the Board's desire to accurately represent the alumni interests as a priority over the college's interests, should they be at odds, but my phone presence had to be interpreted to the audience, and my interpreter badly reworded my point such that I spent the next several days wishing I had not spoken at all. Meetings are hooey, but my morning was beautiful. Had a brief chat with Mrs. Emily Asbenson (née Holmes) about her life now and her husband's choice of law school. It was refreshing to catch up with such a pleasant college acquaintance after several years.

I made my way to work for the remainder of the morning, and through the noon hour making up all the lost time from the day previous. Went home, napped a bit, worked a lot on cleaning and organizing things, and a little on my freelance editing project, a.k.a. the book. A note about cleaning: shoes store well in shoe boxes.

Sunday Oct.2 was my first day at Hillview during their new two-service schedule, representing something of a contained hive-off. The schedule is confusing, but I managed to work a bit more on the book, meet over a late breakfast with the author and Mr. Adcock, my colleague in the project. Leaving our meeting a little while after noon, I attended the sermon by elder Kenrick Devaul, a delightful offering on the first part of St. Paul's second letter to Corinth. Breaking of bread service was also moving. I shared a bit, and commiserated with Mike Broussard and Osh Merjanian, who sat near me.

Lunch consisted of beer and lamb shawerma, and the afternoon I devoted to Miss Spilker. In the evening I felt a pluck of guilt for shirking the new Christian film in theatres, a hokey contrivance entitled Courageous. And Allan texted me "ARE YOU COMING?" So I went. It was edifying, and spending time with Sanjay Krishnaswamy, Dawn Tisdell, Dawson Gilson, of course Allan Kuo, and others over dinner at Denny's afterward was enjoyable.

Monday Oct.3 has been a bit of a gloomy, slow day so far. I have decided I will spend the rest of the week in a work-blitz, night and day, so be surprised if I have much to log between now and next Monday.

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More updates to come. Life got more exciting after this.

Dear Phinehas, I'm So Sorry.

Today the boss was completely preoccupied with philanthropic foundation work. He has a board meeting in Pacific Grove all weekend. Finding very little on my plate that could rightly be called "pressing," I set out to take care of some personal business that has been needing business-hours-only attention.

First, I had a bagel. I had been needing a bite all morning and it was high time.

Then I dropped by the Lee family cleaners and discharged a whole pile of things that have been needing attention. I am quite embarrassed at the state of the collar on my white shirt with the fine green stripes. Atrocious. What will the Lees ever do with me? I suspect they will clean my shirts and graciously say nothing of their natural disgust. It's criminal, I tell you.

Off to home, I there checked my files, and wended away to the DMV office. I hate the DMV, but I like the fact that their website tells me which location has the shortest line. That is a fantastic approach to queueing. I arrived and received absolutely zero helpful information. Even if I had, the effect would have been dubious, as I could barely understand the lady who "helped" me.

Thus equipped, I made my way back home and picked up my IRS files. Clearly I wasn't going to make it back to the office today anyway, so why not try to square away as many things as possible?

It was raining hard at the Alongi Brothers' yard. I almost called Mike Alongi to see if there was any relation, then thought better of it. I hardly had that kind of luck today, and if I had, I would need it for other things.

I was somewhat confused as to what I should do now. I knew my wounded hulk of a car was behind the fence, and that I really didn't want the hassle of having it back in my possession. I recovered my personal belongings and paperwork from the all-too-familiar seat pockets and cubbies, glove compartment and trunk. It was sad seeing how clean my little Honda's seats were, and how useless now. Oil puddled around my loafers in the confused rain runoff. It's not the rain drops' fault they had to fall there, but now they're all soiled. I half-heartedly trudged past the rain, coat pockets full of musty paper and old CDRs, back to the front desk. I shrugged as I signed the ransom papers that would free me from my car and its $55 per-day impound rent, and drove away. I tried to tell myself the Purell was to clean that front office from my fingers, and not to get the sad smell of a loyal old automobile off my guilty hands.

North on Sunol, right on San Carlos, under the bridge, and through downtown, I eventually found 55 South Market Street, where the IRS taxpayer assistance office was apparently holed up in a lonely corner of the fourth floor. I had a few dimes and nickels, and fed them to the metal machine, and ran up the street, up the steps and into the elevator, noting that the other fellow, who had pressed past me, had also pressed the "four" before me. He was was at least twenty years my senior, and dressed shabbily at least fifteen years my junior. His heavy boots, black Dickies trousers, and black hoodie sweatshirt spoke of foodservice, his demeanor spoke of hopelessness, his thinned grey tousle spoke of a missing hat, and his shirt appeared to be the scrubs of a medical worker. I never stopped wondering about him.

I waited in line behind the pushy presser, and was eventually helped by a kindly Ms. Mohammed, who tried in vain to secure my progress past the waiting area, directly into a service window. Unfortunately another fellow complained that he had been waiting, so I took the opportunity to fly back down, find the local branch of my bank, withdraw twenty quarters, and feed the meter. Four minutes wouldn't have been enough parking time, and the three-wheeled snarks would surely have tagged me. Running through the downtown, my loafers slapped the puddles, and my hurried reflection in the big buildings looked oddly confident and savvy, contrasted against my bedraggled taxpayer peers.

The IRS is entirely oppressive. It stands against everything dignified about human life. In a purported effort to assure the quality of the service I received, the management recorded everything my attendant did while I was in her booth. She nervously answered my questions with very official but unrelated unformation, and generally treated me as though I might bite her, or at any moment cause her to be bitten by someone else. This state of affairs not only assured my very poor service, but also completely dehumanized every part of our interaction. It was all I could do not to raise an alarm and revolt right there in that office. God cannot smile upon bureaucracy. It steals our money and steals our souls and when we nicely ask for them back, it gives us empty paperwork for us to fill.

The whole of government are pirates, and never the good kind we see in the movies. They're the bad news you hoped would never come but has - alas - always been here.