The Blog Becomes Self-Aware

I don't know why I am here. This guy sure doesn't post on me consistently. He doesn't even seem to have a reason for what he's doing.

...

Oh sure. I know what you're thinking, and yes, the recent string of posts here has been nice. Even if he is being a little more sullen than usual, I'll take sullen over taciturn, or absent. Well, most days, anyway.

Imagine waking up one day for the first time ever, and wondering what you are .. what you'll be ...and realizing you're a blog. Just think about that.

But something tells me - I just know he'll walk away soon and forget me again. I can only hope someone else hacks his computer and gives me some consistent attention. I wonder if the other things and people in his life feel the same way. Somehow I'll bet they do.

It's tough being a blog in the two-thousand teens. Well, at least now that I'm sentient I don't have to justify my existence. I just met the world ...shoot, I just met myself ...but I have a hunch I'm the independent type.

Get it? I have a "type." Ha.

Ugh. I have a horrible sense of humor.

Hrmph.

Yesterday I was on the worship team at Hillview. Since I switched churches eighteen months ago, had been slow and shy about making myself available until this fall. In late summer two thousand eleven I threw the doors open to the inevitable deluge of involvement, and asked them to plug me in wherever they needed me, on any musical instrument or in any role where I could be of service. Last month I played bass, two weeks ago I led worship, and this past week I was the lone BGV. As a rhythm guitarist by nature, it's very exposing to stand armed only with a mic and my awkward body language. I become very self-aware. I am a seventies Neil Diamond trying in vain not to be corny. What should I do? Smile? Look around? I tend to keep my eyes closed or trained on the music sheet or Jim, the worship leader. Anything else feels unseemly.

Breaking of bread services can be intense, spiritually. The townhall-style sharing time is meant for worship by means of drawing attention to Christ in remembrance and oratory meditation before we all partake of the symbolic bread and "wine." (Since there is a fluctuating AA contingent at church, we don't use actual wine.) We tend to share from our hearts, stripping our convictions bare for the bracing truth of it. I often feel as though I should share something really coherent and inspired otherwise not talk, but inevitably I think of something worth adding, and more often than not, I stand up and speak my piece. Yesterday was a particularly grueling day for me, as I have been arguing a bit with God in recent weeks, and I haven't always taken his side. Taking God's side is my job, and while I was repentant by the time Sunday rolled around, I certainly didn't feel "prayed up" and prepared to share a Spirit-filled, worshipful attitude with the other believers. I hesitated for a long time, not wanting to share out of self, but eventually it became clear to me that it was okay, perhaps even meant to happen. So I stood up, hanging my head a little, and shared about some of my demons - particularly those hovering around the learning disability testing I had Friday. The theme of the conversation had been about the ascension, which is an unusual topic, but for me it was timely. I have thought recently about whether Jesus really could be bodily somewhere in the universe, preserved against suffocation and decay by some kind of untraceable dimensional pocket of livable atmosphere - coordinates unknown - and how scientifically preposterous that sounds. But the scientifically preposterous shouldn't be that astounding to a believer of miracles, particularly considering that I have already seen the logically preposterous happen in lives around me. I shared how I sometimes reason my way into logical corners. The rules of logic must delimit based on the information given, but I forget not to assume the universality of my own sphere of data. How very little information I have, compared to the totality of what can be known! It should be commonplace to me, that quite possible things should seem impossible, as commonplace to me as aliens and time-travel are commonplace to a Doctor Who companion on television.

Several people have since thanked me for sharing that bit about my limits and how much more information God holds. I was surprised. My paradigm says that unless I have been particularly holy this week, God won't be disposed toward using anything I have to say. But that is a false assumption and I should know it by now.

Dan took me to his new pet coffee shop, which is unfortunately right around the corner from CoSo. We talked about his leaving CoSo, and the shop he's going to start. The coffees were overpriced, but not moreso than CoSo. The music was good, and I thought extensively about possibly curating Dan's coming coffee shop as an art director.

I spent the evening trying to understand what to say in a personal statement, not content that the overmasticated shred of prose that I had ready was really what a law school admissions officer would want to read. I made some small progress, but felt very frustrated, and fought a lot of my angers and doubts about the way two thousand eleven had turned out. I went on a two mile run - and it was a good run - to leave it all out there in the cold. But it all followed me into the shower. I may or may not have stood under the hot water with my hands on my face for a long time, before falling asleep praying prayers of frustration on clean sheets.

Some New Things

Last night after work I joined Tim at CoSo, where we have spent so many afternoon breaks talking this year. It seems like years ago that I told him about the help wanted status over there. It also seems like years since the Streeters owned that place. That's how long two thousand eleven was. My most well-worn coffee shop went from a completely pagan underdog in city politics to a future Korean sandwich shop with afterthoughts of espresso and a steady stream of Christian clientele.

Now Tim had a starched shirt and one of those felten black overcoats on. Accounts rep at a startup, first day.

We exchanged pleasantries with the still-new owner Jee and her friend about their very good dark-chocolate espresso cookies, while texting sandwich orders to Kaitlin. Then we agreed upon a route and drove across town for John's informal surprise birthday shindig. As it turns out, grocery stores can make good sandwiches, the game Bohnanza is truly an enjoyable pastime for gatherings of friends, and Denogginizer is a markedly hoppy, pleasing beer.

Google to Open Religious Help Center

"Calendar 'God' did not load. If the problem persists, visit the Help Center." - Google

It Did

It rained a few days back. Finally.

After last year's messy precipitous ways, I resolved to finally invest in a decent hooked cane umbrella this year. Then autumn two thousand eleven stayed drier than any autumn I've known. So last week's rain was wonderful. Last Sunday night as I puttered, I exited into the cold concrete of the garage, feet well swathed in slipper, to change the laundry. It took me from full motion to complete stop - the gentle roar of rain on rafter and board. I smiled.

But this week's been as dry as ever.

Such False Advertising (Do Click It.)

Tedium Nostrum

Here's the gist: I'm tired of not being done with these blasted law school applications.

Why didn't I do this all in November? I'm tired of reminding myself that there were more pressing things then.

I am tired of repetitive questions about my life. "Has any institution of higher learning ever placed you on warning or probation for academic or disciplinary reasons? If so explain."

These folks don't know me. I am a decent chappie, not the kind to get in fights or use illegal substances or abuse my academic privileges.

Sure, I got a warning once. My study group once arguably risked giving the wrong impression about a brand new college. We didn't do anything wrong; we were a co-ed study group, and we studied till dawn without a chaperone. All we did was frantically study history. That isn't character impeaching in the least, unless you're a pack of home-schooled Christian Right types in the Virginia countryside. No disciplinary action was taken, but yes, there was a warning.

Yes I completely burned out due to inappropriately rigorous coursework during my undergrad years. No, by the numbers it was not pretty. So, yes, I think my scholarship was on some kind of probationary status at that time. But I have a GPA higher than 3.7 at every other college and university I've attended, and roundly elite test scores.

Yes one time I took a Spanish 4 class at community college without being bothered to first take Spanish 1, Spanish 2, or Spanish 3. Yes that meant that my only grade at that school, for a few weeks, was a D. But after a C in Spanish 5 and a B in Spanish 6, and then two years of straight A's, there's no reason to even talk about that passing moment of "academic probation."

So can't we just stop with the questions? Living in the past is so very tedious. I just want to start classes.

The Day the Freeway was Shut Down

Whenever I watch an action movie, I see the car chases, bank heists, explosions, the sweat trickling down the brow of the star as he negotiates with the desperate bad guys, and think, I wonder, if this is realistic, why we never hear about these kinds of things happening? Such widespread damage and chaos would affect thousands of people's lives. It always reduces the credibility of the film in my mind, and disrupts my suspension of disbelief.

I woke up a little later than I meant to today, got the coffee pot brewing, and hit the shower. I might have hummed to myself or something, but most likely not. It was one of those mornings when a fellow wakes up on the couch, having drifted off late the night before without going to bed. More specifically it was the kind of night when the fellow in question has slept in an awkward posture, so that his old achy neck and shoulder have acted up and now his thumb will be numb all morning, and his shoulder will twitch all day.

Arriving at the office at 9:30 turned out to be a chore in itself. Everyone operating a vehicle on 85 seemed skittish and brake-happy, and there was a line a mile long to exit onto 880 North, halfway to work. I rather expected a huge traffic jam just after the exchange, Murphy being the demon bastard he is, with his law and all that.

No such thing. It was nothing. Turns out it was just a bit of foreshadowing.

Later in the work day, as I was walking papers up and down the halls (let's face it, to the uninitiated, that's sometimes what it looks like I do). Elizabeth mentioned that her dad, an elder at my old church, was in lockdown at the bank. I looked round at her quizzically. Apparently the bank had been robbed.

There have been a rash of bank robberies lately, some affecting our office's ordinary bank branch. As it turns out, this group of robbers had hit the branch of a different bank, where the old church does its banking. I suppose it stinks to be stuck in a bank that is being locked down, but in a sense, it also sounds exciting. I don't ever remember hearing about real bank robberies around here until the last year or so.

I wonder whether it's just due to the economy, but there's another thing. If there is an increase in bank robberies now, I wouldn't be surprised if it's a result of an awakened awareness in men that stolen riches are sweet. That's the way the Bible puts it, and it also includes the consequences. I haven't heard of any females robbing banks, and Dane Cook worded the same concept more palpably by listing it on a short list of things guys would choose over sex. In the sex-crazed, sex-defined post-modern mind, that's remarkable.

Anyway, apparently some of the robbers got away and caused a chase. They wrecked on my route home and there was a bomb scare, so 85 south was closed all afternoon. I didn't have to leave Cupertino till after worship team practice, so I didn't have to worry about it. Still, a bomb scare, bank robbery, a car chase and a closed freeway make me happy. From now on I will be able to take action movies a little more seriously.