I Know No Other Stand

I have been distracted somewhat by the beginning of baseball season. There is a romance to the idea of the ballgame, for me. I don't have the same feelings about other major sports such as football, or basketball, or even my own soccer. I also recognize the timelessness of some sporting pastimes such as tennis or golf, but usually saw them as white privilege sports, which is a turnoff for me. But baseball is the old fashioned American Pastime, the iconography of childhood bubble-gum trading cards; it's the province of DiMaggio and the Babe, the same dust stirred by the prodigious cleats of Rollie Fingers and Willie Mays. There is nothing that compares to the tension as a pitcher works all the muscles of his body, and all the finesse in his fingertips, to bend the path of a projectile with pinpoint accuracy through the air around the swinging bat of a formidable opponent. Fine-tuned skill is pitted against fine-tuned skill for the pride of two American towns.

Andre "The Hawk" Dawson! The (erstwhile) Montreal Expos of the 1980's! Looking at this picture makes me feel like I am five years old again, in a good way.

Wednesday 14
Finished my taxes. I can't wait to get a little back this year. But next year I am determined to do them in February.

Thursday 15
After work I had been invited to come spend some time with Asher up in the hills where he was house-sitting for his boss the fire chief. Hot tub plus steaks and beer at a hill-folk fireman's house made it the most blue-collar guy-time I've had in a while, just brother Peter and old pal Asher. I called Ramsey and Jared but neither of them could go. Asher has been living in a bubble up there in the hills, away from everything. I haven't seen him much since the days we all used to go to college Bible study, perhaps three years ago now. After his breakup he just sorta receded into the hills and doesn't often drive down into town. It has been bad for his redneck complex, but he's still a man of solid character, and a trustworthy friend, which both make him good company.

Friday 16
Ashley (friend and band vocalist), called to let me know she couldn't go with the band to the college ministry Summit this year. Baby, husband, etc. That's a bit of a blow to Martha and the Chores, but we'll manage fine. It was doubtless the right choice. She'll still be singing with us in the wedding. The question raised in that conversation was whether the ever-improving MATC should begin to work more like a real band a less like a once- or twice-annual worship project. We agreed that nearly everyone in the band seems to be on-board for a higher commitment level. Friday night study was excellent conversation on the topic of godliness, in the context of 1 Timothy 4, devolving into a review of the basic gospel message. Really a refreshing time.

Saturday 17
Sunny and warm are new favorites of mine. Trent and I met Daniel Lee at the high school and played pick-up basketball. It was luxuriously healthy to get the exercise without the "hamster wheel" feeling of the rainy day gym. I got a light sunburn, of which I was proud. Family time at my parents' house in the evening to watch an old 1970's sermon by Nicky Cruz.

Sunday 18
Church was nice. The sermon was by the energetic young dad from Texas, Brady, who will be the Summit guest speaker this year. He asked us all to stand and sing my favorite hymn, Immanuel's Land, at the end of the sermon (lyrics at the conclusion of this post). Went home again and chatted with mom over PB&J. I love seeing (our yellow lab) Jude when I go home, and looking at the Cecil Brunner and blackberries intertwining in the sun. Band meeting and practice was more organized than usual, and went well. We've also, to the delight of all, been asked to add "When I'm 64" to the wedding song-list. That made my weekend.

Monday 19
Doctor check-up in the morning. He said I should keep receiving physical therapy a bit longer, and gave me a little immune system advice. Spent part of the day working and part of the day catching up on schoolwork. It's nice when the boss is out of town because I can work whatever hours I want. My suspicions were confirmed, upon looking over the grades; it doesn't appear I am on an "A" pace. Unacceptable! :/

Tuesday 20
Made an appointment with a potential client. Am happy with the prospect.

Wednesday 21
Physical therapy in the morning, work, then class in the afternoon. I discussed MEChA with one of my classmates. I had expressed some interest in attending MEChA meetings with some of my Chicano friends from SJSU, not so much because I agree with the policy positions of the group (in fact I quite disagree with most of their tact and ideology), but because I sympathize with some of their concerns and want to reach out to the Latin community in general when I can. I don't know if I'll go, however. I am not sure people in that group are about anything more than ethnic pride and Progressive politics, both of which I believe to be very insidious and harmful. In the evening Trent and I drove downtown to the Mini Gourmet, and met Peter, Phi, and DMV there, and they had brought an old acquaintance along in Bekka Bjorke. It was a fun evening, though sometimes the contrast of open-hearted Christians on one side of the table, against the aimless foulness of the utterly worldly on the other, is somewhat awkward. I wish I could get rid of their perception of my/our self-righteousness (in that I believe in truth and defend it) and just see the Jesus I see.

{ end }

Immanuel's Land

O Christ, He is the fountain, The deep, deep well of love,

The streams on earth I've tasted, More deep I'll drink above,

There to an ocean fullness, His mercy doth expand,

And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.

With mercy and with judgment My web of time He wove,

And aye the dews of sorrow were lustred with His love,

I'll bless the hand that guided, I'll bless the heart that planned,

When throned where glory dwelleth, in Immanuel's land.

O! I am my Beloved’s And my Beloved’s mine!

He brings a poor vile sinner Into His “house of wine.”

I stand upon His merit, I know no other stand,

Not even where glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.

The Bride eyes not her garments, but her dear Bridegroom’s face;

I will not gaze at glory but on my King of Grace.

Not at the crown He giveth, But on His pierced hand;

The Lamb is all the glory of Immanuel’s land.

Moxy, The Proper Working Chair, and Lock-Picking

Monday 5
Sick day. Called in and the folks at the office agreed I should stay out. Wish I could say I did much with the free time, but I was ill. I stayed in, poked more at that video game, cleaned a bit, and laundered some necessaries, all with an ennui to do a snail proud. Primarily I slept a lot.

Called in to catch the boss before he left town. He thanked me for calling and relayed some skeletal instructions for the next couple of weeks. I reckon I can stretch it into two weeks' work.

n Aside: Brandini, Adrift My housemate Matt had some paperwork problems renewing his EMT license, so he is out of work for a week and a half waiting for the papers to clear. Its funny, even though everyone knows its just a formality, and he hasn't lost his job, he can't work until it comes through. So, as a result, we have both been strewn around at home. (I mean "strewn" in the least literal way. This living situation remains, even as a sick-house, the most pleasantly clean men's living quarters in which I have ever had the privilege of taking part.) He also has a cold, though not like my gunk, but is an incorrigible home-body, so he is reliably present at all hours for the next week or two.

Tuesday 6
I felt a good deal more energetic and the sun was out for once, but I still had the gunk and hadn't been cleared to work, so I started tackling things around the house more. I did a copious amount of laundry and some homework and reading, gave the lawn a close cropping and cleared some weeds out of the cracks in the sidewalk.

I don't really remember the whole day because it wasn't that memorable. Being away from work made me not want to do anything. By the end of the day my facebook status read:

I AM REALLY TIRED OF BEING SICK, STUCK AT HOME. Doctor appt. in the morning to find out what the heck is wrong with me.

Wednesday 7
Had an appointment with a Dr. Sullivan, ophthalmologist, about my eyes. Of course, by then they'd cleared up some. I liked his deportment and manner as much as I liked his name and the sense of humor I'd heard floating down the hall. He came highly recommended, and that clearly was because J. Sullivan, M.D., is highly recommendable. He happened to have a dropper-bottle of just the stuff I needed, Vigamox ("moxifloxacin hcl" is more fun to say) already sitting on his desk, so I walked away having paid only a $20 co-pay and no more. (I wrote an anecdote from this morning continued here. I got a lump in my throat when I was writing it. Yes, I am an intolerable sap.)

After being useless for two days, I was quite happy to be back at the office. I couldn't believe, logging in, that my time-card was really blank since the 2nd. Blah.

Someone left the perfect office chair out for free on the curb. I couldn't believe it. Yes, it's a mite rusty and dusty, but I cleaned it up and had all the parts moving soon. I just can't believe I was able to find just the thing. Now if only I could find a proper desk.





As I left the office I got a phone call from Jerry Brinson, an old Louisville friend with whom I had been feeling guilty about falling out of touch. We talked local politics and campaigns, and he told me the usual stories (in full technicolor cussing) in his heavily drawling middle-aged way, and explained how he had his seventh grandchild on the way now. I was so happy to hear from him, I could bust. I really ought to be praying for Jerry and Delois' family more.

Thursday 8
Went to my parents' place for dinner after work. On my way there Rob Evans, another old Louisville buddy who now lives in Atlanta, called me up. I was bummed out I could only talk for a couple of minutes. He's another guy I've been meaning to pray for, and catch up with. I haven't done that since a couple years ago after I visited.

I finished the leftover ham at my parents' house, THEN found out that they're completely broke and trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage this month. I think I would have eaten half the amount if I'd known. Sometimes I wonder about people who complain about the economy, if they really know what it's like to rely on God for money. You end up worrying a bit more but complaining a bit less. There is no reason in the world my dad shouldn't be paid, and there's also no money in the company that was employing him. What's a man to do? As kids I know we were lucky to have parents who even had a mortgage to pay. But many times growing up we ate and wore that mortgage. It makes one grateful for anything.

Friday 9

• I didn't quite finish the homework due at 11:00 AM. I don't know why I hadn't done it sooner.
• I also couldn't find the ol' moxifloxacin, the bottle of which is just too small. They ought to package it in a large, bright-red ball that you can't possibly misplace.
• I left for work in a rush, and realized halfway there that I'd left my phone.

It became clear that I was in the midst of a productivity downswing, a recurring pendulum-type thing just irregular enough that it can't be foreseen and calendared. It is characterized by a dratted absent-mindedness and mild physical clumsiness. I clearly need a return to method.

Went by home for a few minutes to pick up my moxy. Mom had some scriptures to share with me. Then I went to SaltWorks' Friday night study for the first time. I think I may have mentioned before that my friend Jared is going to start getting some much-needed fellowship there regularly, and I want to encourage him in that. Also a lot of my friends (read: members of Martha and The Chores) are involved in it. So, while I had forsworn "college ministry" activities, I may get involved there.

Saturday 10 - Monday 12

These days went by without much event of note, aside from the following. Saturday I cleaned a lot and cooked a mess of food so I will have something to eat. I made my brown ale meat-sauce angel-hair pasta. Matt liked that. I also got out the car cover for my wrecked Accord, since I decided to keep it and "part it out" to recoup some of its value. Of course, I don't want a wreck on my curb, so the car cover was the ideal solution. But it was locked, and the key missing. I felt very satisfied with myself for researching and picking the lock. The feeling of the barrel turning and the hasp opening was the feeling of conquest.



Sunday night's Martha and The Chores practice went well; we adopted two new (to us) songs, in Be Exalted and He is Jehovah. Our versions sound a good deal less corny than the linked recordings.

When I Don't Need to Do the Homework

Friday night after my last post I tried to go to the mall again, failed. Went to Bible study, that was fine but boring.

Yesterday I met Aaron, one of my best friends of mine since childhood, for coffee and catching up since we haven't really talked in months. He's thinking about engagement rings. I then spoke with Megan on the phone, which was flipping awesome though cut short, and then Leah, which might have been more awesome if it had been cut short. 'Sall good, sometimes I open my mouth and put my foot in it. I had planned to do homework, but I didn't get much done. I so often don't when I want to, then do when I need to and can't afford not to anymore. Not the best pattern. Went home to clean a little. Spring cleaning is the thing. Then I went to see 10,000 B.C. with Grace, Jared, Jean, Jenny & Jessica. That movie was so incredibly crappy, but had a fun cheese factor. Came back home, did nothing. Ennui! Went to bed.

Today I went to church, sat through it. God is good but my soul was a little like molasses this morning. Talked with Sharon, who showed me some verses in Proverbs 16 that helped me with my developing understanding of life-planning before God. Then saw Mike later, prayed with him and my dad a bit. Tony and Spen were there by then, setting up his Eagle project, rebuilding the benches outside the church building. Helped for a minute, saw "Mr. Ken" Morgan, my old scoutmaster from 10 years ago. Went over to Juicy Burger to hang with Trent and the rest of the crowd. Went home to study, ended up spring cleaning instead. Talked with Dougie on the phone for more than an hour, about his plans and his music and stuff. Says he's now an item with this girl Jen, who lives in Virginia, and he's planning on moving to Prague for a year to teach elementary school for MK's. Cool. We also talked about possibly music blogging together. At five met Dad & Mom and Peter over at the Johns' house for dinner. Indian food is objectively awesome, including goat meat and onion-cilantro-yogurt salad. Texted some with Leah about Big Lebowski quotes and Eagle scouts giving crappy sermons at Meth O'Dissed churches. Talked with Trent a little about the Prov 16 verses. Came home, working on stuff now.

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.