Rainy Museum Trip & Prep for Temptation

Saturday, February 23, 2008

• Driving in the Rain - I was going to wake up at 9:30 and drive to Berkeley, maybe with Brian. Instead I couldn't sleep Friday night so I woke up at 11:30, got ready slowly, and headed out without Brian because it had become to late and he couldn't go. Still needed coffee, so I went by the most comfortable Starbucks, Snell & Santa Teresa, to get a bev. That was kindof a bummer because I was trying to call Tony Buccino to come with me to Berkeley, but he was working a shift at the bux. So I hung with him while I ate my lunch there instead of on the road. Then I went and bought black umbrella with a curved handle, and some Skittles (personal favorite) of all three flavors, to smuggle into the museum. I drove my Accord to Berkeley, taking 85 to 17/880 to 580 to University avenue. Julia was eating a sandwich and told me to call her later, and several other people did not answer their phones. Jed picked up and we talked about everything but what we'd been planning on talking about. He actually got on Google maps and navigated me through Berkeley to my destination, the Berkeley Art Museum.



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• The Museum - You can see what time I actually arrived (that is, the 3:11, not the 4:11).
  
  
  Upon entry, I found that they had special pricing. $8 general admission, free for Berkeley students, $50 for registered Republicans, and $5 if you're a total stud. You can see which one I was.
  
  


• The Exhibit - Even though the museum currently has a huge collection of Francisco de Goya's etchings downstairs from Los Caprichos, and I was most interested in that, the exhibition I needed to see was Enrique Chagoya's Borderlandia exhibit, which is primarily comprised of political and social parody pieces copied from other iconic works of historical painters. There had been a field trip with my college class, but I had to work, so I needed to make it up on my own time.
  
   
   
  
  His work is acclaimed for its use of familiar images of French art and particularly American pop art (such as Mickey Mouse and Superman) as symbols of an oppressive American or "white" culture that condescends to and injures Mexican cultural and economic interests. I found this to be a very effective form of art, and I consider him to be very talented. The emotional response was repulsive, however, because while he showed American cultural icons trampling Mexican or native central American cultural icons, his work also mocks the culture of my fond memories, essentially spitting on childhood favorites like Captain America and Superman. I found this to an ineffectual way to rally sympathy for his position, because I did not feel that my culture was trampling his, but rather felt that his high art was derisively trampling my childhood associations. This raises the question, whose culture should be allowed to trample someone else's culture? Should a white person be trampled upon simply because someone thinks white people ought to be?


• Driving in the Rain, Part Deux - Driving back home I had meant to call Jed, but I'd also said I'd call Julia back. She was done with her sandwich, so we talked about a lot of stuff, mostly God and how to witness to Muslims and Hindus. That actually lasted longer than I thought, and I was almost home by the time I called Jed, who didn't pick up.


• Lecture Preparation - I spent some time into the night working on my lecture for the following morning. My church's leadership recruited me to help teach through a Bible study written by the late great Jean Gibson called BCT, or Basic Christian Training, the second in a series after Survey in Basic Christianity (SBC). Mine was a topic based on chapter 7, "Overcoming Temptation." The following are my lecture notes. According to my thinking, the best ways to overcome temptation are to know the sources of that temptation then know what helps you make that decision (and keep making that decision) not to give in.

Oh The Times Return, With a Bit of Nausea

I have been writing again. A lot. So much that it overflows into stuff, and gets on my shoes. It occurs to me it might help to begin chronicling again. The factual nature of this blog was very therapeutic in complicated times before. But never mind the reasons. I see now that this blog wasn't just for the summer of the dreams, but also for the winter of the puke.

To elaborate, I have spent a good deal of time this winter being sick. This is not because I have a poor immune system, so much as that I still think I am invincible, and have been diligently ignoring the memo that I am over 25 and a mere mortal. I'll explain more as I go on.

2007 E.B.O. (Extremely Brief Overview to be Filled in Later with Vague References to Things I Haven't Mentioned Yet) - Having finished my BA in Government Studies back in April of 2007, I went back to school last quarter (Fall 2007) at De Anza College, pursuing a new career direction in earnest: graphic design. No, I am not crazy, I am happier. By sheer accident I picked the one community college in my area that specializes in the arts. It actually is supposedly the best in the state of California. It's not hard to believe, because with only one exception in two quarters my profs have been outstanding. By the end of December I had a 4.0 in the Arts Department. (curse you, lingering Spanish grades!) Getting this GPA involved four all-nighters, which each time left me reeling the next day.

December helped me recoup and detox (all that caffeine, basically) in time to eat a lot of cookies, then stop eating altogether, replacing my entire diet with water and a general sense of guilt. I decided that I was poorly (as opposed to well-)read, and I needed to do something about it, and further resolved to start with science fiction and whatever else came into my mind. I drank a wonderful array of hot beverages while reading the following:





Unfortunately you have to read a lot more than 10 books over Christmas break to consider yourself well-read, and most would insist that that list isn't where they would start. But whatever.

2008 So Far - For New Years, My boss had the coughing chest flu from hell, which he promptly gave me with the instructions to duplicate ten times, distribute the copies to the office and my friends, and keep the original.

I traveled to Virginia, Pennsylvania, Virginia and North Carolina (respectively) from Thursday January 10 through Tuesday the 15th of January, for Jeremy Sewall's wedding. I was honored to be a groomsman and also to sing a song in the wedding. Bachelor party Thursday night, rehearsal dinner Friday night, wedding Saturday, drive back to Virginia Sunday, spending the weekend primarily with Knepper, Jimson and Mouse, but also spending time in protracted conversation with old friends David Sewall and Samantha Clark, and making at least one new friend in Jeremy Shull. During this phase I was miserable not only because I was sick and missing the second and third class sessions of all my Winter 2008 quarter classes, but because I am hard on myself when I am traveling. I don't work too well with jet lag, usually telling myself to ignore it, then feeling crappy. Nor do I work too well within the realm of "bachelor parties which are relatively clean but nonetheless driven by huge Cuban cigars and scotch," because apparently "losing weight" can translate literally to "becoming a lightweight." Last time I drank in any quantity (read: years ago), I was 30-40 pounds heavier, and the speed with which the 160lb version of me can get tossed was rapid. I found myself faced with this choice: (1) give in to the reeling nausea or (2) hold it in and get reeeeeallly drunk trying. Yeah, I let it all out. Felt pretty stupid. Drunkenness is not among the things I shoot for in life. Not gonna do that again. Needless to say I was more careful over the remainder of the weekend with the rest of the gallon jug of scotch that James and I had bought. James and I drove down to North Carolina to see Paul, help inspect his land holdings, do some sand-leveling and waste rifle ammunition, during the process of which we were hosted by his always delightful family, and accompanied by Daniel B. MacAdam and wife and clan of delightful rowdy youngsters. I flew out of Raleigh. Note to self: easier to fly out of Raleigh than to drive back up to Baltimore every time.

Upon return, I still wasn't well, and I was burned out from all the travel, but had to turn to catching up with classes. January was generally uneventful, except that I had a few surprises. (1) I needed to buy very expensive software as NOT defined in the Flash CS3 class description or materials and (2) I needed to know how to paint, as NOT defined in the class description or prerequisites of my "Color & Design" class.

College - I have one professor who is outstanding (ARTS-3TE "Today's Working Artist" - E. Rodriguez), one who is online and thus too impersonal even though helpful (ARTS-114.63Z Flash CS3 - P. Bruegger), and one who is not very good, though a very nice guy (ARTS-012 "Color & Design" - P. Chandras). I am still trying to get A's, but since most of it isn't actually studio work, and that which is seems mostly rote, I admit I am less motivated.

Career - I have an interview next week with the De Anza College Marketing Department for a job helping in Graphic Design. All I did was walk into the Marketing Department office suite one day after classes and inquire if I could help in any way. The gal I spoke with seemed very pleasantly surprised, and said, yes as a matter of fact they need a student employee right now. Considering my boss just gave me an unlooked-for raise, I think he knows he doesn't want to lose me, so I may find myself working two graphic design jobs in March, which makes me quite happy to think about.

Friday (today) - To bring things up to date, it's Friday February 22 (although I didn't start this post today.) Got really sick Wednesday night with either the flu or food poisoning, so there's the second nausea reference, and missed work and classes yesterday. Still a bit under the weather today, but mostly fine. I intend to work all week on homework and preparing a lecture for Basic Christian Training class I will be delivering at church Sunday. (That's another thing that happened last fall; they pulled me in to help teach Advanced Christian Training, and now that that class is over, they recruited me for BCT. I feel a little bit underqualified, but they think I'm doing a good job, so I guess that's cool.)

Late Summer, Part Two (A Retrospective)

• Saturday, 9/9/6 - Asheville North - After Farmer and Cannone and I waved off their girls, we traveled north. The hour was 12:30 AM, the road was dark and calling. I remember shouted conversation, tackling every issue from the metaphysical to the sensual to the spiritual. There was no doubt in my mind that they knew the same God that I did, but often their hypotheses wandered a bit far from truth into mysticism or spiritism. Farmer did more of the talking, usually describing Cannone's exploits for me, then telling Cannone to recount for me his latest theory on how lies fit into the truth. Then Cannone would cringe and explain that he didn't want me to "hammer" him, because he likes to play games with Truth for the sake of feeling like a hippie-philosopher-king. Coupled with the knowledge that I don't like doing that, Cannone becomes a bit of a barefoot hesitant. The two of them had also brought a stash of salvia with them, and we had a good deal of tobacco and cigarettes left. We opted out of the hallucinogen, as I had the distinct impression that it was a bad idea for an overnight road trip, even though it was legal.


• Route 81 - From Asheville we took highway 19/23 North (which is also called hwy 26, but it's the same road) proceeding to 81 North into Virginia. After a while Cannone slept, and Farmer and I discussed the meanings of many things. By my estimate, it was about four in the morning when I stopped at a Flying J, where 81 meets route 77 in Virginia, for sustenance in the form of a coffee and a Big Hunk candy bar. I gassed up Farmer's old sport utility vehicle, and Farmer spent some time waking Cannone up. After we were sure Cannone was awake, which was longer than one might think reasonable, our vehicle set out again into the night, the dawn well nigh. Farmer slept in the back seat while Cannone tried to pretend to be awake enough to talk to me. After a while, he blinked off some of the stupor, and talked for some time autobiographically, relating some things because he had overdone them for the purpose of retelling them at just such a time, and relating some things because at just such a time it was easy to retell them in an exaggerated manner. His life seemed a roller coaster of more or less welcome failures, a string of events tragic and made for the telling. The passing Virginia countryside dimly increased with the sunrise, and I began to feel tired, but never got sleepy. I live for roadtrips, and I do not prefer to sleep through them. It was a waking bucolic dream set to a campfire storyteller who didn't have any one particular story to tell. The only thing that changed was the waxing daylight, and the storyteller's name. Sometimes he went by Farmer, sometimes by Cannone.


• Northern VA - I took highway 66 east from 81, cutting across familiar territory, and by nine-hundred hours we had reached the beltway. We took 495 north to 7 west, arriving at James and Jeremy's sub floor apartment in Falls Church, VA, by about 9:30 AM.
  
  Between saying hello to one crowd of old friends, and saying goodbye to another, and getting lunch, I didn't take any opportunity to nap. I admired James' new truck for the first time, as it was a huge improvement over the old, time-tested Grand Am with the notoriously marshy backseat. (Although, there's something fond in the memories, watching countless passengers realizing that their butt was mysteriously wet.) He and I talked over spiritual things and other less memorable fluff over a lunch burrito, somewhere off the main drag (Route 7) in Falls Church. Post-burrito, we proceeded back after lunch, and I got a triple S (eliminate, shower, shave) for the first time in a while. Donning our suits and ties, we rechecked the directions to the wedding, and made our way to the Universalist National Memorial Church, deep in the maze of Washington, D.C., for a sign of the end times.


• Washington, D.C. - Upon arrival, we were greeted by a lot of dressed up people in the belly of a staunchly gothic stone building, which was candle-lit and gaudily beflowered. The apocalyptic harbinger we were about to witness was really only a wedding between a couple of old friends, but the solemnity and pomp with which the event was executed really did reinforce the old joke we used to lay on Mike's conscience, that the day he got a girl would be a sign of the end times. In an only slightly exaggeratory light, Mike and his bride made each other exactly 347,490 vows, all of which they will never be able to keep due to the unmanageable tome that would result in the event of their codification. One good-natured guest observed under his breath an opinion which I endorse, that bride and groom are doomed to marital infidelity on several minor points by dint of sheer promissory tedium. Note to Self: It would be appropriate to establish a committee for the purpose of framing a bill of amendments to these vows. It should allow parties to break many of the lesser vows, provided apologies are promulgated immediately following any said breach. A resolution should also be accepted, directing executive emphasis to the more orthodox and central points of the bureaucratic code that certainly must follow the necessarily involved architectural capping of such a cleverly intricate marital foundation.
  
  Considering that I had had no sleep after my nocturnal road vigil, I blinked slowly several times during the wedding. I did my duty as witness to their actual vows, because I cleverly saved my nodding for the proclamatory readings of one lover's sentiments to the other. These readings were preserved for just such an occasion from the more-or-less gushy love letters of months past. Naturally, these were read by someone not in love, to all us, who were also not in love. I found these moments quite lulling, but did my duty to bravely wake after each was safely over, in order to faithfully witness more vows. In any other nuptial event, the abundance of promise and the lavishness of sentiment might have become quite grating by the third hour of the ceremony. But considering that we had all teased Mike for years for being grinningly, purposely annoying, the melodramatic nature of the proceedings was instead touching and likeable. At the end of the ceremony, the couple receded as a brassy fanfare shook the halls and summoned the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Luckily, the disagreeable equestrians were preoccupied elsewhere and did not attend. Once outside, I was happily greeted by several old friends, including Faith, Abigail, and Jeremy and his girl.


• Arington, VA - A reception was held at the Army Navy Country Club, which was pleasant enough, despite its severe case of military branch ambiguity. Solemn faces mixed with jolly ones, and round after round of toasts were followed by round after round of traditional family frivolities. The night ended at a reasonable hour for us, and if I remember correctly, we returned to the apartment to mix with Paul McNiel, which was even more agreeable than usual. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have.

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.