The accordion man is standing outside Dominick's again, scraggly and weathered, shabby and worn. He has a menagerie of broken-down items surrounding him--a Casio keyboard, a couple of coffee cans, a bag filled with who knows what. He is wearing a tan trenchcoat and black shoes, a stocking hat and sometimes fingerless gloves. He appears to mumble to himself as he plays, his fingers moving across the keys and buttons of the accordion without his recognition of where they are or what they're doing. When he opens his mouth it looks like he may talk to one of the passersby, but he only continues talking to himself, and through the space between his lips you can see the teeth poking through, sparse and yellowed.
It appears he has become a fixture in front of the grocery store, and I pass him every time I walk that particular corner. He has a container sitting out for money, but on the corner of Fullerton and Belden the greater population is made of college students, most of whom are probably not carrying cash, the rest of whom don't even see the accordion man, so consumed are they with their own lives and the daily grind of their college existences.
I see him. Every time, I see him. And I walk past, afraid to catch his eye even though he never seems to see anything around him. I think I have mastered the art of examining the people around me without them catching me at it, and for the most part this is true. Especially when the subject of examination shows distinct signs of crazy. But every time I pass by, I wonder what happened to the goodwill of humanity. This time of year everyone is being tapped for cash--the Salvation Army buckets are out, church gift programs are in full swing, and holiday parties require food and gifts. But it is also the time of year when we come together, and we sing "peace on earth, goodwill to men."
But I don't want to be one of those people who throws money around just because of the season. Jesus told us that the poor would always be among us, and so they are, begging for change with their outstretched plastic cups, holding their signs that illuminate their plight, and the sight of the poor moves our pity. But it rarely goes farther than that. Cynicism has set in, and has taken a deep hold on our society. We don't trust the poor, we believe they should be able to help themselves, we yell "get a job" and tell ourselves their laziness is to blame.
And sometimes this may be true. But I wonder if we are being called to rise above the cynicism and offer goodwill for the sake of goodwill. If humanity as a whole would rise up and reach out to the downtrodden, perhaps they would be taken care of. Perhaps we could effectually achieve a glimpse of social justice.
But instead I keep walking past the accordion man. And the guilt builds up like plaque inside an artery, and I wonder if my conscience will come under attack the way my heart would when that artery burst. Until that day, I live with the guilt for the few seconds in which I find it affecting me.
And then I keep walking.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
call me conservative
I currently drive into Chicago three days a week for classes, and I pass the same exits, traffic, and billboards every time--so when a billboard changes I usually notice. Especially if it happens to be a billboard that informs you that should you have questions about your baby daddy, paternity tests are now available over the counter.
Let's pause for a moment. You might wonder why this has upset me...as it seems that I primarily blog about things that upset me.
What this means to me is that we are living in a society in which a woman may sleep with so many different men that she would not know whose child she gave birth to.
Call me conservative. I have a problem with this.
I firmly believe that there are reasons why sex outside the confines of marriage is a bad idea--STDs, unwanted pregnancies/abortions, emotional trauma, etc. Here is yet another factor. Clearly, in today's culture, it is so common for women to have doubts about their child's paternity, that these tests are now available OTC. There goes all of the appeal of Maury Pauvich. Just hop on into your local Walgreens and pick up a test--no need for national televisation any more!
And yet--and yet--this is a trend that is only perpetuating itself. I subbed for a middle school teacher on Monday, and the cheerleaders were all in uniform, begging the question: Why are mini-skirt against the dress code and not cheerleading uniforms? The obvious answer may be that the girls wear something under their cheerleading skirts. Well, good grief, I hope that the girls wear something under their mini-skirts too. The issue is that although it's not quite such a big deal in middle school, by the time these girls are in high school, it's a perfect opportunity to flaunt their youthful legs, and I do not doubt for one second that horny teenage boys are taking every opportunity to try to see what really is under that cheerleading skirt.
And if the girls let them, well, that is how we come full circle to the paternity test dilemma.
This is what terrifies me about being a parent--not how to keep my child from making bad decisions, but how to instill them with a value system that will not allow bad decisions to even enter their minds.
And then I pray to God that no child of mine will ever need to buy an OTC paternity test.
Let's pause for a moment. You might wonder why this has upset me...as it seems that I primarily blog about things that upset me.
What this means to me is that we are living in a society in which a woman may sleep with so many different men that she would not know whose child she gave birth to.
Call me conservative. I have a problem with this.
I firmly believe that there are reasons why sex outside the confines of marriage is a bad idea--STDs, unwanted pregnancies/abortions, emotional trauma, etc. Here is yet another factor. Clearly, in today's culture, it is so common for women to have doubts about their child's paternity, that these tests are now available OTC. There goes all of the appeal of Maury Pauvich. Just hop on into your local Walgreens and pick up a test--no need for national televisation any more!
And yet--and yet--this is a trend that is only perpetuating itself. I subbed for a middle school teacher on Monday, and the cheerleaders were all in uniform, begging the question: Why are mini-skirt against the dress code and not cheerleading uniforms? The obvious answer may be that the girls wear something under their cheerleading skirts. Well, good grief, I hope that the girls wear something under their mini-skirts too. The issue is that although it's not quite such a big deal in middle school, by the time these girls are in high school, it's a perfect opportunity to flaunt their youthful legs, and I do not doubt for one second that horny teenage boys are taking every opportunity to try to see what really is under that cheerleading skirt.
And if the girls let them, well, that is how we come full circle to the paternity test dilemma.
This is what terrifies me about being a parent--not how to keep my child from making bad decisions, but how to instill them with a value system that will not allow bad decisions to even enter their minds.
And then I pray to God that no child of mine will ever need to buy an OTC paternity test.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
the art of dying
Regardless of my feelings about the weather this fall, it certainly has surpassed itself in terms of color. I can't remember a fall as vivid as this one in recent years. This particularly struck me on the one sunny day we've had in the last week or so. As the sun came out the trees underwent a miraculous transformation--they were golden, and burning red, and various shades of orange; the world lit up in the light of these colors.
I couldn't help thinking to myself, seeing the world going up in a flame of color, that trees really know how to die. They have perfected the art of dying in a blaze of glory, and if I have to die, that's how I would prefer to go.
But when humanity dies, we spend ourselves in a sea of pastels--silvers and grays, sometimes blue, muted colors that will not overwhelm or alarm our senses, that won't shock us into a premature departure. Since this thought about the art of dying entered my head I have been thinking about my grandma--she was 98 when she died, and she was a picture of the silvery state of old age: white hair, translucent skin, faded blue eyes, soft, soft hands, and a voice growing rusty after so many years of use. She is forever in my memory that way, stuck as "always-old." I wonder what it would be like to remember her in her younger days, when she had long auburn hair and bright blue eyes--features I can only imagine as her photos are all black and white.
We die in so many ways...the old dying slowly and softly, fading into shadows of themselves, while the trees set themselves ablaze, daring us not to notice their descent into winter.
I couldn't help thinking to myself, seeing the world going up in a flame of color, that trees really know how to die. They have perfected the art of dying in a blaze of glory, and if I have to die, that's how I would prefer to go.
But when humanity dies, we spend ourselves in a sea of pastels--silvers and grays, sometimes blue, muted colors that will not overwhelm or alarm our senses, that won't shock us into a premature departure. Since this thought about the art of dying entered my head I have been thinking about my grandma--she was 98 when she died, and she was a picture of the silvery state of old age: white hair, translucent skin, faded blue eyes, soft, soft hands, and a voice growing rusty after so many years of use. She is forever in my memory that way, stuck as "always-old." I wonder what it would be like to remember her in her younger days, when she had long auburn hair and bright blue eyes--features I can only imagine as her photos are all black and white.
We die in so many ways...the old dying slowly and softly, fading into shadows of themselves, while the trees set themselves ablaze, daring us not to notice their descent into winter.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
these are a few of my favorite things
I became an English major primarily because I have a sick obsession with books. The book that started it for me? Anne of Green Gables, in 3rd grade. It turns out there is an entire series of those books, so that kept me going for a while.
This sick obsession manifests itself in several ways. As my husband can attest, I am never NOT reading something. Although lately I only read for school assignments, I already have a list of things I want to read when this quarter ends. Whenever I move, the first thing packed and unpacked is my collection of books. Organizing my bookshelves is more exciting than unpacking the entire rest of the house. As they come out of their boxes I view each book as an old friend, waiting to be placed in its new home on the shelf.
Admitting you have a problem is the first step.
So I decided that I would make a list of my top 5 favorite books. This proved impossible, and I upped the count to 10. Not enough. So here are my top 15 favorite books--and yes, they are in order of favor.
15. Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I don't remember when I first read this book, but I instantly loved it, and if you're thinking you know this story because you saw the movie...I must insist that books are ALWAYS better than movies. I have yet to find an exception.
14. Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. I actually met Shauna at the Willow Creek Arts Conference 2 years ago, and she signed my book. With an orange pen that matched the cover. It was tremendously exciting. This is a beautiful book of self-reflection from someone who has grown up in the Christian world (she is Bill Hybels' daughter). Highly recommend this to all women.
13. The Neverending Story by Michael Ende. Again, if you think you know enough about this story because of the terrible 1980s movie(s) loosely based on Michael Ende's masterpiece, think again. This story is so engrossing that you will find yourself, like Bastian, becoming part of the book. I would love to see the movie remade to reflect his story.
12. Through Painted Deserts by Donald Miller. When I read Blue Like Jazz, I did not see what all the hype was about. So I kind of wrote Donald Miller off...until someone gave me a copy of this book, a travel journal like none I have encountered before or since.
11. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. If you like writing, or just like reading really good writing, this is a funny and charming book. There are so many quotables that can be pulled from it, and Anne Lamott makes you feel like if you met her you would instantly be friends. (This is also how I felt about Shauna Niequist.) She has an irreverent sense of humor that makes you just love her.
10. Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov. I read this in an undergrad class on Russian literature, and it is striking for 2 reasons. The first part of the book is a poem--a beautiful, haunting poem about death and loss and learning to live. But should this list inspire you to investigate any of these titles, be aware that the commentary in the second half of this book is a farce. And a masterpiece of parody it is. Nabokov wins the genius award for this one.
9. Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich. I had a hard time choosing my favorite of her books. She is a Native American author with a voice that sings out of each page--her books are beautiful. There is no other way to describe them. This one is probably the most epic, but if you decide you want to read her, I have yet to find a book I don't like.
8. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I would be remiss if I did not include this on my list, for I have loved this series since childhood. I remember finding books 6 and 7 in my grandparents' basement one year, and doing the equivalent of inhaling them. This one may always be my favorite because of the imagery it holds. You can't explain the Gospel more simply.
7. Gravity and Grace by Simone Weil. Another book that I read in undergrad that has stayed with me. My copy is underlined, highlighted, and tabbed to tears. Simone Weil is one of the great female philosophers, and this book is a collection of her thoughts and essays.
6. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Harry Potter nut, and that I bear a special affinity for Hermione's character. If I could only read one of the Harry Potter books over and over again, it would be this one. It is THAT good.
5. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. If you have not read anything by Joan Didion, do it now. She is amazing. She began writing essays in the political movements of the 60s and 70s, and she captures the fervor of those decades effortlessly. This book is about the year immediately following the death of her husband, and it is poignant and moving.
4. Dracula by Bram Stoker. You may think that you know vampire stories because you have watched Buffy or read the Twilight series (yes, I have done both). But the original is much more thrilling, and more satisfying. Stephanie Meyer can't hold a candle to Stoker's original vampire mastermind.
3. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. Another author among whose works I have yet to find something I don't like. But this is her tour de force. It takes the lives of 4 Chinese mothers and traces their history as they come to America, have families, and leave their Chinese families behind. The 4 daughters must struggle to assimilate their Chinese heritage with their American culture. Amy Tan is one of those writers whose every word verges on poetry. This is a redemption story unlike any other I have read.
2. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I'm pretty sure that I could write my dissertation on this book and still miss some of the minute details that lie in every paragraph. This is truly a masterpiece. Originally banned in Russia at the time of publication, it takes a stance on religion and politics that is funny and powerful at the same time. The Devil comes to Moscow and all hell breaks loose. But this is a Devil like you've never seen him before. And this Devil brings peace to the restless. Bulgakov is a master of his words, his allusions, his history, his story.
1. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I don't know that I can convey just how much I love this book. Again, Barbara Kingsolver is an author I adore in general, but THIS book...this book is one of those books that sticks in your brain, and every time I read it I remember why I love it so much. (And I probably read it at least once a year.) Following a Baptist preacher and his wife and 4 daughters into the Congo, this story is one of remorse and forgiveness, life and death, love and pain, and how the human spirit goes on or gives up. Whenever I recommend this book, I tell people to make sure they get through the first part, since to someone less effusive it might be tedious. But this is a book you will not regret reading.
So there is my list. These are my friends. I cannot really express the way these books have embedded themselves in my mind, and they are all repeat-reads. I could probably make a top 50 list, given enough time, but who wants to read that?
This sick obsession manifests itself in several ways. As my husband can attest, I am never NOT reading something. Although lately I only read for school assignments, I already have a list of things I want to read when this quarter ends. Whenever I move, the first thing packed and unpacked is my collection of books. Organizing my bookshelves is more exciting than unpacking the entire rest of the house. As they come out of their boxes I view each book as an old friend, waiting to be placed in its new home on the shelf.
Admitting you have a problem is the first step.
So I decided that I would make a list of my top 5 favorite books. This proved impossible, and I upped the count to 10. Not enough. So here are my top 15 favorite books--and yes, they are in order of favor.
15. Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I don't remember when I first read this book, but I instantly loved it, and if you're thinking you know this story because you saw the movie...I must insist that books are ALWAYS better than movies. I have yet to find an exception.
14. Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. I actually met Shauna at the Willow Creek Arts Conference 2 years ago, and she signed my book. With an orange pen that matched the cover. It was tremendously exciting. This is a beautiful book of self-reflection from someone who has grown up in the Christian world (she is Bill Hybels' daughter). Highly recommend this to all women.
13. The Neverending Story by Michael Ende. Again, if you think you know enough about this story because of the terrible 1980s movie(s) loosely based on Michael Ende's masterpiece, think again. This story is so engrossing that you will find yourself, like Bastian, becoming part of the book. I would love to see the movie remade to reflect his story.
12. Through Painted Deserts by Donald Miller. When I read Blue Like Jazz, I did not see what all the hype was about. So I kind of wrote Donald Miller off...until someone gave me a copy of this book, a travel journal like none I have encountered before or since.
11. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. If you like writing, or just like reading really good writing, this is a funny and charming book. There are so many quotables that can be pulled from it, and Anne Lamott makes you feel like if you met her you would instantly be friends. (This is also how I felt about Shauna Niequist.) She has an irreverent sense of humor that makes you just love her.
10. Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov. I read this in an undergrad class on Russian literature, and it is striking for 2 reasons. The first part of the book is a poem--a beautiful, haunting poem about death and loss and learning to live. But should this list inspire you to investigate any of these titles, be aware that the commentary in the second half of this book is a farce. And a masterpiece of parody it is. Nabokov wins the genius award for this one.
9. Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich. I had a hard time choosing my favorite of her books. She is a Native American author with a voice that sings out of each page--her books are beautiful. There is no other way to describe them. This one is probably the most epic, but if you decide you want to read her, I have yet to find a book I don't like.
8. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I would be remiss if I did not include this on my list, for I have loved this series since childhood. I remember finding books 6 and 7 in my grandparents' basement one year, and doing the equivalent of inhaling them. This one may always be my favorite because of the imagery it holds. You can't explain the Gospel more simply.
7. Gravity and Grace by Simone Weil. Another book that I read in undergrad that has stayed with me. My copy is underlined, highlighted, and tabbed to tears. Simone Weil is one of the great female philosophers, and this book is a collection of her thoughts and essays.
6. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Harry Potter nut, and that I bear a special affinity for Hermione's character. If I could only read one of the Harry Potter books over and over again, it would be this one. It is THAT good.
5. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. If you have not read anything by Joan Didion, do it now. She is amazing. She began writing essays in the political movements of the 60s and 70s, and she captures the fervor of those decades effortlessly. This book is about the year immediately following the death of her husband, and it is poignant and moving.
4. Dracula by Bram Stoker. You may think that you know vampire stories because you have watched Buffy or read the Twilight series (yes, I have done both). But the original is much more thrilling, and more satisfying. Stephanie Meyer can't hold a candle to Stoker's original vampire mastermind.
3. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. Another author among whose works I have yet to find something I don't like. But this is her tour de force. It takes the lives of 4 Chinese mothers and traces their history as they come to America, have families, and leave their Chinese families behind. The 4 daughters must struggle to assimilate their Chinese heritage with their American culture. Amy Tan is one of those writers whose every word verges on poetry. This is a redemption story unlike any other I have read.
2. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I'm pretty sure that I could write my dissertation on this book and still miss some of the minute details that lie in every paragraph. This is truly a masterpiece. Originally banned in Russia at the time of publication, it takes a stance on religion and politics that is funny and powerful at the same time. The Devil comes to Moscow and all hell breaks loose. But this is a Devil like you've never seen him before. And this Devil brings peace to the restless. Bulgakov is a master of his words, his allusions, his history, his story.
1. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I don't know that I can convey just how much I love this book. Again, Barbara Kingsolver is an author I adore in general, but THIS book...this book is one of those books that sticks in your brain, and every time I read it I remember why I love it so much. (And I probably read it at least once a year.) Following a Baptist preacher and his wife and 4 daughters into the Congo, this story is one of remorse and forgiveness, life and death, love and pain, and how the human spirit goes on or gives up. Whenever I recommend this book, I tell people to make sure they get through the first part, since to someone less effusive it might be tedious. But this is a book you will not regret reading.
So there is my list. These are my friends. I cannot really express the way these books have embedded themselves in my mind, and they are all repeat-reads. I could probably make a top 50 list, given enough time, but who wants to read that?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
on my mind
It has lately become a habit of mine that while driving home from class (in Chicago, 3 nights a week...) I think about topics to potentially blog about. So I do have some fun ones in store, people. Let me know you're reading; it makes me feel bad when I don't post.
Topic One: A few weeks ago I was at the mall, and outside a store which I have never entered (mainly out of fear of being attacked by overbearing salespeople) was a small congregation of people--a couple of nice-looking (and by nice-looking, I don't mean that they looked "nice") girls, and a pretty attractive (and pretty cut) guy...without a shirt on.
I was taken aback by this. Mystified. Slightly appalled.
I walked by in a hurry, trying not to look in that direction, but not really being able to help it...kind of like a train wreck.
It threw me for such a loop that I haven't been able to really process what was happening there. Obviously some kind of intense advertising ploy. And although I'm not really one for boycotts, I don't think I will be frequenting aforementioned store.
I think I am beginning to understand why it bothered me so much. It's the sad fact that sex sells. That the word sexy does not mean what it really means anymore--it has evolved into a common adjective that often really doesn't even pertain to sex. It pertains to an illusion, to some elusive standard that has overtaken our culture, the essence of desire, sleekness, seduction, attraction.
We are really living in a sex-saturated culture, and it scares me to think of what it will be like by the time my kids are in their teens. What it will mean for my currently-non-existent daughter to grow up in a culture that feeds off sex and sexual imagery.
I wrote a paper last spring for a medieval class I was taking about the "sex factor" in medieval times and the effect it had on the development of gender roles. In the 12th-14th centuries, sex was a taboo topic. You couldn't, in good conscience, even have sex for any reason other than procreation, and that only on less than one-third of the days out of a given year, due to religious holidays, saints' days, etc. So how did we get from there to here? Somewhere along the way, people realized that it didn't have to be a sinful thing. And I can get on that bandwagon. Sex in the context of marriage--not a sinful thing. Not even when you're not procreating. But THEN, culture continued to perpetuate this notion that sex isn't a big deal. And that's when we run into trouble.
Now that sex isn't a big deal, it shows up everywhere--movies, TV shows, books, ads, commercials, even IN THE MALL. Does this end somewhere? Does it reach a limit and then recede? Or does it continue in the same pattern, leading to looser boundaries and reduced limits?
I recently led a small group of high school girls, watching some of them graduate last spring that had come into my group as freshman. How do you convince teenage girls to hold onto their dignity and their purity in a culture that is telling them to be sexy at all costs? I resorted to telling them to hike up their shirts and wear skirts/shorts that actually covered more than three inches of their legs...but it might not be enough to combat the rising flood of sexiness.
I have to laugh at the irony of me writing this post...as I sit on the couch with my hair up, glasses on, decked out in sweats. The complete opposite of sexy, if you will.
I think I may start carrying around an excess of clothes. Apparently that guy in the mall was in need of a shirt, and I didn't have one to give him. What a sad story.
Topic One: A few weeks ago I was at the mall, and outside a store which I have never entered (mainly out of fear of being attacked by overbearing salespeople) was a small congregation of people--a couple of nice-looking (and by nice-looking, I don't mean that they looked "nice") girls, and a pretty attractive (and pretty cut) guy...without a shirt on.
I was taken aback by this. Mystified. Slightly appalled.
I walked by in a hurry, trying not to look in that direction, but not really being able to help it...kind of like a train wreck.
It threw me for such a loop that I haven't been able to really process what was happening there. Obviously some kind of intense advertising ploy. And although I'm not really one for boycotts, I don't think I will be frequenting aforementioned store.
I think I am beginning to understand why it bothered me so much. It's the sad fact that sex sells. That the word sexy does not mean what it really means anymore--it has evolved into a common adjective that often really doesn't even pertain to sex. It pertains to an illusion, to some elusive standard that has overtaken our culture, the essence of desire, sleekness, seduction, attraction.
We are really living in a sex-saturated culture, and it scares me to think of what it will be like by the time my kids are in their teens. What it will mean for my currently-non-existent daughter to grow up in a culture that feeds off sex and sexual imagery.
I wrote a paper last spring for a medieval class I was taking about the "sex factor" in medieval times and the effect it had on the development of gender roles. In the 12th-14th centuries, sex was a taboo topic. You couldn't, in good conscience, even have sex for any reason other than procreation, and that only on less than one-third of the days out of a given year, due to religious holidays, saints' days, etc. So how did we get from there to here? Somewhere along the way, people realized that it didn't have to be a sinful thing. And I can get on that bandwagon. Sex in the context of marriage--not a sinful thing. Not even when you're not procreating. But THEN, culture continued to perpetuate this notion that sex isn't a big deal. And that's when we run into trouble.
Now that sex isn't a big deal, it shows up everywhere--movies, TV shows, books, ads, commercials, even IN THE MALL. Does this end somewhere? Does it reach a limit and then recede? Or does it continue in the same pattern, leading to looser boundaries and reduced limits?
I recently led a small group of high school girls, watching some of them graduate last spring that had come into my group as freshman. How do you convince teenage girls to hold onto their dignity and their purity in a culture that is telling them to be sexy at all costs? I resorted to telling them to hike up their shirts and wear skirts/shorts that actually covered more than three inches of their legs...but it might not be enough to combat the rising flood of sexiness.
I have to laugh at the irony of me writing this post...as I sit on the couch with my hair up, glasses on, decked out in sweats. The complete opposite of sexy, if you will.
I think I may start carrying around an excess of clothes. Apparently that guy in the mall was in need of a shirt, and I didn't have one to give him. What a sad story.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
things i cannot begin to understand
I have realized lately that there are many things in life that just don't make sense to me. Here is the short list:
1. Marathons. The Chicago marathon is coming up in a few weeks, and for the life of me I cannot understand marathoners. I can appreciate the fitness aspect, as I myself enjoy a short run (usually 5 miles or less) fairly regularly. But 26 miles is a bit extreme. I think I will even say crazy. Do people know what happens to you when you run 26 miles? Consecutively? You lose your bladder/bowel control. That alone is enough reason to not run a marathon. You also burn about 3 days' worth of calories--which is not nearly enough motivation to get me in public and not be able to control my bowel functions.
2. Skateboards. Call me old, but I saw two guys walking down the street last night--one walking, the other on a skateboard. And they were traveling at the same speed. So what's the point of a skateboard again? Unless you are Marty McFly, I'm going to say skateboards are unnecessary. And will leave you with more muscles in one leg than the other. Which may leave you looking a little lopsided.
3. Fergie. I cannot think of one single song by Fergie that I have heard without knowing it was her and thought, "Oh, I like that song, I wonder who sings it." Not one. So let's state the facts here: she is really not that talented. She is really not that attractive. Her songs are terrible. But hey, at least we know she can spell the word "glamorous."
4. The evolution of the word LIKE. This has plagued me for years. Like is a word meant to be used in comparisons--his eyes are blue like the sky, or as a verb--I like pizza. Like is not a filler word for when you don't know what else to say. Like is not a substitute for a comma. Like should not be inserted between every other word you speak. Like used to be a word relegated to a specific people group--the Valley Girls, the preps. It has devolved so far that I now hear it when talking with kids starting at the age of about 6. Preservationists of the English language, we must take a stand against this word!
5. Chicago's Olympic bid. If Chicago gets the Olympic bid, I sincerely hope that I do not live here by that time. The preparations are going to be awful. In the five years I have lived in the suburbs, not once have the tollways been free of construction. Let's imagine this for the next five years as well if we get the bid. Sure, the aftermath will be great--nice paved roads that will only have to be resurfaced every year or so after the winter cracking, giving us MORE construction...I guess I'm just not that into the Olympics. Boo if you must.
6. Women's fashions. This needs no explanation.
7. Genetics. If you know me and my sister, you know that we are nothing alike, and yet we have nearly the same genetic makeup. This baffles me. In my family, the oldest cousins in each family have very similar characteristics. The rest are a hodge podge, to say the least. Why is this? If someone could interpret DNA to me, this would be very helpful.
8.Why we continuously choose to live life in a stupor. So this is the serious one. Tuesday I was at school walking to class in the rain, but the sun was shining. Over my building I saw a perfect arch of a rainbow. I looked around me then and realized that no one else was noticing this. How is it that there is this remarkable world around us at all times and we consistently close our eyes to it? We become absorbed in our own little worlds, which contain none of the majesty of the greater world around us, the canvas of the great Creator. Too often we walk in a tunnel. Let us step into the light.
1. Marathons. The Chicago marathon is coming up in a few weeks, and for the life of me I cannot understand marathoners. I can appreciate the fitness aspect, as I myself enjoy a short run (usually 5 miles or less) fairly regularly. But 26 miles is a bit extreme. I think I will even say crazy. Do people know what happens to you when you run 26 miles? Consecutively? You lose your bladder/bowel control. That alone is enough reason to not run a marathon. You also burn about 3 days' worth of calories--which is not nearly enough motivation to get me in public and not be able to control my bowel functions.
2. Skateboards. Call me old, but I saw two guys walking down the street last night--one walking, the other on a skateboard. And they were traveling at the same speed. So what's the point of a skateboard again? Unless you are Marty McFly, I'm going to say skateboards are unnecessary. And will leave you with more muscles in one leg than the other. Which may leave you looking a little lopsided.
3. Fergie. I cannot think of one single song by Fergie that I have heard without knowing it was her and thought, "Oh, I like that song, I wonder who sings it." Not one. So let's state the facts here: she is really not that talented. She is really not that attractive. Her songs are terrible. But hey, at least we know she can spell the word "glamorous."
4. The evolution of the word LIKE. This has plagued me for years. Like is a word meant to be used in comparisons--his eyes are blue like the sky, or as a verb--I like pizza. Like is not a filler word for when you don't know what else to say. Like is not a substitute for a comma. Like should not be inserted between every other word you speak. Like used to be a word relegated to a specific people group--the Valley Girls, the preps. It has devolved so far that I now hear it when talking with kids starting at the age of about 6. Preservationists of the English language, we must take a stand against this word!
5. Chicago's Olympic bid. If Chicago gets the Olympic bid, I sincerely hope that I do not live here by that time. The preparations are going to be awful. In the five years I have lived in the suburbs, not once have the tollways been free of construction. Let's imagine this for the next five years as well if we get the bid. Sure, the aftermath will be great--nice paved roads that will only have to be resurfaced every year or so after the winter cracking, giving us MORE construction...I guess I'm just not that into the Olympics. Boo if you must.
6. Women's fashions. This needs no explanation.
7. Genetics. If you know me and my sister, you know that we are nothing alike, and yet we have nearly the same genetic makeup. This baffles me. In my family, the oldest cousins in each family have very similar characteristics. The rest are a hodge podge, to say the least. Why is this? If someone could interpret DNA to me, this would be very helpful.
8.Why we continuously choose to live life in a stupor. So this is the serious one. Tuesday I was at school walking to class in the rain, but the sun was shining. Over my building I saw a perfect arch of a rainbow. I looked around me then and realized that no one else was noticing this. How is it that there is this remarkable world around us at all times and we consistently close our eyes to it? We become absorbed in our own little worlds, which contain none of the majesty of the greater world around us, the canvas of the great Creator. Too often we walk in a tunnel. Let us step into the light.
Monday, September 21, 2009
life lessons in small paragraphs
Several things happened over the weekend: we played Clue with some friends, my parents came to visit, and a crisis was averted by the church being the church.
I feel that each of these deserves a brief description, and then it will take all my effort to find a common denominator and actually turn this into a coherent blog post.
Friday night we went to dinner with some good friends who are getting married next month, and afterward played about three rounds of the game Clue. I haven't played this in years, though it was a favorite of my sister and I. I learned something important though: this is not a fun game to play with boys. Neither of us girls won a single game, even when given the advantage of having an extra card, and the reason is simple--guys are willing to risk it when they're 90% sure. I have to wait to be 100% sure before I will take a guess, because it is worse to be wrong and not be able to play the game anymore. Anyone want to make a life connection here?
Saturday my parents came up. This has probably been the biggest adjustment for us in our marriage--learning to deal with each others' families. I love my family. But I have known them for 27 years and have had time to grow accustomed to their quirks. Lucas immediately sees these quirks. I could tell by the time they left on Sunday afternoon that he was really ready for them to go home, and I don't mean this in a bad way. I have the same exhaustion factor with his family sometimes too. Our parents are really different, and it makes being around the other's family trying at times. I can't imagine going into a marriage without having met my in-laws. THAT would be crazy.
While out with my parents, I received several texts wondering if I had checked my email. A man that had been on my worship team at my previous church had sent out a mass suicide email, and by the time I even heard about it, he had been taken to the hospital and updates were being sent out by several staff members. In a tragic situation, it was good to see that the church was caring for its people. It always makes me wonder how people can get through life without a support system like that. When things are hard in my life, I always know that I have the assurance of God's love and my family (biological or not), and that sustains me. I know that I am not meant to go through life alone, and I don't believe God intends that for any of us.
As far a common thread here, I'm coming up short...maybe you can pull all the threads together but I'll leave it with that. When you braid all three threads together, you come up with the stuff of life.
I feel that each of these deserves a brief description, and then it will take all my effort to find a common denominator and actually turn this into a coherent blog post.
Friday night we went to dinner with some good friends who are getting married next month, and afterward played about three rounds of the game Clue. I haven't played this in years, though it was a favorite of my sister and I. I learned something important though: this is not a fun game to play with boys. Neither of us girls won a single game, even when given the advantage of having an extra card, and the reason is simple--guys are willing to risk it when they're 90% sure. I have to wait to be 100% sure before I will take a guess, because it is worse to be wrong and not be able to play the game anymore. Anyone want to make a life connection here?
Saturday my parents came up. This has probably been the biggest adjustment for us in our marriage--learning to deal with each others' families. I love my family. But I have known them for 27 years and have had time to grow accustomed to their quirks. Lucas immediately sees these quirks. I could tell by the time they left on Sunday afternoon that he was really ready for them to go home, and I don't mean this in a bad way. I have the same exhaustion factor with his family sometimes too. Our parents are really different, and it makes being around the other's family trying at times. I can't imagine going into a marriage without having met my in-laws. THAT would be crazy.
While out with my parents, I received several texts wondering if I had checked my email. A man that had been on my worship team at my previous church had sent out a mass suicide email, and by the time I even heard about it, he had been taken to the hospital and updates were being sent out by several staff members. In a tragic situation, it was good to see that the church was caring for its people. It always makes me wonder how people can get through life without a support system like that. When things are hard in my life, I always know that I have the assurance of God's love and my family (biological or not), and that sustains me. I know that I am not meant to go through life alone, and I don't believe God intends that for any of us.
As far a common thread here, I'm coming up short...maybe you can pull all the threads together but I'll leave it with that. When you braid all three threads together, you come up with the stuff of life.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
marriage is...
Lucas and I recently celebrated our first year of marriage, and when I said, "Can you believe it's been a year already?" his reply was, "Can you believe it's only been a year?"
This year has been full of challenges and learning experiences and frustrations and just plain fun. These are a few things that marriage means to me. I would love to have you add to the list.
Marriage is...
-hard work.
-compromise, compromise, compromise.
-learning to love yourself the way your spouse does.
-ridiculous amounts of tickling. Not because I think it's fun...because Lucas does.
-accepting the fact that I will never be allowed to make tacos again.
-giving each other permission to be ourselves.
-learning the language of a NERD.
-listening to my husband regale me with his victories on WoW. (If you don't know, don't ask. Really.)
-bringing the crazy down a notch.
-keeping Mountain Dew in the fridge at all times.
-imagining the next fifty years.
-sharing your soul with another person and knowing it will be cared for.
-living with the clothes on the floor because they WILL get picked up in the next day or two.
-watching movies that you normally wouldn't watch in order to snuggle on the couch.
-talking things over before you make decisions.
-becoming less self-involved.
-speaking your other half's love languages, even if they are not yours.
-having someone around to do the home improvement projects you can't handle because you're a girl.
-putting SOME of his books on the bookshelf.
-wiping the hairs off the bathroom counter. Again. And then appreciating that he shaved.
-not what you expect.
-more than you could have imagined.
This year has been full of challenges and learning experiences and frustrations and just plain fun. These are a few things that marriage means to me. I would love to have you add to the list.
Marriage is...
-hard work.
-compromise, compromise, compromise.
-learning to love yourself the way your spouse does.
-ridiculous amounts of tickling. Not because I think it's fun...because Lucas does.
-accepting the fact that I will never be allowed to make tacos again.
-giving each other permission to be ourselves.
-learning the language of a NERD.
-listening to my husband regale me with his victories on WoW. (If you don't know, don't ask. Really.)
-bringing the crazy down a notch.
-keeping Mountain Dew in the fridge at all times.
-imagining the next fifty years.
-sharing your soul with another person and knowing it will be cared for.
-living with the clothes on the floor because they WILL get picked up in the next day or two.
-watching movies that you normally wouldn't watch in order to snuggle on the couch.
-talking things over before you make decisions.
-becoming less self-involved.
-speaking your other half's love languages, even if they are not yours.
-having someone around to do the home improvement projects you can't handle because you're a girl.
-putting SOME of his books on the bookshelf.
-wiping the hairs off the bathroom counter. Again. And then appreciating that he shaved.
-not what you expect.
-more than you could have imagined.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
after a long hiatus...
I sometimes feel like I have nothing to blog about any more. But really, life is one big adventure after another. So here are a few things that have been happening since my last post...in January...
I am currently substitute teaching (as in right now while blogging) and loving it! If you're anything like me, when you were in school you never wanted to be a sub because of how awful the kids were when their teacher was gone. But I have to say that I have been pleasantly surprised. I haven't had any discipline issues, and I have my "scary sub" speech down to an art. In a way it's a shame that you have to go through college before you can sub, as it is a great experience for prospective teachers. Having been in all grade levels this semester, I can tell you that my favorite so far has been fifth grade. Who knew?
The best part about subbing is that I am making great connections. I sub in three school districts so it's always busy, but I always seem to know people. For instance, in Plano, no matter what school you go to, if you say your last name is Motley you instantly become recognizable. Because my in-laws have been a part of this community for 17+ years, I am always asked if I am related to one of them. And because my sister-in-law teaches in Yorkville, I constantly get asked if I am her sister. (Kids have a hard time with the whole in-law connection.) And when I'm in Oswego I usually see StuCo kids, which is always fun...until they yell "Hey Charissa!" down the hallway, when I am using my grown-up alias--Mrs. Motley.
I still haven't fully adjusted to introducing myself to a class as Mrs. Motley. It's very strange. But every day I feel a little more like Lucas and I are becoming "the Motleys." (For more on our daily life, check Luc's blog. He's funnier than I am.) It makes me feel very adult-like...and old.
You know you're becoming adult-like and old based on the purchases you begin to make. For example: Luc's birthday is today and he asked for a vacuum cleaner. (We got the coolest one ever.) With his birthday money he bought two ceiling fans for our house. This past weekend was full of home projects, and I think he was feeling a little exhausted after it all. And I am discovering just how infrequently I can stay up late. After spending a solid five hours at our friends' home in Springfield on Friday night, driving home at 2 a.m. was somewhat difficult...I mean, for Lucas. That alarm at 8:15 was brutal. Oh yeah, and we are using our tax return for health insurance. Lame. If this is the price of becoming an adult, I don't think I want to pay it.
I am currently substitute teaching (as in right now while blogging) and loving it! If you're anything like me, when you were in school you never wanted to be a sub because of how awful the kids were when their teacher was gone. But I have to say that I have been pleasantly surprised. I haven't had any discipline issues, and I have my "scary sub" speech down to an art. In a way it's a shame that you have to go through college before you can sub, as it is a great experience for prospective teachers. Having been in all grade levels this semester, I can tell you that my favorite so far has been fifth grade. Who knew?
The best part about subbing is that I am making great connections. I sub in three school districts so it's always busy, but I always seem to know people. For instance, in Plano, no matter what school you go to, if you say your last name is Motley you instantly become recognizable. Because my in-laws have been a part of this community for 17+ years, I am always asked if I am related to one of them. And because my sister-in-law teaches in Yorkville, I constantly get asked if I am her sister. (Kids have a hard time with the whole in-law connection.) And when I'm in Oswego I usually see StuCo kids, which is always fun...until they yell "Hey Charissa!" down the hallway, when I am using my grown-up alias--Mrs. Motley.
I still haven't fully adjusted to introducing myself to a class as Mrs. Motley. It's very strange. But every day I feel a little more like Lucas and I are becoming "the Motleys." (For more on our daily life, check Luc's blog. He's funnier than I am.) It makes me feel very adult-like...and old.
You know you're becoming adult-like and old based on the purchases you begin to make. For example: Luc's birthday is today and he asked for a vacuum cleaner. (We got the coolest one ever.) With his birthday money he bought two ceiling fans for our house. This past weekend was full of home projects, and I think he was feeling a little exhausted after it all. And I am discovering just how infrequently I can stay up late. After spending a solid five hours at our friends' home in Springfield on Friday night, driving home at 2 a.m. was somewhat difficult...I mean, for Lucas. That alarm at 8:15 was brutal. Oh yeah, and we are using our tax return for health insurance. Lame. If this is the price of becoming an adult, I don't think I want to pay it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
a nicer way to say OCD
I suppose you could call me a meticulous person. I live somewhere in between a state of carelessness and OCD that could be called meticulous. (It could also be called anal-retentive at moments, but we won't go into that now.)
Besides, meticulous sounds better. It means careful and tidy and attentive to detail--all ways in which I am fairly certain I can be described. I like to have the bed made (well, I insist on having the bed made--my husband indulges me). I like to have the bathroom counters clean and shiny. I like to keep the dust off the bookshelves (and believe me, this is no small task considering the sheer volume of bookshelves in our home). I hang the coats on certain hooks on the coat rack so that it looks uniform (this may be a revelation that borders closer to OCD...). We have nice things. I want them to stay that way.
I've never really understood people who live sloppily, and that is not to say that I judge them, I just come in to a messy house and can't comprehend what has happened. It's like the episode of Friends when Ross tries to date a supermodel whose name escapes me only to discover that her apartment is absolutely and completely trashed--to the exaggerated point that no one could actually live in such filth, but the point is that regardless of how hot she is, Ross dumps her because she lives in a dump. Mess and clutter gnaw away at me. Not that I don't have clutter. I just contain my clutter, in stacks and folders, stashed neatly away inside a cabinet or closet or file. Then, of course, I can't find it later, which has led to my reputation as something of a packrat, to which my husband can testify, as he has helped me move. Twice. "Do you need this?" he will ask. "Well...." is usually my response. He proceeds to toss said item into a garbage bag. At which point I protest. "If you're going to get rid of it, at least give it to Goodwill." I think we took half of my apartment to Goodwill after we got married.
My meticulous nature has yet to fully transfer to my husband, though. He is notorious for leaving glasses and half-empty soda cans scattered through the house, especially on nights when he is preoccupied by a certain computer game. We share the computer desk in our loft, and often the next morning I sit down to do school work only to find crumbs, sometimes enough that I can ascertain what he ate for dinner the previous night. And though he has learned to make the bed (thanks, honey), his bathroom habits are not up to par yet. As previously mentioned, I like a clean and shining sink counter. My husband has a frequent habit of trimming not only his facial hair but all of his other hair as well over the sink...on the exact day that I have cleaned the sink counter. So when I go to brush my teeth, there is enough of his DNA scattered around the sink to clone him. Last night I even found nail clippings. The FBI would have a field day with our home if they ever needed our DNA samples. What with the bathroom clippings and my constant (and involuntary) shedding of stray hairs.
Yet fortunately, Lucas is meticulous in ways that I am not--he is financially responsible, and now has an iPod Touch that has forced him to actually use a calendar. It's the single greatest purchase he has ever made. He also usually does the vacuuming and cleaning of other floor-type surfaces, a chore that I loathe. We made a deal after we moved in together that we would each have certain domains, and thankfully we are each meticulous about our given responsibilities.
And somehow, some way, my obsessive compulsive behavior has not deterred his love. It's an amazing feat, really. Sometimes we both wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. But there's never a dull moment. Except on my shiny bathroom counter.
Besides, meticulous sounds better. It means careful and tidy and attentive to detail--all ways in which I am fairly certain I can be described. I like to have the bed made (well, I insist on having the bed made--my husband indulges me). I like to have the bathroom counters clean and shiny. I like to keep the dust off the bookshelves (and believe me, this is no small task considering the sheer volume of bookshelves in our home). I hang the coats on certain hooks on the coat rack so that it looks uniform (this may be a revelation that borders closer to OCD...). We have nice things. I want them to stay that way.
I've never really understood people who live sloppily, and that is not to say that I judge them, I just come in to a messy house and can't comprehend what has happened. It's like the episode of Friends when Ross tries to date a supermodel whose name escapes me only to discover that her apartment is absolutely and completely trashed--to the exaggerated point that no one could actually live in such filth, but the point is that regardless of how hot she is, Ross dumps her because she lives in a dump. Mess and clutter gnaw away at me. Not that I don't have clutter. I just contain my clutter, in stacks and folders, stashed neatly away inside a cabinet or closet or file. Then, of course, I can't find it later, which has led to my reputation as something of a packrat, to which my husband can testify, as he has helped me move. Twice. "Do you need this?" he will ask. "Well...." is usually my response. He proceeds to toss said item into a garbage bag. At which point I protest. "If you're going to get rid of it, at least give it to Goodwill." I think we took half of my apartment to Goodwill after we got married.
My meticulous nature has yet to fully transfer to my husband, though. He is notorious for leaving glasses and half-empty soda cans scattered through the house, especially on nights when he is preoccupied by a certain computer game. We share the computer desk in our loft, and often the next morning I sit down to do school work only to find crumbs, sometimes enough that I can ascertain what he ate for dinner the previous night. And though he has learned to make the bed (thanks, honey), his bathroom habits are not up to par yet. As previously mentioned, I like a clean and shining sink counter. My husband has a frequent habit of trimming not only his facial hair but all of his other hair as well over the sink...on the exact day that I have cleaned the sink counter. So when I go to brush my teeth, there is enough of his DNA scattered around the sink to clone him. Last night I even found nail clippings. The FBI would have a field day with our home if they ever needed our DNA samples. What with the bathroom clippings and my constant (and involuntary) shedding of stray hairs.
Yet fortunately, Lucas is meticulous in ways that I am not--he is financially responsible, and now has an iPod Touch that has forced him to actually use a calendar. It's the single greatest purchase he has ever made. He also usually does the vacuuming and cleaning of other floor-type surfaces, a chore that I loathe. We made a deal after we moved in together that we would each have certain domains, and thankfully we are each meticulous about our given responsibilities.
And somehow, some way, my obsessive compulsive behavior has not deterred his love. It's an amazing feat, really. Sometimes we both wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. But there's never a dull moment. Except on my shiny bathroom counter.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
reflections
january 20, 2009.
This day began—ostensibly—
just like each one before it;
a January morning,
shining brightly crystalline.
But the nation rose—remarkably—
to stand as one together;
presuming, while the world looked on,
to gather on the Capitol’s lawn,
two million strong and joyous
joined in glowing adoration,
loud with crowing exultation,
loose with fleeing desperation.
He steps onto the platform
and our shoulders slowly lift
as he promises an age of change,
a healing of the rift
that has brought us to this moment:
the inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
As he speaks, we shine with pride,
people of heightened perceptions,
hearing in his voice the end
of malice and deception.
He has now been, officially,
cemented into history,
standing tall in his new company—
men of power and prestige,
surrounded by the living and the dead.
He rallies with the steady words
of Washington and Lincoln,
while Dr. King recalls his dream,
and listens to the masses scream
their confident approval
of this most auspicious day.
He holds their futures in his hands—
religion, economy, foreign lands—
he bears all the weight of the stifled and poor,
the prosperous man and the children next door,
the soldier still absent and longing for home,
the foreigner wanting a place to belong.
One hand on the Bible,
he embodies a new age
of great responsibility
in which the world can clearly see
us rise above our circumstance
to greatness, not just happenstance,
and lead the world in justice once again.
The hearts of the nation believe,
for this moment,
that one man can change the world.
This date will live in infamy
along with December 7, 1941
and April 14, 1865
and August 6, 1945
and November 11, 1918
and April 3, 1968…
January 20, 2009.
The inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
This day began—ostensibly—
just like each one before it;
a January morning,
shining brightly crystalline.
But the nation rose—remarkably—
to stand as one together;
presuming, while the world looked on,
to gather on the Capitol’s lawn,
two million strong and joyous
joined in glowing adoration,
loud with crowing exultation,
loose with fleeing desperation.
He steps onto the platform
and our shoulders slowly lift
as he promises an age of change,
a healing of the rift
that has brought us to this moment:
the inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
As he speaks, we shine with pride,
people of heightened perceptions,
hearing in his voice the end
of malice and deception.
He has now been, officially,
cemented into history,
standing tall in his new company—
men of power and prestige,
surrounded by the living and the dead.
He rallies with the steady words
of Washington and Lincoln,
while Dr. King recalls his dream,
and listens to the masses scream
their confident approval
of this most auspicious day.
He holds their futures in his hands—
religion, economy, foreign lands—
he bears all the weight of the stifled and poor,
the prosperous man and the children next door,
the soldier still absent and longing for home,
the foreigner wanting a place to belong.
One hand on the Bible,
he embodies a new age
of great responsibility
in which the world can clearly see
us rise above our circumstance
to greatness, not just happenstance,
and lead the world in justice once again.
The hearts of the nation believe,
for this moment,
that one man can change the world.
This date will live in infamy
along with December 7, 1941
and April 14, 1865
and August 6, 1945
and November 11, 1918
and April 3, 1968…
January 20, 2009.
The inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
the state of the music
I should've known better.
I only listen to the radio if I am in my car, and recently discovered that The Mix does "New Tunes at 9" every weeknight. I was excited about this, thinking that on my way home from classes I could get to hear some new cool music. I should've known that "new" tunes don't necessarily mean "good" tunes.
The following are artists recently heard on New Tunes at 9 and the comments I have regarding their songs.
Dear Kelly Clarkson: I have always liked you. I still think you are the best American Idol. I love your Breakaway album. But since then you have continued to disappoint me. And this new song? Really? How can you take yourself seriously while singing "My life would suck without you"? That's a terrible title and a terrible lyric and you deserve better. My regrets.
To Hinder: I will give you credit for having one of the catchiest songs about cheating on your girlfriend--I will admit to listening to it from time to time. But I guess your new song, Without You, made you realize that if it's hard to be faithful once, the romance won't last long, since now you're fine without her.
Saving Abel, your lyrics are so inappropriate that I don't even want to quote them on my blog, yet you have managed to get mainstream radio play. How did you do that with a song that's about all the things your girl does for you in bed? That's what you like about her, not her personality or her character. And here I am watching you move up the charts. Ugh.
Oh, Beyonce...you are a beautiful and talented woman. Why do you sing such crappy songs? I am forced to turn off my radio any time they come on, that's how awful they are. No offense.
Dear Meiko, I don't even know how your song makes sense. You claim that you know better than to be friends with boys with girlfriends, but the rest of your song is about stealing another girl's boyfriend. I heard it and was confused.
Miss Taylor Swift, how old are you again? Your song starts with the line "we were both young when I first met you"...um, aren't you still young? That's what I thought. You are not old enough to have flashbacks yet or tell tales of when you were young. Let's leave that to The Killers, please. But darn it, if this isn't a pretty catchy super-sappy overly-cheesy song. It did get stuck in my head the other day. But I'm not happy about it.
The rest of you featured on New Tunes at 9, I will let off the hook for now. But if this is the direction pop music is headed, I want no part in it. It is maddening to hear so much bad music broadcast nation-wide, while the talented songwriters remain stuck in obscurity.
In the words of Keith Martinkus...That is all.
I only listen to the radio if I am in my car, and recently discovered that The Mix does "New Tunes at 9" every weeknight. I was excited about this, thinking that on my way home from classes I could get to hear some new cool music. I should've known that "new" tunes don't necessarily mean "good" tunes.
The following are artists recently heard on New Tunes at 9 and the comments I have regarding their songs.
Dear Kelly Clarkson: I have always liked you. I still think you are the best American Idol. I love your Breakaway album. But since then you have continued to disappoint me. And this new song? Really? How can you take yourself seriously while singing "My life would suck without you"? That's a terrible title and a terrible lyric and you deserve better. My regrets.
To Hinder: I will give you credit for having one of the catchiest songs about cheating on your girlfriend--I will admit to listening to it from time to time. But I guess your new song, Without You, made you realize that if it's hard to be faithful once, the romance won't last long, since now you're fine without her.
Saving Abel, your lyrics are so inappropriate that I don't even want to quote them on my blog, yet you have managed to get mainstream radio play. How did you do that with a song that's about all the things your girl does for you in bed? That's what you like about her, not her personality or her character. And here I am watching you move up the charts. Ugh.
Oh, Beyonce...you are a beautiful and talented woman. Why do you sing such crappy songs? I am forced to turn off my radio any time they come on, that's how awful they are. No offense.
Dear Meiko, I don't even know how your song makes sense. You claim that you know better than to be friends with boys with girlfriends, but the rest of your song is about stealing another girl's boyfriend. I heard it and was confused.
Miss Taylor Swift, how old are you again? Your song starts with the line "we were both young when I first met you"...um, aren't you still young? That's what I thought. You are not old enough to have flashbacks yet or tell tales of when you were young. Let's leave that to The Killers, please. But darn it, if this isn't a pretty catchy super-sappy overly-cheesy song. It did get stuck in my head the other day. But I'm not happy about it.
The rest of you featured on New Tunes at 9, I will let off the hook for now. But if this is the direction pop music is headed, I want no part in it. It is maddening to hear so much bad music broadcast nation-wide, while the talented songwriters remain stuck in obscurity.
In the words of Keith Martinkus...That is all.
Monday, January 12, 2009
the wii
This post has been on hold for a few weeks because I thought Lucas would blog about it, but he hasn't yet, so since I have nothing else to blog about, meet our Wii Fit.
We got a Wii Fit for Christmas as our gift from Luc's parents, and it is one of the coolest things ever. No, really, I don't even like video games, but this is spectacular. Not only does it have balance games, yoga, strength training and aerobics, it is your very own personal trainer, complete with sarcastic comments and just enough of an attitude to make you feel guilty about your health choices.
For instance:
I logged in this morning after having not logged in since Saturday (only one day removed). The Wii Fit proceeded to ask if I was "too busy to work out yesterday?" You can almost hear the condescending tone, especially since Lucas has now become self-conscious about not only how much time he puts in on the Wii Fit, but about his eating habits. He even refused to go to McDonald's last week on the premise that the Wii would know that he had been to McDonald's. (Since watching Eagle Eye, he has become a little paranoid.)
But the games are fun, and this may be the only time EVER that I succeed in beating my husband at a video game. It has become my own personal conquest. Every time I get a higher score on a balance game I send him a text letting him know. And I successfully managed to make my Wii Fit age equivalent to my actual age, so I had to let him know that too. Unfortunately, he has managed to make his Wii Fit age younger than his actual age. But today I beat his score on the snowboarding game, for which he has many excuses, but I still hang on to the fact that even if it's nothing like real snowboarding, I still won!
We got a Wii Fit for Christmas as our gift from Luc's parents, and it is one of the coolest things ever. No, really, I don't even like video games, but this is spectacular. Not only does it have balance games, yoga, strength training and aerobics, it is your very own personal trainer, complete with sarcastic comments and just enough of an attitude to make you feel guilty about your health choices.
For instance:
I logged in this morning after having not logged in since Saturday (only one day removed). The Wii Fit proceeded to ask if I was "too busy to work out yesterday?" You can almost hear the condescending tone, especially since Lucas has now become self-conscious about not only how much time he puts in on the Wii Fit, but about his eating habits. He even refused to go to McDonald's last week on the premise that the Wii would know that he had been to McDonald's. (Since watching Eagle Eye, he has become a little paranoid.)
But the games are fun, and this may be the only time EVER that I succeed in beating my husband at a video game. It has become my own personal conquest. Every time I get a higher score on a balance game I send him a text letting him know. And I successfully managed to make my Wii Fit age equivalent to my actual age, so I had to let him know that too. Unfortunately, he has managed to make his Wii Fit age younger than his actual age. But today I beat his score on the snowboarding game, for which he has many excuses, but I still hang on to the fact that even if it's nothing like real snowboarding, I still won!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
the in-between phase
I hate the in-between phase. I never have enjoyed it. I have always wanted to move ahead, on to the next thing, get on with it already. But I am in a very long in-between phase at the moment, working on my degree so that I can continue with the trajectory I long ago set out for myself. In the meantime, I work part-time jobs here and there, keeping myself busy with activities, but stuck in this rut all the time of feeling like I'm still waiting for my "real" life to begin. At 26, you'd think I'd have moved past that stage by now. I revert, though, to my last post, knowing that my identity is not in what I DO, but who I am.
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
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