bang a gong

for some reason my browser will not allow me to use an apostrophe. so there will be no contractions in this post. yikes!!!

so what is on my mind then, is that I have this profile on Myspace, and I have been looking around, messaging a couple of folks who are in my prospective track at Fuller, to get their feel for it. as I come across a plethora of Fuller folks, I notice that quite a few of them have one thing in common, which is blatant Christian advertising all over the page. Everything is all about Jesus, all the time. ok, I realize I might come under some fire here for this, but stick with me.

If your life is all about Jesus, do you really need to advertise the fact? Shouldn't (ACK! ACK! THE APOSTROPHE IS WORKING) it be obvious to everyone? Does your headline need to be "soldier for Christ" or "looking for a godly man so I can be submissive" or "I save up all my toenail clippings in a little box so that Jesus can have all of me".... ? (disclaimer, no, these aren't actual headlines. I tamed them down considerably.) What I don't understand is why people do this. Do they think someone will be impacted positively for the gospel through such ridiculousness? Is it an attempt to prove to everyone, their friends, heck themselves, how godly they are? Look at my righteousness. My profile screams evangelical from a mile away. LOOK, PEOPLE! LOOK AT MY RIGHTEOUSNESS! COWER BEFORE ME!!!!!!

I wonder if some people know right off the bat that I believe in God, or if they're left hanging. The fact that I am totally consecrated to God is something I'm secure with, and I guess I don't have a need to smear it carelessly around the internet. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of well-done cyberspace Jesus talk, as can be found at places like Midwest Mindset or John's Blog.

I guess asking for taste and tact from twentysomething christians in the US is just too big of a stretch.

Thoughts?

i'd dance like the king of the eyesores

Massaging at the county fair: dusty, shuffling passersby refuse to make eye-contact. For some reason every time a person is asked if they want a chair massage, they laugh. Is it funny? Is this because people don't know what else to do, so they laugh? Do they think I'm funny? That the notion of getting a massage is somehow (not good funny) ridiculous? I don't know.

Tonight I bought a gyro on the way out of the fair, and walked alone among the throngs in the not-so-dark dark, lit up with all the carnival rides and booth/foodstall lighting, bubbles from a bubble machine flying through the air. Fat kids stood about, eating popcorn. The girl who made my gyro had a little piece of fried chicken on her ass. There were sounds off to the right, from the pit area, where maybe there were ATVs. Little boys crawled around in the grass off in the darkness, and a very butch young woman belted a dance-remix version of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" at the karaoke contest. It smelled like manure, and I was eating. For some reason, this satisfied me; at the county fair, it makes sense to eat and smell shit all at the same time. I decided to keep my foil wrapper in my breast pocket of my scrubs; the trashcans were disgusting, and had lids on them that you had to push up in order to throw away items. I'm assuming this is meant to keep flies out, but it discouraged me from touching the lid. All the trashcans were like this.

This morning all my ideas came to me in the shower. Everything else waited until later.

many waters

I disregarded friends tonight and had a three hour dinner date with my grandfather.
Then I went and had ice cream in the bug with my mom and grandmother and cousins. I have not felt this familial- nor this stuffed- in quite some time.

I feel more peaceful right now than I have in a long time as well- becoming that leaf in the stream, I suppose. I am the tsubo, the jar, the holder of chi. I am like the wind, not even knowing where I come from or where I'm going.

I'm just glad Someone does.

verbatim

the following is why I love my dad.

*ring, ring*

"hello."

"hello? who's this?"

"your fairy godmother."

"oh, sweetie! hi!"

"hi bubz."

"is mama there?"

"no, she went shopping with Sharon."

"oh, I thought you went with them?"

"no, just eating."

"oh. where'd you go?"

"TGI Fridays."

"oh boy. what did you eat?"

"Jack Daniels Salmon."

"oh boy. what did mama eat?"

"Jack Daniels burger."

"oh boy. what did Sharon eat?"

"Club Sandwich."

(a beat)

"anything else?"

"Uh, spin dip."

"oohhh..... gross."

(a beat)

"Well have a good day honey."

"you too, dad."

*click*

a rare parrot teacher

this is so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.
Her name is Regina Spektor.
The song is called "Samson."

an unguarded moment

well, it has been some time now since I have talked to you. and mostly, I'm "getting over" things, or you, or whatever. or so I tell myself. the real truth of the matter? I'm afraid to even open that box.

I'm listening to you right now, and you are damn good. damn. I get a head shake and a sigh and a smile, because I know it- I know that whatever else happens with you, and I, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. I've never stopped believing that. you are everything I wished I could be for a long time. I finally started figuring out I needed to be my own dream. and all the bs I told everyone about your guitar player needing more melodic development in this demo- a load. a total load. I friggen love it. I wish you were here because I'm writing this song on keys, it's ok yeah, but I'm totally having issues with the stupid chorus transition, and I just don't know my way around well enough to do it right, you know? you could fix it. you would know what I was trying to do. that's where we started out, after all.

all of it, all of it, it was all what I wanted. it was always some of the best I've ever had. shoes and coats and crazy and you, elbowing me in the nose in the dead of night.

to borrow a line,
I think I've finally found myself.
(your wailing still gives me chills, just like the first time I heard it, kid. just like the first time)


how are you doing on that?

speaking words of wisdom

I think I have a sternalis. Yes, very exciting. I may even have two.

Tomorrow is a biggie- the DM comes, and will look over what I've been doing since the ole step-up-the-ladder. I'm not nervous. I growl at her, and she laughs. I'm interested in what she has to say. However, I am more interested right now in writing some of these one short stories that kind of fit together but mostly don't but are all about the same thing.

gah.

My hair looked good today. So did Dustin's. We pretended to be siblings with people that already knew us, and then he told me I was his best friend as he tossed a stack of Japanese language CDs on the info desk. He sounded really bored about it. It's ok.

My right ankle is still kind of dodgy. Although the good news is, I can leave BW3s without falling in the gutter every time. I can laugh just as much, though. And feel the texture of the wall, really feel it, because texture is everything. Sometimes the backseat of your own car is the center of the universe, and your hand hanging out the window to ensure the perfect temperature of coolness is like a small flesh-covered, tethered satellite.

all the "hey man"s are my homilies.

haha I just remembered this joke:

And I'm begging you to give me eyes to see
And I'm begging you to give me heart to love
And I'm begging you to give me hands to serve
And burn, burn, burn

pyromaniac requests lead to fiery deaths. I should know- I write them all.
kick up your heels!
kick up your heels!
John Philip Sousa is alive!