bam chicka bam bam

So while I've been in Denver, I've mostly been sleeping at Beth's apartment. Beth is this awesome chica, best friends with Brooke, who lives across from Buddy and whom I also hang out with on almost a daily basis anymore. Beth lives in the same building as everybody, and she is out house sitting forever, so she's letting me sleep in her place because Buddy's place is about 5 inches big. And now Stephanie, Brooke's girlfriend, is moving in to the front apartment of the building. And I am moving into the attic. And the other apartment, occupied by the building manager, contains a middle aged lady, her smelly cat (it's not your fault! you're old and rotting!) and dozens upon dozens of trinkets. Chris, as this lady is called, is a dream analyst. I am house sitting for her this weekend, but I think I will continue to sleep in Beth's place, because the cat is so gross.

So after I pulled in tonight, I came upon the house right at the same time that Brooke was getting home. She told me Chris was throwing crap away from the storage area in the garage, and so I gleefully went out to the trash can area with Brooke to see what kind of goodies I could find. (After the move I will once again basically be furnitureless.) I am now the proud owner of a rather dirty, quite used Black and Decker toaster oven/broiler. I was going to leave it be, because it looks a little skank, when Brooke thrust it into my hands and said, "It's free, g-d. It will clean up. Besides, I totally knew the chick that owned this. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was hers, and she's totally not shady." I didn't really protest too much, but investigated the other trash halfheartedly, not finding anything of use. The entire time, Brooke was on the phone with Stephanie, who is currently in Michigan for some weeks, and saying, "No, I'm totally talking to you.... look in that can over there.... oh, nothing, what did you say?"

On a parting note, I will transcribe verbatim here a typed (as in old school typewriter) message/song that has been laying on Beth's computer desk next to the keyboard all week as I internet. I never cease to be amused.

Tonight I will meet my true love
He will be wearing a pink mustache and have o
light green tube socks I an very haaaapppy
Bam chicka bam bam
V

Scum

Hello friends.

I am just tying up another sojourn to Denver, which will soon enough be my home if everything keeps rolling. I think I am going to really like living here. I know I alluded to that in my previous post, but its getting into my skin and I'm ready for a new beginning. A new favorite.
The move should be easy enough. One trip should do it- I have to remember that I fit everything into Al not so very long ago, and it is certainly possible in my big white box. It looks like I'm going to be moving into the attic in Buddy's building, which is delightful, has a gas stove and a claw footed tub. I think those are going to be two requirements for me on my journey that I can never live without. Plus! There is this great fire escape. Now I can be just like McDavid, and look out the window onto my fire escape, and down the three stories into the backyard garden. I really need to break down and buy a digital camera (if I ever had more than six dollars) and take pictures of all this crap so I could just show it. I suppose I will have to continue on with my thousand words, however, for now.

SO I went to this great church here in Denver Sunday night, called Scum of the Earth. It reminded me so much of Ft. Wayne's very own Come to Go that it was unreal. The same soup-kitchen concept, the same posses of homeless people and hipsters shuffling around. It was an unusual service, due to the fact that it was an ordination service, but I kind of liked it- it was like I got to see them in action performing a liturgical function, and they weren't trying to win me over because it was all about something else. I definitely felt the Spirit there. I want to go back on a "regular" Sunday night and see what its like; however, unless it is drastically different than it appears to be, I think I have found a spiritual home of sorts here. I am interested in checking out Light & Life over in Lakewood some Sunday morning, and then Dean Cowles' church down in Littleton sometime after that. It'd be nice to finally put a face with a name- Dean and I have spoken since I've been out here, he tried to help me get a job with Compassion International, which never hired me. Dean is good friends with my spiritual mentor, John Hay Jr., so naturally he must be nails as well.

Well, that's about it for now, friends. Keep your eyes open- I have been blessed so much this weekend by simply taking what is offered, and reacting to the situation presented to me. Don't get too busy.

bolder boulder bowlder

So dudes I totally got a job! That's right, goodbye medicaid. Joking there, don't have any medical insurance actually, government funded or otherwise. But I was for real hired last Friday, picked up by this totally swank massage place, called Body Massage Center. Go here to check it out.

In other news, I've spent the majority of the last couple of days lonering it; driving around, riding my bike metro style (my troops has a new yakima hat), reading The Hobbit, hanging out with lesbian massage therapists, and spending time in that mecca of Colorado, Boulder. I've been doing chair massage on the Pearl Street Mall, and while it is not quite as lucrative as I'd like, it really has been great. The weather has been stellar, and I've talked to quite a few street musicians, homeless guys and hare krishnas. Occasionally I give massages, and in the spare time I read Paul Theroux' The Happy Isles of Oceania. Today I pondered at how easy it might be to be a transient, and hated on all the crocs I saw on stumbling little kids, their parents pushing their physical safety in pursuit of FASHION! HOW'D YOU KNOW!

In general the Pearl Street experience, and the last couple of days in general have been great. My nerves are going to be taxed soon- I can feel it coming on, and am trying to beat it back, just like Gandalf weilding Glamdring against the Goblins in the Misty Mountains. I like being nomadic, to a point. I'm spending lots of time alone, and it's good- I almost wish there was more of it, because I'm just randomly crashing on people's couches while they're out with chads, you know, living it up and all. And I wish I had my very own little hole, or attic, or whatever, where I could really live without fear of leaving or forgetting to make sure the window is shut quite tightly. My mind has already moved out of Manitou, or I might be sad about leaving it. I will miss the Mate and Shelly and Joanne and Draco and the mountains.

But I get the city in return, and oh, I love the city.

my, my, we're looking thin today

So! I've totally been snobbed an average of 4 times today because of my crappy old Jr. Park Ranger Dell Laptop. Ok, I'll admit, it's my fault. I spilled chai into it about a month ago, and since then it's had intermittent issues. But now, the fan is loud. I mean loud, people. Like, could that be mistaken for a passing helicopter loud. And nearby mac users, confident in their superiority over my klitschy blue number here, look around the room, then down their noses at me briefly, before making an announcement to all: "What is that noise?"

I am confident in my mediocrity.

HEJ! HEJ! HEJ! So I got a phone call today! and some spa on the 16th St. Mall and Welton wants to interview/recieve a massage from me Friday morning at 10 am. I'm pumped like it's 2005 and I'm unemployed.

Lastly, but certainly of most import, this gay guy with two little lap-dog type dogs came and parked his dogs near me, and his name is Lynn. I know him from previous encounters outside Buddy's starbucks (where I am now) using some free rogue wireless. He is very delicate and ties up his dogs' hair over their eyes with little plastic strips, because rubber bands would pull their hair out. He looked at my computer and said, "At first I thought that sound was clippers."

Support the arts- kiss a musician

So I saw the subject line for this post on a passing car this morning, and I thought I would insert a musiciany picture of myself here.



What's up, my employed friends? Maybe some of you are also unemployed. Buddy. McDavid. Sorry to generalize.

The last day has been interesting. I'm enjoying being able to work out again- I've switched to running up here in the Denver hizouse because I don't have the bike rack installed on my trooper yet. So the trek stays in Manitou. I'm feelin' good in the neighborhood- Buddy's neighborhood has this park with really nice dirt trails that are mostly shaded, and a kind of parthenon in the middle of it all. It's called Cheesman Park and is just a couple of blocks from her house, down past the King Soopers (grocery store, for all you scads of midwestern kids that read this). So I go running in the morning, for about a half an hour or so, then I come home and take a shower and make some pancakes and clean the place up a bit. After all, I'm not working, so it's not really like I'm on a schedule or anything.

I passed out about 6 resumes yesterday. One place definitely had an opening/wanted to hire me, but they really need me Tuesdays, until about 6 pm. Unfortunately, my class at CIMT starts at 5:30, meaning the absolute latest I could leave at that time of day would be 4pm. And that would be cutting it really close. People, I-25 is a NIGHTMARE. Let me never speak badly of Indy's 465 again- that thing is a breeze compared to the only north/south interstate in the entire state of Colorado. It connects all the major cities on the front range, and is only two lanes in some places, and all of Denver is perpetually under construction. A one hour trip can easily turn in to two if you get trapped on 25 at the wrong time of day. Anyway, enough of that.

So, yeah, resumes. Then last night I stopped back by the apt. and changed clothes into a dark ensemble and went and hung out at Barnes and Noble for like 3 hours. I read this really cool book called "How to survive a Zombie attack." I need to get some firearms, a Japanese Katana (a type of sword used by samurai), and get really proficient with Molotov cocktails. You never know when a member of the undead may be ready to eat, eat, eat your flesh, and this book brought my attention to that. Are you ready, people? You had better be ready.

jumping through the window

I am currently unemployed. Yesterday I was "let go" from Adam's for reasons that still seem a bit murky to me. While this came as a huge shock, and definitely shook me up for most of the day, 24 hours later I am already turning the corner.

I talked with Jericho briefly yesterday, and she told me this was going to be another adventure, which I apparently enjoy. This is true. Supposedly, adventure is what I'm all about. And at the danger of getting too comfortable at Adam's, I thought that was where I was going to stay until I left CO. Apparently I was wrong. The let down of being fired is the only thing eating at me- I like the challenge and excitement of figuring out what will happen next. People are already falling all over themselves trying to get me jobs, places to live for nothing or next to nothing, offering to lend me money or anything I need. This feels really good- to know I'm wanted in some capacity. Losing my job is not an experience I've ever had before. But perhaps in one more way I am being molded to become all things to all men/women/womyn. (ha.)

I had to fight back the momentary attack of depression yesterday, being suddenly found so unemployable a week after being found so undateable. But then the truth of who I am rises up, and I know beyond everything else I am a child of God, and he will bring all things together for my good. In the meantime, I ride my bike for 5 hours a day and make phone calls for another 3, and try to be patient and hopeful and full of perseverance. I will get over this- I will not move home, nor will I wire my parents for money.

As far as tentative plans, for any of you that read this, I have a couple. One is to go back to the bux. They want me back, my manager from Colorado & 31st told me yesterday, and she's going to do everything she can for me. I want this to be a last resort, however. LAST resort. But it's still good to know it's there. (By the way, as a conclusion to the previous post, after the worst night at Starbucks in buddy's history, she quit.)

Also, I stopped by my school, and found out I can get a certificate for the number of hours I have completed in the program, well over 500 at this point. Denver only requires 500 hours to practice, so I made a bunch of phone calls yesterday afternoon, and found at least 5 spas/clinics that want my resume, are hiring, and want to meet with me. So, that is the more viable option at this point of anything I have been presented with. It would require a commute, probably twice a week for school from Denver as opposed to 4 times a week from Colorado Springs for work. Buddy has offered to let me stay with her as many nights a week as I need to for work, while keeping my official living status down here. It would be good for her, too, to have help with shows, booking, etc. to have another person around. I don't know what's going to happen yet, not at all. I just want to have an openness to all that is placed before me.

In all things I will rejoice. I will say it again. I will rejoice.
God is good, all the time.

holy smokes

people, my buddy is losing it. I'm hanging out in Denver at her Starbucks compiling college radio mailing lists, and she's going to go postal. Really. She's on the edge of punching everyone from teenyboppers with cellphones to old homeless ladies. It's time to get out of the bux.

This week has been a doozy. Doosey? Anyway, it seems like it was about 500 years long. I've ridden the crazy roller coaster of love, and ended up nauseus when I got off, vowing to never even get near the midway again. It ended up being more of a tilt-a-whirl of ambivalence, anyway. Last night I wanted to go out and a) drink b) smoke an entire pack of cigarettes c) track down that Jennifer girl from the Mariner and see if she was still interested. But, then, I realized I'm not a lush, I don't smoke, and I'm straight. So I ended up going to see "The Constant Gardener" at Kimball's Twin Peak with Shelley, who for once pulled through in a pinch.

Let me say, let me say I really liked this film. There was beautiful love and naked pregnant women and death and african children fading into the dust of a UN relief plane. The music was gorgeous. The plotline was heartbreaking, most likely because it is probably true. It made me hate the civilised world all over again, as if I don't already. I did look at my white, white skin differently this morning at church, and wondered how other people see me. And wondered about how I see other people. What a small and huge amount of difference it all makes.

AIC was great again this morning. Messaging on 2 Corinthians again and being found in Christ was a delicious pastry to my soul. I am finally allowing myself to feel again in church, after years of caustically stabbing everything that got near to my heart. It wasn't even awkward with Circus Boy there, like I was afraid it was going to be. It was chill, I was chill, everybody worshipped and we went home. As I listened to Sufjan on my way to Denver, I realized the kiddie song I learned so long ago whilst playing with a felt-board Jesus is totally, fundamentally, organically true. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.

Alleluia.

open letter from the maté factor

To my fellow Americans-
To my fellow Christians-
To my fellow humans, spread out in vast innumerable ways across the globe-

My mindset is far too small. After 9/11 I became jaded with the way my country was run. Here we find ourselves again on the shoreline of our understanding, with reality crashing all around us, breaking down the levees long after the flashpoint of the storm has blown through. I do not now intend to claim perfection, but instead come to this: I know very little. Being born a child of privilege by virtue of my citizenship and socioeconomic bracket and even the color of my skin came to me as anything else might. Not that any of these make me superior-- indeed, I am low in this world, among many who are more noble in spirit than I could ever be. But in trying to not think of myself more highly than I ought, I have been throwing away the vastness of who I am, with an equally vast outlook to all that I find around me.
We are not all wrong, though some of our thinking is. My perception of the way things are must be soft, must be open, before I can expect change from anything with which I am dissatisfied. I must believe in the inherent desire for good in all men. Not the ability, but the desire. I must acknowledge that we are all yet redeemable. All of us. And we are even through this process being redeemed.
May I have eyes to see, and ears to hear, and a mind to understand; especially in these, our darkest hours.

Peace be with you.
Liza

finishing certain things, starting certain others

I'm taking a break from completing massage homework. I intend to re-begin this finishing in about 6 minutes.

Other things I've been in the business of finishing as of late are things like David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, which I really enjoyed. Laughing at someone else's satirical writing about what at times amounts to be an impossibly sad life is comforting in a detatched-sadistic way. It reminds me that other people are as odd as I am, and I will grow to be more so as I get older. Knowing that somehow there is still art imbedded in this stark ugliness of humanity is one of the more beautiful parts of being alive at all.

I'm also about 20 pages off from finishing Uncle Jack's On the Road, which I should have read long ago. I feel like a long lost neice, following in the footsteps of a man I never knew, but share genetics with, of the mental sort. How many times I have lost myself in those pages! With the whole world creaking and shaking in the mad glory of the Denver or San Fransisco night, I find myself entranced, if only sitting on the silent porch swing preferring his words to the mountain view set before me. In discovering Kerouac, I discover myself.

As to beginning things, my life with IAC is definitely off and running. I attended again yesterday morning, and enjoyed an hour long sermon that seemed to only take about 10 mintues. This time the ceremony was held at an outside botanical gardens on the west side of the Springs, facing the mountains. Though I may love them, stained glass windows had nothing on our backdrop yesterday morning. I feel so blessed to find truth in an intellectual setting, this is the marriage of my two natures that I long for. Not the black and the white, but the heart and the mind.



Other beginnings include a torrid love affair with Mr. Sufjan (SOOF-yan) Stevens, with whom I am beginning a low-level obsession. Yes, I know I've already written about him, but there is so much good going on here BEYOND BELIEF that I feel the need to yawp a little more. I plan on buying a couple more of his albums today. I really need to save money, but I keep buying books and music. They're just so important.

I feel stupid and contagious

There's this massive hurricane coming in to eat the Big Easy for lunch. It sounds like a McDonald's commercial, but no. Many people will probably be killed, and up to a million could be homeless. I don't understand numbers like a million when it comes to people. It's too many. We're going to start understanding in a fractional way what the tsunami was like, or how it feels to live in a war zone.
The worst part of this situation is that we created much of the problem ourselves- the levees meant to keep the city dry have eroded the land by keeping valuable silt out of the marshes. In conjunction with this, a vast system of pipelines that is responsible for pumping oil out of the Gulf has robbed the coastline of over a million acres of land which would have acted as a buffer against the storm surges and headwinds. These might not have helped that much, but we will never know now- all that remains to be seen is how powerful this storm is really going to be when it hits land early tomorrow morning.



When I was a kid, shortly after moving to Charleston, South Carolina, a category 4 storm called Hurricane Hugo slammed the coastline of my new state. It had top winds of 160 miles per hour, and my family elected to stay in our home due to advice given to us by several Carolina lifers in the neighborhood. My parents, 34 and 31 at the time, and my brother and I, five and six respectively, barricaded ourselves in a windowless, interior hallway of our single-story house with a transistor radio, oil (hurricane! ha!) lamps, and blankets. I think we may have also had peanut butter sandwiches, and maybe some bananas.
I remember my parents arguing as the night wore on, long after we lost any kind of radio signal, about my father going outside. He wanted to go out of our big double front doors, he could swear he heard a woman screaming. My mom was pleading with him, saying it was only the wind, and everyone knew she was right, but he was going nuts. And then the wind stopped, and it was the eye, and we went across the street to our friends the Mackey's house, where several other families were gathering, and I remember my father carried me and there were already a couple of feet of standing water out in the yard and in the street.
The next day this kitten was out in the front yard of their house, walking in circles, meowing at nothing. It stayed crazy forever. We were out of school for two weeks, and I turned seven during that time, which was the best because I had a party in the middle of the day with all the neighbor kids when we should have been at school. Chainsaws cost 500 dollars, generators 2000. People tried to steal our coleman lanterns, and there were maggots on the garage floor because there was no garbage service for weeks. All in all, it was pretty cool, and there was lots of wood to play with everywhere, and dangerous diseases to catch in contaminated water.

The horror and the grace

Yesterday I went to church with my friend Jocelyn. We attended the International Anglican Church at Shove Chapel on the CC campus, downtown in the Springs. To all of you who have watched my struggle throughout this year to find a church with some authenticity, some relevancy, some redemption present, my search is over. This is going to be my new home.

The church is huge, old, stone, and beautiful. Think cathedral, beautiful and mystical and awe inspiring. Not co-multipurpose room with folding chairs. This was God's house. The music was beautiful and understated, a couple of acoustic guitars, a djembe, a mandolin and (egad!) a harmonica. The message talked about Gideon, understanding the gravity of the sin problem, and the gravity of the cross. The horror of our black hearts, the grace of a God who went to death for our sakes. Then we celebrated the eucharist, and sang some more, and the service was over. It lasted 2 hours and felt like 10 minutes, and the people were all very welcoming. This is where I want to stay.

Impossible Dream

This woman is one of the best singer/songwriters alive, period. Yesterday I saw her for the second time, at the Folks Festival in Lyons, Colorado. Good grief. You would have thought someone from the stage offered free pot to the crowd when she came out, the response was so enthusiastic. She only played for an hour and 15 minutes, too; the perfect length of time to get us all hopelessly lost in her wonderfulness, and then have the reality of time punch us in the nuts. She played several of my faves, though I would have outright died if she had graced us with "Mother of God" or "Moses." I would have to say "Useless Desires" from the Impossible Dream album was my favorite of the set, but they were all great.

I saw mate buddies (aka the cult kids) at the festival, let me tell you I was surprised to see Yaqar and Tommim there. They gave me free chai mate several times. We also ate gyros and chinese yum yums, we meaning McDavid and Buddy. Speaking of the latter, it was a great day for she and I. Definitely some miscommunication going on there lately, and while the situations have not changed, my mindset on much of it has.

It was a day full of greatness, glory, and guts. There is nothing nicer than reclining at the southern edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park and listening to fabulous bits of sound as they waft over you. Even when the plumbing got turned off and we had to use port-o-johns it was still ok, there were purell dispensers in them. Buddy bought a leather skirt. I looked at some stuff, and McDavid got a funnel cake. The best moment of the day was a quintessential life completeness/contentment moment, that surrounds your whole torso with warmth and then goes out and sits in your palms. There's just something about being physically connected with people you love with your whole heart while listening to amazing art transcend individual humanity. Mmm. It reminds me of apple crisp, but like your whole body is a mouth eating it.

Well, on that note, I'd better go back to the workshop CIMT is presenting today and learn more about infectious skin diseases. Peace out, and listen to some Patty today.

flatulent cats

Dear friends. Dear, dear friends.

Well, I think it is safe to say that I'm actually pretty depressed in life right now. Having, what you might call, a dark night of the soul should only be done occasionally. I'm moving on, though- sunlight is flooding my room, and cats are jumping through the open window. Trying to decide about next steps can be tough, but I am officially emailing my pseudo-aunt Arlene about Pasadena accomodations, and shopping for airline tickets. I feel good about this Fuller thing, even when I don't feel good about anything else.

Rediscovering the blackness of my heart has been sobering, but I believe it will be good for me in the long run. The truth is, I get jealous. I say hurtful things. I think hurtful thoughts, towards myself and others and the Godhead. I have dastardly priorities and dubious emphases. And above it all, I have to come face to face with the man in the mirror (oh yeah) and know I always will. Or woman in the mirror, as my own personal case would have it.

I have decided that I really have an appropriate name- my last name means Black, and I have to remember that's where I am. That I always be, and no good lives within me. But I am also consecrated to God, and there is a hidden Joy that I even often forget about. But it is there. Always, always, always when I am convinced it is over, there is something good remaining. This morning Shelly left a note outside my door, requesting that we start spending a lot more time together. Friends, that is perfectly ok by me. It's not like I'm trying to fill a void with people where God should be (sick that sounds like a crappy Christian lyric) but more like God knows the desires of my heart. I hate being alone. God is good, all the time. I am not, ever. As only LoCurto could say at Adams, "Praise the Lujah!"

On a parting note, I picked up Draco tonight, and he farted. No wonder he's been squirrely all day and clawing at things. Gas always makes me cranky, too.

two by two

I think my two favorite feelings in the world are as follows:

1. Reconciliation

2. That feeling right after you pee when you can totally relax all of your bladder muscles because you're completely empty

... and so, as to show a contrast, here are two things I really don't like:

1. Looking at dead baby anythings

2. That pukey feeling you get in the back of your throat when you are really worried about something so you gag a little occasionally

Sufjan Shirt

I have discovered a new favorite. I feel like I'm in Paco Michelson's head when I listen to this music. It makes me happy and weird, and I'll confess, I have danced to it in the art gallery.

I love falling in love all over again for the first time. I'm glad sound was created- palpable, yet ineffable. I wish I could touch it and make clothes out of it. I would wear this music every day of the week.

old songs found, but never written

Last night- 6-6-04

I remember the last night you were in town
You came in after I was sleeping and you laid down
Oh I remember that night
Like it was last night

I used to hate the puddles in the john
After you had showered, dressed, and gone
Now all I want to feel
Socks wet from toe to heel

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I want you to know
I’ve been fine since the day I watched you go
I went out and made for myself
Riches in friends if not in wealth

I enjoy having my own place
Just three rooms that can be my own space
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t want you here with me

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

I can continue to live without you
I will continue to thrive without you
But that doesn’t mean
By any means
That I’d like to go on without you

And if there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
Let me set the record straight- set the record straight
If there’s any doubt in anybody’s mind
I miss you tonight, like it’s the last night of my life

Goodbye Uncle Peter

Peter Jennings died today of lung cancer. He was 67.

In reading the obit posted on Yahoo! news, I found out some cool stuff about Peter, like that he never graduated from high school or attended college, and that he had dual citizenship in Canada, where his family was from, and the United States. Also that he had his first Saturday morning radio show when he was nine.

My most memorable moment with Peter was during one of the more significant days I have ever experienced. On September 11th, 2001, I found myself in the late morning crammed into the upper floor of the HUB at Huntington College, with about 700 other students, glued to the huge projection screen. We were eager for anything that fell from anybody's lips about the greatest attack on U.S. civilians on our soil that we had ever experienced as a nation. Peter sat there, good old Peter, somebody we could trust. His shirt sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up and his tie and collar were undone and pulled away from his throat. He was sitting there, staring at us just like we were staring at him. And then Peter said it all for us.

"We're just trying to figure out what the hell is going on."



Rest well, you who have kept us in the know so many years. May you find answers we did not.

play-doh, mcdavid, benfolds, and the unimaginable rift

First of all, dudes, let me say how pleased with myself I am at the ease with which I use HTML. Or at least that image-posting tag. Professor Lehman back at good 'ol HC (or HU... what a dumb acronym) would be proud. If he only knew I was reading emails and looking at sound equipment for 90% of his class... when I showed up. Too bad college is over; good times, good times.

I bought play-doh with Brian last weekend, because I wanted it and he encourages me in trivialities. I went over to McDavid's house and we played with it and I made a snowman with a dog. My favorite part are the scarves. I brought her a little tubbie of it, too, as a party favor, and she just made oddly-shaped lumps. This is why I like McDavid. Just when I need it, she lets me feel smart.

I'm hanging out in Kinfolks, an establishment on Manitou Ave just above the creek (which I can hear in the darkness due to open windows- ahh). It is incredibly Manitou. There is live music, beer, hiking shoes, outdoor gear, a bicycle repair area, and dogs are definitely allowed. The only non-alcoholic beverage they have available is french-pressed coffee, which I hate, but I am drinking because it is cold outside. It will also keep me awake until a late hour- a good thing at this point in time. I feel like being up late because I DON'T HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW!

***

So as to add another review on in this time, I'm going to talk about Ben Folds' most recent album, Songs For Silverman. Man, this man is genius. I love people that get better with time, till they just open their mouths and it's like drops of gilded butter fall out onto the floor in a beautiful tableau. UGH! I just accidentally drank coffee without sugar in it. Bad idea. So this album, this album is the first one I have that is a CD on one side and a DVD on the other. It makes me nervous. I don't mean to be but I am really hard on discs, and I'm sure it's going to get ruined in one way or another. The first track starts off and it's like pre-rubber soul Beatles, and then by the middle of the album it's like the Beach Boys and Chicago got married, and maybe Darren Jesse was the best man at the wedding. There are little chunks of time where I can hear all of the other stuff, from the self-titled Five album to Fear of Pop Vol. 1 to the EPs. And everything in between. His stuff is so melodic and poppy yet well-developed while being understated; it's like a buffet in a lunchbox. It is a CD that needs to be played really loud, and often. The one song that almost makes me cry, not because it is the best song on the album, but because I conjecture it's for Elliot Smith. The song is called "Too Late," and whether it's for Smith or not I don't know, but it's really intimate and says a lot of things the speaker was never able to say to the intended party. I remember being really blown away by the first page that appeared at BenFolds.com for months after Smith's suicide. I like thinking about amazing famous people being good friends in real life. And I think Smith's death was probably hard on Ben; I feel like this song lets me sit in on the living room floor and hear about it. Ok, so I just read the actual words, and it says, "Elliot, man you played a fine guitar/and some dirty basketball" so it's totally about him. It just makes me feel sad and clear and good all at the same time.

This album spans the gamut of styles- country, pop, jazz, rock. Al Yankovic sings BGV's. It is a musician's cd- Ben is a musician's musician. It makes me happy there are sounds like this out there.

****

In other news, I feel disconnect from a lot of things, and look out over the realm of disconnectedness and see limitless possibilities. All my life, I have placed other people before myself. Experiences, memories, people make you who you are. Do you ever get to the point where you can venture out and just do crap as a completed person? What happens when you are on a different page of reality from everybody that used to matter to you? People are totally crushing, totally getting engaged and having babies and getting married, and I just want to sit on a floor in a darkened room and listen to the spinning disc. Or wander around and do nothing really but everything, and write about it. I feel less cohesive and more coherent than ever. There are several times a day where I am just looking at things and all of the sudden things shift in my mind, like when you flip the hourglass over, and the sand is the same, but coming through backwards, and a new something or other is visible. It's like I look and it changes, becomes more real, but it just the same to everyone else. I really liked waiting tables today, and it was odd to me. I don't want to get drunk, even though it would be easier sometimes to blur through everything, show up to work high and go on just like everyone else. But this bigger part of me wants to feel everything while it is happening, even if it hurts like a little cut on your hand filled with lemon juice. I know that there are more nerve endings in your lips than anywhere else on your body, and I have never kissed anyone. This is the irony of my life, and I am resigned to go through with utter clarity; for what purpose I don't know. But it seems more right than anything else I can find.

Santa Fe- Are you there? Do you swear you won't forget me?

So last weekend I went to Santa Fe with my friend Brian from Denver. The whole week leading up to the event, I had that Newsies song in my head, but I couldn't remember any more than the "Santa Fe" part of the words. I forgot until I grabbed this picture how cute all those newsies were.

We went down because a cousin of mine was getting married, one I rarely see, and hardly any of my family was going to be there. Oddly enough, this compelled me to go more than less; I felt somehow obligated due to our lack of connection. My aunt called me nine days out and asked me if I would play the guitar for the ceremony, which was to be held outdoors in some sort of ruined church. After a half hour of deliberation, I said yes, and ended up playing last Saturday with approximately an hour total in practice time. Thankfully the guitar is like a horse or a bicycle, and even though my fingertips felt like knives were slicing them, I managed to hold on just long enough.

The wedding was at Pecos National Historic Park, and the ruins turned out to be pretty cool, a sun-baked mud-brick sort of structure that had an open roof and back, but the front and sides were mostly intact. The wedding party was small, the attendence was sparse, and the ceremony was short. My favorite kind of wedding. Brian liked it because there was beer at the reception, and he got to say the word "horno" about 97,000 times. [There was a little display type thing set up just across the road from the ruins, with a native type of stove, called a horno, that was used to bake bread.] The ceremony itself was performed by some kind of priestess, who talked about the four sacred elements, and I kind of felt like Captian Planet might come barreling down the aisle at any given moment. I found out later that Lauren (my cousin) had become Wiccan, and so this answered a few of my immediate questions, but quickly brought up more pertinent ones.

So, on to post-wedding activities: Brian and I checked into our Red Roof Inn accomodations prior to the reception, and promptly both felt too tired to go back out like we had planned. So we watched Tommy Boy on TBS and fell asleep. The next morning we went downtown and had breakfast, and walked around a little. Then we stumbled onto the Plaza and the annual Spanish Festival. It was actually really great, and ended up being my favorite thing about the whole trip. We walked around for a couple of hours, looking at art, sculpture, hearing music, viewing beautiful handmade jewelry, smelling foods, and watching live performers of several different genres. We met up briefly with my family to say goodbye before they headed to the airport in Albequerque, and then took a spin around the old and beautiful Cathedral of St. Francis. Then we walked back to the car, making a pit stop at a Cold Stone Creamery, and finally headed in an easterly direction on I-25.

The car ride back was great- a little napping, a lot of reading of Harry Potter, some eating of Swedish Fish. The best, most epiphinal moment for me of the entire weekend was when we got north of Pueblo and I saw the Peak and began to recognize finer points of the geography. I said it out loud before I even realized it to myself; "Finally, I'm home." And I realized it was true- this little hippie, gay, backwoods town has really become my home, as far as I am able to claim one. And I was honestly glad it was true. Santa Fe was nice, but I could care less if it remembers me or not, because for now I'm a Colorado Kid.

Charlie and the Michael Jackson Freakshow

I went out and saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last Friday night with my friend McDavid. Now, McDavid is a student of dramatic literature, so I was going to throw out any criticisms she might have had, almost immediately, because she is coming from a different land than most conscious beings. I liked the film, though I will have to say careful post-watching reflection has brought certain flaws to the forefront for me. I'm just going to talk about everything all at once, though.

First of all, Charlie is a cute, cute kid. His teeth are just starting to show that handsome/grotesque English badness. He is abominably good. He sleeps in a room in the top of the house, and his window is really an open hole in the roof. I didn't get why he didn't freeze to death, but perhaps it was just one of those things I was supposed to accept and not question. Charlie appears to just kind of hang out, and doesn't really go to school or anything. We find out towards the end that he might be a shoe shiner, but I have no idea if this is a one time stint or an ongoing occupation, because there is no through-line on the subject.
Also, Grandpa Joe is the same old skinny actor from Waking Ned Divine, a film I absolutely loved. And Charlie's mother is Helena Bonham Carter. Gorgeous. The other great casting plus (aside from Johnny, who I will get to in a minute) is the character of Mike TV, who almost uncannily resembled the original actor of the 1970's classic.

The moment Johnny Depp stepped onto the screen, I almost screamed. The guy is Michael Jackson. I wonder if stage directions sounded like this. "Ok, Johnny, now in this scene, I want you to act like Michael Jackson. Ok, great. Now, in this next scene, act like Michael Jackson. Ok, here just act bored and make fun of the kids. Ok, now act like Michael Jackson." I mean, the guy must have been watching the trial or something, because he had it down. Really pasty skin, bad hair, weird clothes, said really bizarre stuff, and acted creepy around kids. He was like a MJ clone.

This is where McDavid took the low road, but I hightailed it and beat her to Scotland. She felt like things were overdone, and a bit perefunctory at times. The latter part I might concede to on occasion, but definitely not the former. The original "Charlie" film was groundbreaking in its time. Roald Dahl was an irreverent genius of kiddie lit. This is the curse disguised as a blessing for those wishing to remake such a classic film.
How can the original impact of the film be felt when so many have seen it, have a certain set of expectations, and are also familiar with the written work? Well, just enough has to change- Violet's parent becomes a mom, Mike TV's parent is a dad. There is no Slugworth. Emphasis is put on background- we learn Charlie's dad is a toothpaste factory worker, and Willy's was a dentist. There is thought here- mere coincidence that both boys will grow up to be choclatiers?
The bar also has to be raised with the extremity of the film. Willy goes from a somewhat passive stance towards the children in the original, to an occasionally aggressive, antagonistic bully. His impotence to overcome his situation is nearly crippling to him, only being discovered in a therapy session with an oompa loompa. The film had to be taken to the next level to have the same impact on today's audience, in a louder, more caustic world, that the original had on its intended audience.

But don't take my word for it, Levar Burton. I definitely recommend a personal viewing, along with a large popcorn and some sweettarts. Not even this film could get me near the chocolate.

demon baby

My small cousins were in Michigan this week, and apparently went over to visit my grandparents who live there. Jim is addicted to his digital camera, shooting everything from collapsed lean-tos to plates of his uneaten dinner. They send me reams of photos all the time, and the picture above came from the latest batch, received today.

I love this little girl, Claire Emma Ferguson. She is almost exactly 20 years my junior, my youngest cousin. However, when I saw this picture, all I could do was scream.

Look out for the flaming massage oil!

So, last week when my family came out to visit me in my hippie/lesbian/wiccan town, I gave my mom and aunt massages. I have to insert a bit of history here, and tell you all that my mother is first of all an RN and skeptical of massage therapy, but also has chronically dry skin. So, I was excited to show her what massage can do. Let me say my statement about her skin is actually quite lacking- she has excema pretty much covering her body. 90 + percent, in fact.

She ended up really enjoying the massage, especially how moisturized she felt after I was done rubbing a massage gel blend of apricot, grapeseed and sesame oils into her very dry skin. So, I told her she could take the 2/3 of the jug of gel that I had left home with her. This is where Homeland Security steps in.

My mom was stopped at the conveyor belt while checking her carry on-where she decided to stash the gel, hoping it would be less likely to explode or come open than if it was in her suitcase. The dude at the monitor thought he saw what looked like a bleach jug and called her over to search her bag. Upon finding the offending gel, he seemed momentarily unconcerned, but was then shocked to find "highly flammable" in the fine print on the label. Well, duh. It's oil. He reported to his supervisor, who then reported to his supervisor. After thoroughly questioning my mother, cross-referencing her story with her flaking arms and cracked knuckles and the fact that she did say her daughter was in massage school, they agreed to let her board the flight, with her gel.

I'm glad we have these security checks- you never know what a wacko with a jug of massage gel could do.

Would you care for a peanut butter and Jehovah sandwich?

Is it even possible to eat the ineffable God? Transubstantiationists think so. Perhaps it should be the inedible God.

ACT 3

Beyond all this driving around and tourist hawking, I've been wandering around, writing a little and reading Kerouac for the first time. And finding a ghostly beat ancestor there, going west for the sheer westness of it, much as I am doing now. I feel the need to soak up all around me, and yet be a little detatched all at the same time. I had a review at work, and they told me if I am ever stressed nobody knows it because I look so calm, almost too calm, all of the time. I do get stressed. I have a featherlight, strawberry-patterned scar on my right hip to prove it. Its just that I don't get stressed about normal stuff, and I see little things as terribly important. I take time to fritter away meaninglessly, watching people or reading things of no real consequence. I totter back and forth between wanting to look at the mountains and not wanting to. The balance of grabbing life by the balls and ripping it off and being way to cool to even notice life, or notice life tourists, pins me down. I recently read the following from The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux, "Tourists don't know where they've been. Travelers don't know where they're going."
All of the travel writing I read is morose and excited all at the same time, like if the author doesn't pull back in a moment they'll be crushed with the weight of being able to move about freely.

I got an email from an old friend, Andy Brown, today. He apologized for some junk that went down two years ago. I forgot all about it, but his wife is expecting a child and I figure he wants to get everything off his chest and really be ready for fatherhood when it arrives. We worked everything out of course, as there really wasn't anything to be concerned about in the first place. He told me I sounded like I was on the right track when I told him about my black, church-hating heart. Little does he know....

So, things keep continuing on, much in the same way that they have. I don't really think about what is going to happen next, but just kind of look forward to it. I could be 400,000 different people next year, in one of 400,000 different places. I oscillate between being bored and riveted with anticipation.

Ringing bells- the surprise whirlwind tour

During the intermission, I would like to relate the following anecdote. I work with a lot of incredibly brilliant people. These are people who walk away from physics and philosophy degrees, full ride scholarships to med school, to live in Manitou and work at an organic restaurant and smoke pot. I feel incredibly lucky sometimes. We have the best conversations. And also like I'm in this weird sort of limbo of life where everyone will wake up one day and decide to be real people and go get into investment banking. So far, though, everyone keeps showing up to work every day. I'll just take it as it comes.

The specific item I have in mind concerns one modified Christmas Carol a certain Mr. Dustin Booth and I modified from it's original, 1960s context. The following should be sung to the tune of "Silver Bells."

"Ringing Bells"

Busy sidewalks, turning tables
Can you take six on eight?
In the air I can smell orange spice tea.
Crappy tippers, tourists from Texas,
What a thankless job it can be
From the kitchen you always will hear:
Ringing bells, ringing bells,
Your ten-top's food is on fire
Where's the meat, we want to eat
Do you think we could get straws?

Where's the bacon? And the sausage?
Do you have corned beef hash?
In the air there's a warm smell of tofu.
I need equal- Diet Coke please
We would like separate checks-
We just lost electricity
Ringing bells, ringing bells
Frog says that we're all out of bread
On your feet, we're out of seats,
Soon it will be Labor Day.



ACT 2

So I took 4 days off work last week and drove my mama, little bro and aunt Gretchen around the bee-yutiful state of Colorady. I picked them up from the airport Tuesday night, and we drove down and stayed with Brian and Mahgrit, kidnapping a sleepy, dirty buddy on the way. We ate late night soups and Brian was impish with me for not calling. Oh well. I give him free massages, so he never stays mad for long. The next day we took the original Colorado kid back to her 4 square foot basement apartment on Emerson and she held hands with my brother briefly for a photo. Then we took off down US 285 towards Chaffee County. On the way we stopped at Red Rocks and hiked, and then Morrison for lunch, which I declined. It was really hot.

We finally got to Beuna Vista sometime around 2 or 3, and then drive down to Mt. Princeton. We took the mountain road up to St. Elmo, an almost perfectly preserved 120 year old ghost town. A few buildings burned down in a freak accident about 5 years ago, so we looked at some piles of ash and old iron stoves. Then we fed chipmunks that live in a pile of old railroad ties, and walked around and peed in this weird outhouse that smelled bad enough to make you faint. Then we headed home, and saw Buffalo and Cows but no antelope. We had spaghetti for dinner at my house and fell asleep almost immediately.

Thursday saw us sleeping in a little, and then walking around Manitou for an hour or so before going down to lunch at Adam's. Then we went up to the Cog Railway and took the 2:40 train bound for the summit of Pike's Peak. One of the engines broke down about halfway up, so the trip ended up taking a little longer than usual. We pulled back into the station after much picture taking and fudge buying at about 7:15. Then we came back through town, looked around a little more and mostly waited on Gretchen to buy jewelry. We were back at my place by 8:15, then made dinner and after about an hour had passed I gave my mom a massage. Then we watched an A&E Biography on Don Knotts and fell asleep.

Friday we woke up and went over to Adam's for a late breakfast. Then we walked around town a little more and bought some crap. We came back to the house and changed clothes and drove around for a while, I took them to downtown Colo Springs, and over to my school, where the somewhat grouchy receptionist was kind enough to let us in for a self-guided tour. Then we drove back to the Garden of the Gods and hung out for a couple of hours, taking a rather extended hike and pausing for all sorts of photo ops. We got back to the house around 5 or so, and then my mom changed and she and I went up to the community for the gathering. That went well and we got back around nine. We hung out on the porch for a little bit and talked, and then we turned in sort of early.

Saturday morning Dan and I got up and were out by 8:30, and climbed most of the incline, coming down where the Barr Trail makes a switchback particularly close. We were back by 10:30, and showered and ate. Gretchen wanted a massage then, and everybody else wanted to buy last minute crap and pack up. Then we got everything into the car and started driving north and were in Denver by 2:30. We walked the 16th Street Mall one way and then rode the free bus back. Nobody bought anything. Then we went out to Golden and drove around a little bit and saw the Coors factory, and ate an early dinner at Ali Baba's Grill, the best Lebanese food around. Then I drove them out to the airport, a little early because we weren't sure about security only three days after the London bombings, and I dropped them off. Then I went out to Scott's and gave him a massage and looked around his apartment and whatnot. And then I drove home and went to bed.

[End of act two.]

The adventures of Jeff and Mahgrit- a play in three acts

So my family has been out this past week, visiting from Indiana. And a million other things happened.

ACT 1: THE GAL FROM DOWN UNDAH

Margaret Ward, a friend of Brian's from Australia, was out visiting for a couple of weeks. Or, as she would teach me to say, Mahgrit from Melbin, currently doing work on her Ph.D. at Melbin Yuni. I taught her to say, "Brian, you're full of crap," in her best, squashed-vowel American brogue. I hung out with her a couple of times while she was here, the best of which was over the fourth, which totally entranced her. What she couldn't get over was the "America" garb we clothe ourselves with. She said if anyone did that in Australia, they would be thought a tourist, or laughed at, or both. The cool thing was taking her out and parking Jeff (my Trooper) on south Wadsworth, where we could see all the fireworks displays from Golden to Castle Rock at the same time. Mahgrit had certainly never seen that many at once before. She also ran that night for the first time in ten years, and all eight of us piled on the top of my Trooper and sat for the best view of the staggered finales.

I also got to break Mahgrit's massage virginity while she was here. That was interesting. It's always funny to me how many clothes people wear the first time they get a massage, then by massage #3 they're buck naked almost before they hit the table. I'm down with modesty, don't get me wrong. I had just never had someone wear a skirt on my table before. She later promised me a place to live in Melbin, should I continue my moving-west-only game, and taught me that ocker (ahkah) means really outback-type people or accents- think crocodile dundee. Brian and I taught her what gringo means. And bathers are swimsuits.
So, good times were had by all.

(entre'acte)

Adams' 4th of July special- the G. W. Bushboy

So a customer mispronounced our P. W. Busboy special the other day, ending with Bushboy. I quickly thought up the subject line, and then Megan hit the ground running with the idea. A huge pancake, the shape of Texas, would serve as a background for the rest of the dish. The syrup would actually be in a container the shape of a miniature oil well, which would dry up before you got enough. The bananas would be carefully arranged in the shape of a "Support our Troops" ribbon, and most of all, only about 35% of people would like it.

***

We did work on the Temporomandibular Joint tonight in class. I thought about Sarah Stanek and her bitey-retainer in college, and how it made her talk with a lisp. Other people I've thought about from college lately include Phil Salazar, Mandie Sanders, Matt Ricke, Evie White, Joe Urschel, Zach Luginbill, and Katie Kobelski, in no particular order. Oh, and that tall, blonde drink of water who was Miss Huntington a few years ago. Can't remember her name, though. She was in a dream I had the other night, hanging out with Katie Smith, who was telling me she wasn't really interested in being friends anymore. I think Miss Sanders was there, too, but every memory I have of her is tangled up with Dodge Omnis and horse tack.

***

I think I've turned the corner. I was happy today for no real reason, and didn't really mind. Really grasping the fact that I have something better, more lasting going on in the long run always catches up with me, even if it takes a while. I think I'm looking forward to seeing my family again next week, even though it was only 3 weeks ago that I left them. I will admit to having been pretty lonely out here the last couple of weeks, working like a dog and massaging like a fool. I got temporarily excited about yet another boy, and am now once again mostly over it. Those connections, even if made for one evening over a stack of David Bowie records and a dog that is afraid of shadows, keep it real enough for me. There are other people in the world, more of my species, that think and emote and consider and laugh and weep like me. Maybe not just like me, and I'll never understand them, not really really, but it's enough. Dr. Schleiffer once told me in college about this dream she had when she herself was an undergrad student. She had this dream where there were two hands, outstretched, coming within inches of each other, over and over again but never clasping. It made me really depressed at the time, I mean seriously like I wanted to cry my eyes out. But then I realized, sometimes the hands themselves are enough, just that there are two of them. And they don't have to touch- they know the other one is there and the best meetings are never physical anyway.

I knew I liked Wesley, but doh! with the evangelical schmevangelical

You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan.

You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavily by John Wesley and the Methodists.

Emergent/Postmodern 61%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 61%
Neo orthodox 54%
Charismatic/Pentecostal 39%
Roman Catholic 32%
Modern Liberal 32%
Reformed Evangelical 25%
Fundamentalist 25%
Classical Liberal 25%

Try the Auckland smoothie- chock full of kiwis with a side of vegemite

In my attempt at being honest with myself and the resounding echo of cyberspace, I have concluded that my recent posts have been thorougly depressing. Sorry. I guess I'd just rather not be fake these days.

It's like massage city around here, and I'm the mayor. But I never seem to have enough done. Kind of like earning money- all you do is work, but there's never enough of that, either. I found myself listening closely this morning in the kitchen as our dish told me how to select the perfect cave. It all started to make sense! No six month leases, no 400,000 dollars a month. All you have to do is make sure it faces east so the sun can warm it up in the morning, and that no water can get in even if it rains for days and days and days. And if you can't find a cave like this, find a mountain and some dynamite and make one.

I think I'm going to write some stuff soon, maybe about the potato lady from Adams, who simultaneously eats potatoes and looks like one. Maybe it will be about how I'm starting to think New Zealand would be a great place to emigrate to, because it is ruled by women and is gorgeous. Just like me.

one more time, chuck corea

I've been thinking about loops. About how my mind loops things, and everything is cyclical. I think that's why I almost flunked out of every math class I ever took, unless it was that part in geometry where you get to put rubber bands on the little nail-boards. I can't really think in a straight line. I think that's why I'm fascinated with Howie Day so much, and how the sound keeps coming back around and gets layered and is different while still the same. I'm wondering if its possible with theatre or written stuff, and how it would work and what it would look like. I think if I just sat down and wrote some stream of consciousness crap it would probably be pretty loopy, in more ways than one. Kind of like this post.

So I worked for like 5 jillion hours today and am exhausted and kind of crabby/crappy/creepy. That means its time to hang out with just my bad self and close the downtown Common Grounds in Denver with the little baristas. Quiche is good this time of night, with a healthy dollop of salsa and some weirdness on the side.

Sometimes I wish I was still in high school, when things were simpler and I was worried about stuff like marching band and if my green cords were clean. Then I remember how much that sucked, and I don't really know if there is ever a part that I will completely like. Or if things will just go better and worse, better and worse- somehow different, somehow the same, just a loop running in the background somewhere.

I'll pack my bags tonight, preflight

I've found myself once again in the midwest for the past few days. It's been a great trip, I have to say. I seem to be continually on the edge of being permanently jaded; this was just what I needed to get some wind back in my sails. First of all, I think most of it boils down to the fact that my spiritual walk ends up being more of a joke than anything else. I pretend to kind of be on top of my game, hand out advice like small bits of wisdom that should be treasured like pearls dripping from my mouth. Really, I'm just full of crap. I'm tired and lonely and not really ever spending time reading my Bible or praying or anything. Just when I really start to feel gone, something wonderful happens like a sermon from John Hay Jr., or having an honest conversation with a brother over a cup of coffee, and I remember what used to be in my heart.

People ask me what I'm up to. How do I politely explain to these semi-interested folks from different stages of my past that I'm living in a hippie Colorado town, taking courses in massage therapy? I get a veneer smile and a nod, and something mumbled about how it sure is beautiful out there. I get more interest when I mention the bit about thinking of Fuller Seminary and a Masters in Theology and the Arts. I'm almost more excited about that Fuller program because of the people I'll meet and the environment I'll be in - a somewhat more thoughtful version of Huntington, perhaps? I don't want the Christian College stupidity, but all of the great things about it I loved. Hopefully Fuller (should I choose to go) will be chock full of experiences similar to Dr. Schleiffer's small group, or discussions held after HC Theatre lab productions, or instructors like Dr. John Sanders.

I think I just have to continually remember that no matter where I go, or what I do, or who I become, that I belong to Someone else. I don't have to change my personality for God- just reflect God's likeness in my own way. My name means "consecrated to God." I want to be like the people in the Community who have names that perfectly describe them- Elohov, Yakkar, Yohannan. The love of God, precious of God, the grace of God. I want my name to be who I am. I want to respond in God's love to whomever I come in contact with, regardless of their lifestyle choices, religious affiliation, or nationality. I want to dance with those who dance, and mourn with those who mourn. I want to be consecrated.

Ibrahim...free!

At last.

A federal judge, one Hon. Ahern Cohn, has released Ibrahim, basically saying the government has been wrong all along. Uber- Conservative websites and blogs are blasting such celebrity supporters as Roger Ebert for being terrorist-lovers, which I guess would make sense if the critic habitually made out with Osama bin-Laden. But according to the feds, Ibrahim Parlak is not and never was a terrorist.

Mr. Parlak, our hats are off and our glasses are raised to you.

here comes June

I've taken a hiatus from blogging... sorry to anyone who stopped by and found a whole lot of nothing new going on.

Things have continued to happen, however. Quick updates- things at Adam'a are good, school is good, roommate is good, and I am good. Except for the continual realization of who I am, which I guess you could say is more of a mixed bag than anything else.

I have a heart that's sick, unable to do the right thing, being caught off guard and swept up into the wrong thing at a moment's notice, when everything seems to be going ok. I have a God of love, who buys me back each time. The fact that I am cognizant of this situation makes it all the more painful to me. I'll never understand it, I won't try to relate it to some slightly humorous and touching anecdote because there isn't one appropriate.

I have a mind made for learning. I look out ahead of myself and think about grad school, or taking sailing lessons, or learning martial arts. I get the weirdest notions at times, say, for instance, to learn how to ride a motorcycle. Or rockclimb. Or go to culinary arts school. I love the Community here in Manitou, and even took Katie with me last night to the first part of the gathering, but they have no real interest in scholarship, only in what they believe God to be telling them. I, on the other hand, believe all truth is God's truth. This makes the academic world shimmer with possibilities; that we may know ourselves, our world and our maker more with each lesson learned, each class taught, and each pupil enlightened.

**

I've been thinking about things like family, houses, cars. I don't know what my own family will look like as I age. God has provided me family in the realm of brothers and sisters in Christ, and if that is all I will ever have in this life, it is still a depth of relationship that many lack. I don't need to wait until I am married to buy a house. I feel very assertive on a lot of fronts, but not so much this one. I think it is important, though, to build for the future - all the while realizing tomorrow may never come. This includes cars. I love my Trooper, but I have come to the conclusion that he just isn't practical for every day driving- at least not after I leave Colorado. So while I don't want to get rid of the Troops, or Jeff, as I've taken to calling him, I think it would be worthwhile (especially if I move to Los Angeles as is planned) to have a small car for commuting. So I would have two cars. What's the harm in that? If they're both cheap, it equals one moderately priced car, with two entirely different options. Just some stuff I'm throwing out there for now.


Lying in bed this morning, I heard planes fly low overhead and thought about how I'd flee into the mountains if they started dropping nukes. There are some things that are important and some that aren't, and I'm just kind of trying to sort them all out right now.

Peace out.

Where's Summer B.?

I forgot how great the original, self titled Ben Folds Five disc was, until I listened to it again a couple of days ago. It's really unbelievable.

Summer's getting to be here these days. We're having more touristy types come into Adam's and ask for a diet coke and question me about the lack of "meat" on the menu. Then they put down a dollar and get up and leave while I'm in the kitchen prepping dishes. At least they leave the dollar.

So, my mention of a cave-dwelling boy a few weeks back sparked many comments. Not about the cave part, just that I had mentioned a boy. Eric has pretty much went the way of the wild goose. Other "boy" anecdotes could include the really cute guy I met at the pool, a couple of years older than me, who had been a lit major like myself. Then I came home and my roommate informed me he was married. What is it with me and married men? My enthusiasm toward the Manitou pool has dimmed somewhat, but I will return.

Until next time....

church vs. state tonight in the global arena, cage match!

hmmm. Friend/mentor/pastor John Hay Jr. sent me the image displayed above several months ago, and it's one of my faves.
I've been thinking about the current political climate much lately- it's gotten very churchy/statey let's be buddies. Judicial nominees, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Iraq, Jimmy Dobson, Spongebob Squarepants and "God Bless America" all kind of swirl around together in my head like some sort of grody, yet powerful, soup of politics. I'm more and more convinced that the church shouldn't have anything to do with our government. Remember! the Spanish Inquisition. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, but it always starts happening when the government and church start street dancing, jiving to the hip hop on a culture spiraling out of control.

Like it or not, buddies, the grand 'ole US of A was not founded as a Christian. The founding fathers saw the importance early on of keeping these two ladies (deedlie dee dee dee) from getting together. Our first president, besides chopping trees and wearing wooden teeth (imagine the splinters!) was an avid freemason. Others, such as Thomas Jefferson, who wrote much of our early documentation, were deists. Look at our money! It may have that God lingo on it, but how about those pyramids with the creepy eyes? No, no. No Christianity there.
What we have here, buddies, is a sort of hybrid pseudo-Christianity, imputing our American values and views into the soul of a pure religion, defiled by our decidedly anti-Christian cultural stances. These include, but are not limited to, a materialistic, capitalistic mindset, where you see just as many Bentleys and face lifts at the church as you do at the country club. Wait, which is which anyway? The fact that we are the most prominent, powerful nation in the world further compounds this problem- we advertise that we are a "God-fearing nation", via our mouthpiece who has chosen to be very public about his particular breed of Christianity, George W. Bush. We declare Democrats to be against "persons of faith" when they block said Bush's judicial nominees. What if they're just bad nominees? What makes this a faith issue? The fact that our President wants his way, so will resort to religious muckraking, if necessary, to get it? There becomes no line any more, no "wall of separation" as Roger Williams, founder of Rhode Island and model for religious freedom, desired. We become a false church, buddies. We become the great beast on which the whore of Babylon will make her triumphal entry.

So, now that I've probably alienated a great many folks out there, let me say that it matters to me little if I've offended. We need to examine what we're doing. We need to be right in Biblical truth, and leave our "American values" in the gutter, if need be. There is nothing more important than the church toeing the line with the doctrines of the Bible, and nothing else- any time we bend our mouth to accept the bit of the government, we become false. We are warned- there is no way around it.

12Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, 13for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. -Philippians 2

When was the last time we trembled? This is serious. There is nothing more serious. We don't treat our Christianity like it matters- it's just one more thing we "do," that we've got all sorted away, like our files for next year's taxes. The only problem is, the Father judges the heart, not files, and he himself warns us. Don't you think it's time for a closer look? Let's keep the flags out of the Churches, and the doctrine off the Senate floor. It's our only prayer, so to speak, at this point.

velociraptors will find me in the closet

Dreams are an odd thing. It seems that no matter how old we are, we never stop running away from a monster that is chasing us. I talked to my mom a few days ago and she told me about a dream she had the night before that was basically Jurassic Park going on in my parents' house. My brother and I were both there, and both my mom and dad, and there were velociraptors trying to get us and we kept hiding. She woke up alone on the couch at 2 am (my dad was out of town at the time), pulse racing and unable to fall back asleep.
The same night I had a dream that I was in Michigan; or not quite, I knew I was along the shoreline in Michigan City, Indiana. I could recognize the lighthouse and the area where pickup trucks were putting small motorboats into the water. The roads were really terrible (more like Michigan, actually- thanks again for the decade of disaster with Gov. John Engler), and driving was nearly impossible. There was a great, green monster in the road, making shadow puppets against the pavement by the light of the sun.

My grandparents in Michigan sent me this picture of what the lake winds did recently in their neighborhood. Between the dream and the memory of the sound of the water on days like this, I actually, genuinely missed the midwest today. Ok, maybe just the lake and maybe only for about 10 minutes, but the nostalgia was there. Michigan, you're always in my heart.

School Mistakes Huge Burrito for a Weapon

The following is an actual Associated Press article that I just read. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. Personally, my favorite parts of this release are the ingredients list, and the boy's "ohmigosh" moment. I hope somebody ate it once it was all over.


CLOVIS, N.M. - A call about a possible weapon at a middle school prompted police to put armed officers on rooftops, close nearby streets and lock down the school. All over a giant burrito.

Someone called authorities Thursday after seeing a boy carrying something long and wrapped into Marshall Junior High.

The drama ended two hours later when the suspicious item was identified as a 30-inch burrito filled with steak, guacamole, lettuce, salsa and jalapenos and wrapped inside tin foil and a white T-shirt.

"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry," school Principal Diana Russell said.

State police, Clovis police and the Curry County Sheriff's Department arrived at the school shortly after 8:30 a.m. They searched the premises and determined there was no immediate danger.

In the meantime, more than 30 parents, alerted by a radio report, descended on the school. Visibly shaken, they gathered around in a semi-circle, straining their necks, awaiting news.

"There needs to be security before the kids walk through the door," said Heather Black, whose son attends the school.

After the lockdown was lifted but before the burrito was identified as the culprit, parents pulled 75 students out of school, Russell said.

Russell said the mystery was solved after she brought everyone in the school together in the auditorium to explain what was going on.

"The kid was sitting there as I'm describing this (report of a student with a suspicious package) and he's thinking, 'Oh, my gosh, they're talking about my burrito.'"

Afterward, eighth-grader Michael Morrissey approached her.

"He said, 'I think I'm the person they saw,'" Russell said.

The burrito was part of Morrissey's extra-credit assignment to create commercial advertising for a product.

"We had to make up a product and it could have been anything. I made up a restaurant that specialized in oddly large burritos," Morrissey said.

After students heard the description of what police were looking for, he and his friends began to make the connection. He then took the burrito to the office.

"The police saw it and everyone just started laughing. It was a laughter of relief," Morrissey said.

"Oh, and I have a new nickname now. It's Burrito Boy."

the name game

There are two women in my class, each with a better name than the other.

a. Debbie Head
b. Tina Bopp

There's this guy who lives in Michigan that I know, his name is Dick Hedman. All of these names are fun to say and fun to think about. I can't decide which one I like more. My landlord in Ft. Wayne was named Virgyle Hougendobler. He might win the prize.

no, thank you

The jury has returned from deliberations, and I'll have to say, I really enjoy working at Adam's. After a full week of training, I feel capable, appreciated, and empowered. It's good to feel this way; I haven't in a long time at work. If ever.

This thing happened today though that really bothered me. There was a family of six, an older couple, a younger couple, and the younger couple's kids- 3 generations, 3 boys, 3 girls, very symmetrical. They were total Fips, very snobby and acting somewhat irritated with me the entire time, like my presence was nothing more than a zit on the lovely face of their life. And then when I brought the bill, they were trying to separate it out; the older couple put down cash and then the younger woman, the mom of the family, was trying to figure out how much should come off of her credit card, and the husband just barked at her. "Just take the cash, give her [sort of a sideways sneer at me inserted here] the card!" and the woman obeyed him like a humbled dog would obey its master.

If it were me, if I was married and I was spoken to like an animal in front of my children, parents, and strangers, it would happen once. Only once, and then it would never happen again. He would get divorce papers, counseling requests, or a slap across the face, but it would be the only time it ever happened. I do not have any problem with allowing the husband to assume some measure of authority in the relationship, but the marriage is a partnership. There is discussion, there is argument, there is resolve. But there is no humiliation in public, or being fippy to each other. ughugh. My current desire to remain unmarried is renewed with vigor.

Sorry to all you male friends out there who are caring and supportive and wonderful. This is a comment made in a general and not specific sense. And women are not innocent in this matter. Every time we lay down and take it, we prove ourselves to be the dogs they think we are. Assertiveness and self-confidence are required, as well as a desire to be treated with respect. Just because the idiot has money and your children can play with color game boys and drink expensive organic milk does not make it worth it. I'm not jumping on the bra-burning wagon here. I like bras, don't get me wrong. I just like women, too; being one and being friends with many, I see all we are capable of- raising children, owning businesses, teaching, earning doctorates (despite what the president of Harvard may say to the contrary), creating art and music and expressing the beautiful souls we were given by a God who loves and values us just as much as our male counterparts. We can do more than just roar, but to let a good one echo across the plains now and again sure is gratifying.

And then to completely undercut everything, I will add that I met a cute boy tonight down at the Maté Factor. Also one who understood everything I was trying to say without talking, and told me almost immediately that he a) lived in a cave b) loved talking about spirituality c) would like me to visit his cave and d) is celibate and believes in keeping the body pure. We'll see what develops.

you must be girls

Tuesday night equaled Tori Amos and Matt Nathanson. He is just as good as I remember. She is mind boggling.

Straddling a bench while playing both a Bosendorfer and a dual-manual organ and singing, Tori looked from time to time like a giant red-haired praying mantis. Though I'm not a die-hard Tori fan, I'm immensely glad I went. She is in a category all of her own, with a flair for pagentry and spectacle that I was grateful for. Other thoughts include the fact that the Paramount in Denver is a fabulous venue, and I should go to more shows there. Also, always hope that the dudes sitting in front of you fail to show up so that you can throw your long legs over the backs of their chairs. And that it is always a good time to wager if your concert buddy can throw you over the balcony if you go completely to dead weight. There's no way he could do it. He wouldn't even be able to get me out of the chair. It's all how you use your body, and I am aware of my capabilities.

Free concerts, parking, and places to stay are good. I was born to love, I'm going to learn to love without fear.

fax machine anthems, get your damn hands up

one more night at the bux. golly, am I excited.

I hiked the incline again Monday, it was stellar. I have found this is a particularly good time to think about things, especially on the jog/run/scramble down the Barr Trail. I started thinking about people, and specifically this one dude in my Capstone class at HC. He was blabbing on about how he had never let one drop of alcohol touch his lips. I don't know why I started thinking about this, but it really started to bother me- this was how he measured his purity, by what he didn't do. Others measure their character by what they do do. Resuming talks with Joe Osha has strengthened my resolve. I don't want people to say I am prudish, or tolerant, or straight-laced, or even funny. I don't want that to be what stands out. If I sing off pitch, tell me to my face, I can take it. Don't like that I left the light on in the hallway? Give me a push, I won't fall down. I want my character to be who I am. I don't even want to think about my actions. I want to be workin' my legs. My beat is correct.

I'm washing just about everything to get all the animal hair out. If I had enough money, I'd let everyone live with me for free. Especially dogs. I forgot how good it feels to twirl a leash around in your hand to get the kinks out. Or have a dog's body curl up on you and twitch with the tail wag. Cats are cool enough, but dogs are where it's at.

I think I'm going to start taking martial arts from a kid I work with. I'm also declaring May national vegan month for all Liza Swarts. Shelly is going to help me get the right food, and I'm going to try it out. Animals, ya know I love ya, but just for a little while, I won't eat you any more. Then, quick as a wink, I'll be once again chewing on the breasts of flightless birds. I want to experience it. Shelly tells me that your energy goes through the roof, and food revitalizes you instead of making you sleepy. I'm down with giving it a chance.

Randem tandem, sorry for the bumpy ride, but I've a lot on my mind.

Roy

It started today with a phone call from Kim Gray, a former manager from Don Hall's Tavern at Coventry with whom Roy and I used to work. She just left a message, telling me to call her.
Unexpected phone calls like these almost always mean bad news.

Roy Nerzig, friend and co-worker during my sojourn in Ft. Wayne, IN was killed in a car accident almost two weeks ago. It seems odd- I was just thinking of him yesterday.
I didn't cry when I found out- I would almost feel fake to do so, we weren't that close. He did however encourage me to go to massage school, which is what I am now doing. His quick smile and small pieces of food thrown across the galley at me are memories I will always have, and are tempered with that aura that only occurs after someone has passed away.

I tried to take time today to tell friends and others that I ran in to that they are appreciated. Please do the same- we never know how long we'll have.

Below are the lyrics to the only song I wanted to listen to today, Latter Days, written by Linford Detweiler of Over The Rhine. They inspired me to be totally honest with myself. I gave my two weeks to Starbucks tonight. The siren stared impassively at me and sang on.


What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be.
Lord knows we've learned the hard way all about healthy apathy.
And I use these words pretty loosely.
There's so much more to life than words.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me.
You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

Nothin' like sleepin' on a bed of nails.
Nothin' much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails,
nothin' is ever quite what it seems.
And I'm dyin' inside to leave you
with more than just cliches.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me.
You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

But tell them it's real.
Tell them it's really real.
I just don't have much left to say.
They've taken their toll these latter days.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

Constantine's dream

In 312 Constantine had a vision and a dream. Overnight, Christianity became accepted and expected, condoned by the authorities and governmental powers. What had been an underground, cultish group who feared for and lost their lives regularly became suddenly elevated.

Up until this time, the Church had a history of living in small pockets, meeting together and sharing communion, keeping one another strong in fellowship and grace. They were pacifist, going to the lions, the cross, or the executioner for their beliefs, never protesting but laying down their lives for the truth that changed them. Constantine would change all this, and time has done very little to alter what he chose to do.

Looking at an article from NorthPark University in Chicago, I found the following statements on Christianity's first governmental champion:

His conversion helped Christianity in many ways. Followers were safe from persecution, and Christian leaders were given many gifts by the Emperor. Constantine's adherence to Christianity ensured exposure of all his subjects to the religion, and he had no small domain. He also made Sunday an official Roman holiday so that more people could attend church, and made churches tax-exempt. However, many of the same things that helped Christianity spread subtracted from its personal significance and promoted corruption and hypocrisy. Many people were attracted to the Church because of the money and favored positions available to them from Constantine rather than from piety. The growth of the Church and its new-found public aspect prompted the building of specialized places of worship where leaders were architecturally separated from the common attendees, which stood in sharp contrast to the earlier house churches which were small and informal.

Constantine believed that the Church and the State should be as close as possible. From 312-320 Constantine was tolerant of paganism, keeping pagan gods on coins and retaining his pagan high priest title "Pontifex Maximus" in order to maintain popularity with his subjects, possibly indicating that he never understood the theology of Christianity. From 320-330 he began to attack paganism through the government but in many cases persuaded people to follow the laws by combining pagan worship with Christianity. He made December 25th, the birthday of the pagan Unconquered Sun god, the official holiday it is now--the birthday of Jesus. It is likely that he also instituted celebrating Easter and Lent based on pagan holidays. From 330-337 Constantine stepped up his destruction of paganism, and during this time his mother, Helen, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and began excavations to recover artifacts in the city. This popularized the tradition of pilgrimages in Christianity.

He funded Christian leaders and the construction of churches, some of which he dedicated to his mother. Most Christian leaders greatly admired Constantine for the works he did for the church and Christian cause.

*****

Does this sound familiar to anyone? Constantine's dream ended up being little more than a nightmare, one that the Church is still unwilling to wake up from. As Keith Green put so succinctly, we're asleep in the light- having been exposed to the truth, but slumbering on in the stupor of pseudo-Christian Americanism, unwilling to crack our eyes even slightly. What does the life of the Biblical, authentic Disciple look like? We had better find it. Each should work out his salvation with fear and trembling- all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Not every one who cries Lord, Lord is going to walk into the kingdom. We must be conformed to the image of Christ, not patriotism, or evangelicalism, or flags sitting off to one side on the church platform, sneakily edging into the agenda.

"Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him.”

John 14:21

blizzard wizards

hello friends.

as most of my readers are in fact from the midwest, I give you the permission to now gloat at me as our roles have reversed and you bask in 70 degree sunshine. Come on, gloat a litte.

Manitou is currently in the process of getting 3ish feet of show- we're probably about at the one foot range as it stands. Everything closed today- my church, my work, my roommate's bedroom door. We're chillin' in the winter wonderland, with travel nearly forbidden and large parts of both 1-25 and 1-70 closed for miles. Travel in the foothills and mountainous areas has been strongly discouraged by local television. Too bad that's where I live. Oh well, I can still walk down to the Maté Factor. It's always open. Maybe I can remind them to forget some muffins again while I pretend to study.

Keep your wool on and your eyes low, little children.

*** as a sidenote, I found the bird. Sort of. It did not survive the perilous netherworld of the kitchen floor. For all of those who were wondering... it has finally found its rest.

one of the weirdest pictures I've ever seen

This morning, when I got to work, I found this picture staring out at me from the cover of the New York Times.

I don't really have anything worthwhile to say about the death of Pope John Paul II, and as I am not a Roman Catholic, I don't feel that it is particularly appropriate for me to speak on the subject anyway. As a world leader known for being fairly progressive, he has my respect. As a man who sought to unite rather than divide, he has my admiration. His desire to consider all devotees of the Roman Catholic religion as equal regardless of continent or station is a model the United States should adopt within our own context.

My only other thought is, this has to be the weirdest picture of the weirdest group of people that I've ever seen.

bird

When I opened my bedroom door this morning, Draco was sitting just outside the door with a bird in his mouth. I closed the door and called for Joanne, who was poaching eggs in the kitchen. She got the bird away from Draco and shut the cat into her bedroom. The bird remains alive and under our stove, hiding from our cat-friendly eyes.

Its times like this that I know I totally made the right decision with giving up a cat. The little cheeps coming from the kitchen and the feathers scattered all over the floor merely serve as confirmation.

discs, crackers, cats

DISCS.



Last week I got my preordered, signed copy of Over The Rhine's newest release, "Drunkard's Prayer," in the mail. It was like coming home to an album I'd already cried and laughed over. The insides are peppered with photographs of the recording sessions, held at Karin and Linford's home in Cincinatti. In a way, the album almost feels like a farewell of sorts. I'd still probably say that Ohio is their best work, but this disc is intensely personal, and it leaves you feeling like you were invited in to their house for the whole process. Karin and Linford are incredibly transparent about their lives and their marriage, and the album reflects this in every phrase and melodic line. It has quickly found its way onto my top ten of all time list.



I also acquired Beck's "Guero" last week, purchased on the day it was released at Starbucks, courtesy of my 30% discount. It is a great compliment to the above-mentioned CD, partially because OtR is so mellow, and Beck so isn't. I described it most acurately last week as a mix between The Beta Band and Jurassic 5, with a little bit of Cake thrown in for good measure. The insert itself reminds me of Bjork meets Yoshitomo Nara. It put me into a decidedly Joe Urschel vibe. Who wouldn't want lots of sampling, lyrics about abuelitas, and unidentifiable noises popping in and out unexpectedly? Not me. I'm on the Guero train.

CRACKERS.

I'm hanging out uncontrollably at the Maté Factor, pretending to be studying but actually blogging. Ben just tried to eat seven saltine crackers without water, in a minute's time. He got through five, and then had to leave the booth to go puke them up in the bathroom after gagging himself with copious amounts of crumbs. I took a picture midway through, but alas, I have no digital camera, so y'all will have to wait till I devlop the whole thing before you get in on the action. Physically, it's impossible to acheive this cracker eating feat- but it sure is fun to watch people try.

CATS.

I adopted a black shorthair male last week, named Gizmo. I was excited to own a pet. After a series of unfortunate events, I took him back today. He was very high maintenance and ill mannered, and I am unable able to cope with either at this point in my life. Plus, Draco and Jonathan/Orion (Kate's new cat) both tried to kill him. I figured he would be a lot better off in a different home. Nonetheless, I did cry when I took him back to the shelter today. A lesson learned- don't try to be a cat person when all you really want is an affectionate beagle named Lucy. And a fenced yard.

Well, off to bed. 5 am Starbucks calls my name. The good news- I start my training this Thursday at Adam's Mountain Cafe here in Manitou. I'm geeked. I can walk to work, make more money, get free food and organic products at wholesaler cost.