Wing Night

It had never worked out before. But whatever, like that's about to stop us. We were in the usual spots. Usual mood. Typical work day. Break time always seemed so short.

"At least we have something to do with our day." said Marissa. "When I get home I basically sit on the couch until its time to go to sleep. I'm pretty sure that's what my whole day would be like without this job."

We all give non-comittal half-nods. It's funny how we all act super tired at work. It's not like just standing in one spot is all that draining. Plus we get special mats to stand on. Yipee. Mostly we ast tired during break. Most of work is actually made up of everyone waiting for the next break. When you're packing cucumbers you can't help but think about when you can stop. We keep coming back to work though. We all need the money.

"Lets do things," said Marissa. We waited. Somehow we all knew that this wasn't all. Sure enough: "You know, like watching movies together or going out to eat. Give us something to look forward to after work." The nods are slightly more than non-commital, but I'm really catching on here.

There are only a handful of us here, the college students getting some money for education between semesters. Most people here are as far as they will ever get, ya know? They're kinda stuck for life. 'Motivation to go to college' as my dad tells me. Anyway, we kind of stick together, us educated kids. Maybe because we are all the same age. We all sit at the same table at break and eat. We don't really talk. I mean little stuff, but nothing worth mentioning. Except I guess this conversation.

"Yes," I said. "Tonight is wing night at Native New Yorker. Let's do that" It seemed like people from our work group were going to wing night practically every week, so I figured that everyone would jump on the idea, but
"I have an online class," Alisha announced right away. Scott was busy, Jake wasn't at work that day, but Jared was game. Marissa shot me a look. "I'll text people" I said.

The responses were mixed, but we got at least three more yeses. That was enough. Wing night was on.

4:30- work ended, and of course we practiacally crawl out the door, we're all so tired. I was so excited. "Wing Night! Seven o'clock" I shouted through the front door when I got home. Why hadn't I ever gone to wing night before with my co-workers?  Something always came up, I guess. This was going to be the best.
Bam. My phone buzzes. Text from Marissa- Hey I can't give you a ride tonight. We are having an unexpected family visit tonight. I'm not going.

Haha. That's what I said back. Didn't mean it. So I shot out a text to the 'yeses' to see if anyone can give me a ride. I was real subtle. I said 'Who is still going to wing night? We are taking a headcount.'
emily- sorry can't make it after all
hailey- got called in to work. sorry
alyssa- nah I can't come. Thanks though
delsy-
delsy didn't actually text me back.

Ha. cause this had never happened before. Wing night always worked out perfectly for everyone. Just not me. I could never seem to make it. Other than that though.
So, what? No wing night. I had planned something and it flopped. I wasn't to wing night after all.
I texted Marissa- The whole world doesn't want me to go to wing night.
her reply- Haha. We'll plan better next time.

I wanted to tell her not to bother, but I just couldn't. It wasn't just the lack of planning. Things worked out anyway, sometimes. Whatever, wing night had never worked out before.

People tried to comfort me, but it's not like I was all that upset. I had just acted really excited for it. Lance vowed we would go next week. I wanted to tell him not to bother.

Mom was setting to places at the table. Her and Lance. They were leaving early for a hair appointment.
Lance- "unless I am working that day"
Dad- "honey don't you think we should eat as a family.
Mom- Lance and I are leaving here in about two minutes. We are already late.
Lance- I could just trade with some one I guess
Dad- We can get everone here and ready to eat. We need to eat as a family
Mom- (on the phone)
Lance- I'm writing it on the calender
Dad- Kids come to the kitchen! It's time for dinner.
Mom- (walks away from the kitchen. still on the phone)
Lance- (staring at his food)
Dad- the boys are taking the dog on a walk, but if Mom and Lance are going to start eating we might as well get everone who is around together to eat.
Mom- (snaps phone shut) Lance lets go
Lance & Mom- leave
I went upstairs. Dinner didn't seem to be coming anytime soon

Swimming

In situations like this, Charles had the habit of pretending the room was filling up with water. It seemed to seep through the floor, collecting in puddles among the white tiles.  It rained from the ceiling and spurted through the cracks of the walls steadily. The magazines in loose piles on the table grew damp as water streamed out of their pages. He did nothing; it was like a game, trying to act normal in such unusual circumstances. Geysers erupted out of the seats of the empty chairs spraying water on everything that was still dry. He had to remind himself to breathe normally and not look so tense. It wasn’t real; this water that splashed on one of his finer suits, and besides it was barely a few inches deep. Someone would take care of it before it became much trouble. He eyed the receptionist (whose fountain pen was acting like a hose) as she talked on the phone, (which was acting like a sprinkler); water was coming out of her mouth in foamy bursts.  His thoughts came in commands now: Close eyes, Deep breath, Tap fingers in agitation. Even then he could not block out the sound of water as it sprang into existence and landed on the linoleum floor. He could feel it climbing up his legs. Opening his eyes, Charles could see water cascading off the receptionist’s desk and the windows were now shooting gallons of water into the room. He found it funny that he had never come up with a source for the water. He looked down in time to watch the water swallow his lap. He wanted to shut his eyes, and cover his ears and scream, and it took time to regain control of himself. The urge returned again about the time the water hit his chest; about the time he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Water was coming out of his own eyes now. When the doctor threw the doors open and came into the room it had the effect of breaking a dam. A great wall of water came at him, clawing at his lips, forcing itself down his throat. The taste was salty; bitter. There was no longer air. He could not contain himself. He was drowning. He sobbed and gasped as the doctor told him the news he has already guessed. Then the water consumed him.

People

I love people. You may not be able to tell this by being around me. In fact most people view me as cripplingly shy. Instead of shy i like to think of myself as an observer. Before i talk to almost anyone i like to observe who they are and what they are all about. And where i fit in in relationship to them. Then we can get going. Also i do not talk in group conversations. It just doesn't fly.

Even at my house sometimes i will just sit on the couch and watch the daily happenings. I love to just be around someone and feel their presence. I feel like i have a knack for feeling who people really are and enjoying them for who they are (and not just because of energy profiling ya'll).

You know who i LOVE? those people with the radiant, shining personalities. You know? As soon as one of these people walk in to a room it just lights up and, for me at least, suddenly its all about them. There is just this rich, warmth and light about the radiant people. I don't know if you get what i'm talking about. Its those people who can cheer you up on the worst days just by smiling at you. Its those people you miss the most when they are not around. Its those people you would give anything to hear laugh if you are feeling down. If one of these radiant people are talking i could just sit there and bask in it forever, you know? Probably not.

So i am probably going to have to marry someone with a radiant, warm personality like that, and let me tell you they are one in a million. But i love pretty much anybody that i have ever gotten to know. I just wish i could spend time with the people i love for pretty much ever. Not even talking or anything, just being there with 'em. There is something about being with a real person. Not on the phone, not on chat or via skype or text. We're talking legit people. I love 'em so much!!! <3

Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir

Its Fabuluous!! and here's whats what: Some girl uploaded herself singing a song by Eric Whitacre to Youtube and Eric saw it and thought "What if we got a lot of people to do this?" Then he did. Because he is Eric Whitacre and also Amazing. The first go round was about 180 people strong and got a lot of attention. So Whitacre thought big. In virtual Choir 2.0 there are over 2000 singers (including me) My experience in this choir has been amazing!!! I get to sing with people from all over the world. And the video is inspiring Check it:

so when I heard that this was going down I WAS SO PSYCHED!! I had to be part of it. I started to learn the music, but it wasn't that easy practicing by myself. Recording was almost impossible. My webcam was horrible quality. I cannot even tell you how many times i tried to record and submit my video from the time it was announced to the final date to submit (september thru December of 2010) i got a digital camera for Christmas and decided that could be good for recording, but things were still not gelling. I thought it wouldn't be so bad if i wasn't a part of Virtual choir 2.0 after all. Then i saw a vid on Eric's blog.

The video was nine year old Georgie from the UK singing the first soprano part as her submission to the VC. I was so amazed and inspired that i recorded and uploaded my video singing Tenor I that very day. No matter how imperfect it was i knew the deadline was only a few days away and i was going to be a part of this thing. I also recorded my brother singing Baritone and uploaded the vid.

Then Whitacre announced that the deadline would be extended due to the bad weather (which didn't make a whole lot of sense) but that was cool because my brother's high school choir was learning sleep and i was able to help five members of the choir be a part of this endeavor. Also it gave me time to learn the second tenor part and upload that too. So thats the story . pretty exctiting stuff if you ask me.

Debbie’s Senior Prom

this is a fairly rough version of a short story i am writing. By 'am' i mean i already wrote it and it needs editing. It is not my best, but i though 'why not?'

It was unavoidably spring. The springtime brought a restless fever to Skyline High; a fever of intense heat that moved from student to student prompting each to fly out of their chairs and glide away on the spring breeze whose cargo was sweet spring scents, colorful kites and spring fever. Spring fever carried students out of their nighttime beds and onto the cool green grass allowing the moonlight to spill over them, its pale hue reflected in their shining eyes. Spring fever focused their eyes on spring beauty: the blue of the sky, the shock of flower petals flaunting their colors, the bright sunshine thawing wintered spirits.

Yes it was definitely spring, and all who felt the sweet delight of the slow, friendly breeze and the smiling sunshine were engulfed with the fever until the whole town was paralyzed in it's passionate embrace. The heat made it feel as if one spark would turn the town into a blazing inferno capable of consuming all life with its flames. That spark came in the form of a small note given to Lindsay Osbourne for Gerald Denetso with the words “Lindsay will you go to prom with me?” printed on it.

Ignition.

At Skyline High, the process for asking a girl to prom was much more elaborate than simply asking the question. The tradition started about ten years prior when Joey Long announced his undying love for Brittany Davis over the PA system and asked her to prom. Of course everyone’s natural tendency was to outdo him; and so banners were made, flowers were delivered, and gifts were given. The askings grew wilder as the boys came up with bigger and better ways to ask their dates. The girls bragged to each other about how they were asked even more than who had asked them. The boys grew mare daring in who they asked; the girls didn’t mind so much who was asking them so long as he did it in a spectacular way. Social barriers were broken down during prom; any boy could go with any girl simply by flattering her with a brilliant display of affection. The girls even found a way to incorporate themselves in the game by coming up with clever ways to say “Yes” to their dates.

It was tragically unfortunate that prom occurred in the spring.

The students’ fervor to outdo one another was only intensified by the crippling spring fever they were all taken by. Suddenly the impossible was within reach and every student was invincible. The was the scene into which Gerald Denetso found himself as he placed his unimpressive note on the desk of Lindsay Osbourne.

The student body was in an uproar. The girls, outraged by the simple way Gerald asked Lindsay advised her not to go with him, while the boys rushed to claim their dates before anyone else could. The small flame Gerald Denetso had begun was growing fiercer and hotter as it took possession of student after student. One student who watched the growing fire was Debbie.

Debbie was an average girl who had recently developed a strange habit of staring at the moon or smelling the wild flowers that grew by the side of the road. Her hopes for prom revolved around on person: Marcus Anderson. Marcus Anderson who sat two seats away from her in math class; Marcus Anderson whose grin was enough to coax a smile out of anyone. He was the focus of her growing infatuation which she was tempted to call love as the spring approached.

The most interesting feature of Marcus Anderson was his clone, Marc. Marc was the only clone at Skyline High, as clones were known as possessions of the rich. The Andersons were the only family Debbie knew that could afford a clone. Mr. Anderson, a doctor specializing in abortions, had money to spare, and so when his wife became pregnant, he had some DNA taken from the fetus and made into a clone. Marc and Marcus were both seventeen, both had Chocolate brown eyes and contagious laughs, but Debbie felt an attraction to Marcus that wasn’t there with Marc. Perhaps it was the way his words seemed to go through her, or the way he looked at her as if her knew what she was thinking. There was nothing wrong with Marc; he was terribly fun to talk to and always good for a laugh, but he was still Debbie’s second choice for prom.

Debbie watched as the ever consuming fire grew bigger, but Marc and Marcus remained untouched by the flames. One day the unthinkable happened.  (       )

The final school bell had rang and Debbie was walking to her car, taking time to enjoy the warm sun and the spring breeze. She being one of the few whose spring fever had not yet manifest itself in the form of flames, was being taunted by the sun and the wind which were both trying to enrage her fever to the right pitch; but to no avail.

Debbie reached her car and found it covered with streamers of orange and yellow, and filled with balloons of red and gold. A spark was formed.

She opened her car door relishing the faint tingling she felt as the flames spread through her. Balloons spilled into the sky, and the spring wind reached down her fingers to posses them. As Debbie blazed through the confetti jungle she saw a small note on the driver’s seat. It was with trembling hands the Debbie reached for the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?”

                                    -Marcus Anderson

The spring breeze carried Debbie home.

She flew out of her car, hands still clutching the note. Flowers reached out to her, the sun cradled her, and the wind engulfed her. She was entirely consumed with spring fever as she ran up the stairs and flung open her bedroom door. Her floor was a mess of red and gold balloons and orange and yellow streamers hung from her ceiling fan. On her pillow was a small unimpressive note.

Debbie carved a trail through the balloons while the streamers swayed licking her hair. Her fever was reaching new heights, but the flames were hot and uncomfortable. The tingling had increased to a stinging. Trembling, she picked up the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?” 

                                    -Marc Anderson

She held the identical notes side by side and they both turned to ash in her hands.

Debbie went to school the next day, her flesh a dying ember. Ash flaked off of her. News swept through the school spread by fiery tongues. And Debbie watched the flame blaze.

The afternoon found Debbie making a wreath of flowers in the shade of a tree. Her fire had been smothered by sorrow. As she finished her wreath she looked up to see two figures standing over her with smoldering eyes.

  “We’re sorry about asking you at the same time.” This was Marc. His eyes made it look as if he were suppressing a smile.

“We thought it best not to tell each other who we were going to ask.” This was Marcus. He really was smiling, and it made Debbie smile too.

“We know you don’t want to have to choose between us, so we will choose for you,” Marc’s eyes smirked, “If that’s ok with you.”

Debbie nodded fingering the delicate petals of the crown.

“Great, meet us at the rodeo grounds this Friday at eight,” and they were gone, their hair glistening in the sunshine.

Marc and Marcus took care of all the preparation for Friday night. All Debbie had to do was show up and claim her date. All week she imagined the scene. She would arrive at eight to greet a single figure holding a rose in the moonlight. She would walk up to him greeting his smile with one of her own. Their hands would slip into each others and as they danced slowly, he would whisper to her how wonderful prom was going to be.

The thought filled her with warmth.

All the while Marcus and Marc had another idea of what Friday night would be like. They worked furiously, inviting hordes of people to come Friday night to witness the event. They sprayed their gasoline all over town. And the fever stricken people were absolutely taken by the idea.

Skyline high was ablaze with the news. The sun pounded its heat relentlessly, and the wind blew frantically, and every student waited for Friday night.

Friday night finally came. And the moon it brought was enough to make anyone’s fever rage. Debbie drove through the town staring at the cloudless skies and imagining what the night might bring.

She could feel the heat before she reached the rodeo grounds. It hit her like a gust of wind, and as she got closer she saw the inferno.

The rodeo grounds were filled with people; all of whom had been infected by a screaming, raging, fever. The heat was blinding.

The people rippled and roared like a fiery ocean. Young entrepreneurs sold overpriced candy and soda, people made bets and exchanged money; all eyes were on the two figures standing in the center of the dusty rodeo grounds. They had chosen the rodeo grounds because cleanup here would be easier than on the football field.

Marc and Marcus stood staring at the immense fire they had built. Each was doped up on adrenaline and painkillers stolen from their father. They silently pulled out knives; the only silent onlooker was the moon.

 Debbie stood in shock as Marcus and Marc lunged at one another. A stab in the arm, a gash in the leg; each time that flesh and knife connected they had the effect of flint and steel.

Sparks flew like fireworks in the night sky connecting with the gasoline soaked bleachers to create eruptions of flame. The heat raged to a furious pitch, each onlooker standing and shouting. Debbie was bound by fire and fever and fear and flames. She could see nothing as tears crept out of her eyes slowly dissolving the bonds that kept her. She ran to her car as her fever broke; everything a haze, everything perfectly clear.

The fire swelled and escalated to an unbearable degree. In the end there was only one casualty.

“Will there be a funeral?” Debbie sat in her front room in a black dress.

“Of course not sweetie,” said her mother “he never died.”

Her father walked in, “Oh Debbie you look beautiful. You ready for the big night tonight?” 

            “But Mom he did die!”

            “We went through this honey, remember?” her mother said “Marc and Marcus were the same person; the same DNA. They were identical."

            “Well that doesn’t mean his life wasn’t important. What about identical twins?”

            “Debbie,” her father answered sternly “Enough of this!”

Debbie raged, “No! It’s not right that someone can just have their life taken away and nobody cares about it!”

“Now you listen to me!” her father reprimanded.

 Just then the doorbell rang.

“I think that’s your date Debbie,” her mother said. “Now don’t cry dear, you mascara will run.”

Debbie opened the door revealing a single figure with a rose in his lapel. He stared at Debbie as if he didn’t know what she was thinking.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Debbie.

He offered her his arm and she took it knowing that she took the arm of a killer.

Regina, Regina

So Regina Spektor is my favorite musician probably ever. i feel like that might be a sin for the same reason i think that having the "The Hunger Games" be my favorite book is a sin. Which means i don't have any reason at all. They are just so modern and it makes me look like i am only digging the lastest craze, but I am so into modern. The classicy stuff is great, but i feel like i can connect to modern forms of art better, you know? I don't know. It doesn't really make sense to me either. But here is one of her best songs:

I don't think i get this song. Is it sung by Delilah? or just someone comparing her love life to that of the Biblical story of Samson and Delilah? Also did Delilah really love Samson? Why would she cut his hair if she did truly love him? This reminds me of Judas who sold out Jesus. I think Judas really did love Jesus, but the things of the world were more important to him. Like he lost sight of the big picture.

And Samson. Why did he tell Delilah about his weakness? He totally KNEW she was going to use it against him because she had already tried it before. Samson and Delilah are totally hopeless. Why did he have to fall in love with her. He was warned not to, which makes it only more poignant. Once they chose to be with each other they were doomed to lose thier love. Anyway there is that. Enjoy the vid.

Canaries with grey wings

So here is a handy link to a wonderful article that i actually almost started a blog about almost a year ago. Thinking of all the implications of singing even without having the greatest appearance was such a cool thought to me. Singing is just serving the Lord and others and it would have been so cool to share stories of how i sang in my day-to-day life but i never got around to it. and now i have more blogs than i can handle.

Link:Canary story
Hope you love it!

The Hollow men by T. S. Eliot

I read this poem for my ENG 222 class and was blown away. I haven't read much of T. S. Eliot, but I really enjoyed this. Of course we did not actually discuss it in class. I especially love the last part, because I really feel like things usually don't end with a bang, but are almost anticlimatic in a way. The rest of the poem I don't really know what is going on... 

Something interesting about Eliot is that he believed that to read poetry you should know everything about poetry ever, so he has an insane amount of allusions and stuff which mostly all go over my head. You basically have to read his poems annotated to get all the allusions. Nobody knows that much about poetry. Unless it is their job to know that much about poetry.
Oh and I probably am supposed to say that this material is copyrighted... or something.

 

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Fred Returns

Daniel and i were surprised to find Fred sitting on the couch tonight when we got in. I remember him saying something about being back on the 8th, but we take things day by day. Things like that are not so important to us. Either Fred is here or he is gone, and right now he is here.

He was sitting on the couch watching Kyle XY with Karl with a kind of a grimace on his face. He had been gone for what seemed so long, and he had changed. I had used to wonder why I never hung out with my friends who were married, but after that moment seeing him on the couch, i'll never wonder that again. He looked so different from us in a completely new way. I walked past him and into the kitchen where his new groceries, apple juice, mouthwash, granola sat on the counter and I knew he didn't belong in that house with the dirty dishes in the sink and the video games always in the other room; these things that he did not have control over. He didn't belong with them anymore.

He was trying so hard to be young again in the way we were. I think he was only watching Kyle XY to get away from us. He couldn't live here with us anymore, and he was using the tv as an escape. Oh his face said it all. He wanted to be where we were without having to care about things. he wanted to be able to just pack up his bags and leave to Utah for no real reason, but he just couldn't. And if he was being honest he didn't want that deep down. He only wanted it for us. He couldn't live with us and not have that free spirit feeling. Not that he wasn't free to leave. Of course he could, but he loved her so much he didn't want to ever leave her. Now he only has to wait for us to leave him.

My Philosophy

This is a little bit of philosophy that i basically stole from James Derrida. Except the way i think about it is much different than him, i'm pretty sure. Let's hope i can actually make it make sense.

Basically, everything we see is a symbol. Think about words. Each letter is a symbol for a sound, and when certian sounds are put together they are a symbol for a real thing. The word money is a symbol for money, but the word money is not money. We know what it means though. So, what is money a symbol for?

K this is where it can get confusing. Money is a symbol of value, its a currency, but the materials money is made from, paper and ink, are not valuable in the way money is. Money has value because we give it value. And what did we have before money? Is money simply a symbol/replacement for gold? Where did value come from, and what has value, and why? Like words represents an object that is not present, (the word money does not have value itself) objects represent something that is not present. I really hope this makes sense.

I believe (and so does Derrida) that there is something we cannot access through our senses here on Earth. It is not present, but it is manifest in everything we see and hear. Some things are closer to this essence than others. For example, money is a symbol of value and the word money is a symbol for money which is a symbol for value and the Symbol $ is a symbol for the word money which is a symbol for actual money which is a symbol for value. Make sense? Also i think that natural things are closer to the essence than man made things. Man made objects take natural objects and make something different out of them. A house may be made out of wood which is made out of trees, but trees are not made out of other natural objects. They are closer to the true nature of the essence.

This idea of bringing things to thier base origin or nature is called deconstruction. It looks at the elements of a building and determines where they come from and what those natural elements mean. Because everything is a symbol though, everything can be interpereted in many different ways. I believe that literature and words  are a way of trying to understand the essence by drawing father away from it, and that the same deconstructionist approach would reveal things about life and the essence, which is why it is so hard to pin down what a good work of literature is saying. Its talking about a facet of the essence which we cannot fully understand using our symbols. Because even people are a symbol of the essence, we can come to understand it by understanding ourselves.

Because of this symbol thing, i believe that everyday occurences and things that happen are symbols for something greater. One point of this blog is to relay these events in a way that make them meaningful and important. When i feel like sometihing that happens means more than a simple event, i want to portray that meaning, that facet of the essence, and maybe understand it better myself.

So what is the essence? I think its an all encompasing truth and presence that means the whole of everything. That doesn't really make any sense though. I believe that the essence is literally God. He created everything, and he even said that "All things testify of me." I think it totally makes sense. He is in everything. Don't write this off just because i got religious all of a sudden, if there is an essence, it makes sense that it would be a greater, all-encompasing being.

Anyway, thats my philosophy and I hope actually makes sense, even if you don't believe it. Its just a different way of looking at things.

Fred Leaves

This is a portrait of my house, my roommates, and our unnamed roles. As a writer i am not supposed to tell you what a piece is about. You are supposed to just guess be reading it. You are just supposed to feel it. The meaning of a really good piece of writing cannot be put into words. This will not be a very good piece of writing.

Since Fred left, the hierarchy of our house has been turned upside down. At thirty-one he was very much the head and father type in the house. Not that he was in charge of us, but he got things done. He was the one with a job, he was the one working on the landscaping in the front yard, even if he never actually finished it. And he owned the house.

The rest of us, college students, lived the social, stay-up-until-three-wake-up-at-noon type of life. Nothing steady, nothing definate. We had our own little corner of the house that was very much ours, and we took turns owning the whole thing, presenting it to friends, having parties. When Fred left, the ownership fell to us for whatever amount of time it took for him to return. We fought over the house without words, without conflict. Little things that said more than a slap in the face might have. The pain of pysical fighting increases with the intent.

It centered around the tv, usually. Marshall playing video games on the tv all day. Daniel and i offering to host unannounced movie nights. The television was a thing of power. We wanted it to be ours, wholly and permenantly. Of course this was impossible, but we tried anyway.

It's funny that Karl left with Fred. Karl who had classes, tests and finals to worry about just up and left the college life to go with Fred. Don't get me wrong, Karl is 27, older than the rest of us, but that doesn't put him in the same league as Fred. Karl is a freshman at the college if that gives you the right idea. So anyway he left with Fred and i guess he thought he was important enough to the house to leave it. The way he went though, one day he was sleeping in class and the next day he decides to pack his bags and go with Fred to Utah or wherever. Didn't even tell wnyone hardly, just went. I can't imagine that was the case with Fred, not showing up to work one day, nobody knowing where he's at. I'm sure he told everyone he was getting married.

That was another thing, Fred was engaged. To the rest of us marriage was so far away. None of us were even twenty yet, except Karl. And for him, i think, marriage isn't right around the corner either. The way he just dropped everything and left for Utah, that doesn't seem like the married type. It's funny it always feels like Karl is so much closer to my age than Fred's. We were talking once in class or something and you know how old Karl was on September 11, 2001? He was a senior in high school. i don't know, that just really put it into perspective for me. A senior in high school. That was me one year ago, and that was Karl September 11, 2001.

I was so surprised one time when Kevin and Marshall and Daniel and i were all talking one night. Fred had been gone maybe a week and It seemed like we had been fighting over the house the whole time and never would be friends or anything. Like it was Daniel and me versus them. So it just really surprised me that night to see us all joking till midnight, not caring about who would claim the tv tomorrow. I guess that's just us college type.

Karl got home first, i don't even know how, but there he was one day with all five seasons of some tv show from abc family and suddenly it was a Kyle XY marathon 24/7. You could wake up at three in the morning to take a dump and there would be Karl out there starting another episode and eating his microwave popcorn. Marshall  and Nephi tried to follow the series for about three seconds, but Karl had a rigorous schedule. No class, no friends, just him sitting in front of the tv all day. The thing that really got me, though, is that Karl had his own tv right there in his room. I don't know why he wasn't using that one.

Nephi seemed to be over constantly. Nephi and that one chick, i don't even know her name. They're friends of Marshall's, but they come in here all the time and act like they own the place. They're even worse then us who live here if you can belive that. Like this one time Nephi was sitting on the couch soaking his feet and this chick was on her laptop next to him and they're flirting. They have this viscious way of flirting where they just fight each other, it's all very mature. And don't even think that they are going to be quiet about it. So anyway they're over here sprawled out on the couch practically and Daniel and I are supposed to be hosting a party. They were just over there picking at each other and we practicalyy ahd to beg them to leave, they were so disruptive. We asked them if they wantedd to join, honestly we did, but that chick just gave me a look i would not want to repeat and Nephi simply could not cut his foot soak short. They migrated to Karl's room, adn the whole time they were walking in and out like we were invading on thier privacy. It did not do much for my opinion of them, that's for sure.

There are no Words for this

In my world of art class we have been learning about Salvador Dali and it is a little known fact that in the sixties, Dali worked with Walt Disney on an animated short to introduce surrealism to the mainstream public. They never finished as it was deemed inappropriate for children.

A few years ago, the Disney foundation finished the film using modern animating technology. You can see it on youtube. Or right here on this blog. Anyway i watched this video and really loved it. Except for the music. So i thought: what if the soundtrack to this movie was an Eric Whitacre Song? Whitacre, Dali and Disney all in one video?? How cool right? I tried it out and the result was profound. I know nothing about technology at all so i am giving you the chance to do it the ghetto way i did.

Mute the Destino video. Then make sure both the 'Destino' and the 'Sleep' videos are loaded. Then start 'Sleep' about fourty seconds after 'Destino' Don't try to understand it too much, Just feel the music and the images. What you see and hear might amaze you.

Now you are set to go. Enjoy!

English 222

This class is killing me. It's like i'm not even here. I've given up on trying to read the material, and i like to pretend that we don't have any homework. This of course is not true as my grade insists on telling me. So i am bearing this as best i can This is my major after all, but man its hard to appreciate some of this stuff. I for one believe that old literature should be known and not read. I only need to know enough about Sir Gaiwan to understand an allusion to him. That statement will be the death of no less than three english professors.

And that's what i like about english: its power. Really the only thing i don't like about his class is that we read the material and he explains it to us. He wants a discussion, but his definition of discussion is him presenting his ideas while we supply him with facts when he asks for them. "When did Virginia Woolf write 'A Room of One's own?' Good. Let me tell you about it." It'd be easier to bear if i had a cookie. Wyatt brought them for us to eat during his presentation, and they are sitting forgotten at the front of the class.

Ending #1 What i like in an english assignment: Read this. Think about it. Analyze it. Take something to it and bring something away from it. Then tell me what you learned Tell me your ideas. His assignments: Learn about an author. Find the facts: his life, his death, his works. We can't disagree on that.

Ending #2 It's funny. He always looks and me strangely when i make a comment on the text. He doesn't like to call on me anymore.

Ending #3 I think I'm going to steal a box of cookies.

Georges Braque

i have really loved taking world of art this semester. i especially love the modern art we are dicussing and have discovered a new favorite artist. His name is Georges Braque and he is a cubist painter adnd a contemporary of Picasso. Here are some of his works:

My revelation

i wish that i got the concept of a blog when i had started blogging. It would have been amazing to have chronicled my semester this way. So i will start by chronicling today. It was the final performance of Spring Sing and after crying so much last night i was expecting today to be much more emotional. That's not at all what happened. In fact it was during the Accapella choir's segment that i had the revelation to create this blog.

i went in immediate auto-pilot. The idea for the perfect blog had been somehow dropped into my head and i was not about to let it out. i thought it out and let it encompass me. i don't even remeber performing two or three of the songs i was so engrossed in the idea. I came around just before we sang 'How can I Keep From Singing?' and i know this about to sound really stupid, but in my head i imagined that i was saying something like 'how can i keep from writing?' and suddenly the song made so much sense and i had this revelation and conformation that i was doing it right; that i was supposed to be an english major and if i really keep after it i will find everything i want out of it. It was such an incredible, warm feeling. Like everything i had done, right or wrong, had gotten me to be who i was in that moment and in that moment i was on my way to becoming exactly what i wanted to become and what God wanted me to become. What a pawerful experience. It was one i will not soon forget, and i hope that i can continue feeling that way about myself as i prgress through life.

Lets try this again

So ever since i started blogging ( funny that 'life from the sidelines' was the first blog i attempted) i have been looking for the perfect blog for me. How do i express myself successfully. i think i finally found it. 'a room of one's own' is going to combine elements of all of my other blogs. originally this blog was entitled 'life from the sidelines' where i decided to be ridiculously funny (hence the first two posts) but now i want to try another approach where i really be very true to me posting pictures or videos i love and showing the world through my eyes.

One inspiriation for this blog came from the post things that happen from my blog Chad's everyday. i love finding meaning in everyday life so that will be a big part of this blog. Also there will be a lot of reminiscing and self-discovery. And I will put many of my short stories and writing ideas here. If my inspiration and vision of this blog become reality, this will be the blog to follow. Well i guess its up to you reader, read on and let me know.

Why you Should be Scared of the Dark

The dark is a pretty timid thing that likes to hide in corners and runs away when you turn on a lamp.

Except any time I turn off the light in any room ever, all the furniture in that room decides to play a little game called Lets-all-jump-right-in-Chad's-way-cause-he-can't-see-us.

Then I trip and die.

The End