Tonight's post comes to you from Manakin-Sabot, Virginia, the humble stomping grounds of the ever-amazing Alexander Keevil! Ian, Catherine, Alexander and I are here for APO Sectionals at the University of Richmond (Get Caught In the Web...of SERVICE!). Philip's here to attend Sectionals and also acquire a unicycle. Which is awesome.
I have lots of respect for people who take the time to learn eccentric skills such as this. I took juggling classes over one summer and got fairly decent, the caveat being that I could only handle things that fell slowly, like tissues. But man, wouldn't it be sweet if I knew how to juggle for real? Or ride a unicycle? Or, like, breathe fire? One's immediate reaction may be "these things don't serve any practical purpose. Wouldn't you rather learn how to make sound investments or use a compass?" To those people I say don't come crying to me when you have to eat your way through a wall of swords and all you've got is that cute little book about knot-tying.
Well that was a random little tangent, wasn't it? In either case, I guess my most eccentric skill at this point is my ability to drive buses. Granted, I'm not amazing at it, but if a bus needs moving, or, say, if I'm riding a bus down a Los Angeles speedway and the bus driver is accidentally killed by a paranoid fugitive who gets spooked by a cop that's trying to explain that there's a bomb on the bus, I'm your man. I'm actually really enjoying my job with UTS. Well, at least the actual elements of service. This morning I woke up with the sudden chilling realization that my alarm didn't go off and I was already 10 minutes late for my shift, and that wasn't as fun. Once I'd driven across town and slapped myself awake, however, things got really great. I love the people that I drive around. In our fast-paced society I think it's easy to fall into a behavior where we drift past each other without a word. We must come across hundreds of people a day and yet we're so frightened to step out of our boxes and make friends with someone new.
I really try t break that during my shifts. If it's just me and someone else on my bus, or basically if someone's just close enough to have a conversation with me, I give 'em a little prod to talk. "Where are you going today?" "How's your day going?" "Busy out tonight, isn't it?". Something simple like that. I can say with full sincerity that I've never regretted initiating one of these conversations. I get to learn where people are from and where they're going. I learn about their hopes, fears, and everything in between. One woman I started talking with asked me what it was like to fly a spaceship. This may be my favorite conversation so far, because I actually more than often imagine I'm behind the steering gauge the Millennium Falcon, the Enterprise or Serenity, transporting passengers on their way to the next spaceport or terraformed moon. I wanted to believe she could read my mind and knew that's how I kept things interesting. Maybe she did. People are special like that.
I learned about a really interesting society of folks just recently for my presentation in my Anthropology of Reproduction class. They're called the !Kung, and they're a nomadic culture that lives in the Kalahari desert. A lot of people know them for the "clicking" consonant in their language (signified by an exclamation point (again, awesome)), and their nomadic lifestyle combined with the harsh conditions of their homeland have shaped them into some of the toughest people on the planet. Their women literally keep working until the day they give birth. And, when they finally do, the sneak away from the village and give birth alone, without any pain-meds, right out in the bush. Basically, these are people that you don't want to screw with. If you want to learn more about them, visit wikipedia. If you want to make fun of their clicking consonant, may God protect you.
I think my favorite name for a band ever is actually "!!!". They say you can pronounce it with any three sounds. From here on out I'm opting for the clicking noise. The best name I've ever come up with for a band was "The Benevolent Dictators". In high school I was in a band called "His Boy Elroy", also an awesome name. But that's a story for another time.
The other night I was given the name "Milky" by Shannon, the waitress at St. Maarten's. She's come to call me Milky because I always order milk with my buffalo wings, and I'm not old enough to buy beer from her yet. Also when I drink milk it makes me kinda feel delightfully insane like Alex in A Clockwork Orange. And it's still the best drink in the world for bubble-blowing. Frankly, I think the name is awesome. I'm hoping I might see it on my mug there one day. I feel like if I have a nickname there after only three times of going I've got a pretty good foot in the door for a mug at some point. In the meantime I'm just going to enjoy the back-and-forths.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Gift of Roadkill
It's times like these that I feel I could make a killing off of a little something I invented. I call it the "WWTJD?" bracelet and, yes, as you might imagine, that stands for "What Would Thomas Jefferson Do?". I feel like, with the proper marketing and design (blue and orange string, of course), something like this would sell like PBR at an indie rock show.
I say this because I feel like at least once a week someone or some group at UVA tells me to join their side of an issue because "Thomas Jefferson would agree with me/us!" Take, for example, both sides in the current Single Sanction/Sanction Reform debate at the University. Everybody here seems to assume that they are a champion of Jeffersonian ideals, and, while that's a noble and romantic notion, truth be told, that argument makes me really uncomfortable. Like any other human being Thomas Jefferson said a lot of things in his life, most of which were contradictory. If you look hard enough you can probably find quotes from him that could be inferred to support everything from socialism to tyranny. And while I have mad respect for my man TJ, or at least the one I think I know, let's remember what the immortal Capt. Malcolm Reynolds once said: "I figure anybody who ever got a statue made of himself was one kind of a**hole or another".
Lindsay File was gracious enough to give me her copy of a book that has played a major role in shaping her spirituality: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. The author totes it as a nonreligious discussion of Christian ethic, and I've spent about half of my time reading this book trying to decide if this statement is supposed to be ironic. Judging by Don, an artsy, humorous Portlander who seemingly found God among the haze of marijuana, miracles and conflicted dogma, I'd say it has to be. But I really like Don's writing style, and I'm surprised at how personally engaging this book has been for my spirituality.
I actually strongly considered attending Reed College, where many of Don's personal stories take place, and I can't help but feel like I would have been one of the students that made Christians on campus like him so scared to be who they are. It's not because I'm opposed to Christianity. Far from it. I feel like if everybody followed the ideals of Jesus (love your neighbor, blessed are the meek, etc.) the world would be a wonderful place. The problem, like with Jefferson, is that it's so easy for Jesus' "real" opinions to be misconstrued. I mean, there are Christians like Mother Theresa and there are Christians like Fred Phelps (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Phelps). There are Christians like Gandhi (or actually people who like Christ but not Christians like Gandhi. Thanks for pointing out the mistake, Nick) who support civil unrest and Christians like some choice teachers at my Catholic high school who almost kicked me out for my hair length and let the guys who cheated on the PSAT go with a slap on the wrist. Christians of the latter persuasion make me feel apprehensive toward self-identified Christians as a whole, but I'm beginning to learn, or rather relearn, that this is ultimately a problem of mine, not a problem of the actual faith.
There is a passage in the book when Don and his fellow Christian students set up a confession booth, but of a different kind. In this booth these guys apologize for the negative actions of the church, like the Crusades and televangelism. They apologize to these Reed students, folks who typically have never taken interest in or have been pushed away by the Christian church, and I found this extremely moving. So did they. Don recalls lots of tears and hugs. It's quite beautiful, and it completely turned around the intellectual frustration I experienced in reading the first hundred or so pages.
One of the wisest things I've ever heard was something my grandmother once told my mom, and that's that people always try to do the best they can. I wish I could remember this because as much as I ultimately love people there are pockets of humanity that often frustrate me. But, again, it's ultimately my problem, not theirs. I need to be the change that I want to see in the world. Nothing about life will begin to change until I change my own heart.
I tried to reflect on these thoughts this weekend during project when I was picking up cigarette butts and other assorted treasures off the side of South 29. It frustrates me that no mater how many times I go the side of that road is filthy all over again whenever I come back. So many people don't seem to care about what they're doing to the planet, our planet. But, at the same time, I remember that this is exactly why I try to be a good person. If the world were a perfect place there wouldn't be a need for service, but then there wouldn't be an opportunity to better ourselves and really connect with people. And people are awesome.
I hung out with some especially awesome people for Valentines Day (Hilary, Matt, Elena and Julian)! Instead of being struck by Cupid's arrow we were instead struck by the more instinctual (and, in my experience, satisfying) thirst to explore. I've been stunneling now more times than I can count, and almost every time I go I see the same message in bastardized Greek over the Stadium Gate. Hilary and I got to talking about it and decided we were going to find out just what it said and just what it would lead us to. So, as a team, we went stunneling and I copied that message and a much larger (and more important, as I later found out) message about halfway between the Stadium Gate and Graffiti Jesus. That night I was up until 4 trying to crack the code, and to my extreme satisfaction I succeeded and was very intrigued by the Message. In the interest of not spoiling the surprise for others (especially Hilary, who still doesn't know what the Message translates to) I'll refrain from posting what I've found here. After we copied the Message we saw Jesus, visited the Pipe, strolled down Poet's Row and popped out at Physics Portal. All I can say is if you haven't gone stunneling, make an effort. There are more treasures than one student could ever uncover down there, and it's the part of UVA that makes it most seem like Hogwarts to me.
Earlier that day I also found a dead 'possum on the side of the road. It may have been nasty, it may have been smelly, it may have been heavy and drippy when I picked it up, but it would be easy to complain. That 'possum was a gift.
I say this because I feel like at least once a week someone or some group at UVA tells me to join their side of an issue because "Thomas Jefferson would agree with me/us!" Take, for example, both sides in the current Single Sanction/Sanction Reform debate at the University. Everybody here seems to assume that they are a champion of Jeffersonian ideals, and, while that's a noble and romantic notion, truth be told, that argument makes me really uncomfortable. Like any other human being Thomas Jefferson said a lot of things in his life, most of which were contradictory. If you look hard enough you can probably find quotes from him that could be inferred to support everything from socialism to tyranny. And while I have mad respect for my man TJ, or at least the one I think I know, let's remember what the immortal Capt. Malcolm Reynolds once said: "I figure anybody who ever got a statue made of himself was one kind of a**hole or another".
Lindsay File was gracious enough to give me her copy of a book that has played a major role in shaping her spirituality: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. The author totes it as a nonreligious discussion of Christian ethic, and I've spent about half of my time reading this book trying to decide if this statement is supposed to be ironic. Judging by Don, an artsy, humorous Portlander who seemingly found God among the haze of marijuana, miracles and conflicted dogma, I'd say it has to be. But I really like Don's writing style, and I'm surprised at how personally engaging this book has been for my spirituality.
I actually strongly considered attending Reed College, where many of Don's personal stories take place, and I can't help but feel like I would have been one of the students that made Christians on campus like him so scared to be who they are. It's not because I'm opposed to Christianity. Far from it. I feel like if everybody followed the ideals of Jesus (love your neighbor, blessed are the meek, etc.) the world would be a wonderful place. The problem, like with Jefferson, is that it's so easy for Jesus' "real" opinions to be misconstrued. I mean, there are Christians like Mother Theresa and there are Christians like Fred Phelps (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Phelps). There are Christians like Gandhi (or actually people who like Christ but not Christians like Gandhi. Thanks for pointing out the mistake, Nick) who support civil unrest and Christians like some choice teachers at my Catholic high school who almost kicked me out for my hair length and let the guys who cheated on the PSAT go with a slap on the wrist. Christians of the latter persuasion make me feel apprehensive toward self-identified Christians as a whole, but I'm beginning to learn, or rather relearn, that this is ultimately a problem of mine, not a problem of the actual faith.
There is a passage in the book when Don and his fellow Christian students set up a confession booth, but of a different kind. In this booth these guys apologize for the negative actions of the church, like the Crusades and televangelism. They apologize to these Reed students, folks who typically have never taken interest in or have been pushed away by the Christian church, and I found this extremely moving. So did they. Don recalls lots of tears and hugs. It's quite beautiful, and it completely turned around the intellectual frustration I experienced in reading the first hundred or so pages.
One of the wisest things I've ever heard was something my grandmother once told my mom, and that's that people always try to do the best they can. I wish I could remember this because as much as I ultimately love people there are pockets of humanity that often frustrate me. But, again, it's ultimately my problem, not theirs. I need to be the change that I want to see in the world. Nothing about life will begin to change until I change my own heart.
I tried to reflect on these thoughts this weekend during project when I was picking up cigarette butts and other assorted treasures off the side of South 29. It frustrates me that no mater how many times I go the side of that road is filthy all over again whenever I come back. So many people don't seem to care about what they're doing to the planet, our planet. But, at the same time, I remember that this is exactly why I try to be a good person. If the world were a perfect place there wouldn't be a need for service, but then there wouldn't be an opportunity to better ourselves and really connect with people. And people are awesome.
I hung out with some especially awesome people for Valentines Day (Hilary, Matt, Elena and Julian)! Instead of being struck by Cupid's arrow we were instead struck by the more instinctual (and, in my experience, satisfying) thirst to explore. I've been stunneling now more times than I can count, and almost every time I go I see the same message in bastardized Greek over the Stadium Gate. Hilary and I got to talking about it and decided we were going to find out just what it said and just what it would lead us to. So, as a team, we went stunneling and I copied that message and a much larger (and more important, as I later found out) message about halfway between the Stadium Gate and Graffiti Jesus. That night I was up until 4 trying to crack the code, and to my extreme satisfaction I succeeded and was very intrigued by the Message. In the interest of not spoiling the surprise for others (especially Hilary, who still doesn't know what the Message translates to) I'll refrain from posting what I've found here. After we copied the Message we saw Jesus, visited the Pipe, strolled down Poet's Row and popped out at Physics Portal. All I can say is if you haven't gone stunneling, make an effort. There are more treasures than one student could ever uncover down there, and it's the part of UVA that makes it most seem like Hogwarts to me.
Earlier that day I also found a dead 'possum on the side of the road. It may have been nasty, it may have been smelly, it may have been heavy and drippy when I picked it up, but it would be easy to complain. That 'possum was a gift.
Friday, February 13, 2009
"Carpe Diem!"- The Semi-Existential First Post
I have been alive for 19 years, 7 months, 4 days, 14 hours, and 2 minutes. It's been a really crazy run so far, too. So why, after 19 years, 7 months, 4 days, and now 3 minutes, have I decided to begin logging my experiences in the digital medium? Because I realize, after 19 years, 7 months, 14 hours, and now 4 minutes, that time moves with or without me. I'm the one who gets to decide the life I live, the dreams I pursue, the adventures I take, and the experiences I have.
However, this post is not a lament of life wasted, because I feel that I'm pretty good about living in the moment and loving what I'm doing. This is, instead, a dedication to you, to me, to the world and the powers that lie beyond that I am grateful for this thing called Life. I am grateful, and I intend to enjoy it for as long as possible.
I have two long-term goals I wish to see this blog accomplish
1) To immortalize my thoughts and experiences so that I can look back later on and have a moment-by-moment account of the significant events in my life.
2) To do and think things that are important enough and interesting enough to make for a good read.
I can't imagine at the present time what else this might evolve into, but I sincerely hope you enjoy the ride.
However, this post is not a lament of life wasted, because I feel that I'm pretty good about living in the moment and loving what I'm doing. This is, instead, a dedication to you, to me, to the world and the powers that lie beyond that I am grateful for this thing called Life. I am grateful, and I intend to enjoy it for as long as possible.
I have two long-term goals I wish to see this blog accomplish
1) To immortalize my thoughts and experiences so that I can look back later on and have a moment-by-moment account of the significant events in my life.
2) To do and think things that are important enough and interesting enough to make for a good read.
I can't imagine at the present time what else this might evolve into, but I sincerely hope you enjoy the ride.
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