thoughts from an ordinary girl.

beam and reverse

2007-11-23T00:49:00.001-05:00

hiatus

2007-11-23T00:47:00.000-05:00

"For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart" ~Ecclesiastes 5:20

i've felt this strongly before, and I kind of crave being there again. i've been way too reflective the past couple of days, to the point where it is hampering peace of mind...maybe some of that is just coming home. It's hard to carve out a "present" for myself here, since I'm surrounded with ancient memories. old journals, scrapbooks, the stuff in my room hasn't changed since senior year of high school but I've changed so much.

thanksgiving break is so weird. it's like stopping 2/3 of the way through a footrace...you had so much momentum even though you were really tired. now I'm not so tired, but I can't imagine finishing the last leg of the race...or starting the last leg of it.

for as tired as I've been this semester, it hasn't been because of work. I've been half-assing the last part of advanced photojournalism. I think I'm thinking too much...in the philosophical, circular way that sometimes gets me somewhere important but often keeps me in a state of paralysis. I really want to just be "doing" again...I want to be busy, enjoying my work, enjoying any semblance of routine. As it is, I've been all over the place. Other people have been all over the place, and I may be letting it affect me too much.

I guess it's okay. True, my identity is not wrapped up in how much I accomplish. "Fear God and keep his commands, for this is the whole duty of man." That's it...right there. And in all my thinking I've kinda forgotten this. Again, it's okay. Repent and believe.

repeat

2007-10-12T00:04:00.000-05:00

I stumbled across this scrap of writing that I wrote around this time last year. I can't believe that this came out of my own mouth...I've been unable to conjure the truth on my own. I guess that's why I need the body of Christ...because I will never be able to preach it all to myself.

My soul has been aching for this...this break not so much from school but from my racing mind and swirling fears. I was going to write about the latter, but I've changed my mind and am going to let it go...I've beat the subject to death, I've psychoanalyzed and overanalyzed and overcried and overfelt everything...and...it's...fragmenting...scattering. Screw how I feel and how I think and what I feel and what I think, because I know full well that my emotions are fickle. a whisper...Courtney, all that matters is that YOU are the bride of Christ, and that He not only knows about all your crap but has DIED for it and FORGIVEN it and has promised to provide. It's not dependent on how confident I am with photography or how well I "reach out" to other people or how productive I've been or how little sleep I've gotten because I'm so busy "doing God's work." and if I don't pray or read the Bible for a day, God will not love me any less, because He sees me AS CHRIST! Christ is in me and I am in him, and He will meet me in my despair or my frustration or my intense doubts about my 'performance' in this walk of life.

Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. 3It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.

I thank God that it is not up to my strength. I thank God that He won't let any of these freaking idols that I am running after become my rock. I thank God for my troubles, even for my troubled mind...because it leads me back to Him. Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love...He is able.

Yeah, so basically I am dead tired. Tired of centering my life around work.

ugly cap and gown picture, random insights

2007-09-28T13:33:00.001-05:00

it's sad that my most recent update is to copy and paste the html coding of an online quiz I took.

Your Dominant Thinking Style: Visioning

You are very insightful and tend to make decisions based on your insights.
You focus on how things should be - even if you haven't worked out the details.

An idealist, thinking of the future helps you guide your path.
You tend to give others long-term direction and momentum.

What's Your Thinking Style?

I think this is pretty accurate...the visual part at least. I' not sure if I really give others "long-term direction and momentum." Then again, I am wrought with self-doubt.

at any rate, this semester has been crazy...not busy in terms of schoolwork, but a roller coaster in terms of new and old relationships and growth. God is taking me on a roller-coaster, and I've already thrown up a couple of times (metaphorically, folks). I feel like an Israelite right now...I've forsaken Him over and over and don't trust that He will provide, just as He already has. Job is a comfort right now...God is meeting me in my distress. He is wooing me from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free of restriction (Job 34?). I'm comforted that God knows me completely and loves me completely...He is the one romancing me, pursuing me because I am desirable to Him...even IN my sin, crap, and guilt. It's a beautiful picture, and it's reality!

I miss writing.

words can't

2007-08-06T11:57:00.000-05:00

It's not that I've been uninspired all summer. I've just been doing other things.
(Like reacquainting myself with pop culture).
Thanks, Julianne.

I haven't been much in the mood for writing, reflecting, introspecting, etc. I've been doing all those things in the context of ordinary life, with new evanstonian RUFies, with housemates, and with Julie, of course.

So I'm not even going to try to reduce the summer into a blog-post. I don't like containing things that are real and large.

Which brings me to Mainsqueeze, on 9th street in downtown columbia (missouri). I feel like it was just a month ago that I was here...with the remainder of sophomore spring semester, early summer, st. louis, and chicago being just tiny hiatuses. In all of my "wisdom" I've learned this: when with anne's "bosom friends," it doesn't matter how much time has passed since your last visit. All that time is like a vague string of shadows, as in a dream, and being awake is the tangible reality. I can't really describe the feeling accurately. But I know that one of C.S. Lewis's Four Loves is involved.

update

2007-07-17T13:15:00.000-05:00

it's what I need to do.

moving day

2007-06-07T15:05:00.000-05:00

It's moving day, part one! I just packed all of my stuff for my st. louis/chicago pilgrimage. I can't move into the Evanston house until the 18th of June, so until then I will be frolicking with St. Louis friends in Forest Park and Chesterworld.

These three weeks in North Carolina have confirmed several things:

1) I need a job and responsibilities. Life is boring without work, and the work that I need is people-oriented. Boredom breeds when there is a lack of interesting people (or people in general) because creating 'fun" things to do only gets me so far.

2) I like being a part of community. And i miss fostering those relationships. I like this about RUF and dorm-life at UNC, and especially all the journalism trips. Half the fun of going to Peru and Chile and all of those photojournalism workshops was getting to know my classmates better, and in a new environment. Being around all sorts of people with different opinions and beliefs and personalities than my own challenges me to take a deeper look at the world (and myself) and helps me relate better, in the long-run.

3) the importance of "just doing" things. I've been sitting around too much, thinking about far-off possibilites...like classes, potential jobs, study-abroad options...and it causes too much self-doubt. When I'm not DOING photography I feel like I'm made a bad career decision. And then I waste a lot of time hypothesizing, worrying, running my thoughts in circles. I have enjoyed the hiatus from hard-core photojournalism work, and that is fine. It doesn't mean I'm not fit to do it as a job.

4) I don't ever want to move to Wake Forest for permanent residence. Suburbia scares me, especially when the home becomes the central part of life to the expense of other important aspects of community. It's not just suburbia...I guess this can happen anywhere, but it's especially apparent here, I guess. I'm excited to try out Chicago and see how I like living there.

my brain

2007-06-04T21:16:00.001-05:00

Your Brain's Pattern

Your mind is a creative hotbed of artistic talent.

You're always making pictures in your mind, especially when you're bored.

You are easily inspired to think colorful, interesting thoughts.

And although it may be hard to express these thoughts, it won't always be.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

mirror lonely

2007-06-04T19:54:00.001-05:00

I'd like to memorize more poetry. I'm pretty sure I will fail at this endeavor, as I have in so many other similar undertakings. I came across this William Carlos Williams poem that I quite liked. It has a lovely colour to it.

Danse Russe

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining tres,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my fac,e
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

this is all a bunch of bullshit

2007-06-04T17:16:00.001-05:00

Your Birthdate: April 6

You tend to be a the rock in relationships - people depend on you.
Thoughtful and caring, you often put others needs first.
You aren't content to help those you know... you want to give to the world.
An idealist, you strive for positive change and dream about how much better things could be.

Your strength: Your intuition

Your weakness: You put yourself last

Your power color: Rose

Your power symbol: Cloud

Your power month: June

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

finally

2007-05-31T21:20:00.000-05:00

It's time.

I just ordered two lenses for my digital SLR. Granted, they are relatively cheap and won't last me very long professionally speaking, but they'll work just fine.

I've taken three weeks off from photography. It wasn't really planned, but I was so burned out after one of the most grueling semesters ever, photo-wise. Plus, I had to turn in all of the J-school's camera equipment (which is, usually, one of the saddest days of the year! thousands of dollars worth of beautiful equipment at my fingertips for (essentially) free. It's one of the wonderful things about Carolina's photojournalism program...there is so much money circulating that school!) Anyways, so come summer vacation, and I have no good equipment, one broken lens, and a really exhausted artistic spirit. That equals...a photo hiatus.

It was definitely a good thing for me...much needed. But right now I am looking at Women in Photojournalism best of show photographs...beautiful, inspiring art, and I am wanting so badly to just take pictures. To get back at it.

Photography is like poetry for me. I wish I could be a song-writer or the next William Carlos Williams, but I just don't have the gift for that. I want to immerse myself in a world of beauty and contrasts, in a world slowed down by the quick opening and closing of my camera's shutter.

goodbye, may. hello, june

2007-05-31T17:03:00.000-05:00

Oh dear, it's nearly June. One month of my summer has nearly passed, and I don't have much to show for it. A nice tan-line, a vintage dress, and one 1000-piece puzzle. I have enjoyed the time to just read (I finished Harry Potter books 5 and 6, Life of Pi, and have picked at Mere Christianity, and various Christian lit). But my wandering spirit is screaming to go discover some new place and challenge myself socially.

This past year has been filled with such exciting adventures: hanging out with boarding school students in Chile, swimming with a river-shrimper in Peru, getting hit-on by a 72-year old Indian Chief in Cherokee, N.C. (ha!), ending my teenage years with a bang on a bus in Panama, when the clock struck midnight...sigh. I guess those were the cross-cultural adventures, although I'm forgetting all over the wonderful hidden secrets of UNC, of solidifying meaningful relationships with unsuspecting folks, of discovering rope-swing trees and magical places in the woods, of delving deeper into photojournalism and, concomitantly, the larger Chapel Hill/Triangle community. I suppose this is me in hindsight, romanticizing the past year's experiences. Oh, but I am so thankful for them!

Ben told me in one of our last talks of the semester that he hoped I had a boring year, for a change. (Based on current circumstances, I wonder if he is a prophet?) (I am kidding). I do see the merit of suddenly having no obligations...it's such a hard thing for me, since I sort of thrive on the External. But it's pushing me to pray more and working out my salvation in practical terms. I'm not doing too well at loving my family and keeping myself immersed in community, but that pushes me to rely on God's grace all the more. I guess I have all sorts of time to experience my own stench and waywardness...a state of sin and misery that can easily go unnoticed when I'm doing all sorts of things at school. (Not that doing things is bad...we're called to be part of community and to love others). I guess this is what Ben was thinking of when we had that discussion about my immediate future/decision-making.

Well, I will be very excited to start school in the fall...UNITAS is going to be really challenging but quite excitng, I hope. It will bring those international travles right to my living space. I didn't want to do it for awhile after I got accepted, but now I'm warming up drastically to the program. Yay for theme housing. Yay for diversity.

vanity

2007-05-24T22:05:00.000-05:00

I'd like to get a nose ring. On my left-side. I still can't bring myself to do it...I can't think of a good enough reason, other than "it's cute" and "I'm bored with my pierced ears." I guess it's one of those things where you can't really come up with an "original" reason to jump on the bandwagon.

today's mood--->

I finished the 5th Harry Potter book today. I'm really excited about the new book and the new movie...ahhhh. It's one of those nice pleasures that you forget about while your studying "real" things at the University. But Harry Potter is wicked.

I guess that concludes this post. I don't have any profound thoughts of the day. It's just been a pleasant, lazy summer afternoon. Oh, and I made afternoon scones today. Tomorrow I think I might make a summer squash medley and ride my bike to the pool.

green cotton dress

2007-05-23T22:20:00.000-05:00

I'm wearing a green cotton dress right now. I couldn't find a nightgown, but I really wanted to wear something freeing and flowy before I went to sleep. I'm in my room, as usual. It's been a nice cave of sorts the past three days...I read, sleep, nap, watch old movies, nap some more, etc. in here. I didn't leave it once yesterday except to run around the neighborhood and release pent-up energy/frustration.

Summer is frustrating. I feel like a high school student at home...my room is a shrine to my high school self with all it's pictures and dangling medals and high school english lit books. I want to be an adult, but for now I'm just an "adult" (not sans quotations yet): jobless, dependent on my family for money/food/shelter/loving. As far as the job situation goes...it's weird how God has changed my plans. I wasted so much of second semester not just applying for photojournalism internships at newspapers, but worrying about it! Then when that fell through and I no longer wanted to be a full-fledged, independent photojournalist for three months (the thought frightens me terribly), my back-up job with Ami fell through. And now...my high school self wants to find at a coffeeshop or as a nanny, but my professional, "adult"-like self is telling me to get a job doing photography. A real job. Hmm...I don't think it's bad to want to work at a clothing store or a restaurant. I'm having a huge mental/spiritual fight against what journalism professors spend all semester telling us: "You're not a worthy person if you get a "normal" job. You don't want to be working at McDonalds over the summer when you could be honing your skills and working at a newspaper. Internships! Internships!" Gah. I could have had a "worthy" job this summer, but I turned it down. And now I don't have any job, yet, and I am anxious.

Wow, it's crazy how much of my security I place in my work and expectations for the future...something that's not even real! I feel like a different person at home...without the photojournalism classes, photojournalism talk, intense projects, obligatory career nights, Daily Tar Heel assignments. I'm suddenly not engaged on all those future-oriented tasks...and it's good, even though it's hard. In a way, it''s strangely liberating. So liberating that I don't know what to do with myself. (This is not a good feeling, I must admit). I guess it's like...say you were in outerspace in a tiny, confined spaceship for a year. You would get uesd to the obvious boundaries and limitations. You would be comfortable up there, used to your routine. When you come back to earth, you suddenly have an entire world at your feet. You can swim in the vast ocean, you can run a marathon, you can go to the Great Wall of China. The freedom can be paralyzing...you don't know what to do first. The way you defined yourself in space (i.e. based on your surroundings) cannot be applied to Earth. Since you have a different externals, different limitations, you define yourself differently. It's almost like you have to start all over.

The transition from college campus to home can be like that, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, I love reading and relaxing, I love being outside. But I also love being on campus, involved in meaningful work, surrounded by friends and tons of interesting strangers...dying to get a glimpse into their lives. I have different boundaries there, and I make many decisions based on my aspirations with photojournalism. But those boundaries don't apply to home, and photojournalism is pretty much absent here. It's not a smooth transition.

Yes, so obviously I AM the same person. And I know that my identity is only found in Christ: me dwelling in Him, and Him in me. But how does this play out practically? Practically, I let work, friends, external environment, external boundaries define who I am. I don't like that. I know it's human...we all have our own idols. And it's a horrid thing. All I can do is repent and pray that God infiltrates all aspects of my life. I guess that's why it's a good thing that I'm not doing some intense photo-related thing this summer: because I have put so much of my trust and comfort in that, and it's not even real!

Hmm, I haven't completed my thoughts on the matter. And I haven't attained a level of peace yet, but that's fine.

I'm going to go finish Harry Potter 5 and listen to some Derek Webb. In my green cotton dress, in my cave, before I sleep.

These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free
And break thy schemes of earthly joy
That thou mayest seek thy all in me

looking forward to looking back

2007-05-05T13:18:00.000-05:00

I have to write a religion paper on the purpose of reflection, but I'm not feeling that philosophical/academic right now. Besides, I'd rather reflect on real-world experiences than reflect upon reflection. It's a cool topic though. I just have to be in the right setting to think. (right setting=on this rainy saturday afternoon, either by the fireplace at the e. franklin st. caribou coffee, or davis library. I just can't work on anything in my dorm.

Dad came today and helped me move 2/3 of my stuff. I forgot how much I love being around him...we have more in common than I thought in high school. In a way, we've both gone through similar life-changing experiences within the past two years. He finally quit his computer-related job, a source of great unhappiness and frustration, and took on something that more suits his free spirit: truck-driving. He stopped doing what he thought he should be doing and did what he wanted to do...but it was a long process of finding that. College did the same thing to me...heck, I found an old college application essay to UNC with my "professional statement" on it and laughed for a long time. It was a sad laughter, since I was so trapped then...pursuing what I thought I should do (science, pre-med) instead of finding my true desires. I guess that's just a long process, though...I was so tied up in Westmonsterland and family legacies and what not that I wasn't able to explore my real interests. Pastor Byron expressed to me on Tuesday his awe over how much I've blossomed this past year, for lack of better terminology. I've discovered my artistic side here, something that I used to cultivate when I was eight years old and writing crazy short-stories. And then there's the relational realm...a brand new conception for me. And now...I can't imagine a life without photography. Or people. I feel like it's always been a part of me...and maybe it has. I was still a photographer in high school...I just didn't have the equipment. At any rate, I've been freed from my enslavement to academic perfectionism, in God's grace, in coming to Chapel Hill. And I can't really put a finger on when the transition started. It was so gradual...mostly ignited by Chile in June 2006.

Anyways, Dad and I are both free-spirits, I suppose. Prone to wandering and longing to break past the boundaries of scheduled monotony. We both like traveling...the highs that come from seeing new places and meeting new people and then the periods of solitary reflection before returning home. He admitted to me that North Carolina/Wake Forest doesn't feel like "home" for him. He said, "My home is on the road." That's exactly how I feel. Chapel Hill is, admittedly, becoming more of a home. But my real home is out there...out in the world...whether that be on the drive to St. Louis as I pass through the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains and sing Regina Spektor in my car, or on a chiva in Panama with my new friend Olmedo and an old gringo friend beside me, or in a new area: a Cherokee reservation in the Smokies, up north with my sister at an Ivy, out west. I really can't imagine settling down and still don't know if what it's what I really want. I want marriage, I want to learn how to love someone other than myself...but I don't want the suburban package that typically accompanies it. I guess I need to find another wanderer like myself.

Anyways, I'd love to go with Dad on one of his trips. I want him to get a trip out to the Grand Canyon, or Montanta, or Idaho. He said it's not likely unless he transfers to a new company, but oh man...how unforgettable that would be. Me and Dad on the road. Speaking of roads, I need to read On the Road. Carolyn said it's good...and I know it's one of Jules' obsessions. Thank goodness for summer...reading.

I'm sad that the semester/year is coming to a close. I've had so many positive experiences these past nine months...I've made so many unlikely new friends, learned important life-lessons, messed up a good number of times but have grown from it.

I like the rainy Saturday-afternoon mood. It's a good thinking/writing atmosphere. I like peeking out my window in the dorm and watching families take pictures at the Old Well. I think it's a visual that I'm going to miss from sophomore year.

Yelling out my window to RUFers as they convened there for a scavenger hunt in the fall, screaming in ecstasy with Carolyn the first day we moved in and saw our spectacular view, seeing the first snow over the Well in January and taking pictures from my lofted bed,

photographing Carolyn and her friends there in the closing weeks of school, with pink flowers in full bloom.

And just talking on the phone at midnight in that general area. Gah...yeah, I'm going to miss the Old Well "experience," since there's not a specific memory that sums it all up.

Well, I think I'll be on my way to Caribou to start this paper.

I'll leave you with a good refrain that's playing on my computer, and it's a pretty sound:

"Walking out in the freezing rain, I feel nothing because I've numbed the pain. I'm looking forward to looking back on this day." ~Over the Rhine

verano

2007-04-27T13:26:00.000-05:00

I'm so good at procrastinating that I should win an award.

I'm at Weaver Street right now, taking advantage of free wifi, raspberries, and iced coffee. I've decided that when I get my own house I will grow raspberry bushes so that I can eat them whenever I want for free. They really are the best fruit, even though they aren't technically berries. (A raspberry is an aggregate fruit with lots of little drupelet things around a center).

The Brenner family used to grow blueberries in their front yard. I remember waking up one summer morning and picking the berries right off the bush for breakfast. Whenever I drive by their house (which is rare, since I'm never in St. Louis anymore), I glimpse out the window to see if the bush is still thriving.

I have a serious problem when it comes to making decisions. I let my mind wander way too much when I hear of exciting opportunities and start imagining what it would be like to do that or be there. For example...yesterday Andrew told me that there may be one spot left in the Fall 2007 Honors Abroad program to Cape Town, and I decided then and there that I wanted to do that. So i went on a wild goose-chase trying to find the right study abroad advisors. But alas, there is no such spot, and I cannot go to Africa in the Fall. Phooey. I wonder what would happen if I substituted daydreaming/trying desperately to leave UNC with prayer. Would I be more focused? Would I be less prone to fantasize about traveling the world? Food for thought...

At any rate, I think I do want to study abroad for a semester. But I don't want to go alone on an exchange program. I like UNC students. (Isn't it weird how God has been changing my heart with regards to that??? Last semester all I wanted to do was drop out of school and go live with my Peruvian lovers). There's a cool UNC program in Havana, Cuba that happens every spring. I think I might try doing that next spring. Cuba would be AMAZING. I'd get really tan and maybe I'd meet a lovely Latin America boy. :)

We all know how fond I am of foreign boys...

Anyways, I really need to post some more fotos. This is my attitude about the end of the year:

*************

I have so many random, unconnected thoughts right now that I have been steadily aquiring the past week. I've been hanging out with Mormons for a photostory. I think i'll write about that experience later.

Here was a mini-epiphany of mine from last night: You know you feel at home in a place when you have friends/acquaintances willing to smoke cloves with you on the quad at night. Friends who, at one random phone call or run through the UL to see if they are there, will drop what they are doing and spent 15 minutes outside, talking under the night sky. Sometimes I still get lonely and wish Julie or Emily were here...they would always be willing to do something of the sorts. But that loneliness has waned the past semester. Lots of people would be willing to do such a thing...you just have to ask instead of waiting to be asked.

I really like painting with light.

That's all for now. I really do need to start editing these intro texts for the Special Olympics website. Adieu.

desultory

2007-04-25T11:45:00.000-05:00

I've been generally bored all week. Which is weird, because I've got lots of work to do. I guess I'm treating things like a check-list...just pushing to get stuff done so that summer can come sooner. It's made me very unmotivated...so I just lay in the grass. I think I had this problem last April. April really is the month of that bright eye's song.

Why do you lay in the grass?
Why do you lay there?
Don't you want to be found?

I hate Carroll Hall. I always forget to bring my music so I'm usually bored to tears working in the lab. It would be so much better if I brought Coldplay or the Shins or something soothing to assauge the tedium of working in the stupid, windowless labs.

My kleenex smell like cloves because they're in the same bag. I really like blowing my nose now.

I've also been very moody this week. Becca asked me if I wanted to taste her falafel on Monday, and I started tearing up. I don't cry (as) much anymore. I think I bottle up my emotions and then work/stress eventually catch up with me and I start leaking. It's a gradual explosion. But then I felt better because I hung out with the jane murchison/liz ross crowd and they always make me smile. I do wish I had more consistency in my life, in general. balance or something. i wonder if that's an ideal i should stop aiming for, though.

I really want/need to go to an Art Museum. And a bar. But I'm not legal, so I have to wait. Bah. Maybe I'll go to Galen's party on Friday and hang out with the photogs. It won't be as fun as CPJW, though. That was the best.

Okay, I'm going to go eat lunch now. ciao.

product of boredom

2007-04-22T21:40:00.000-05:00

In middle school I would fill out surveys on a monthly basis and send them out in mass emails. Did everyone do that at that age, or was that some wacked WCA thing? At any rate, I still enjoy filling out surveys. mwhahaha

1. What is your natural hair color? dark brown
2. What color is it now? dark brown
3. Do you bite your nails? when I'm bored, but usually, no.
4. Do you like to go shopping? i like thrift stores, produces, shoes, and music. shopping for any of those. Oh, and I like to go shopping when it involves a particular panamanian mall and particular panamanian boy. :)
5. What do you do on a typical Friday night? Eat Indian food or something tasty like that, watch a movie, take a walk, talk on the phone after midnight at the Old Well near my dorm, take off my socks, the like.
6. How long do you take in the shower? when I'm really depressed, 15-30 minutes. Otherwise I guess it's around 10 minutes. Showering has become a hobby of sorts.
7. What is the worst day of the week? Wednesday. That second 8 am is wretched, and that second DTH shift is even wretcheder. (like my grammar?)
8. Who is the last person you talked to on the phone? the mormon missionaries, for my photo story.
9. When was the last time you saw your dad? on easter sunday, at home.
10. When is the last time you went to the doctor's? uhh...in february when i was sick perpetually.
11. Have you ever stayed overnight at a hospital? yes.
12. How many siblings do you have? 1, and an imaginary one (Fred).
13. Do you know anyone named Bob? personally, no.
14. Did you used to read those "I spy" books when you were a kid? no. But I spied for a time.
15. Which magazines have you had subscriptions to? some photography thing, newsweek, uh..american girl?
16. Did you ever read any of the Babysitter Club books? YES. they are my life.
17. What is one weird thing about you that many people don't know? i stuck a bead up my nose when i was six and it hurt.
18. Are you a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? really heavy sleeper. apparently i move a lot, too. just ask poor carolyn.
19. What color shirt are you wearing? puke yellow with blue stains. it's really ugly. It's from my lost childhood.
20. What is the worst feeling in the world? hicupping in the library (everyone stares). I'm experiencing this right now...and I didn't think it was the worst feeling until it happened.

musings

2007-04-22T21:13:00.000-05:00

how about a nice narrative?

today was a lovely spring day spent rolling in the grass. I smell like sweat, grass, and mud. And I look horrid, clad in my 1997 children's choir shirt that has aqua-blue paint stains on the left sleeve from that day karah and I painted my bedroom.

Epiphany of the day= running in the woods is an activity that should be done more. It's a solitary activity in which you don't feel alone, paradoxically. I don't, at least. I'm away from the crowds, the deadlines, the blinking digitial clock on my wardrobe top...and all sense of time and place kind of floats away as I let my mind wander, loosening the fetters. And it hurts...my chest hurts and my shins ache, but I just keep running...half-talking to myself, half-talking to God.

Some of my most vivid memories from high school stem from long runs in the woods. They are timeless. They are free from anxiety about the past, present, or future. Just me and the weathered trail, maybe some running buddies, but inevitably I am alone with the trees and the ground and the crickets. It wasn't even a particularly beautiful park. But that's what I remember most vividly...the experience of running in the woods.

I feel like I'm wasting my energy, my youthful physique (ha!). Eating, Exercising, my body image and the like...gosh, it's been such a struggle since senior year. freshmen 15 and then some, that's for sure. I just want to run again...to not worry about how I look or how far I've run or how many calories I've expended. I just want to get that release again. But it's so darn hard working up to it...every day is like day 1. I never really get past that initial run.

So I doubt I will ever be able to reclaim that vigor I once had. I'm too jaded. I'm also too fat. I'm also more content with life, with inconsitency, with myself. Running used to be an escape from the unknown. I don't want it to be an escape. I just want it.

But I still doubt I'll ever be able to do it. And I guess I have to be okay with that.

On a different note, the semester is almost over. Pretty soon I will be in Florida with RUF, then at Yale with my big sister, then St. Louis for a couple of weeks, and then Chicago for the remainder of the summer with Jules. I don't really want to think about the summer. I don't want to have any preconceived, romantic notions about what it should be, since what it will be is always drastically different (and usually, hopefully better). I can still have goals/desires, though. I guess they are as follows:

that I can finish the school year with some sense of peace. It all will end so darn quickly...and I want to savour the last two weeks with some of my best friends who will be leaving, venturing out into the Big World next fall. I want to run in the woods (we've already established this), and I want to just BE. Just be with friends, with my roomie, with my church.
summer...wow, that I can slow down and enjoy each moment for what it is. That I can stop comparing every second of every day to this unrealistic, unattainable ideal that I carry heavily in my head.
That I can approach God with regularity and spontaneity (ah, because I still maintain that the former is important). I want growth in God to be a goal...it's a nagging desire I've had brewing inside of me this past month, but I haven't gotten to really devote myself to prayer/fellowship/study of Scripture the way I'd like to (maybe this is another one of those unattainable ideals). Granted, I know it is God who grows me, not myself, but what can I do to speed up the process? I say that with a hint of sincerity. :)
That I can put serious "photo" thinking aside...that ever-present anxiety about the future, about doing all that I can be doing to hone my skills and crap like that. there is more to life than my career, there is more to life than work...and I desperately want to grasp that. It's come in glimmers the past two years. And again, maybe since perfectionism is my devil, this is another unrealistic ideal...i can never be anxiety-free. But as far as my focus goes, I don't want to be stressing out about photo.
as for smaller things...I'd like to sing more. Outside of my car, that is. I'd like to sketch landscapes. I'd also like to play the guitar. Maybe my sister will lend me hers, which was a Christmas present she never really used. I'd like to be more of a hippie. Maybe get my nose pierced and eat granola.

Oh, and of course, I'd like to write more. And take pretty pictures of nature and put them up on this blog. Because I haven't done that in (gasp) over six months.

april showers

2007-04-10T22:56:00.000-05:00

I'm a wave-riding sort of girl. I think I am, by nature/socialization/some personality conditioned to be extreme and driven, but deep down I crave stability and happiness. love, friends, family, church, the body of Christ, enjoying the world that I'm living in and looking forward to the hope I have in heaven. But I get so distracted and easily tossed around, especially when dealing with authority figures telling me what I should do with my life, or what I should want to do with my life. And especially with regards to photo.

I was about to launch into a lengthy exposition on why this is the case, but I just now decided not to. I'm sick of being all stressed/fearful about my future. I've wasted the last hour worrying, where I could have been talking with someone or listening to music.

Okay, well, my creative juices have evaporated and now I'm going to go talk to Joey and listen to Over the Rhine. I don't know why I titled this "april showers."

I want to make a photoblog.

March

2007-03-05T23:32:00.000-05:00

I missed an entire month.

I didn't miss experiences, but I missed writing about them and discovering hidden secrets through that process where all things are illuminated.

I'm sitting at the UL and I'm supposed to be studying like a good student for her upcoming Studio Lighting Midterm. But my thoughts keep taking me elsewhere...to the safety of my high school bubble and the baby-blue comfort of seeing the same crowd day after day. Even though I prefer the broader spectrum of shades and depths at college (can we say the real world, yet?), that part of me that is still a child longs for the olden days of black and white. Thinking critically (and I'm not talking about inside the classroom) is fatiguing and scary. The days of When. When I would skip class with Julie and Karah or lay in the grass after 4th period. When I had lacrosse practice and touring choir and piano lessons on Tuesday nights. It's a time of my life that is growing more foreign by the minute. So much of it was mechanical...but it made the memory-making so much sweet. The grass, the road-trips, the rainy tuesday evenings driving down Lindbergh Blvd. with Jules or Lydia listening to Iron & Wine or whatever band I had just discovered. And I love that life isn't as mechanical anymore, but I miss that the friend-times aren't as spontaneous.

Does growing up mean that you lose all spontaneity? Will I one day stop swinging at the elementary school playground? Will I stop taking a two-hour walk at midnight when I feel that tightness well up in my chest? Probably. It will be replaced with better things. Not stability and routine, but children and work and responsibility. I just hope that my relationships can always retain that youthful elasticity and vigor.

Right now I am lonely. I won't be tomorrow. I wasn't even lonely for most of the day. But I'm sitting here thinking about the good friends that I have made this year that are suddenly leaving. Emmanuel is going to Canada tonight to become a father. Laura and Melanie and Dave are graduating. Even those people that I'm not particularly close to but I just like being around..are not present. Tory is in Spain. Alex is in Cuba. But I mostly just miss Emmanuel, and if I wasn't so saturated with technical photography terms I would start to cry, ever so softly.

I know that God is faithful and that He's all I need. But that doesn't mean that I don't need people in my life. My ministry is to partake in the building up of the body of Christ. To discover the beauty of relationships and learn about mutual encouragement and friendship. I am adopted into one gigantic family that takes joy in what I talk about at the dinner table when we're feasting together. And even though people are leaving geographically and maybe even a bit socially, they are just as much my family and Christ is still just as much the Head, who makes sure that we care for one another. It makes me long for heaven...when we can all be together again without ANY barriers...physcial, geographical, psychological, emotional, mental, spiritual, racial, gender(al)?. When the world will be restored to the way it was created and the fullness of Christ will radiate through our entire beings. There's a glimpse of that now, and I pray that God can keep revealing his splendor and love to me so that I get "hot for him," as ben might say. Earth is one large pre-gaming session, and heaven is the real party.

I hope that I can become less self-reflective and more God-reflective. Or that the self-reflectiveness can forever point me into the latter.

This letter isn't really about March. Or is it?

back to the slate

2007-01-10T15:49:00.000-05:00

One word answers:
1. Yourself: average
2. Your girlfriend/boyfriend/crush: nonexistant
3. Your hair?: swept
4. Your mother? sensible
5. Your Father? gregarious
6. Your Favorite Item: SLR
7. Your dream last night: anxious
8. Your Favorite drink: coffee
9. Your Dream Car: stick-shift
10. The Room You Are In: sunlit
11. Your Ex: invisible
12. Your fear: myself
13. What you want to be in 10 years: abroad(er)
14. Who you hung out with last night? carolyn
15. What You're Not? rational
16. Muffins: scones
17: One of Your Wish List Items: telephoto
18: Time: afternoon
19. The Last Thing You Did: napped
20. What You Are Wearing: retro
21. Your Favorite Weather: moody
22. Your Favorite Book: stream-of-consciousness
23. The Last Thing You Ate: cheezits
24. Your Life: yellow
25. Your Mood: complacent
26. Your body: regular
27. What are you thinking about right now? love
29. What are you doing at the moment? pondering
30. Your summer: growth
31. Best part of your life: God
Current Music: silence

thinking.

2006-11-18T02:01:00.000-05:00

It's that time of evening when I turn into a thinking, writing, perturbed paintbrush.

not sure what I said really.

2006-11-13T10:41:00.000-05:00

It's the two-year anniversary of imagination. Julie would understand. Although her November was the pits. Mine...that was when I bought a new journal. That was when I would peruse books at Borders and drink coffee in the evening. That was the month of East of Eden and All the Kings Men. It was a month of tights and falling in love. It was a month of emo British lyrics and rearranging my bedroom. And I haven't thought about it in awhile.

Granted, there were lots of screwed up things then. And I was pretty absorbed in myself and teenage ennui and things of that nature. But there was something there. Something lovely though I'm not sure how real it was. Though it felt real.

I'm too serious in college. I think too much about what the future holds. I worry. Conversations revolve around schoolwork and scheduling and next semester...that's just the way things roll. Campus organizations and endless paths of brick...it's like a plastic organism.

I'm complaining, I know. I'm trying to reclaim something I lost upon coming to college...even though I've gained so much more. Youth is fleeting, beauty if fleeting, success is fleeting. I wish I could see things through the eyes of a centenarian.

In the meantime, I will wear tights. I will look outside of the library window at the flaming orange leaves and wait for them to fall. And I will pray...pray that God will help me reconcile this longing for shomething differnet with contentment in the here and now. My thoughts aren't the most glorifying at this moment, and it makes me wonder if this blog post has any purpose whatsoever. I don't think I've said anything.

Oh well. Who really does?

I need to just go pray.

on and on and on and on and on and on and on...

2006-11-13T10:13:00.000-05:00

I can remember that time in my life where all I could do, all I could feel, all I could think about was the writing that was inside me, welling up until I just had to spit it out on paper. Not on a computer, but in my leather-bound journal, my cuaderno cafecito. Spanish thoughts and impressions, Spanish words and ideas, Spanish longings and dissatsifaction with the white American complacency. I would sit at the kitchen table and let the summer light pour through the windows as I poured over blank pages and watched them fill themselves...magically, naturally. Cinco, seis, diez paginas de ideas, de pensar y crear y sentirme.

I miss that time.

Something wonderful happens to you when you return from a foreign country. Something wonderful and unbearble. Unbearable because you can't stand anything that you used to like...you can't enjoy television or music, you can't stand the studying or the saturday football games. You can't stand the toilet paper and the low-fat salad dressing. You can't even stand the air-conditioning. Your thoughts are absorbed by the way things were in that other land that now feels more like home than this foreign place. You miss the Spanish and the frijoles con arroz or the tortilla de patatas. You miss the walking, the heat, the tiredness, because those feel more real than this. But it's wonderful, coming back, not because you can cherish all those American things again and started consuming, but because you realize the ephimeral nature of things. That what you needed before wasn't really necessary, that the world you had erected and that society had deemed "normal" for you really could be questioned, challenged, destroyed. That you hide yourself in structure, that you hide yourself in the television channels, that you hide yourself in the english language, that you hide yourself in the american dream. Go to high school, graduate with honors, go to college, get a degree, get married, have kids, be successful. Is that order necessary? These things are gifts from God, yes, but there is a whole other side to life and living.

I hate that I never chose to go to college. It was just assumed. I hate that I feel compelled to study, that I feel compelled to go to class. It's like a neurosis. I am itching to get out. I would like for those things to be a conscious choice...I would like to have a firmer idea of why I'm here...some clarity. I'm just here because I'm not sure how to get to the other places I'd like to be. Peru, Chile, Mexico, Costa Rica. And I want to be thankful for this, for college...so many people out there don't get this opportunity. But right now...I just want out. Granted, I want to come back, but I want to see what it's like for the majority of humanity...out there working, in poverty, in broken governments, but in family and community. I don't want to observe from the academic standpoint; I want to experience it first-hand. I want to not have a plan. I'm sick of plans.

Basta ya! Basta ya, el facebook y los celulares y el internet. basta ya, todo que uso en mi vida diaria.

to eschew technology, to eschew that net of safety that hides human rationality and morality. C Wright Mills highlights it...

"In our time, must we not face the possibility that the human mind as a social fact might be deteriorating in quality and cultural level, and yet not many would notice it because of the overwheming accumulation of technological gadgets? Is not that one meanning of human alientation? Of the absence of any free role for reason in human affairs? The accumulation of gadgets hides these meanings: Those who use these devices do not understand them; those who invent thme do not understand much else."

Stream-of-conscious days of shadows and highlights, of highlights and highlighters, of running away into the trees and consuming too much sugar, of wanting more but settling for too little and losing myself to that fake world of safe structure and structured safety. And I don't know where I'm going, and I don't know where I'm going...

let the leaves speak, gosh darn it.

2006-09-28T23:43:00.000-05:00

motherly love

nonconformity

human nature

inspiration and perspiration

2006-09-28T23:13:00.001-05:00

Where is the line between inspiration and perspiration? Both come from inside. Both involve evaluating your surroundings and reacting accordingly (not necessarily logically). I have not been inspired to write. Or is it that I have not perspired enough in my endeavors, or lack thereof.

Both are extremely valuable, and both are extremely hard to come by.

But how long does insipration, sweet inspiration, last once it comes? A week, a day, a minute?

Inspiration does not always come first.

I guess that's why I'm writing. Because I want inspiration and figure that, in my writing, it will come.

And now I will write, getting over the fact that I can't flesh out this idea much more because I just need to write.

It's been a bumpy month, but I can't conceive of any better way to spend my weekend than in the mountains with my brothers and sisters in Christ. In ways I feel as though the month has climaxed with a bout of despair and is now reaching the dénouement of sorts. Conference will be a time to simply BE...a time to rest in Christ and Christian fellowship. My soul has been aching for this...this break not so much from school but from my racing mind and swirling fears. I was going to write about the latter, but I've changed my mind and am going to let it go...I've beat the subject to death, I've psychoanalyzed and overanalyzed and overcried and overfelt everything...and...it's...fragmenting...scattering. Screw how I feel and how I think and what I feel and what I think, because I know full well that my emotions are fickle. a whisper...Courtney, all that matters is that YOU are the bride of Christ, and that He not only knows about all your crap but has DIED for it and FORGIVEN it and has promised to provide. It's not dependent on how confident I am with photography or how well I "reach out" to other people or how productive I've been or how little sleep I've gotten because I'm so busy "doing God's work." and if I don't pray or read the Bible for a day, God will not love me any less, because He sees me AS CHRIST! Christ is in me and I am in him, and He will meet me in my despair or my frustration or my intense doubts about my 'performance' in this walk of life.

Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. 3It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.

inspiration and perspiration

2006-09-28T23:13:00.000-05:00

Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. 3It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.

can't think of an adequate title

2006-09-02T00:35:00.000-05:00

We are like well dressed hobos.

That's just a little insight from Ju. I like it.

Anyways, Week Two of Year Two of my Formal Education has ended, and it was so-so. Here are some of the good things that happened:

1. it rained. actually, it poured, thanks to oncoming Hurricane Ernesto. I was coming from my South American Culture class and realized that if I waited for the rain to let up, I would be in Phillips Hall for the next six hours, and that if I didn't wait I would get the oppportunity to play in the rain. It's really one of those special moments life throws at you that can cause some people to grumble, some people to despair, others to avoid the outdoors, and others to joyfully rejoice. I bolted outside without my shoes on, threw my head back, and let the rain pour down my face. I didn't run, but walked calmly, confidently, down campus. I felt like I was in a photograph with the background blurred grey from drag shutter, my body frozen in time.

2. I partook in a wonderful two-hour theological discussion about suffering after church on Sunday. I met three freshmen and two transfer students and one graduate med. student. We ate artichoke pizza.

3. Carolyn and I discovered the candy machines in Old East.

4. Carolyn introduced me to Seinfeld, the world's best TV show (after that 70's show, of course). Actually, we spent a whole evening together, which was one of the best evenings i've had all year. We worked out, took hot showers together (not in the same shower, haha), ate Pita Pit for dinner, watched Seinfeld, listened to 90's music, and pretty much enjoyed one another's company for eight hours straight. I was totally wired...it was one of those moments where you let your guard down completely and all inhibitions melt into oblilvion. I haven't laughed so hard since the Morehead City trip with Joe and Colleen.

5. I had my best day ever of shooting at the DTH. Three pictures published in one day!

6. I got to speak Spanish with a Mexican worker.

7. My U.S. History professor announced in his very British accent that his last name was "Quigley."

8. I got three free meals in two days. Yay for friends with meal plans and professors with cash.

9. I reconnected with Galen and Ricky and Natalie and other photo people that I am sometimes intimidated by. My J480 class is a wondeful mix of photographers...a 31 year old and some pretty talented undergrads. It's like a family....aww.

10. Writing this blog. I have missed writing so much that I have forgotten about how much I love it.

Some of the bad things that happened this week:

1. Doubts. Lots and lots of doubts. It's satan's way of creeping into my being and preventing me from giving my all to anything...whether it be relationships, photojournalism, my calling, sleep.

2. I stepped on my contact lens this morning.

3. My car wouldn't start...again. Which leads to number four.

4. I have to wake up in five hours to drive my car to Wake Forest for an appointment with the dealer.

5. I didn't pray very much or spend time in the Word. GAH. I know God's work in my life and in other people's lives isn't dependent on my actions, but I nonetheless have a responsibility that I am failing to carry out. And it hurts me that I can get so busy and bogged down with worry that I forget or rationalize my way out of prayer. I really miss God and those quiet times that marked the summer. the type of quiet times that would completely transform my state of mind or mood. pray that I can pray, basically. hopefully i'll utilize the long weekend accordingly...

I guess that's it. I don't want to think of other lowpoints.

The week was grey. So-so. But mostly grey from the rain. But still good. I like rain, remember?

Anyways, I think it's really cool that God has made people so DIFFERENTLY and with such care--esmero, in spanish--and beauty. I look at my friend Matt and amazed that his brain is so darn different than mine...that he is so rational and could love something like economics and business with such passion and dedication. I look at my friend Laura and marvel that God could create someone who has such a big heart and caring nature. Then I think of myself, and praise Him that he made me this way (even though at many points during the week I was angry/annoyed with his handiwork). I learn experientially and emotionally...I like that I am so emotional and that I feel things so deeply and crave experience. It used to be a vice, especially my senior year of high school, but when balanced it really edifies things. Especially with photojournalism. I don't learn by memorizing or by regurgitating or by rationalizing. I learn by images, really and think in images. fragments. I see things in my head...not concrete images, mind you. more like colors and hues that i translate into words and feelings. it comes out in my writing, I think, and this is why i have such a hard time conversing with people. I am a writer and an artist, not a talker and an arguer. And it can be so frustrating, but deep down...when i am doing those things that God created me to do, thinking the way he created me to think, writing the way he created me to write...I am so unbelievably in love with the way I am and the fact that God chose to make me that way. More power to Him!

And it's cool that God is teaching me how to be those things I'm not...how to listen better, how to communiate better, how to rest better.

I'll save my photojournalism ponderings for another entry.

Por ahora, tengo que acostarme. Descanso, descanso dulce, descanso.

jumblyness

2006-08-21T23:30:00.000-05:00

I sit in my corner of Old East residence hall at the university and am not sure what to write. The day has been a blur of faces new and old, things to buy and schedules to be made. And at midday, after buying posters for the room, catching up with an old suitemate, adding classes, dropping classes, and worrying as the riptide begins to strengthen, I wonder how on earth I will be able to continue at this pace once classes begin. I enjoyed myself for the first eight hours of the day, but as evening approached I began to walk in a haze, exhausted and wanting to just curl up in my cozy, lofted bed under my canopy and read C.S. Lewis and talk to Colleen on the phone.

I still have one foot in summer and the other in some foreign land that may be Chile or Spain or the future or the past, I’m not sure what. But it somehow prevents me from fully enjoying the present. Although I suppose my standards are too high, you have to admit it’s odd that nobody in collegetown factors in “boredom” or “fatigue” or “mediocrity” on the scale of life emotions. I think more than anything, the spiritual pace here is tiring. I am baffled at how so many students can go, go, go constantly, drinking and partying well into the morning, and constantly surround themselves with young people, rarely taking a moment to relax, unwind, call a parent, reconcile with a friend. I get caught up in this, too, so I am one to point fingers, but for some reason I am getting a bigger whiff of it this year than I have before. And this observation is not going to cause me to be ensnared by melancholia and depression, yet I still wonder why students are always smiling…so much that their mouths could not stretch any wider.

I wish I could see beneath all the layers. I can’t see through.

It’s really hard for me to apply different Christian principles to real life situations, even though I hold them true in my heart and mind. How do you show love to incoming freshmen, for instance? Is it simply smiling and telling them that you are here to answer any questions? I don’t know…it was this very superficial friendliness and southern “hospitality” that I was so befuddled by last year. I just wanted someone to listen to me, but I didn’t want to approach them…I didn’t know who to approach, after all. And I wanted someone to show and emotion other than giddiness. I feel like love entails a stronger, more active involvement. But how do I play this out?

I can pray for the incoming students. For the confused, the hurting, the lonely, the ones that are having problems with their roommates, the ones that are pulling out maps on the lower quad trying to find their way through a yellow school of fish. But when I get out of my dorm room, out into the real world, I get awkward.

College is fun, yes. Meeting new people is fun, yes. But for me, at least, a large chunk of it involves darting in and out of awkwardness. Trying to break down walls and recognize my own facades and strive for honesty in thinking and feeling and conveying such. At times I still feel like a middle school student.

I rejoice in the fact that God is willing to work with and through my awkwardness. Even though I don’t know how to use a compass or steer my way through college, God is going to help me overcome securities and fears and that the process will be pleasing in His sight. God is not finished with me yet and has promised to do good things. It comforts me to read the Psalms and know that even these great figures in Christian history and world history struggled in the daily grind of life. I particularly like how David and other psalmists start some of their psalms despairing, aware of their sin but unable to see God’s goodness. There is so much feeling and wrestling in those psalms, and in each on there is some sort of turning point. The psalmist goes to the sanctuary of God and finds tangible rest in Him. You can see the curtain being lifted and the light shining in as the psalm becomes less about the psalmist and more about God’s goodness. God works through the psalmists’ own jumbled emotions and thoughts and expression.

I have no idea where this post is going. I’m tired and need to go to sleep. I don’t even know if it had an over-arching theme.

I’ll end it with one of my favorite verses, as of July:

The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me;
your love, O LORD, endures forever—
do not abandon the works of your hands.

psalm 138

Ah, the last post, a bit belated. now onto college.

2006-08-21T22:44:00.000-05:00

Tuesday
All of Tuesday was devoted to dithering around in NYC. The day marked two first: the first time that I ever rode a train other than the St. Louis zoo train, and the first time that I saw rain since early July. Both were welcomed with open arms. I love rainy days in the summer…they are so much moodier and deeper than the same old sunshine and cloudless skies.

We started off the day with Dunkin Donuts. (Didn’t I say that it was the Starbucks of New Haven?)

On the train I continued feeding my addiction to Sudoku and wrote a little bit in lieu of quiet time. The round-trip train-ride cost less than 30 bucks, which is pretty darn good considering that we were stuck on the Brooklyn bridge by car for nearly two hours when we drove from NYC to New Haven. Train transit is so much better and not stressful!

When we stepped out of Grand Central Station into the New York City madness we were on sensory overload. I had no idea where to go, what to look at, what smells to avoid, what sounds to pay attention to. Those first few minutes of New York City buzz knock the wind out of your senses in a way that is akin to an adrenaline rush while sky diving. It’s absolutely amazing, those first few minutes. (Interestingly enough, my photographs of the initial NYC-shock are poorly framed with no particular focal point. Funny how I couldn’t produce good, focused, work, eh? I was trying to capture everything at once which is impossible).

I don’t remember minute details from the trip, like which streets and avenues we were on at which times. (Colleen was the navigator, anyways). What I can recall isn’t a mosaic, but more like wisps of blurred paint, sort of like when you are driving on the road during a storm and the wet windshield blurs all of the streetlights and colors. I can recall the honking horns, the wind hitting the buildings, the chatter of people, the sound of feet hitting the ground, the Doppler effect in action, the vivid advertisements, that distinct NYC smell of sewers and people and infrastructures. It’s so intense. I love it.

We spent the first couple of hours shopping. Colleen bought some classy green shoes while I was preoccupied with feeling very much out of place in my green shirt and tennis shoes, wishing I had more style and wondering how on earth NYC girls look so good. We hit Joe’s favorite store (har har) H&M for nearly an hour. Colleen and I bought matching outfits (Mom would be happy that we are carrying on her tradition of dressing us the same) and chic accessories.

Lunch was at the world-famous Carnegie Deli, one of the best delis in the nation. The food was amazing…we dined on pickles, Jewish potato pancakes, and a mammoth BLT. I have no idea how much bacon I consumed. It might have been a whole baby pig.

Mid-afternoon brought us to about eight shoe stores. I dragged Colleen to every shoe store on Lexington Avenue in search of comfy Puma-ish shoelace-less tennis shoes. I finally found some AWESOME ones at Naturalizer, and my afternoon mission was fulfilled.

We took a break below this cool huge topless gazebo thing sipping iced coffee from Starbucks and talking to Joe and Beth on our cell phones. A very interesting Starbucks photoshoot occurred. See facebook.com for more information.

Early evening brought us through Central Park. I took some pictures of Swedish boys who didn’t speak much English and targeted unsuspecting tourists. I guess I’m pretty obvious with my camera glued to my face, shouting bonehead things like, “Isn’t it cool to see skyscrapers juxtaposed with green trees?” Joe targets pregnant women and mothers with kids when he wants someone to take his picture. Great.

The Zuul building was Colleen’s favorite part of the trip, I can just tell. She has like ten pictures on her camera,
and eight of them are of the Zuul building. It was pretty exciting, I admit, trekking through Central Park towards 65th street in order to behold Dana Barret’s apartment (aka the Zuul building) that was the site of the Ghostbusters movie. You can’t miss it, because it’s next to that beautiful church that the Pillsbury Doughboy squashed.

At twilight we took the subway down to 14th street at Greenwich Village and Washington Square. The area was completely different from the buzz of midtown…shorter apartment complexes replaced skyscrapers, normally-dressed people replaced fashion models, road signs replaced advertisements, and eclectic shops like “Tu Tu” and “Gatsby’s Restaurant” replaced Bloomingdales and the Hard Rock Café. Men were playing chess on the street, children were riding bikes through fountains, men were walking dogs. It was almost normal. Then you remember you are in NYC…

We dined at Little Italy for dinner and grabbed some gelato from a pastry store for dessert. We did some final shopping in Chinatown before taking the Subway back to Grand Central and the train back to New Haven. We arrived home at 12:30, exhausted and with sore feet from a long, fulfilling day.

D-Day

2006-08-19T16:16:00.000-05:00

Monday

We woke up early to take dad to the airport. He carried on the conversation all by himself on the one-hour ride there and said so many funny things. It’s refreshing having him around…he’s really jovial and cackly (there’s not really another word to for it!) and though his gross exaggerations may aggravate me, I have to admit they are pretty funny and he is much more knowledgable than I had previously thought in high school. He knows his stuff, whether about politics or Iraq or trucking (duh, it’s his job!) and I ought to give him more credit, because he’s a pretty cool guy.

Colleen and I crashed the party at Ikea for the next two and a half hours and had a blast looking at pretty Swedish furniture and dreaming about all the cool things she could one day have in her apartment. The store is intruiging…sort of reminiscent of a Home Depot only ten times as large and with two floors devoted solely to display of the assembled furniture in fake “rooms.” The furniture isn’t all that expensive, either, compared to Target and mainstream department stores.

The catch is you have to assemble everything yourself. We would spend the remainder of the day assembling (and cursing at) a stubborn floor bed frame, a bookcase, a table, and four chairs while unpacking boxes. We pretty much finished the kitchen and started on the living room by the evening and punctuated the process with a mid-afternoon Starbucks and venture to Target and Bed Bath & Beyond, and a late night run to get Chinese food. We ended the day with a giant celebration of Colleen’s birthday. (Giant celebration= watching 2 episodes of Arrested Development, Colleen’s birthday gift from Joe). That show is really growing on me. I like Tobias dressed as a British housekeeper.

The day was quite enjoyable, though. I really like using my hands to build stuff. It’s not every day that you assemble an apartment’s worth of furniture, and I guess I’m looking forward to when I can furnish my own apartment, then my own house, then hopefully my children’s bedrooms and what not. But that is far away in time and space. For now, I’m enjoying this.

The Day After

2006-08-18T10:18:00.000-05:00

Sunday

This was probably the least arduous day (in terms of physical labor and fatigue…heheh), seeing as we all woke up around 9:30 in order to grab free coffee and donuts from the motel’s continental breakfast. We spent the remainder of the morning at 43 Edwards Street moving Colleen into her new New Haven apartment. This entailed searching for a lost key, emptying the U-Haul, and normal moving stuff that I don’t feel like expanding on here.

The afternoon was spent exploring downtown New Haven and the Yale campus. The area is really cute but not so cute that it looks artificial. The area has a very urban, worn-down appearance that suites it well and houses lots of eclectic shops (and the standard Dunkin Donuts…the Starbucks of New Haven, of course). At times it has a European atmosphere, especially when you approach the mammoth Gothic cathedrals and university buildings or walk past restaurants’ plastic outdoor furniture.

I was struck by how very different it was from Wake Forest, North Carolina and by how much I missed being in an urban culture. I didn’t realize how foreign the Carolinas were until I left them and felt a completely different level of comfort and intrigue. That’s not to say I don’t like Chapel Hill (eh..Wake Forest is a different story, though), because it’s a fun place to be for college, but I think that my heart ultimately lies with cities. Cities that aren’t in the South, that is.

After a two and half hour walk my dad went back to the hotel to crash, where Colleen and I joined him briefly for a viewing of a cheesy Lizzie Maguire movie that my dad really wanted to watch. Colleen and I left him to get his fill of Disney and we trekked to the Milford mall and Target to buy clothing (me) and apartment supplies (her). We hit up Uno’s Pizzeria and enjoyed a nice, relaxing dinner seasoned with good conversations and deep-dish pizza. yum. In a way, we celebrated more than her birthday as we reflected on the past year and Colleen’s undergrad experience. There was some nostalgia in the air on both our parts but it was so refreshing to talk with Colleen. I absolutely love spending time with her. At the core, we haven’t changed at all since we were little and used to warp each other’s minds and fan the flame. But now it’s even better, because we still retain our innate weirdness and bring it out in each other when we are together, yet we are able to have a level of conversation that is more “adult” and edifying and it’s really cool. And though during the school year we both get busy and sort of pave our own separate paths, whenever we meet again we are able to pick up from where we left off. I feel so blessed to have a big sister who is such a good role model…so godly and full of integrity, compassionate and with a heart for others, talented, but completely wacky.

I can’t wait to visit her in her apartment this year.

We spent the remainder of the evening doing Sudoku and watching TV. I got hooked on this really bizarre Alfred Hitchcock-ish horror flick with Richard Gere and Uma Thurman. I finally fell asleep around I don’t know when…maybe 1:30?

The Day Of

2006-08-17T10:24:00.000-05:00

Saturday

Dad, Colleen, and I arose around seven a.m. in order to shower, figure out an apt travel route, and down many cups of dark roast coffee.
Dad cleverly decided to change routes in order to take the “quicker” 600 mile trip that boasted a 12 hour travel time.

This glorious route, in fact, took approximately 16 hours, frosted with icing that looked like a 1 ½ traffic jam over the Brooklyn Bridge. Also sprinkled with dad’s ‘creative’ route out of Wake Forest…

It may very well have been the most entertaining car-ride of my life, proven
by the fact that I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 11:30 p.m. after getting only six hours of sleep. The route, albeit unnecessarily long, was gorgeous, taking us along the Eastern Seaboard through North Carolina, Virginia, Washington D.C., Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. Colleen and I listened to the most eclectic mix of music I have ever heard, which included John Cage’s postmodern “Aria,” Radiohead, music from Star Wars and Gladiator, Chumbawumba, Chicago, the Gremlin’s theme song, the Popcorn Song, original harp songs composed by Colleen’s friend WES based off of the “Limberlost” folk-tales, John Rutter choral arrangements, and the Beatles. Can you guess which song we played when we approached D.C. (think UFO’s)? What about New York City (think green monsters)?

Another highlight from the road trip was Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury book on tape. We listened to one and a half CD’s of the eight hour CD set. The punch line from that book should be “Caddy smelled like trees.”

Another highlight was the Jersey Turnpike, which isn’t as glorious as its cracked up to be, in terms of tolls and a lack of bathrooms, but it is a wonderful road for speeding and racing. We were the proud participants of a nail-biting car chase that lasted twenty miles in hot pursuit of the notorious Silky Basmati Rice van. Below you can view a very professional, factual synopsis and captivating photographs:

And at the end of the day, we crashed in our Super 8 motel room in Milford, CT.

The Day Before

2006-08-17T10:22:00.000-05:00

Friday.

The trip really begins here, where Colleen and I begin to pack at the last-minute. It was an ordinary day filled with just the right amount of frantic searching, screaming, sobbing, shoving, and squeezing belongings into all-too-small suitcases/all too-large U-hauls. We moved all five cars into the street just to further solidify our presence in the Kayenta Court neighborhood, and Mom picked up the U-Haul that would soon transport everything my sister ever owned to New England. The family went to the Macaroni Grill for an unusual dinner with all six members present. There Colleen and I drew flattering pictures of Rusty on the paper tablecloth, consumed a delicious lobster ravioli and chocolate cake, and (I) tortured the grandparents with my camera. An extraneous yet fun excursion to Bed Bath and Beyond was made as Colleen bore a tear(less) good-bye to the shopping district of Wake Forest.

The Last Sha-bang

2006-08-17T10:19:00.000-05:00

And so the Summer of Travel ends with a bang—one final trip that will be made again several times over the next two years, God willing. We accomplished a lot in the last four days, which were spent in Connecticut and New York City, respectively, with my sister and dad to move Colleen into Yale for grad school. And because I was too busy to document my travels on paper, I will now dump all of the experiences, funny sayings, and realizations that have laid dormant in my mind for the past couple of days onto this blog. I’m going to break up my entries by days.

Brace yourselves.

Providence

2006-08-16T22:51:00.000-05:00

When I was small I used to get goosebumps when I thought about airplanes. To ride an airplane was an amazing feat—to suddenly go from home to a new place in the span of hours. It evoked a sense of wonder and dread—wonder that I could be so high in the air and so quickly displaced from all that is familiar, and dread that my life is fragile and I could feasibly plummet into the depths of the sea and disappear into oblivion if the plane malfunctioned.

My envisioning of “airplane” is no different than that of real life, as both should rightly incur both wonder and dread. It’s remarkable, really, if you ponder it.
.
You are leaving a distinct location and its concomitant memories behind and moving onward to something else completely new. Even if you are returning home you are different, affected by what you just left, so you are beginning a very real and tangible new chapter. The place you have left was once foreign but is now familiar—not just lodged in your memory but something that has changed your very being. And if what you have left is home, it is only home because you have made it home, whether over a span of sixty years, six years, or six days. Therefore, even “home” was once foreign. .

That time in the air, away from everything old and new is a glorious in limbo state where you’re neither here nor there physically but a little bit of both interiorly, reflecting on where you were and anticipating where you’re heading. And as you look out across the varied horizon you realize that life is both microcosmic and macrocosmic in scope. Humans are but tiny chess pieces placed on a giant board, yet that board has no limits and everything matters. You are daily living this gigantic paradox of being a tiny and seemingly insignificant creature in a vast world whose actions and mere physis, or being, is actually large and significant.

That in limbo state is overpowering when experienced in full. An array of emotions and thoughts collide so you’re not really sure if what you think and feel in the here and now is reliable, for you felt content in the place you are leaving but now you are in the air and that place is diminishing in time and space and the contentedness…what was it, really? Now the wonder and awe of the future is absorbing you. And when you think about it, you are eve more awed about the present: that your emotions could so quickly fuse together, that past and future could so quickly melt into one state in your mind. Where have the lines of demarcation gone?

You think about it, and realize that though everything is jumbled while in the air the past and future remain distinct. Old things make sense and you that what was once broken is now fixed and that you are staring into Purpose. So even though you have no idea where you are right now and you may now know where you’re going, you know two things for certain: you have come from someplace and you are going somewhere. There IS direction, but you only see it now where time zones mix and all that is distinct on the ground becomes one Earth from above. Everything is horribly blended now, but it is in that very fusion that you more clearly recognize the distinctions, maybe for the first time, even.

Life appears but fleeting. You are always on a plane—always leaving somewhere and going somewhere else, never on the ground. In the grand scheme of things, life on Earth is but temporary, for soon you will be seated at the right hand of God or burning in the depths of hell, but this transitory state does not lack meaning. Quite the contrary, life IS meaningful and only when you’re observing it from a bird’s eye view—neither here nor there—can you see just how far you’ve come and just how far you’ll go. You have put on the lens of Time, experiencing past, present, and future simultaneously though not knowing the details of those states.

For are we ever “here” or “there?” We are always moving on, moving up, moving forward and moving back. The direction itself is irrelevant; the point is that we’re in motion from on state to another…from melancholia to joy, from childhood to adulthood, from melancholia to joy, , from east to west, from sleep to wake, and then back again. We are always in transition, always learning, always changing, always growing.

I saw all of this on a single plane ride over New England.

people

2006-08-08T23:09:00.000-05:00

The past two weeks have been excellent. I have so much to write about that I don't know where to start, so this will be the abbreviated version.

Where have I been, you might ask? What have I been doing for the past two weeks?

Nothing and Everything.

Joe came to visit us in NC for about nine days. That brief span of time stretch out into eternity, as we remained the right level of "busy" (which denotes no responsibility whatsoever, just freedom (more or less) to do as we pleased and go where we wished). Joe, Colleen, and I resided in Wake Forest for the majority of Joe's stay and exhausted all of the "fun" things to do in the area...which pretty much includes trips to Wal-mart, the movie theater, every icecream store around (ha...two), have a stick-driving lesson in an abandoned home depot parking lot, eat at every renowned local restaraunt, terrorize the dogs, and vegetate at home, naturally. the latter included late-night m. night shymalan fests, backrubs, doing odd tasks around the house for my grandparents, making dinners, eating dinners, looking at photographs, reading, watching hilarious re-runs of fullhouse and cosby show, watch the dog whisperer...the list goes on and on and on....

It wasn't so much the particular activities we did that made those nine days memorable. Heck, I could sit around and watch TV any old day. I've been to most of the restaurants we ate at, I've gone to Chapel Hill plenty of times, and all that has resullted when solitary is a time killed not very productively and a large gas bill. The difference was enjoying all of these activities with two people that I love very much. I don't think I've laughed so much in a while, especially since I was (mostly) cooped up in the house alone during rhe previous month. It's funny how mundane activities can be made meaningful when the activity isn't ultimately the main focus...just "being" with someone else is.

I really like learning from other people. Joe and Colleen both offer unique qualities and it's fun when their specialized knowledge, gifts, or traits are revealed. I like when they talk about music...it transports me to my high school world of touring choir and piano, but then again it transcends that world as i learn about new things, like the difficulty of conducting and evil harp teachers and the like. Colleen is really sensitive towards others needs and has a lot of astute insights on Christian history and theology. Joe is really technically-oriented (he set up my grandparents' and mother's sound system without instructions!)and very rational. He can back up pretty much anything he says with a very reasonable list of arguments, whether it be a treatise on the morality of man or what it is that makes m night's movies scary.

But I also like that though Colleen and Joe and I have all changed in ways over the past year, we can still relate to each other in a healthy, familiar way. It's so enjoyable and so comfortable. Despite the drastic change in scenery, we can still sit on the couch and make a back-rub chain while making fun of retard dogs on the dog whisperer. at the same time, we can still maintain a level of maturity and have insightful, refreshing conversations. I love it.

I hope I can maintain that balance throughout my adult life. Always carrying a child-like disposition where I can laugh at stupid TV shows and act juvenile when fitting, but also have good conversations.

Here's some good quotes from the week.

Colleen (excitedly): "Wouldn't it be cool if that were zuul?"
Joe (rationally): "No, Colleen, that would NOT be cool!"

*****************************************************8
(While watching Full House)

Joe: Their (the Tanners') living situation is so weird.
Me: Yeah, it's like one gay family.
(Laughing)
On the TV show, Danny say: "Jess, don't beat yourself up (about jumping to conclusions too quickly with DJ's beer incident)

Nothing needs to be said after this. There is much laughing.

Later we see a shot of Danny dressed like a woman. Joe and I fall to our knees laughing.
***********************************************************************
All of us, but mosty Joe: In a pitiful German accent:

"BO-HAN-GLES!!!!!!!!!"

who's who.h

2006-07-31T12:34:00.000-05:00

How many people are in my home?
Grandma and Grandpa, dogs and a gnome
Mom and Colleen and Dad at times
Joey an Courtney (minus dad) make nine.

Mug Shots of Who's Who in Wake Forest:

home

2006-07-31T10:09:00.000-05:00

It's odd how I never write about place. In Chile I left all description of my environment to sporadic emails sent to my family. In July I sent my friends photographs of my family's new Wake Forest abode but failed to describe it in written word. I did the same for Georgia and Hilton Head, perhaps because I am a staunch believer in the adage "a picture is worth a thousand words." But, oh, how stronger a photograph is when butressed by the written language!

I am currently residing in Wake Forest, North Carolina. Apart from the desert San Pedro de Atacama in northern Chile, it's own of the most foreign places I've set foot in.

Let's do some compare and contrast 101.

St. Louis, Missouri, my hometown, is the 18th largest city in the United States with a population of over 2.7 million people (as of 2004). It has a lovely mixture of Civil War history with nice statues to commemorate it, national monuments (um, the Arch), good Anheuser-Busch beer, baseball fanatisism, and a pretty decent arts and music scene, spanning from classical to modern to british rock (MUSE!) To top it off, it boasts well over 15 varied, heterogenous suburbs with their own share of history, monuments, beer, baseball, and culture.

Wake Forest, North Carolina, my family's new hometown, is far from well-known, large, or important. Here's a diagram to orient you:

With a population of 20,000 and most of the houses hidden by sheets of skinny pine trees, it's sometimes difficult to even spot a house. It boasts three main roads: Capitol, Main Street, and Highway 401. The downtown is a hodgepodge of quaint tearooms, Southern antique stores, a Chevrolet museum, and a handful of restaurants.

Downtown ----->
(top: view of corner downtown;
middle: shack and pretty tree
next to the bank downtown; bottom: cool bridge)

St. Louis houses over 30 Starbucks and a myriad of locally owned coffeehouses, not to metion Kaldi's, Kayak Coffee, and Cuppa Jo, to name a few. Wake Forest boasts 1 Starbucks (which is technically in northern Raleigh) and a suspicious "religious" coffehouse called "The Well" which provides "good fellowship" with each iced latte. It's good for quiet times but doesn't have the most exctiting atmosphere.

One of the biggest differences, as so astutely discoverd by Joseph S. Madden, is with the street names...which are normal, if not somewhat classy, in St. Louis. Washington Avenue, the Page Extension, Ladue Road, Creve Couer, Old Bonhomme, Clayton, and the like. Many names are French and don't allude to any specific object. Last names are of people are prevalent (I lived on Schulte Hill Drive, for example, whose namesake was an old patient of my mother's). Names here allude to natural objects and animals or are just plain odd. Gross, Bratt Street, Reindeer Moss, Stacked Stone, and Falls of Neuse Road among the butt of our STL guests' jokes.

And St. Louis food is...to...die...for. Home of the Gooey butter cake, Provel cheese, Imo's pizza, Ted Drewes Frozen Custard, Toasted Ravioli, Vess soda, and STL style barbeque, it also boasts Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Lebanese, Mexican, Brazilian, French, Italian, and Spanish cuisine. Wake Forest does boast a few good restaraunts, that are by no means eclectic or foreign but nonetheless solid. Twisted Forks, Milton's Pizza and Pasta, and Las Margaritas are among my personal favorites. Like any good ol' Southern town, it has plenty of Bojangles--home of sweet "tay" and and chicken biscuits.

I hope that over the next few weeks I will discover the history of Wake Forest along with little treasures of singularity here and there. The history is by no means stellar but is interesting, as I try to imagine what it would be like to grow up in the 10-year-old town before the Civil War. It was founded in 1820 by Dr. Calvin Jones. He advertised the community in the local paper as:

"One of the best neighborhoods in the state, the Forest District containing three schools and two well constructed and well filled meeting houses for Baptists and Methodists, and has a lawyer and a doctor. The inhabitants...are sober, moral and thriving in their circumstances, and not a few are educated and intelligent."

The town grew up around Wake Forest College, which relocated to Winston-Salem in 1956 (hence the confusion among my WS friends) and sold the campus to the Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary.

Oh, and it also grew up around railroad tracks that are still here. I've had to stop for trains several times this summer.

I suppose I'll go to Raleigh more to regain a city flavor.

p.s.

2006-07-29T16:27:00.000-05:00

this is in reference to my last post...something I didn't really make clear:

regaining your sense of wonder entails a transformation of thinking, not translocation. You don't have to move to Easter Island or the heart of a flourishing city. (It is just my personal priority that I see the whole world). In theory traveling sounds like a way to inundate yourself with new cultures and ideas, but it is possible to travel completely hostile to newness. (i.e. go to a nice resort and sit on the beach for a week, not that it isn't relaxing).

It's better to make yourself and open book. While my conservative religious upbringing has inculcated in me a susupicion of relativism, multiculturalism, and tolerance, I think these values are more than black and white. I think you can have and open mind, welcome new ideas, new cultures, and new lifestyles withtout losing your core identity and strongest beliefs. I can believe in God and be rooted in Christ's work for me but still be open to what's going on in my community, in the nation, and in the world. Ha, as Christians we're CALLED to be aware and intellectually active! It's strange that so many eschew this.

antigravity

2006-07-29T16:05:00.000-05:00

I wonder at what point in this lifetime we lose our sense of wonder. Babies shove things in their mouths, tasting the world. Two-year olds grab anything and everything in sight, touching the world. Teenagers listen to sonorous music until their eardrums have disappeared altoghether, hearing the world. But it are the three-year olds who use all of their senses and reach for that sixth sense of understanding. They probe and inquire, challenging adults out of their complacency. Why should we be at ease in the suburbs? Why don't men fly? Why are spiders "scary" but puppies "cute?" Is it society that forms these prejudices, or are the characteristics inherenty in their chemistry that make spiders scary and puppies cute? Why? From whence? How?

Last summer I realized that I no longer enjoyed myself at waterparks. When I was eleven I stopped writing twisted short-stories based off of the adventures of my Barbie dolls. I think I began to lose my sense of wonder when I stopped using all of my senses...when I stopped creating things with my hands, when I started conceiving things with my mind, and when I stopped playing outside.

I have a deep-seated hatred for complacency...perhaps because I sense its stench in my own being. Routine, living comofortably, shopping at Wal-mart, and then thinking that this is all there is. A life of habit. Why don't we care more about what's happening in Lebanon? Why don't we read books about Hezbollah? Why don't we star-gaze and ponder the heavens?

What if there really are unchartered waters and undiscovered islands yet to be mapped out on the globe? What if Science really isn't the end-all-be-all in explanations for the cosmos?

Living in Wake Forest, North Carolina--away from the university, away from the city, and away from traditional learning--has nourished a desire within me to regain my sense of wonder. To slough off complacency, to know that there IS a larger, dangerous, beautiful and ugly world out there that is waiting for me. Both tangibly and philosophically...I've gotten too comfortable with my own preconceived notions of "what is" and "why it is" and I want to go back and challenge those notions.

Think like a child and don't take for granted that the sun will rise every morning.

ings

2006-07-25T22:55:00.000-05:00

regrettably, I have not written as much as I would ideally like. At times when i wake up in the morning all I can think about is writing, but for some strange reason I treat the impulse as a mosquito instead of a good desire. I guess i think more about writing than i actually write, which is the great difference between me--on and off, hot and cold--and a flourishing, successful novelist. Sometimes I think that writing would be my ideal dream job...if only i could find something to write about...something other than myself. Even my latest "novel" is based on random high school experiences...things that I really want to get down on paper, but things that I wish I had created in my own imagination.

I think I might give J53--Newswriting--a whirl this semester. Most people complain about the workload, but I figure if I treat the class as I would a hobby, it might become something enjoyable. There's something weird about the 'scholastic' psychology that makes me hate work when I have to do it.

Writing has a particular, specialized function in my life. Some people use it as a therapy, a means to bolster their self-esteem and justify their actions. )I have dabbled in this, but it only leaves a deeper hole). Some people use it to communicate--journalists, teachers, lovers, but I don't really care about who reads my writing. Some people use it to make sense of the world...they write things down and work with it until it makes sense and the world makes sense and their realizations come to life. Intellectuals, experts, philosophers. And some people write just because they're bored with the world and would rather create their own world. I might be straddling the latter two, partiallly, but I think I use writing as a primary means to understand my own psychology. I write when I discover things about myself and the world--physical and spiritual-- and how I relate to it

On a completely different note, When a Man Loves a Woman is my new favorite movie.

I laughed a lot today. I don't think I've laughed this much in at least a year. I'd like to think that I was always the one to make my big sister laugh when i was little, but I think that nowadays she makes me laugh more. Maybe it's just the bizarre chemistry between us when we reminisce over childhoods oddities...we share a history and our quirkiness and wonderful sense of humor comes out more when we're together. at any rate, it was good tonight. Colleen's joeie de vivre is golden bright and fills the house when she's making dinner and chatting and even playing the harp. At any rate, it's good to laugh.

eureka

2006-07-20T16:53:00.000-05:00

I was in Savannah for five and half days visiting Laura Fletcher, a fellow Christian and a prototypical friend. She embodies true godliness and I learn so much from her--not just in daily conversation but in the nitty gritty ways of life. She is authentic and real...I don't have to worry what she's thinking about and we can just sit and enjoy the solitude of a South Carolinian road trip. Those five days were wondeful for the time spent with her. I have returned refreshed with my heart redirected towards God's promises.

"Eureka" moment from the weekend: God is good. My hope for the present and future are rooted in what Christ has already done on the cross. I have been trying, and failing, to "fix" my sinful heart and come close to God on my own...which is futile, though that does not negate the importance of human responsibility or repentence. The unhappiness and dark depression of the past year are rooted in my stubborness and unwillingness to submit to God. Because I could only sense His powerful justice, I lived my life with a sense of foreboding guilt and self-flagellation. Why couldn't I "live up" to God's perfection? Why did I keep on screwing up? Why did no one love ME? Why did no one make ME happy?

For once, I have pondered this: what if the solution to all of my woes is not the vast improving of outward circumstances and relationships, but a redirected heart? What if I didn't NEED others' constant affection and approval to function in life? What if I didn't NEED to be happy?

Instead, I should be asking this: How can I embody God's perfection and holiness, keeping in mind that I fall short but not letting that conquer me? How can I keep on repenting when I screw up? How can I love God and others? How can I make others happy?

God is the reason I am joyful today. He is the reason that I'm not sitting on the dorm room floor crying, or meticulously crafting the "perfect" class schedule, or screaming at my parents. And what blows my mind is that I was DOING all of these things and wallowing in a world of meaninglessness that I had crafted--with the help of the world and the flesh and the devil--God SAVED me. He started to draw me back to Him even though I was writhing and biting and thrashing and clawing. It's like this:

1. As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient.

2. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature[a] and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath.

3. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, 5made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.

4. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus.

5. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Ephesians 2: 5-10

In other words: 1. With consistence and persistence, i was living in sin. I created all sorts of idols for myself in high school...things like Experience and Individualism and Perfection that led to things like rebellion, depression, and problems with eating. These sinful tendencies are still there, but the difference is where my trust lays. The spiritual realm is very real and powerful, on both sides.

2. Such sinful living is universal. It is obviously manifested in different ways, but it is there nonetheless.

3. While I was still sinning God SAVED me because of His love. I didn't even want to turn to Him, but His love for me is not contingent upon my actions.

4. I died and was resurrected with Christ! He already knew where my struggles and failures would be, and he died with those specific things branded black on his flesh and then was raised without them. That's the importance of the resurrection! Christians are resurrected WITH Christ.

5. God is good; everything good is a result of God's grace. My purpose in life is to "do good works" only BECAUSE i am God's workmanship. not IN ORDER TO BE His child!

Glory be to God! Pray that God will continue to reveal His purpose for me and His goodness and love. Pray that I can persist in faith.

backgrounds

2006-07-09T23:34:00.000-05:00

I NEED TO LEARN HTML!
gah.
i can't change the background color to black on the html template. i want this template, only with white text and a black background.
gah.
advice?

hitchin a ride

2006-07-08T23:07:00.000-05:00

that's the name of the song i'm listening to right now as I let my windows media player randomly select songs out of a couple thousand songs buried in my computer's library. i have no idea who sings it. i don't particularly like it, either.

12:04 has rolled around. If i were a chilean I would be going to a discoteca right now, as everything opens at midnight. Maybe at heart I am chilean with regards to my night-owlship. I am at my peak at midnight. It's when my creative juices are rapidly flowing...I can spit out an eloquent greek history paper, i can read something and understand it with much more clarity...it's when i enjoy whatever state I am in: the moments of solitude are enjoyed ten-fold, the online conversations are multiplied by three and last three times as long, the physical companionship is drawn out until three or four a.m. (when joe or colleen or julie or carolyn or laura or any of my friends are at my side...tangibly). If I could choose, I would do everything at night. I would create a lifestyle conducive to the night...waking up at sunset and going to sleep right after sunrise. Why bother with oppressive heat and noise and traffic? Even the colors are overexposed...photography is much more practical at sunrise, sunset...and much more intruiging at night. night runs and night dips in the lake and night conversations on the rooftop. duh, they wouldn't happen every evening...but when compared to high noon runs (=heat exhaustion, death) and high noon dips in the lake (=exposed, vigilant, sun-burned) and high noon lunch conversations (=hurried, rushed, long lines), the night is preferable. nights are when daytime hermits grow into butterflies.

and so for now, i will continue sitting on the screened in porch with my windows media players selecting songs for my listening. i will continue editing photos of chicken salad and millipedes and little boys' rosy cheeks. and maybe when i feel like leaving the porch, i will finish book number nine.

sundays

2006-07-02T23:56:00.000-05:00

this will be short and narrative-like (for once) because i want to read my book, Bee Season.

Today was good. Today and yesterday coupled together were good, actually. I went to Christ Community for the first time in well over a month and a half, and it was so refreshing seeing every one again...Mary, Camilo, Sarah, Julie, Lizbeth Swayne, etc. Many members of this church feel like family members, even though i haven't spent loads of time with any single individual, save Laura and possibly Lizbeth Swayne. Maybe it's just the warmth and their candidness that creates that 'homey' environment. whenever I go to church i feel like my mind is cleared and 'reset,' and all the darkness is dispelled. Sometimes I wonder what heaven will be like...i'm 'refreshed' only one day a week, sometimes less if i'm lazy and bogged down...what will it be like to be perpetually renewed while basking in God's glory?

Anyways, I finally got to catch up with Meagan after church and we spent the afternoon on Franklin Street at UNC. That too, felt like home...eating at familiar restaurants, walking through UNC's beautiful upper quad and the arboretum, ending at Starbucks for some much-needed (free) water after battling the oppresive north carolina humidity. It was fun to dream a little bit; Meagan is the notorious planner and optimist and we started discussing study-abroad and getting apartments (and a dog? umm...agh?) junior year. She initiated it...but you know, it's fun to dream a bit. except for the dog. we'll have to see...

Then i went to work (work=no pay, no recognition, nada) at the DTH to write my captions. I was pretty pleased with this batch of photos. I shot the Hillsborough Last Friday festival, and it's quite fulfilling as a photographer to see things that i learned in Chile/J80/the morehead workshop spill over into my work...naturally and subconsciously. I'm back in the 'groove' with photojournalism again (screw Keena's advice about ncstate...bah) and am liking that i can control my camera and photo situations pretty well, compared to january when i was clueless. and it sounds cheezy and insincere, but i sincerely mean it when i say i am excited about what the next semester brings with photo-j. the work is really fulfilling. and i like macs.

we had another family meal tonight. afterwards i curled up in my grandpa's chair and read a bit and dabbled in sudoku while my dad perused through the washington post and my grandpa edited old poetry. it was really cozy and nice...how long has it been since i actually sat in the same room with my dad, let alone my grandpa? and reading instead of tv...when did this happen???? :)

at any rate, i'm thinking that this lack of a job thing might not be so bad after all. i'm finding (productive) ways to keep busy, and as hard as it is for me to not rely on school to dictate structure, i think it is important to learn how to rest. besides, i've got dozens of books waiting for me.

I'll end this here. I wonder what i'll do tomorrow.

things missed, part 1.

2006-06-30T23:28:00.000-05:00

staying out past my bed-time.

nights of collective CD burnings n the Smith household.

ostensibly deep conversations.

exploring abandoned buildings with someone else.

night walks full of pleasurable discoveries and ancient treasures. with TWO photographers. or three.

feels like it's been forever

2006-06-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

admittedly, i'm pretty nostalgic right now. i miss you like crazy jules. when i go on walks through the neighborhood i can't help but think of what we'd be discussing if you were here. college is supposed to be one of the most joyful times in life, supposedly, but i beg to differ. it's as absurd as astrology, which claims that all aries or all leos in the world have the same predetermined horoscope and attributes. it's not the time period that makes a stage of life great. hell, high school could have been the pits had i not had a a group of friends who all shared the same friends. i think it's the people in your life who determine it's course. maybe next year at this time i won't feel so fragmented...maybe i won't feel like i'm on the road to somewhere but not yet there...maybe i'll feel like i'm there. that's what high school was for me: there. even though i was unhappy and confused at times and undoubtedly had my share of teenage angst, i always had ju and john and karah and em. i had other fellow party poopers. and we had collective memories. that's the difference. that's what's absent now...that universalism. college lacks community: it's a haphazard hodgepodge of individuals, some driven and some driving themselves into the ground. summer only amplifies the individuality of college. and as much as i love talking on the phone, it's not the same as physically...being. with ju, with john, with em. breathing the same air, laying on the same couch while giving each other hand massages or back massages, taking in the same familiar surroundings...john's basement, jules' eclectic room. always a sense of place.

coldplay is singing it loud and clear: "the truth is, I miss you."

but i'm not going to let this dominate. that's why when nostalgia hits, i call you. that's why when i remember and feel myself getting sad, i write. i write you. that's why when i'm bored and wanting badly to talk to friends, i call. i call you, and i call new friends too, because i can't hide in the past.

already not yet.

i wonder if most of life is spent with one foot in the 'old' and one foot in the 'new.' there will be times when 80 percent of your body will be in the 'old' and 20 percent in the new. and vice versa. but always a split. i just hope it will meld together at some point...the old coming here. the new meeting the old.

so i'll pass the time...with reading, and writing, and photographing, and trying to find babysitting jobs. trying to meet more people, trying to cultivate those north carolina relationships that have already begun, trying to find new ones, and trying to not let my mind wander too far back into st. louis and high school.

here it goes.

what and why and how i think.

2006-06-30T21:53:00.000-05:00

i know i've been mentioning memories a lot, but it's a topic that's been on my mind lately. (no pun intended).

i wonder what constitutes a memory. why is it that certain inconsequential things stand out in my mind more so than the ostensibly 'important' events that one ought to remember...like birthdays, the first day of school, christmas morning? while turning onto burlington mills from capitol blvd today i was reminded of a drive i took with beth jaxon through the boonies near st. charles last may. I had my windows rolled down allowing that familiar, pungent woodsy smell to infiltrate my car. the wind was dampening my arm as i dangled it outide the rolled down window, 'flying,' the way jules taught me. beth an i had gotten horribly lost as we were driving from creve couer lake to my house and ended up following some windy path through the hills in the pitch blackness.

why that memory? i suppose it's because i had placed myself in a similar environment: windows down, same humid air, same time of night, same desolate countryside landscape, same pitch-darkness. and somewhere in the process my mind connected the tangible scenery with my slight nostalgia for st. louis and old summers that have now passed. for best friends and my sister and joe and beth.

i wondered if i realized then that that summer evening spent being lost with beth would be a memory. 95% of my day is gone forgotten, and i suppose 95% of my life is gone forgotten as well. (don't read into this too much...i'm not lamenting this, just speculating). it's like when you edit a photo on photoshop and then save the image, compressing all those pixels of information. the more you save, the more information is compressed and ultimately lost.

I don't remember events. I don't remember names or dates or facts. I remember moods...tones and colors and hues and emotions. I don't remember the content of those 'deep conversations,' but i remember that they were had...with the midnight sky, the cool breeze on my bare arms. i inhale the sweet second-hand smell of cloves, and jules' blonde hair is tangled. i am confused or blissfully happy and in love with st. louis, with summer, with spontaneity and idealism...for the moment, at least, even though they come back to haunt me.

I wonder what it takes to make something 'memorable.' what's in a memory?

better yet, what will i remember from this summer?

My first inclination is this: I will not remember very much if I spend much more time alone. Those st. louis memories...those high school memories...those childhood memories...the strongest and sweetest ones deal with best friends or my sister. interactions...because when you're with other people they introduce new concepts and tecnhiques and preferences and flavors into your life which are worthy of being recorded in your mind. why remember the times sitting in your room, bored, and watching t.v. to pass the time? why remember the mundane and the monotonous?

and when i do remember monotony...i remember writing karah or jules a flowery note on a tattered piece of notebook paper in geometry class. i remember what i was thinking about, rather, who i was thinking about, to break up the monotony.

if i were stranded on an island, i wonder what kinds of memories i would have. i wonder if i would talk to the dolphins and the coconut trees and draw pictures in the sand.

alcachofas

2006-06-27T20:24:00.000-05:00

I was first introduced to the artichoke in Andalucia. Rosario put a china bowl of lentil and artichoke soup in front of me, and I remember asking her what the weird leafy things protruding through the surface's layer of film were.

"Son alchachofas. No comas la parte dura."

Well, I did eat the hard part. And I nearly choked on it.

I've only known artichokes as alcachofas. Even now, when I request them for dinner I have to stop for a split-second to think of how the word translates into english. Alcachofa is just so much more fitting than artichoke. i like the way it rolls off my toungue with effort... 'oomph'...how i have to form four different shapes with my lips to get the word out. Al-CA-CHO-FA.

The second time I ate artichokes was in Chile. In fact, the only times i've eaten them have been in the context of spanish-speaking countries. Andrea made artichoke a couple of weeks ago at her mother's house in Las Condes, and i was one of the only dinner guests who knew how to properly eat them, thank you very much. How entertaining it was to watch Jay, an overgrown thirty-year-old with a red beard, discover the joy of artichokes. First the confusion..."how do you eat these goddamn things?"...then the look of disgust as Andrea makes chilean mayonaise dip in front of him. Then the first tentative bite...and then the next one, a bit more enthusiastic. it's a complicated process...especially when you reach the heart. andrea cut it up for him, and airplane-fed the heart into his mouth. I think he was wearing a bib.

He had three artichokes.

It took him an hour to eat them.

When I stumbled across Pablo Neruda's "Oda al Alcachofa," I wasn't the least bit surprised. It's no wonder I connote the Spanish language and culture with artichokes...Pablo Neruda, Chile's national poet, emblemized the alcahofa, turning it into the vegetable of all spanish-speaking peoples (in my opinion).

perhaps i'll write a song and make lyrics out of his poem. :) :) :)

Ode to an Artichoke:

The artichoke
With a tender heart
Dressed up like a warrior,
Standing at attention, it built
A small helmet
Under its scales
It remained
Unshakeable,
By its side
The crazy vegetables
Uncurled
Their tendrills and leaf-crowns,
Throbbing bulbs,
In the sub-soil
The carrot
With its red mustaches
Was sleeping,
The grapevine
Hung out to dry its branches
Through which the wine will rise,
The cabbage
Dedicated itself
To trying on skirts,
The oregano
To perfuming the world,
And the sweet
Artichoke
There in the garden,
Dressed like a warrior,
Burnished
Like a proud
Pomegrante.

And one day
Side by side
In big wicker baskets
Walking through the market
To realize their dream
The artichoke army
In formation.
Never was it so military
Like on parade.
The men
In their white shirts
Among the vegetables
Were
The Marshals
Of the artichokes
Lines in close order
Command voices,
And the bang
Of a falling box.

But
Then
Maria
Comes
With her basket
She chooses
An artichoke,
She's not afraid of it.
She examines it, she observes it
Up against the light like it was an egg,
She buys it,
She mixes it up
In her handbag
With a pair of shoes
With a cabbage head and a
Bottle
Of vinegar
Until
She enters the kitchen
And submerges it in a pot.

Thus ends
In peace
This career
Of the armed vegetable
Which is called an artichoke,
Then
Scale by scale,
We strip off
The delicacy
And eat
The peaceful mush
Of its green heart.

old portraits

2006-06-27T01:38:00.000-05:00

"memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based; others red; some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt; some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollectionas are in the eye of the beholder; no wo held up side by side will ever quite match."

********************************************************************************

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer? ~Lord Byron

**********************************************************************************

i just finished a thought-provoking book that dealt with memory as an underlying theme. memory, in it's ephemeral state...it is fragmented and not empirical, but we define our lives based off of those fragments, treating them as objectivity.

it's strange, the things we remember. a memory is never a video filmstrip. it's not even a photograph...perhaps just bits of a photograph. a flowery scent, an off-key note, the silhouette of a long-lost friend. we can't force ourselves to remember; a memory is a separate entity with its own soul and its own volition. it chooses when it wants to resurface, however belated or inopportune that moment may be.

things or not

2006-06-25T23:46:00.000-05:00

you can boil your life down to a single suitcase, if you desperately have to. Ask yourself what you really need, and it won't be what you imagine--you will easily toss aside unfinished work, and bills, and your daily calendar to make room for the pair of flannel pajamas you wear when it rains; and the stone your child gave you that is shaped like a heart; and the battered paperback you revisit every April, because it was what you were reading the first time you were in love. It turns out that what's important is not everythig that youve accumulated all these years, but those few things you can carry with you.

--jodi picoult

straddling many spheres

2006-06-24T22:51:00.000-05:00

my mind is on overload, but for once it is externally and not internally motivated. there is so much to write about...because there is so much to explore. not in a tangible way, necessarily. so many thoughts germinated in chile, but I never had the time or privacy to allow those thoughts to maturate.

And so right now I am torn between two opposing spheres--I want to sit down in a quiet, private haven for hours on end to write....write about chile, photography, aspirations, evolving dreams and emotions...try to put my finger around the chilean culture and the chilean people and my experience with that. and then the other side of me wants to soak up everything that is happening right now. I want to revel in the privacy and familiarity of my room, albeit "mine" for only three days. i want to feel the sweat on my body from lifting boxes on end up the stairs. I want to feel the childish anticipation that is concomitant with opening a box and wondering what the hell is inside. and oh how i crave reality and normalcy. flirting online, facebooking, reading the da vinci code and watching movies. things i couldn't really do in chile...things i couldn't fully do in college. it's not so much the 'actions' that are giving me a thrill right now...it's more the place where they're being done. HOME. my new north carolina home. strange how it slowly became home over the course of nine months.

oh, and how badly i want to photograph everything that is happening under my nose! today, for example, grandma was laying on her back on the couch with her legs crossed and bouncing up and down. she was talking on the phone and smiling broadly...it was just a picture perfect moment. i think about photographing the rooms in this house,composing portraits of my grandparents, documenting the feel of life here...which transcends more than the 'happy' moments. like the look of nostalgia on grandpa's face when he gazes outside from the screened in porch. i wonder what he is thinking about...there is such a sense of longing, or restlessness. i feel like this is singular and momentous time that i am experiencing right now...and i want so badly to document it. if only i had a camera....or could find my gosh darn charger for my dinky little point and shoot. (reminds herself: it's not the equipment, it's not the equipment. good photographers don't need fancy tools.)

coming back from a foreign country is such a singular feeling. for me, at least, it's sort of a surreal, in limbo state. the two spheres return: on the one hand, I am ecstatic to be back to familiarity, normalcy, and comfort. eating what i like, knowing the rules of decorum and common courtesy, being able to shut myself in my room for a couple of hours to read, watch a movie, or use the internet at my leisure. on the other hand, i miss many aspects of chile. not the country itself, but the sensation of being immersed in another culture. actually, i mostly miss the journalism culture...which is indeed a culture in and of itself. photography, photoshp, webdesign, audiostories, photostories, content gathering, the arduous work and meticulous attention...all of the aspects are foreign to family and friends. such is life...not everyone can understand what you do and why you like it and what it entails. and while i suppose many people are dumbfounded as to how i could be so unhappy while in chile...so gloomy with regards to my relationship to photography, to journalism, and to my colleagues...and then how my demeanor could so drastically change here to optimistic. i suppose part of it is my romanticist tendencies...i can pick and choose what i want to remember from chile. yet another part is that i'm so ecstatic to be settled, at a home, and at MY home, that i can look back on the turn of events with optimism and ocntendness. and then the rest of it remains as such: though chile wasn't always fun, it wasn't supposed to be all smiles 24-7. it was a learning lab and a learning experience...and perhaps the longing and homesickness God placed within me was meant to prepare me for north carolina and these present circumstances.

i will end this entry here, for brevity's sake.
buenas noches and goodnight.

update, as if life was on hold.

2006-06-14T18:31:00.000-05:00

i ought to be writing a book as opposed to a blog post, as i don´t know where to begin. i have too many thoughts, too many experiences. my brain is thinking visually, spatially, audially...anything but in written form. i could discuss long hours in the newsroom spent imaging, sequencing, splicing, captioning, and saving for web design. i could discuss everything that happens afterwards...the discotecas, the piscolas, the carretes, the madrugadas. sights...the desert or santiago? smog. andes. flamingos. photography. splash pages, maya, 3d design, adobe rgb. jargon suffices, indeed.

and then there´s all the stuff that can´t be documented in word or photograph but exists as mere growing experiences. learning how to work with an incompatible editor. learning how to live with seemingly incompatible roomates. and then seeing deeper. lesson of the day: people are more than skin-deep. those who seem most unlovable, most abrasive and unreachable, are usually the most beautiful. and all of life is a paradox.

but perhaps i´ll save that for later. perhaps i´ll write a book about this month. perhaps i´ll write it down in my chilean notebook with its graph paper lines. or maybe i´ll just keep it in my mind, like the rest of my memories that are aching to be put on paper but lie dormant until further notice.

Atacama desert

2006-05-19T21:10:00.000-05:00

The coastal Atacama desert is the driest in the world and almost totally barren. The landscape of the moon offers an obvious comparison, except that the Atacama has as its backdrop the towering Andes, which block tropical storms from the Amazon Basin to the east. There can be torrential rains in some areas of the desert, causing flash floods and sudden, ephemeral bursts of vegetation.

crisis delta change pivotal crucial defining.

2006-05-17T03:00:00.000-05:00

crisis=turning point. a pivotal moment.
as defined by Religion 43 with Peter Kaufman.
yeah, so even though this resolution will inevitably fail (partly or wholly), i resolve to change my mood tomorrow. screw indiffernece. screw contradiction. i need to

STOP
THINKING AND
STOP

DWELLING AND
STOP
MUSING OVER THE SAME CRAP
over
and over
and over again
always the same crap
the same the same unchanging but apply different
forms of thinking
different methods
different
analizations.
ENOUGH.
bastante. no mas.
i just need to
DO
SOMETHING
anything
not everything
just one small thing
even if it is
ostensibly selfish and
for myself.
maybe i should be taking better care
of myself.

i wish i had a syringe filled with Motivation or Determination or Optimism to drown out all the Negative.

things that i could/can/and will do all/in part tomorrow/this week to pass the time:
-run 1 mile.
-go to borders and peruse through that book beth recommended
-compile creative cd's of wondeful emo music for matt and carolyn
-write bobby hill a letter and develop his pictures.
-call grandma ann.
-write rosario a letter...i don't want her to become just another "story" of mine...she's a real live PERSON and oh how much i would like to write to her to just maintain our relationship.
-go to the mall to get my glasses fixed.
-read about chile at borders.

a borders visit is in order.

and i really do want to get excited about chile.

grey skies abounding.

2006-05-17T02:35:00.000-05:00

i'm feeling the need to express myself. i don't really have anything to "report," seeing as i haven't let myself "come out" and really physically/mentally do anything. i'm back at home...and i've already sunk into this foggy world of restlessness. why do i thrive off of structure so much? why can't i just impose structure on myself? why can't i find anything to do?

i haven't had a "high" in quite some time. not since the middle of april...probably the last time i was truly happy/content/joyful/whatever was after running with matt at midnight and talking about...everything. honestly. freely. oh and with OPTIMISM for once in my life.

i like that i see things complexly, but i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate it. b/c it inhibits me from living in the present. and inhibits me from...well...avoiding depression. oh but i like bright eyes...i do like his lyrics. i like the symbolism and how he wrestles with things...his own neurosis and depression and i can relate so well to things he sings about. but part of me feels like the both of us fuel our own depression by thinking and writing and pondering. i like pondering though....so the quesiton is, how can i LIVE life as myself...as Courtney Ann Potter...the romanticist/thinker/philosopher/whatever withtout being miserable? i don't want to alter my personality...i DO think but right now this thinking is destructive and...oh i don't know how to channel my thoughts in a productive way. i guess school provided that structure...school helps me thinking productively by CHOOSING things for me to think about. and it's not really escaping life, it's just exercising my brain so that i don't lose myself to thoughts like this in my dorm room and end up like bright eyes: drunk, high, and writing depressing song lyrics about introspection and the quest for meaning.

the overall color of this blog is blatantly clear. grey.

it's been awhile.

2006-05-11T12:15:00.000-05:00

I read an article in the newspaper today commenting on the phenomenom that we call MySpace. Apparently it is now used to memorialize the dead--to dwell on words of the past, thoughts of the past. In essence, you can keep someone preserved as their nine-teen-year-old self.

This really creeped me out.

I've been thinking about the Internet lately...it's a tool to quick intimacy and quick history. You can talk to a boy on instant messenger and suddenly feel as though you "know" him through and through. What is typed is not necessarily analagous to what is thought and what would be said, in the tone you would say it in.

How many hours have I wasted on instant messenger reading everyone's away messages? How many good person-to-person conversations have I lost due to flirting with someone on a multisync LCD 1765 monitor? And facebook...what have I gained from it? I do like the photoalbum tool, but I think it has brought me more harm than good in the end. It's got temptation written all over it---what you do, what you discover, can be used to your own "advantage" and knowledge is a dangerous thing. Yes, there's the understood temptation of "lust" and "stalking" ex-boyfriends and hopeful boyfriends-to-be. There's so much more though...I catch myself perusing through other girls' photoalbums, comparing myself to them. she is prettier, she is taller, she is skinnier, she is more athletic, she is more brunnette. it's ridiculous the things I can dwell upon. and there's the larger temptation of seeing who has the most "appealing" profile...who professes to be the most "cultured" or "out-doorsy" or "poetic" or "emo..." the list goes on and on into oblivion.

I am prone to this. I am the type to both quickly compare myself to anyone and quickly jump on an opportunity to procrastinate. I'm not going to brush it off as "normal" or the "college thing to do," even though both may be truths. I do this because my heart is prone to wander, prone to do whatever I please even if it may be detrimental to both myself and others. What have I gained from facebook? What friendships have I formed? I certainly haven't been brought closer to people through facebook...the "real" things are left for the real world...face-to-face conversation or "old-fashioned" (pshaw) telephone calls. Facebook...is good for joking and romanticizing...which i'm not labeling as "evil" (they aren't) but (for me) are dangerous.

I've been thinking of 1 John 2.
Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. 16For everything in the world—the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does—comes not from the Father but from the world. 17The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.

it's important that one understands the distinction between the created world and the fallen world. John classifies the "world" as those things that a) are marked by sinful cravings b) involve covetousness and c)involve self-absorption...boasting about who you are, what music you like, what you have done, what you dream about doing, etc. God lavishes us with worldly blessings so that we enjoy them; it is not "evil" to be excited about a dramatic thunderstorm or finding a five-dollar bill on the sidewalk or (gasp gasp) writing on someone's facebook wall. But i've got my head SO stuck on my conception of "the world" that i'm missing out on these blessings and i'm not looking towards eternal things. fellowship with christians, spiritual growth...and CULTIVATING relationships (especially with my family) rather than aggravating them (which is what inevitably happens with facebook).

It saddens me that, via the Internet/computer/blogs/saved emails I can rehash old hurts, dwell upon old sins...and totally forget about forgiveness. moving on.

Yes, so I'm a hypocrite. I'm writing this on a blog. The point is, I don't want to go back and read and "meditate" on this...over and over and over again. I hope that other people can relate to my thoughts...i hope i spark some sort of thinking or pondering or reflecting. If not, that's alright too.

I like writing. I like photography. I pray that God can show me how to use these in healthy, effective, God-glorifying ways.

thoughts on chut

2006-04-23T22:11:00.000-05:00

"You like to commit heavily to things... but it's often for the sake of a commital. So you transfer the commital to something else, in hopes it'll work out better. So you have dramatic transitions. It may seem flighty to some, but that's not the most accurate term to describe your behavior"
thoughts on chut, by john strand.

right on target. ouch. should i take it with a grain of salt? it is me...i guess i just have to accept that. i wonder if will ever change...be committed to something that i truly LOVE. or someone.

advice

2006-04-23T21:43:00.000-05:00

thank you carolyn.
thank you colleen.
thank you galen.

you all said the same thing:

I need to lighten up.
I need to not be so hard on myself.
I need to take risks.

consciousness

2006-04-20T23:48:00.001-05:00

At the University of Chicago you can major in the History of Consciousness.

Carolyn showed me this pretty interesting article about Consciousness today. That act was in no way connected to the aforementioned statement. one of those weird coincidences, i suppose.

Though parts of it teetered more toward New Age religion, it brought up many interesting, thought-provoking points. I suppose i should reexamine my biases against psychology.

i was pretty conflicted, though. actually, at first i was entranced, then argumentative, then tried to reach a compromise. true consciousness, it argued, entails "letting go." letting go of all analyzing, thinking....just letting your mind wander...ignoring the inner voice. The sense of self is merely a compilation of abstractions and concepts. We conceptualize the world too much instead of seeing it for what it truly is...crises, therefore, ensue when we manipulate our surroundings b whatever preconceived notions or "concepts" we try to apply. technology only escalates this problem. I did like the idea of "letting go." especially with regards to nature...going outside and simply absorbing...what? i don't know. it's so hard not to think, not to analyze. i am entranced by the idea of just sitting and being. connecting with nature.

yes, i suppose that is a bit "new-agish," but doesn't it sound appealing? letting go of all selfishness, all conceptions of self! the world is not about you, so stop thinking about thinking about something profound. or thinking about thinking about thinking about something profound.

over and over and over again.

cessation.

but then i tried to reconcile that with my beliefs. and i don't think the purging of all thoughts is the key to "nirvana." heck, i don't even believe in nirvana. That was what bothered me the most about this article...it's claims that to live "fully" one must cast aside all thinking.

i don't think that the emotional sphere is completely detached from the mental sphere or the psychological sphere. this article was founded upon the assumption that they are. love cannot be separated from thinking. compassion cannot be separated from understanding.

i kept thinking of romans twelve, which says,

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

...be transformed by the renewing of your mind. thinking, analyzing, understanding...all of these have a role to play in life. yet in and of themselves...it's not enough. a transformation must take place. most religions acknowledge this...that's why nirvana exists, that's why escapism exists, that's why people do yoga. something needs to be done to the mind.

and as attractive as "letting go" of life while in the woods may be, i think it's more attractive to yield your mind to God. granted, i'm not really sure what this looks like in every-day life. i'm still working on that. and even though i don't really understand it, even though it's still really abstract...i have faith in what i believe.

i just feel as though the self is important. all of my abstractions, all of my conceptualizations, all of my predispositions...are not for naught. I have a mind for a purpose, and only through its cultivation and transformation (by a higher source) will I be able to employ it in the way God designed. i don't like nirvana because even though it's about "letting go," it's ultimately about that "feeling" of euphoria...which is pretty self-centered. nirvana is, paradoxically, self-serving.

who really cares if i have a moment of utter peace in the middle of a field? i guess it has its place in life, but it's not the end-all-be-all. wouldn't it be better to use my mind and make some sort of difference in the world...even if it's so much as making someone laugh after looking at a weird picture that i photographed?

the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. again, i don't entirely understand what this looks like, but I'm pretty sure it isn't nirvana.

maybe i'm wrong. i'm still working on that.

granted, it was fun to wrestle with this concept.

2006-04-20T23:48:00.000-05:00

something else

2006-04-17T23:13:00.000-05:00

experience

2006-04-16T11:22:00.000-05:00

"I went to e woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartanlike as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.” -from Where I Lived, and What I Lived For. Thoreau.

These are my thoughts. Not verbatim, for I am not Thoreau and I am not perfectly at ease while in nature. Yet I have been contemplating something akin to this...chewing over words like "experience" and "life."

I wish I were Thoreau. I wish I knew what I lived for and sought after it whole-heartedly.

I romanticize, but do not live in the present. I dream about the future...what i can one day do, what i can one day be, what i can one day understand. But what about now? What do I live for? To be quite honest, I'm not sure. What drives me? What are my passions? I have those answers that I spit off instinctively, reflexively, when a stranger nonchalantly asks. Photography. Learning. Movies. Thinking. Running. But those...those are just activities. What about Photography drives me? It's not just the act of taking pictures...can it really be that simple?

I do not know because I do not try. I do not know my passions because I do not explore. I do not know because I fit myself into a box...what I think Courtney SHOULD be, SHOULD like, SHOULD strive for.

I feel as though I've been spending this past semester casting aside eighteen years' worth of presuppositions. i was told who to be, how to act, what to value. and a lot of advice was good advice...i have built a foundation upon good principles, worthy principles...yet i'm not satisfied. b/c i never wrestled with them...challenged them...made SURE they were worth living for. I never made them MY principles. and so now i am conflicted...half of Courtney believes in all of these things in her head, but the other half has problems connecting them to, well, the rest of the world. And assumption is a dangerous thing. Living life blindly is a dangerous thing.

I hate that I was so sheltered as a child. grateful on one level...but I think it does more harm than one may think.

I'm trying to crash my plan. I am destroying the auto-pilot and switching over to manual mode. I hate having the answers (or what I think the answers are) but not really living by it. or challenging them. Why do I believe what I believe? Why do I like what I like? Why don't I know what I like? Why why why why why?

It's okay to question. In fact, people don't question enough.

I spent this weekend in the woods...with a friend who is overwhelming at ease. eerily at ease. beautifully at ease. with himself, with nature, with his passions and his beliefs. he's not just a list of hobbies and clubs...and he doesn't really rattle off his academic pursuits when asked what he does for fun. there's a deeper root. nature....but not just nature...a union with nature. somewhere in between quiet observation and active participation. no need for words. silence is acceptable.

It is beautiful.

I'd like to spend more time outdoors. i'm not sure why. maybe because i feel i'll find myself...or maybe i feel like i'll forget myself completely and become entranced by something larger than myself. maybe because it scares me shitless, for lack of better terminology. i am stripped naked, fully conscious of myself yet paradoxically oblivious to myself...lost to my surroundings.

I don't want to die without having lived. failed. soared. tried.

I want to live sturdily. I'm not sure how to suck the marrow out of life. i just hope I'll die trying.

indeed.

2006-04-01T02:35:00.000-05:00

indeed. paradoxically unbearable and freeing. adrenaline.

and....

oh jules, i miss you terribly right now. remember our skirts? and our einstein's runs? and starbucks? and we even worked together at panera. oh jules, i miss you so. can we go back to high school for a day?

my song.

2006-04-01T02:30:00.000-05:00

i hate that people claim artists' lyrics as their own lifestories...but i guess i'll have to be a hypocrite. i really like these lyrics...i can relate. even though i don't interpret the emptiness literally...its supposed to be a lover. but it fits. and i'm glad that june is coming. and i'm glad that december is over. dig deeper.

If I am lost for a day try to find me
But if I don't come back, then I won't look behind me
All of the things, that I thought were so easy
Just got harder and harder each day

December is darkest, in June there's the light
But this empty bedroom won't make anything right
But out on the landing a friend I forgot to send home
Who waits up for me all through the night

Calendar Girl, who's in love with the world, stay alive!
Calendar Girl, who's in love with the world, stay alive!

I dreamed I was dying, as I so often do
And when I awoke I was sure it was true
I ran to the window and threw my head to the sky
And said whoever is up there, please don't let me die

But I can't live forever, I can't always be
One day I'll be sand on the beach by the sea
The pages keep turning, I'll mark off each day with a cross
And I'll laugh about all that we've lost

Calendar Girl, who is lost to the world, stay alive!
Calendar Girl, who is lost to the world, stay alive!

January, Febuary, March, April, May
I'm alive
June, July, August, September, October
I'm alive
November, December, yeah all through the winter
I'm alive
I'm alive!

(stars- calendar girl).

a bit of nostalgia

2006-04-01T01:56:00.000-05:00

at the end of the day I like that I have writing. there will always be work. school is work. photography work. bible-study is work. all of these activities become obsolete after so much time...they are all just "things" and meaning begins to fade. I think writing is one of the only things I have that is truly for me and me alone---which is why I could never major in creative writing, because then it wouldn't be what it is. therapeutic. comforting. a way of reminiscing or dreaming or blabbering. if you major in it you can't blabber, that's a rule.

I once wore a writing hat, like Jo from Little Women, while writing. P.S. it really helps.

the coming of spring has brought a flood of memories and longings back. all so tangible. Here are the most tangible (diversions and passions that I had tucked away for the winter, albeit subconsciously, in order to "work"):

1. eisley. well, eisley really is a microcosm of all good, pleasant music. Elbow and Smashing Pumpkins are for winter, but now winter is over and I can emerge from the darkness.

This is my state of being, where the "you"=not a person, but life in general.

Its happening all the time
When I open my eyes
I'm still taken by suprise
I hold sunlight and swallow fireflies
And it makes me want to cry

I love you

I shall never grow up
Make believe is much to fun
Can we go far away to the humming meadow

We were walking there
I had tangles in my hair
But you make me feel so pretty
You have shinning eyes
Yes like those forest lights
And it makes me want to cry

I love music. And listening to Eisley with the windows down in my car on my way back from class...i felt complete again. I really do love music, and i hate that i've slacked on listening to it for pleasure just because ju isn't here to burn me her latest preferences. i'm listening to rufus wainwright right now, and it's lovely. it makes me think of europe and johnny depp. "all the sights of paris swirl inside your iris." so here is my spring selection; that is, here are the artists that i automatically associate with spring, primarily b/c i first heard their music in spring.: It's time for...eisley, rufus wainwright, david gray, radiohead (let down), lapush, lydia's wonderful birthday mix from sophomore year.

2. I love driving. the best experience i had this week: driving in seventy degree weather to nowhere. i just drove. i had no EARTHLY idea where i was, but somehow meandered back to 15-501 and found manning drive. windows down. shoes off. one leg up on the seat. eisley lauding the trolly woods. my hair blowing. it's a little hot.

3. lacrosse. spring=lacrosse season. yet there is no mr. knerr, no frolicking in the westminster fields, no scavenging for yellow balls, no skirts, no goggles, no bagel packs. i mostly miss tossing the ball back in forth, analagous to playing a mere game of catch with a mitt. it's mindless and gives you such a sense of control and satisfaction. and then...you let go. and just talk for hours. and throw the ball around. the yellow ball. against the blue sky. So i played lacrosse for the first time since fall tonight at Relay For Life, with three random Chapel Hill High students. but it was so comforting. so familiar.

4. cross-country. so this isn't spring, but i miss RUNNING. and not just the ACT of running...b/c if i do that by myself i run myself into a rut and get dreadfully lonely. I miss cross-country. the thrill of running with fellow quirky masochists. who find a quiet joy in running through the woods, isolated, away from the buzz of campus. in tune only with the beating of the heart and the rhythm of the feet and the sweating of the brow. you are so utterly exposed yet so utterly free. i miss that...i miss that group of people and that activity.

5. acapella singing. the lord bless you and keep you, enough said.

6. sevilla. espanol. kim y rosario y tortilla de patatas. varias palabras muy distintas como "grua"...la primera palabra que aprendi. david bisbal y mis clases y calle bendis y las palmas y aun el calor insoportable. y decir la palabra insoportable.

lydia, john, jules, emily, karah...i miss you all the most. especially right now, at this very second. i ache because i'm not with you. i'm not really complete. and i'm retreating into this dark little haven right now...of westminster. not the institution, but the memories of it, which are just memories of you all. i thought of each of you today at various points. and it wasn't just a fleeting thought...it was more of feeling or even a pain inside. i guess that's what you call nostalgia. or homesickness. anyways, i love you all...i really do.

goodnight, world.

2006-03-25T01:59:00.000-05:00

goodnight. say
your
prayers.
goodnight.

noche brillante.

2006-03-24T22:46:00.000-05:00

tengo ganas de reflejar. y por algun razon tengo ganas de escribir en espanol. aglunas veces cosas me vienen en maneras diferentes. he descubierto que cuando ya no se de lo que escribere, escribo en espanol. me ayuda separar, organizar, y generar mis pensamientos. pues...esta semana ha sido inolvidable.

el lunes rogue a dios que me mande las leciones de "la vida." queria sentirme, queria sentir lo que una humana vivaz sentiria. pues, cosas acontencieron. dios era bueno.

el lunes carolyn y yo halbabamos sobre la vida. viajar, hablar otras lenguas, encontrar nuestras pasiones. era la vida.

el martes beth y yo hablaboms por telefono. tenia realizaciones sobre mi hermana y un amigo y su relacion y mi relacion con los dos. y era bueno.

el miercoles regrese a los anos de colegio medio...viaje a otro tiempo, un tiempo cuando tenia solamente 14 anos y experiencia el amor por la primera vez. corazonitos dibujados en el papelito. si, tenia un "crush" enorme en un muchacho. un muchacho guapo y inteligente y con muchos talentos. lo conoci un dia en mi trabajo, y era muy espontaneo...un dia lleno de coincidencias extranas que me ponia como un moto. emociones que no se podian controlar. halbamos sobre la fotografia. caminabamos por una senda hacia un campo de beisbol. y no me he sentido como eso hace desde...pues, un ano a lo menos...cuatro a lo mas.

el jueves solidificaba un amistad con meagan...y hablamaos sobre...la problemas de la vida. me sentia como Nicole Kidman en una pelicula muy tonta sobre una maga quien queria ser "normal" y halbar sobre las problems ordinarias en un cafe con sus amigas. y eso es lo que hice.

el jueves algo increible occurio: alcance la confianza. te preguntare ese chico si podiamos tomar un cafe el sabado. nunca hablo con los muchachos.

el jueves hablaba con ben sobre el tema de salir con el sexo opuesto. y...me sentia como si ben fuera mi padre. o mi pastor. (pues, es mi pastor, claro que si). el punto es que aprendia sobre una relacion que es agradable en los ojos de dios. hablamaos sobre mis sentimientos...lo que es malo, lo que es pecadoso, lo que es bueno, lo que es recto.

el viernes...lo mejor. lo mejor lo mejor lo mejor. aparte de una nota mala en mi examen de "midterm" en mi clase del economia, tome un cafe con eso chico...y era natural. soprendentemente natural. no glorioso, pero comodo. y no quiero comerlo, pero quier ser su amiga. pues...admito que quiero ser mas de una amiga, pero puedo esparar.

y entonces tenia una pasion otra vez por la fotografia. la fotografia del journalism...no solo por mi propio entretenemiento. me encantaba mi trabajo. y tomaba muchas fotos. de todo y todo. y queria estar en mi trabajo todos los dias. y queria hacer la fotografia. y queria hacer nada mas...sin viajar y hablar espanol.

(tambien me estilice mi cabello y me ponia alegre).

y ahora estoy con carolyn, ah mi amiga buenisma. gracias adios por bendecerme con las riquezas de la vida . gracias, mil gracias. y espero que no va a durar; ya lo se que no va a durar, pero por ahora...me sigue contenta.

adios. y buenas noches.

chicago.

2006-03-24T01:56:00.000-05:00

isn't chicago nice?
isn't distortion nice?
isn't art nice?
even if it is a giant bean.

p.s. did you know that me cago means "i defecate" in spanish. i wonder why any city would be name chi-CAGO. that's gross. but i still like the city.

carajo

2006-03-20T16:49:00.002-05:00

Whenever I read a new book I claim that it is my new favorite book. It usually is, too.

But this book really IS my new favorite book, and it stands apart from all of those other new favorite books.

Carlos Eire, am I myopic and naive to want to be you, or something like you...to see the world the way you see it? To live in Havana, or shall i say Habana, in 1959...even with Castro?

Yes, perhaps it is a bit twisted of me to wish that upon myself. But I am envious. I really am. And I compare my life to yours...my ordinary, white, suburban, middle-class life. Even the phrase "white, surbuban, middle-class life" is a white, suburban, middle-class phrase. Why can't I transcend my upbringing? Why can't I change my roots? That's the wrong question...why can't I absorb my roots, my childhood, my homeland? Why don't I feel comfortable calling America my homeland? And I supposedly have more: more education, more Christian principles, more this, more that. Why do I eschew it? Why do i want less? Or is it more??

It's not just the superficial. Sure, one can make the blaringly obvious comparison: I grew up in the Midwest in an age of PBS and backyard fences. You grew up in a tropical paradise in an age of paradoxical unbridled liberty...despite Castro. You had the ocean, that dark abyss that you write about, and recklessness and firecrackers and iguanas. Tangerine sunsets, lo exotico, and ciruela, furtabomba, and guanabana icecream. Your father was Louis the Fifteenth reincarnated, and your mother was Marie Antoinette.

So before looking past the superficial, I must confess that I long for that. Long isn't a good enough word. Anhelo para todo que es tuyo. I I yearn for all that is yours. #%$ARGH%#!&*$%# Culo, cono, hijo de puta, carajo. Culo, culo, culo feo. spanish explitives emitted by a tropical parrot... I want to be that parrot. because it gets to speak the language...it gets to KNOW the language, the culture. and it's a FREAKING BIRD! I really do think in Spanish at times...not to the extent that I did in Spain. Reading this book has been a trip back to Sevilla, but I am struck by so much MORE anhelo and longing and pain...I had something...I had Spain, todo que es espanol, for two glorious months, and now I have lost it. I don't wish to merely regain it though; I wish to be defined by it. and that's why I'm sad...because it can never be my native tongue. I love Spanish...the vowels, the accents, the smooth cadence of the lengauje cuando se habla como se canta. I wish I had that culture shaping my identiy; I wish that from birth I could have soaked all that is Spanish in my skin. The paella, the palms, the history, the beauty, even the tragedy. No, all I have is...America. new. democracy. the best country in the world. (sighs).

I want to say that I don't believe that wholeheartedly. I don't. But i feel obliged to say it. But i really don't. Yes, there are so many good and comfortable things about America, but that is just the problem. Where are the risks, the brushes with death, with life, the dramatic hues of experience? Where is the rich history and the culture and beautiful language? America is nice, but America is not beautiful. America is good, but America is not enthralling. America is all right, but it is not embued with that rich complexity. Rica. Hermosa. Llena de Pasion. Exotica. America no es eso.

And that's where i get stuck, lost in my own emotion...my own lack of emotion, rather. Carlos Eire, you had all that I want in Cuba. And you KNEW you had it...you are Cuban, you are shaped to the core by your country, your language, your history. The spirit of Cuba is the Cuba in you...it IS you. Hahaha, Courtney is being so dramatic and poetic you all think...but for Jesus. H. Christ de los culos I'm not! I read about beauty and tragedy and history and culture and life and death and sadness and lenguage y tristeza y el mundo de experienca rica. I read about it...it's so real or else all creative authors are just fucked up and deceiving us all. Why do i face criticism for wanting that richness? even the sadness? yes, i want the tragedy...because it's more interesting than my own life.

Show yourself to me
and let your gaze and your beauty kill me;
for the wound
of love,it can't be healed
save by your being here"
--Saint Thomas Aquinas, quoted by Carlos Eire in Waiting for Snow in Havana.

oh, there is so much more. Carlos Eire, I both admire you and envy you with endless celos for your thoughts. your perception, your understanding, your wrestling with the hardships of life itself and then the way you work out your salvation on paper with pen and spanish memories. you can write because you can feel. i want to feel. i want to experience such attachment to my homeland or my first love or my last love or my grandmother or my backyard. and i cry for you...i hurt for you because you have lost Cuba. you had paradise...and then it was seized from you in the name of "equality" by that tiny speck that squashed your home, your estate, your parents, your relatives, your homeland, your soul with his big fat muddy boot. fuck castro.

again, i repeat, culo culo culo feo. cono cojones carajo hijo de puta.

Is it stupid of me to want that unnumbered chapter? that vault of oblivion ? Those memories that are ugly as hell itself? argh why do i have to romanticize everything? you feel...you feel so much and it shows in your writing. you write, "Some chapters just can't be numbered. Not at all. I'm sure you have chapters like that in your life. ...You can't assign numbers to these chapters. Not even zero. Not even a zero ringed with thorns. You can't write them the same way as all the others. They can't look the same either. No. If you were to write them, you could only begin to do it at 2:30 a.m. after a horrible day."

Maybe i just need to dig deeper. Maybe i really am capable of unlocking the vault of emotion buried within my calloused heart. maybe i really am capable of feeling life so richly, albeit painfully. so real-ly. unadulterated.

It's just that the life that Carlos Eire writes of is so...paradoxical. At times I don't believe him...it's just a magical pardise and he writes with magical realism. Other times i think he's writing about hell itself. ANd then he's funny...so satirical. he paints pictures of incongruity and hilarity...juxtaposed with his seven proofs for the existence of God...all written with the urgency of a confession. It's not one thing or another, but many things and all things. Like those crazy holograms. Life is a hologram.

And that's what I liked...he showed everything, expressed every emotion, invoked every emotion in his readers...and it wasn't cheezy or unbelievable, even though it was unbelievable.

you won't understand unless you read it. so read it, and tell me if i'm crazy.

Estas despierto, hijo. Mas despierto que nunca.

all of human experience.

2006-03-20T16:38:00.000-05:00

"I was the first to lay eyes on the woman with the big butt. Her rear end was monumental, large enough to contain all of the world, and all of human experience.

Thinly, very thinly veiled by red fabric, it spoke of many things without speaking. Fertile fields, sunlight, water, earthworms, hard labor, sweat, roots, greens, fruit, udders, milk, flies, muddy hooves, feathers, trucks full of produce, market stalls, blood, meat, money, canvas shopping backs bursting at the seams, kitchens with banged-up pots, rusty kerosene stoves, lard wrapped in wax paper, dripping tins of olive oil from Spain, diced onions hissing in black pans, garlic fumes, knives that gave off sparks when sharpened on pedal-driven wheels lined with flint, sparks that flew like planets being born, Band-Aids, iodine, aprons stained with memories, ladles, sptaulas, spoons, forks, dishes, glasses stained with lipstick, cups, napkins, table-cloths folded by grandmothers, dishes steaming on the table, thinkly sliced avocados, fried plantains, malanga, yucca, carne asada, arroz con pollo, picadillo, ropa vieja, tasajo, papas rellenas, tons of rice, blakc beans, garbanzos, red beans, paella, beer, wine, rum, coffee, flan made in old chorizo tins, custard with vanilla wafers stuck inside, guaba paste and cream cheese on crackers, lots of sugar, sunsets, endless talk, whispers, shouts, gossip, songs, music on the radio, dancing in place, hands around the waist, hands on the back, familiar bones felt under the flesh, new ones discovered, heat within, heat in the air, kisses, joy, disappointment, betrayal, sorrow, arguments, prayer, sex, birth, ration cards, firing squads, illness, and death.

And egglplants, of course.

And oh, yeah, love too. I'm sure love had a lot to do with making that butt so big."

--Carlos Eire, in Waiting for Snow in Havana

that's humanity for you.

old albums

2006-03-16T16:14:00.000-05:00

something special happened tonight. not everyone would find it special; in fact, I feel as only beth and I felt the moment for what it was. my family members wouldn’t appreciate it for what it was. nor would my RUF friends. nor would john. not even joe.

I’m not bashing them for that; it’s not a negative trait, just a mere observation.

I think that art does that to you. When you look at art and someone else sees it the same way you do…and you both make discoveries about it with each other, building off of each other’s unique observations and comments…you sort of create art and create an experience in itself.

I really do have goosebumps right now.

I looked at beth jaxon’s photo albums with her. a casual browsing through her digital albums led me to second and third base…and blossomed into an erotic love affair with art, photography, childhood, emotion, and humanity itself. I’m not joking. nor am I striving to be “poetic,” whatever that is. photography can capture so much; no words can adequately describe what I’m feeling right now. it’s not really an excitement or a euphoria...just a calmness and peace and warm happiness emanating from my core that warms even the tips of my fingers. like stepping inside of a warm house after making snow-angels. rosy cheeks and an ice-cold nose. wet clothing forsaken, and you are naked…embracing the warmth of the fireplace and indigo wool blankets.

composition, light, and moment. these aren’t core elements, after all.

I’ve never had such and intense picture-viewing session…especially with someone else’s childhood photos. yes, at first I saw japan, paris, Dublin, pretty mountains, cool shadows, some fog, and lots of buildings. but it was so much more than that…it was like with each picture I fell more in love with photography: with the places IN the photos, the way the composition captured the subject matter in a fresh way…and then the whole thought process…the whole visual experience. I really can’t explain it.

Beth has such an inventive spirit with unbridled curiosity. It comes out in her photographs, and I really admire that. My pictures are quite uptight in comparison...not necessarily the final product, but the thinking behind each photo. I don’t let myself loose; it’s like when I was in cross-country and I would slow down at the end of the 5ks when everyone else was speeding up, numb to the pain and heat…succumbing ethereally into the adrenaline and the endorphins. Climaxing. I want my pictures to do that…yet I am confined by photojournalism and DTH assignments. Rarely do I venture outside on a rainy day to play with shadows, explore the campus, climb the trees and just sit. my outlook on life is stale. photography is a free ticket to a life of exploration, devoid of boredom and stagnancy. I have not yet tapped into that…I am holding back, scared to express myself. MYSELF. not beth jaxon, not joe madden, not pat Davison or sam abell or ansel adams. I wonder what Courtney Ann Potter’s photographs can be. And I wonder how much fun I can have taking them. I wonder what places I can see, what moments I can freeze, what emotion I can feel.

Raw.

I am going to take pictures of my children. I am going to take loads of pictures of my children.

If I never get anything published and remain a starving artist the rest of my life, then so be it. I will have pictures of my children.

beth’s childhood photo albums…oh my goodness. it wasn’t just the composition (which was stellar). It wasn’t just good lighting. It wasn’t even moment…though there was plenty of that. It was…I dunno, I can’t really put my finger on just a single term that describes what it was. it was so many things…beth’s expressions in the pictures. so emotive…so intense and then so carefree. swirls of motion blur, soft blinking eyes, wiggling toes. all sorts of creating…she was so artful in her demeanor. it seemed like in each picture she was exploring.

Exploring nature.
her backyard.
Exploring intimacy.
her family
Exploring common everyday objects.
plasticware
Exploring basic human emotions.
laughter, rage, curiosity, love, ecstasy.
Exploring her own sense of exploration.
with intensity.

how did her parents capture that in the pictures? I don’t think it’s just good photography…or is it good photograpy? good photography transcends the rulebook and gives you a powerful, unadulterated glimpse into Soul. you forget all about the photography and focus on the emotion, the moment. You understand it with your whole being. You feel it. You are it.

(I swear I’m not some New Age guru).

I’ve never looked at pictures in this way. I’ve never looked at photography in this way. I’ve never looked at people in this way, human life in this way.

I want to take pictures of my kids. I don’t want to just record the superficial obvious things…the birthday party…the crying face, the sleepy face, the happy face. I want to capture so much more…and I want to create. beth jaxon, three years old, sitting on a yellow fire hydrant clad in a yellow dress with yellow shoes. creation.

I’ve figured it out. This is the answer to the question I’ve asked for the past few years, posed by Thoreau. It’s how you suck the marrow out of life. You let loose, you explore, you create, you partake, you share.

I vow never to be too busy for taking pictures of my own children. I want to let loose…to constantly explore these real humans under my own roof. I want to discover their essence and capture that on film…record it for generations and generations and generations. Discovery, Exploration, Creativity, Curiosity…all bound together by Love.

This is my joie de vivre.

sparks.

2006-03-13T21:30:00.000-05:00

Such a perfect way of thinking about those fuses, and also life. You begin at one end, and as you make your way forward, point by infinitesimal point, you give off sparks. And what you leave behind is charred, consumed, transformed. But that glorious voyage towards the end: poets never grow weary of trying to describe it. The end, or telos, as Aristotle or Aquinas would tell you, is the very reason for existence, the purpose of anything that exists. Our telos as humans, yours and mine, is to abide with God for eternity. The sparks on our way there, large and small, call them love. The telos of a fuse on a firecracker is a nice explosion. The sparks on the way there, call them love too.

happy list.

2006-03-10T22:43:00.000-05:00

I once made "Happy List" when i was a naive yet happy-go-lucky fourteen year-old. Though still naive and slightly more straitlaced (darn), I feel like creating a new list.

Things That Make Me Happy
staring at artwork for a long period of time
christianity
ben inman
Bosch
Sam Abell
photography
creativity
spontaneity
late-night swimming in the moonlight
summer
grass under my toes
the way spring smells
cloves
endorphines
running, ellipticalizing, biking, and frolicking
fields full of sunflowers
finger-painting
rainy days
dark, moody skies
lightning and thunder
tornados
tomatos
blueberry bushes
soap bubbles in the sink
the word 'bicho'
japan
chopsticks
existential movies
woody allen
love movies
love
passion
beauty
abstract ideals
screaming at the top of my lungs
crying
doing laundry
letting my room get really messy and then cleaning it up in one gigantic undertaking
downy detergent
lavenders
bumblebees
british music
indie rock
learning
discovery
college
knowing someone really well
deep conversations
mindless conversations
sleeping
foreign men
tin lunchboxes
window shopping
craft-fairs
chicago, st. louis, new york, and valencia.
south america
travel
dreams
my roommate
living primitively (relatively speaking)
friendship.

okay, so i'm going to stop here. there's so much more. i'll add to it later.

pit hit

2006-03-10T22:38:00.000-05:00

taken fifteen minutes after the Pit Run last friday. six students were injured when a crazed alumnus drove through the Pit at 35 miles per hour, avenging "muslim deaths around the world" and injuring students in the name of Allah. two students react, stunned, at the Nubian Queen Luncheon after it was rudely and tragically disrupted by the Pit Run. i stopped shooting the Luncheon to go to the Pit...it was chaotic and quite disturbing.

Once upon a time.

2006-03-10T22:00:00.001-05:00

The Aventuras Extraordinarias de Courtney.
As of today to forevermore.
By Courtney A. Potter.

Once upon a time there lived a girl named Courtney Ann Potter. She was neither a beauty nor a goddess; neither a genius nor an inventor. And though these realities bothered her, she tried hard to ignore them and be herself.

Courtney had an affair with Photography. In fact, she cheated on Writing in order to flirt with a dark, mysterious, and handsome Canon Digital Rebel XT. He took her on romantic dates: they dined at Caruburritos over a juicy black bean burrito, they built a house together at Habitat for Humanity, and they watched the sunset streak the Carolina blue sky with pale orange and rose strokes.

Courtney discovered new knacks and personal characteristics as she batted eyes with Photography. He helped her meet her cohort in crime in co-conspirator in sleep: Drea Krutulis. The two roommates slept, ate popcorn, and facebooked quite often.

Courtney went to Chicago over Spring Break and had a smashing time with her best friend Julianne. Together they wreaked havoc upon the Windy City, and Rebel Xt was there the whole time (but this story is no longer about him). Then Josef picked Courtney up and they traversed the frigid Illinois plains to Chambana. At the foot of the rainbow there was a chessboard, cinematic productions, classical music, and good red wine.

Courtney went back to UNC and made lots of new friends and played with a super-long telephoto lens. During the summer she got an internship with the Duke Center of Documentary Studies and got to speak spanish a lot. and play with cameras. and children.

then her family moved to North Carolina and she was happy. tuition went down like a billion dollars and she could do laundry for free. and spring started in february.

the next year courtney roomed with carolyn gray in the beautiful north campus dormitories. never again was she late to class on account of sheer laziness and dread of walking uphill for fifteen laborious, tedious, endless minutes. ccourtney and carolyn watched lots of grey's anatomy and foreign films. and they dined on popcorn and played with playdough.

in the spring courtney went on a big boat around the whole world for a semester. she went to brazil and south africa and india and taiwan. she learned about oceanography and black and white photography and world art. and she saw the great wall of china.

in the summer courtney came home and got an internship with a reknowned newspaper. she took lots of pictures and feel more deeply in love with Photography.

in the fall Courtney decided to be like the protaganist in the Motorcycle Diaries and went to Chile. she spoke lots of spanish and ate good tamales. and petted llamas. and she really liked south america and didn't want to return to UNC.

but she did.

many photographs, blogs, deep conversations, and frolicking passed. and courtney graduated. and then she fell in love with a south american beauty and they got married and traveled the world together. they evaded the white suburban dream and made a difference, telling compelling stories through poetry, writing, and photography.

courtney had lots of babies and lots of grandchildren. she died in africa at the ripe old age of 87. she was trampled by a giraffe.

the end.

well, i don't know about the ending, but those are my dreams for now.

i actually want more than that...and those sounded horribly self-centered. i want what everyone wants, really: love, passion, relationships, spontaneity, vitality, invigoration, innovation. i want to suck the marrow out of life.

Thank you, and goodnight.

a nice photograph for J80

2006-02-26T21:29:00.000-05:00

Flower of Youth.

hiatus in writing...but consumed in realizing.

2006-02-26T20:29:00.000-05:00

How sad it is that I write with temerity. Restraint and hesitation. Self-contempt and bitterness.

How sad it is that I can say, "At least I am writing."

How sad it is that February is lost--a whole month wasted. Wordless.

But there are words...words in a tattered five-subjected spiral notebook, words in emails to friends, words exchanged at dinner in the dining hall, words left unsaid, unwritten, perhaps even unformed in my mind.

I regret that I did not take a moment to sit, to ponder, to contemplate, and most profoundly, to record. This month has been a month of Understanding, yet most of that Understanding has been internalized. It is writhing, rebelling, and waiting in ernest to be unleashed...applied. What good is clarity if it is not verbally expressed? What good is acceptance if all new concepts are pushed aside?

Why didn't I write?

Angry regret...and yet...contentedness.

Yes, February has been a good month. It lacked the novel ecstasy, energy, and enchantment that flavored January, yet it was somehow better. Stable, monotonous, with routine lows each wednesday. yet...peace.

Peace?
Monotony?
Do the two even go together?

Yes, I argue.

(Stop using such vague terminology, Courtney!)

Okay.

So I got myself in a rut at the beginning of the month...so stuck in routine that I stopped thinking critically. I get in those modes sometimes; it was my general mindset towards work in high school: just do the work, even if you don't reap anything from it.

Photography homework,check. Bible reading, check. Dinner at Ram's Head, check.
What pitiful reductions! It's equivalent to saying this:
Passion, check. Spirituality, check. Fellowship, check.

Luckily, after several sessions of RUF, good conversations with respected friends, and readings of various books, I realized the fallacy of this mindset. It's a regrettable way to live, and a sinful one at that. A life enslaved to Routine; my god was Information (which wasn't even retained!)

The second week of the month was RUF Conference...and that is where things started to come together. nothing spectacular happened there, but there is something healing about retreating to the woods with only sleeping bags, bibles, and good Christian friends. something very rudimentary and bare...it's exposing, and it's hard not to be rubbed clean.

Things climaxed, though subtly, after Conference. I had identified myself: how God made me, what made me tick, what made me uncomfortable, what made me happy, what made me cry. There are four types of people: the Confident, the Overly Confident, the Indifferent, and the Despairing. I am the latter...prone to introspective contemplation, self-flaggelation, self-loathing, and deep lows. Jonathan told me, "Maybe God is bigger than you think...and better."

Wow. If I only saw past myself, I would realize that things aren't in my own hands. It's not up to me...I sin and sin and sin but it's not up to me to fix that! And God will do good things with me...he has promised to do so.

Peace. I understand that one, basic concept. Yes, it's basic...but I never fully grasped it.

Ask and it will be given to you. You don't have to have pure intentions, you don't have to have perfection...and that's the beauty of it.

I guess the biggest realization that I've had is that my faith isn't "just personal." I was deceived for so many of those Christians that were "on fire for Jesus." People who would "spend time in the Word" (what is that?) and map out "spiritual plans." all of those are good (for the most part), but you know...God isn't just some nebulous force molded to fit MY feelings, MY expectations. I think that Christianity is very Americanized...which is to say, it is very individualized these days.

What happened to brotherly love? What happened to fellowship? What happened to community? What happened to the Church?

the Bible never discusses "spiritual highs" spent in isolation...because that's not Christianity. Though God is a personal God, faithful to the individual, I am seeing that he is a God faithful to the community..faithful at the national and worldly level. the Old Testament is founded upon a string of promises...first to Adam, then to Noah, then to Abraham, then to Moses and David. If you take a closer look each of these promises are made to individuals but FOR the world. promises never to destroy all of humanity again, promises to bless all of the nations through one man, promises to deliver his people from slavery into God's very presence...

Promises. Each promise affects greater humanity. And God has faithfully upheld each one. That realization makes it so much easier to trust that God's promise to do good work with me is valid.

It's an ongoing process that will never be complete or completely perfect while I'm alive. but that's what the Church is for...and friends and family.

At any rate, it's nice to be able to say that I don't have it all figured out. BECAUSE I NEVER WILL. sanctification, faith, maturity, love...these aren't things that you attain with the snap of a finger. it's not "you've got em or you don't." when is anything like that? becoming and adult in an instant, falling in love at first sight...these are contradictions. We use progressive tense, anywyas, which indicates that a process is underway. BecomING (slowly) and adult. FallING (slowly) in love.

Life isn't black and white. There are so many shades, so many hues, so many mixtures of paint that depth is a bottomless pit.

So that has been this month. Working things out...at first in my head, then with other people. I never wrote anything down, and I do regret that. But in a way, it's good that I didn't.

I probably would have been writing things down for the sake of writing things down.

And I want more than that.

voluntary cinderella

2006-01-31T23:57:00.000-05:00

There’s an odd sense of pleasure derived from cleaning. By no means am I a neat-freak, a Danny Tanner. I have a tendency (loathed by some, lauded by others) to let crap pile up (empty tea cups, popcorn kernels, red sweaters, used post-its, camera lenses, and the like) until my living space is no longer aesthetically pleasing. I don’t deny that I smirk, content, amidst my inspired rubble and ingenious disarray. A little mess; er, a lot of mess, opens up the mind and triggers imagination, allowing productivity to run its course.

I like that my mess festers. Admittedly, I even enjoy the “redolent” scent that wafts from my desk trash can (to a point). I put up with it because it makes both the end and the means all the more enjoyable. Ah, to uncover the carpet underneath the economics homework (eureka!), to substitute Febreeze for the rotting banana stench, to stack, sort, shed, scrub, scour, shine.

I was in one of those rare cleaning moods tonight. I didn’t get back to the dorm until 9 pm, reluctant to delve into politics homework, shower the gym residue off of my body, or simply sit. All I wanted to do was clean; un-begrudging, getting into my “Joe-mode” (that transforms him into an X-man of likes with single-minded drive towards a single task…whether that be photographing cars or cooking scrambled eggs).

washed laundry…check
dried laundry…check
put away laundry…check
stripped bed of four-month old sheets…check
washed four-month old sheets….check (at last!)
put electronics into box…check
opened window to rid the room of certain scents…check
giddily sprayed febreeze…check
dusted desk…check
vacuumed room…check
took out garbage…check
took out recycs…check
made bed…check
cleaned myself (hahaha…aka showered)…check.

and I still had time for the State of the Union address!

I like to clean.

But the best part is I won’t have to do this until three more weeks…and then I can repeat the cycle of attaining satisfaction. room karma.

The best things in life are the small things.

work, responsibilities, chores, and the like.

2006-01-24T13:38:00.000-05:00

I’ve been contemplating the topic of “work” these past few days, rather subconsciously, but I think it’s about time to spill some of these musings on paper…er, webpage.

Work is good.

I spent last semester wallowing in self-pity, boredom, ennui, and lethargy. I dreaded studying, joining clubs, and getting involved for fear of becoming consumed by constant activity. And to be quite honest, I was terrified of the prospect of being challenged, argued against, rebuked, chided, proven wrong, belittled, made uncomfortable. I didn’t want to face my own insecurity. Oh, and I wanted sleep.

I was miserable last semester.

Humans are made for work. I have to admit, even children take part (and receive some level of satisfaction) in the seemingly mundane. Carefully setting the table, standing atop of the kitchen chair with soapy hands besides Mom while she washed the dishes, making my bed…these were just a few responsibilities that I thrived off of as a five-year-old.

The irony is that the older I got, the less I assumed those “adult” tasks. How strange it is that I had a larger sense of responsibility as a soapy-handed five-year-old than I did as a sulky teenager who demanded full autonomy. My pleasure over others’. Movies and music, culture and curiosity, self-discovery and self-exploration.

Almost nineteen, I am now realizing the emptiness and fallibility of my past prioritization (me-first) and gravitating towards adulthood (other’s first). Why keep a budget, aim for physical fitness, and do community service for the sake of “feeling” involved and “feeling” adult? That is the mindset of a young adult straddling two worlds: that of childish autonomy and that of adult responsibility. He gets one without the other, or both, which is not the real world.

It was not until recently that I pondered the prospect of keeping a budget so that money could be used wisely. Exercising so that school work could receive more effective concentration. Community service so that those not as lucky as myself to receive a first-class education could benefit. I used to romanticize “adult” tasks (and still do, admittedly), longing to “feel” responsible and “feel” mature. Such aims are marks of the immature.

I am grateful for this semester, which is ten times as challenging as the previous one. For the first time in my thirteen years of American schooling do I see the purpose in what I am doing: studying because what I study is meaningful and applicable to my career goals, my values concerning enlightenment, and a Christian reality. I actually want to be challenged, pushed, rebuked, questioned, contradicted. That is the only way I will learn. And though I dreading those feeling of uneasiness, insecurity, and naivety that are concomitant with learning, growing, and honing skills, I am assured that it is good for me.

Work is good.

what the????

2006-01-21T03:21:00.000-05:00

who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!!!!!
something scary invades the e-haus bathrooms...

humanistic tea bags

2006-01-21T03:03:00.000-05:00

http://www.humanistic-photography.com/gal_tea/teaIntro.htm
i reviewed this website for my photojournalism class. It's on the verge of being New Age, but the content is very original, odd, and thought-provoking. I highly recommend intimacy #2. Which one do you think is the best? the weirdest? the most accurate?

grandpa

2006-01-20T01:51:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Roy.

blue

2006-01-18T00:58:00.000-05:00

Kosherland

2006-01-18T00:57:00.000-05:00

Can anyone explain this?

How High is Higher Education?

2006-01-18T00:18:00.000-05:00

I've been redefining my thoughts on higher education these past 24 hours.

A little background: The sad truth is that I never consciously choseto go to college. These days higher education is rarely selected; it is assumed. Consequentially, I never really designed goals for myself while here, because i have never asked myself why i was here.

But I am here. Whether I was congnizant of my decision to attend UNC or not, I am here and I choose to embrace higher education.

When asked "What is education" several hours ago, my first contrived definition was as follows: Higher education is specialization of a particular field in the context of integration of skills. The particular field is irrelevant: it can be chemistry, Arabic studies, or social work. All that matters is that critical skills are developed while discovering your field: verbal skills, quantitative skills, reading and writing skills, communication skills, analytic skills, and the like.

So the premise here is that higher education is not the regurgitation of facts regurgitated upon you by "higher" professors. It is not the content; it is the skills.

Then I realized how ridiculous this is.

First of all, college is definitely not the only place where skills are honed. There are so many things upon graduation that I could have done: worked at a restaurant, gone to culinary school, gone to beauty school, volunteered, joined the military, gotten married and birthed seven children, attended L'Abri, joined a convent. I could have sufficed just fine...what skills i needed would be developed there. Humans are like playdough: they adapt to whatever situation aquiring the bare essentials, the minimum skills (and then some) to survive. I could have aquired certain skills in a larger quanity or faster. For example, had i worked at Bread Co. I would have been forced to develop good communication skills, patience, sparse culinary skills, good listening skills, the ability to multi-task. Heck, I could learn photojournalism very quickly outside of college: buy a few books off of amazon and then drag Joe around with me across God's green earth taking pictures. getting experience. Yes, a personal tutor to show me those skills hands-on would be lovely.

Yet here I am at the University of North Carolina. I chose higher education.

So if education isn't facts and it isn't skills, what is left?

A very learned man named Abbott enlightens us on his theory of higher education in The Zen of Education. The aim of education is...education. We learn so that our enjoyment of reality is enlargened. Indeed, it is more pleasurable to have educated sex than monkey sex; it is more pleasurable to gaze at a painting knowing the historical, religious, and artistic context of that painting that to be ignorant. Which is not to say monkey sex of ignorant portrait-gazing is inherently evil; they aren't. It's just better to know. It's better for the individual. Experience is enhanced.l

Abbott is compelling:

There are no aims of education. The aim IS eduction. If--and only if---you seek it...education will find you. it will not be easy. We have only ehlpful exercises. We can't give you the thing itself. And there will be exraordinary temptaions--to spend whole months wallowing in a conentration that doesn't work for you because you have some myth about your future, to blow off intellectual effort in all but on earea because you are too lazy to hallenge yourself, to wander off to Europe for a year of enlightenment that rapidly turns into touristic self-indulgence. There will be the temptations of timidity, too, temtations to forgo all experimentation, to miss the glorious randomness of college, to give up the prodigal possibilites that--let me tell you---you will never find again; temptations to go rigidly through the motions and then wonder why education has eluded you."

I'd like to think of higher education in this manner: learning for learning's sake. The facts that I learn I will forget in one...two...five years. The skills I learn I will have to refine as the world changes. The reality that I define...even that will eventually change. Life is in flux.

I suddenly want to take advantage of every opportunity here at UNC. This is the only time in my life where i have seemingly unlimited resources at my fingertips (both academic and human!).

Carpe diem.

danger.

2006-01-15T01:18:00.000-05:00

it's good to be back.

Paper Doll.

2006-01-15T00:47:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel like a paper doll.

There's the base: the scrawny girl with pigtails clad in meager underthings with lace trim. she feels utterly naked, exposed.

I have so many outfits.

It seems that the most common one is jeans and a backpack. I have a PID number, like all the students. I have an SAT score, like all the students. I have a major, like all the students. When i wear my jeans and backpack, I am a student.

I also have a flowered dress and easter hat. And black Mary-Janes. It matches that of Colleen's. When i put it on, I look just like her, and it makes me proud. I like standing next to her, the girl who was always taller than me, older than me, wiser than me, blonder than me, more responsible than me. I look up to her, both literally and figuratively. I am a sister.

Oh, and then there's the apron and name-tag. I also put on skid-free shoes and hideous smile. Bread-sliced or bagel-sliced? Decaf or Regular? Bread is my Soul, Passion, and Expertise (so i recite robotically). I am an Associate Worker.

I also have baggy shorts, an ancient t-shirt, and running shoes. I run around the campus. I am mistaken for the Hinton James runner, the Craige North runner, the Parker runner. I am an athlete.

What about the baby-blue t-shirt and ponytail? I scream, I yell, I boo, I succumb to an onslaught of "rah rah rah's." I am one face lost among a crowd of thousands, also sreaming, also yelling, also booing, also rah-rah-rahing. I am a spectator.

I have accesories as well. A shopping basket and impatient stance. waiting and waiting and druminng my fingers. Waiting and drumming. Drumming, drumming, sighing. Waiting. I am a consumer.

My favorite used to be the yellow sundress. I don't wear shoes, I am barefoot. Lost to wonder and incrdulity. I know little, I dream big. I am a Youth.

Some of these outfits marginalize me.
I feel smudged.

Some of these outfits consume me.
I feel intellectual.

Some of these outfits alievate me.
I feel loved.

And a lot of the times I don't know which to wear, and i don't like to wear any. I just want to be me.

Charts

2006-01-15T00:43:00.000-05:00

I like the idea of describing my desires/hobbies/likes/dislikes in charts and pictures. You could say I’m too lazy to write verbose descriptions of the aforementioned, and I’m not denying that. But you get the added bonus of looking at a pretty picture or organizing something and then feeling that satisfaction that comes with getting something in order.

Courtney’s Spectacular Chart of New Things:

Completing Things Memoirs of a Geisha, homework.

Digital SLR camera On Friday I checked out my new camera for photojournalism. It’s a Canon Rebel XT.

Feng Shui. Feng Shui means “wind and water” in Chinese. So the new room has organization (what?). The kitchen is in the back left corner, the study area is in the back right corner (me) and the front left corner (drea), the dressing area is in the foyer (I’m not exaggerating the un-air-conditioned dorm, no I’m not…), the living area is in the center, and the sleeping area is, well, up. Space, Arrangement, and Harmony.

The Orient: what did I say about memoirs of a geisha? what did I say about feng shui? sudoku? darn, I think I’ve anglicized eastern culture…

Imparting Knowledge: I’m typically the “getter”: the youngest, the smallest, the ignorant, the curious, the learner, the youngster. I’ve been showing my camera to every person on God’s green earth and babbling about aperture and composition. Carolyn is now taking pictures with her camera!

Nails. I like grooming. thankfully, drea does too. I painted my nails blue and black. I don’t think I’ve painted my nails since sophomore year of high school.
Regular Hours. going to sleep at 1:00 am. what? waking up at 8:30 a.m. what?

Roommate. oh I do feel bad about charting drea. She’s too cool for this
chart…she’s my new roomie! we specialize at sitting.

Super Bounce Out- I can’t get past level three. Go here and see if you can beat me:
http://games.yahoo.com/games/downloads/bo.html

Tennis. I feel like Jack Burden and Anne. I wish I had spent my summer playing tennis and swimming. It’s a very social sport and loads of fun. It may very well be better than cross-country. I’m beginning to doubt the merits of masochistic exercise…

( note to the impressed reader: be warned. I'm stealing all of Amy Rosenthal's ideas. I wish I had written her book, because i do the same thing, but she gets all the credit. Oh well).

P.S. do you like my creative use of colons, dashes, and periods?

reminder

2006-01-12T01:21:00.000-05:00

remind me to write about something i read in my economics books today...i'm too tired to do it now, but will later. adios, buenas noches.

new

2006-01-12T01:04:00.000-05:00

how unfortunate. i have not written any entries in quite some time.

It's sad that my desire to write these blogs has diminished the past few days. I must say, it's good to be back. It's real good. right now i am dazed, wondering what sorts of things this semester will bring. who will i meet? who will i hurt? who will hurt me? who will become my bosom buddy? will there be a bosom buddy? what kinds of things will i do on saturday nights? will i go dancing this semester? will i get certified in belay? how will i treat God? will I slump back into a nasty depressive episode. darkness, such darkness.

I don't think these things simultaneously, constantly. I am not plagued by worry. (well, i am a bit, but isn't that normal?) I guess i am more or less curious, impatient, anxious, intrigued at the thought that an entire new semester is about to begin and it is going to be full. rich, i do hope.

it's weird that so many things right now are new, but i feel paradoxically at home. at ease. like i've done this college thing every day of my life. I have a new roommate, drea, who is fantastic, if i do say so myself. then there's the new room, 643. new suitemates (also very welcoming), new classes (intro to photojournalism!!!!!! that deserves at least 4 exclamation points), new resolutions, new circumstances.

it's nice that one thing is constant, and unfortunately that One Thing is someone i have been neglecting the past few weeks. there's a verse in proverbs that i was reading like three seconds ago when i was feeling guilty about not really reading the bible lately. anyways, i interpret the "she" and "her" referred to here as giving into my selfish desires...coveting, i guess. i think i'll change some of the words slightly to make it more personal.

Now then, Courtney, listen to me.
Pay attention what I say.
Do not let your heart turn to her ways
or stray to her paths.
Many are the victims she has brought down;
her slain are a mighty throng.
Her house is a highway to the grave,
leading down to the chambers of death.

-end of proverbs 8

i need to go read the bible now. time to brush my teeth, turn out the lights, go to sleep.

current mood: unsure? with a bit of happiness...liking drea and the new semester thus far. impatient...wants to be in the middle of things, not the beginning (i.e. classes).

sister

2006-01-08T00:22:00.000-05:00

so on my eight hour road trip today i was thinking about christmas break...and trying to encapsulate it in a single, unadulterated image. i couldn't really come up with one image (westminster at night, emily's bedroom, my knitting hands, the world as a blur on new year's eve..heheh, my joint bedroom with colleen, and everyday section of the st. louis post dispatch all come to mind, among images of faces...friends, family, etc). However, I do like this picture, because I think it sums up a lot of my break and pinpoints the overall atmosphere. in the background is my 'beloved' bread co (which i had just cleaned, thankyouverymuch). In the foreground is colleen (duh). she's taking a break from grad apps and laughing at some fugly devon rex pseudo-cat, her latest obsession. i can't help but laugh when i look at this picture...we were able to laugh like the old days and it was nice. i'm quite grateful for you, colleen, and i'm glad we had oodles of time to just "be." be sisters, i suppose.

belated post...whoops.

2006-01-08T00:19:00.000-05:00

sue me. i wrote this a day ago and didn't post it until now. it's still something...so i hope.

I walked into my old Olive Starbucks—my haven during second hour senior year—with grand thoughts of writing, coffee, and reading. As I walked in the grandness sort of disappeared…but maybe it was never there to begin with. It’s just a Starbucks. My Starbucks. I’d be joking if I tried to make it into something special. By Jove it’s a commercial chain!

I guess that’s why I like it. At least this one, on Olive. It’s something familiar and ordinary. The atmosphere isn’t overpowering…if it were something fancy then I would be too distracted to write, for I would be staring at the walls. If it were something fancy then I would be too distracted to listen to my Death Cab for Cutie cd, because the overhead music would be so strikingly, ethereally beautiful. If it were something fancy then all of those English papers would have gone unwritten…all of those conversations with Jules would have gone left unhad.

Maybe I’m just trying to excuse myself for not finding a coffeehouse treasure.

That’s why I’m going to go to Chile. I hear they like coffeehouses down there…

(Besides, I want to go to South America.)

Hmm, I digress.

I would like to read today. I started six different books at various points over the break, and now I am deeply absorbed in Memoirs of a Geisha and nearly half-way through the 2nd book of the Narnia Chronicles. I’ll read about Prince Caspian and Cair Paraval and the dwarves and fauns and Old creatures, and then I’ll set down one world and become a Geisha. (Although I don’t aspire to be a geisha, which is essentially a decorated Japanese whore). It’s nice, fantasy interspersed with a very real Japanese culture. The latter is so foreign to me that it might as well be fantasy. But it’s not. And when juxtaposed with something that is…it’s brilliant.

I have lots of other things that I would like to write about, but I’m going to wait until I feel inspired again…maybe in a couple of hours. The longest time I’ve spent at a Starbucks has been four and a half hours. I wonder if I could supersede that.

Right now: twenty six minutes and counting.

(the courtney of the present is now writing. the courtney of the past left starbucks after an hour or so. she got restless. besides, john never showed up. and all of the couches were taken. therein lies the true reason for her departure...)

freakishly long survey about my year. Chut's life in 2005...

2006-01-02T19:57:00.000-05:00

1. What did you do in 2005 that you'd never done before?
the first things that come to mind are bad things…being caught in an intricate tangle of harmful habits…eating disorders, clinical depression, running to the point of experiencing seemingly irreversible knee injuries, wanting to give into hopelessness once and for all. yet here were so many good things that should not be overlooked…I think I could write four or five pages on all the new things that have been done…most of them relational. new conversations, new friends, new levels of relating to God, my family, myself. I fell in love and recovered. new job: panera. new places: Carolina, Raleigh, the Grind, Coffee Cartel, the St. Louis Art Museum, the Raleigh Art Museum, the Ackland Art Museum. new hobbies: journaling, blogging, photography (this is most prominent of all), knitting, sudoku, crocheting hats, word puzzles, kickboxing. new fears about the future: my family’s new move to North Carolina, the health of my grandparents, who are moving with us, the next three and a half years at unc, new philosophies and creeds and beliefs. New. So many things are new. Scary, confusing, exciting. New.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

if I had kept them, I think I would have been the first human being to do so. Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts. My resolution is not to make any more resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
no, but one of my classmates did.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No.

5. What countries did you visit?
In person: none. In my dreams: Greece, South America, Indonesia, and Norway.

6. What would you like to have in 2006 that you lacked in 2005?
a soulmate. I love my high school friends to death…jules, koo, Emily, john, Lydia. You know me: all of me, my quirks and idiosyncracies and what makes me tick and what makes me feel passionate. I want that so badly at UNC. Patience would also be a nice thing to have.

7. What date(s) from 2005 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

February 14- Karah’s 18th birthday party. I sank pretty low then...i think of it as day one of a nearly year-long depressive episode. (that I am over! thank the Lord!)
April 6- my 18th birthday. I wore pearls. Day one as an adult, day one of a hard year.
May 28- probably the peak of the year, in some ways. Graduation. I gave a speech…I love that speech (I do not say this haughtily). I’ve had to say it over and over to myself this year. “Remember your Creator in the days of your Youth.”
Early September- diagnosed with some bad stuff at the SRC. it was pretty monumental.
October 17- the start of reconciliation with some people that I love very much.
Thanksgiving- I will never forget this…I don’t think my family will either. I said some very furious things, I spoke in fire, I hurt, I hurt them. We started to heal.
New Year’s Eve- a great end to the year…a party at Joe’s…red wine, good friends, classical music, family. Laughter, joy, inebriation. It’s nice to be young.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
On some level, speaking in front of my entire school/extended family of my classmates at graduation. Salutatorian doesn’t mean anything, the grades don’t mean anything, but standing in front of everyone does. I experienced a new Courtney: an assertive Courtney, a Courtney who had an affinity for writing and speaking her mind. It was then that I discovered that I have something to say, I have a voice in this world, and I would like to be heard.
On a deeper level, I think my biggest achievement was admitting that I was screwed up in many ways and needed help. and forgiveness.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Refusing to love. blaming my own insecurities/pain/spiritual crisis on the rest of my family. I am sorry.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
too many. mostly emotional, actually. to be frank: eating problems, overexercising problems, insomnia, depression. I am healing, I am stronger.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
yarn. In January I taught myself how to crochet an intricate scarf. I like to create.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
-my friends. John, for sticking with me, Jules for letting me cry, Emily, for letting me rest, Joe, for letting me do all of the above. My family, for listening and loving me in the only way that they know.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
-all of my family members. My own. UNC classmates, the universal world. A perspective change is in progress. Love is working…healing.

14. Where did most of your money go?
-food, sadly enough. Coffee.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
-mostly things that I conversely got really depressed about, as well. Life is ironic.
-new beginnings, new friends, new classes, new major (photojournalism!!!)...and then when I got scared and annoyed with all the new things…I got really excited about old things. old friends, old childhood memories, old things to latch onto.

16. What song will always remind you of 2005?
I actually have monthly songs (thank you, isochronic), but I will only put a few here:

Smashing Pumpkins: “Crestfallen”
Keane “Everybody’s Changing”
Coldplay “Fix you”
Ohio “Redemption”
Killers…some song whose title I don’t know. I danced to it at a wedding with my sister. it was one of the happiest days of the whole year. I won’t ever forget it.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier? maybe not happier…but more content. I am living in reality…not ignoring my own pain, my family’s problems, other relational problems (as much).

ii. thinner or fatter? definitely fatter. 15 pounds fatter. hahaha. freshmen fifteen has new connotations for me…but I was supposed to, so there! 

iii. richer or poorer? richer in love (awww). poorer financially. so poor that my whole extended family is moving. gotta love financial aide…

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

volunteer, speak Spanish, work at bread co, get to know more people, done more stuff in the city.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

exercise, cry, sulk, mope, complain, binge, sleep, write in my journal, spend time with myself.

20. How will you be spending Christmas/New Year’s Eve?

Christmas: with truckers (aka my daddy and his driver pal Matt), eating with family/opening presents with family. then my sister and I went to joe’s and I got a plant.

New Year’s: nice red wine, good brie, my sister and joe, good friends, one designated driver. enough said. It was grand.

22. Did you fall in love in 2005?
“Courtney, I can’t be your romantic outlook. You will be fine; I will be fine. I love you.” that is love.
it happened in a day…and I’ve been better ever since.

23. How many one-night stands?
ningun.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
GREY’S ANATOMY, BABY! Gilmore girls, that 70’s show, and arrested development are also favorites.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
hatred is hurtful.

26. What was the best book you read?
Nonfiction: Searching for God Knows What.
Fiction: 100 Years of Solitude.
Required Reading: White Like Me and the Accidental Asian
Nonrequired Reading: HAHA. Dave egger’s Non-Required Reading. I have yet to finish it…

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I fell out of love with piano and i’m still trying to make peace with that. I’m starting to rediscover the joys of music. I definitely owe Julie and Lydia my thanks for immersing me into the world of real (as opposed to ‘pop’) music. Joni Mitchell, Ohio, Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, David Gray, Wilco, Jeff Buckley, the list goes ever on.
28. What did you want and get?
-spontaneity
-growing up (it came too fast)
-a deeper level of relating to family
-a major (photojournalism!!!!)

29. What did you want and not get?
a lot. pretty superficial things, as well. a nicer body, a boyfriend, a passion, structure, routine, the picture-perfect freshmen year, a roommate, being “fixed” in every area of my life.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
wow…a lot. the first few that come to mind: first and foremost, sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (jules=tibby, karah=the blonde girl (what’s her name??), em=Carmen, chut=lena). also: Junebug, Narnia, L’auberge espagnole

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
--I wore pearls! I brought my camera to school, took pictures during physics class of me and john, ate dinner at Café Napoli with my mom and dad, and received a leather-bound journal from my mom with Italian writing on the cover. I was eighteen.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
-at first I just wanted all of my problems to go away. I tried to fix them myself…it left me even more wounded than before. I guess if I could relive the year, I would have liked to spend more time with my friends and I would have liked to gotten to know more people…I like seeing people in a new light. I didn’t give my classmates a chance, I didn’t give my family a chance, and I didn’t really give myself a chance.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2005?
it evolved drastically (with my evolving mood)
February: 15% punkish and 85% comfortable. torn jeans, tights, and converses were musts.
April: mostly normal/slightly preppy. polo t-shirts, pearls, and (eep!) heels.
Summer: tanktops and baggy jeans. Work-out clothes, because (sadly) that’s pretty much all I did. I dressed up a whole lot more in the evenings. makeup became a new staple. and jewelry.
Fall: college clothing. UNC sweatshirts, jeans, and that’s about it. Yuck.
Christmas: SCARVES AND HATS!!!!! woohoo….

34. What kept you sane?
old friends (jules, Emily, and john mostly), joe, ben inman, RUF leaders (burress, ben, and others), new friends (laura fletcher). the cell phone assisted in a lot of this…

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most
George Thampy

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
--the French riots. thanks to my sociology 22 class… aversive discrimination/institutional racism. it’s a much more pervasive problem than I realized. I can see it in my own life/upbringing/schooling.

37. Who did you miss?
-the 17-year-old Courtney from Spain
-Rosario/Kim
-people from my past (like colleen said…my memories of people, ignoring how they were changing)
-God
-high school friends
-my family (or an idealized concept of my family?) I’m still working on this one…pray for love.

Question #38 has spontaneously ceased to exist. We're sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2005?

it can probably be summed up in the Rashomon perspective. (Is it dorky to apply a school concept to your life???). Basically, the Rashomon perspective states that we all have different backgrounds, experiences, opinions, and beliefs that shape who we are. It’s somewhat relativistic, but I think it is something that I have never really taken to heart. I can’t assume that MY circumstances are universal circumstances. And I can’t assume that other people’s opinions/backgrounds are “worse” or not as legitimate as mine. Consciousness. Here’s a quote from “atonement” by ian mcewan that sort of sparked my own paradigm shift:
“A second though always followed the first, one myswtery bred another: was everyone else really as alive as she was? For example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concealed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it, with a finger held up to her face? Did everybody? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated with two billion voices, and everyone’s thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone’s claim on life as intense…”

More profoundly: “It wasn’t only wickedness and scheming that made people unhappy, it was confusion and misunderstanding; above all, it was the failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you.”

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
this song is hands-down one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard. Ever time I listen to it I want to cry or dance or just sit in my car with the volume cranked up, just feeling the music. the orchestra…the piano…her voice. and the lyrics…
This is my song of 2005. it doesn’t have to be my life song, either. that’s nice.

Changes Come

Changes come
Turn my world around
I have my father's hand
I have my mother's tongue
I look for redemption in everyone
I wanna wear your ring
I have a song to sing
It ain't over babe
In fact it's just begun
Changes come
Turn my world around
Changes come
Bring the whole thing down
I wanna have our baby
Somedays I think that maybe
This ol' world's too fucked up
For any firstborn son
There is all this untouched beauty
The light the dark both running through me
Is there still redemption for anyone
Jesus come
Turn the world around
Lay my burden down
Turn this world around
Bring the whole thing down
Bring it down

winter break diversions

2006-01-02T18:07:00.000-05:00

i have aquired several more likes in the past few week. Crosswords, cryptoquip, sudoku (do you see a trend here?), scrabble, and knitting are among them.
Don't these seem like winter activities? happy january, all.

thoughts on thoughts

2006-01-02T17:55:00.000-05:00

"I have remembered, I suppose, what I wanted to remejber; many ridiculous things for no reason that makes sense. that is the way we human creatures are made."

"Long walks are off, and alas, bathing in the sea; fillet steaks and apples and raw blackberries (teeth difficulties) and reading fine print. But there is a great deal left. Operas and concerts, and reading, and the enormous pleasure of dropping into bed and going to sleep, and dreams of every variety....Almost best of all, sitting in the sun--Gently drowsy...And there you are again---remembering. 'I remember, I remember...the house where I was born.'

-agatha christie
quoted in "an Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life" by Amy Rosenthal

all the small things

2006-01-02T17:40:00.000-05:00

i like Amy Rosenthal. John says that she is just full of herself, but i find the idea of writing an encyclopedia about yourself a brilliant one, not egocentric. We all want to be heard; we all have something to say; we all have opinions and beliefs and idiosyncracies ordinary things that shape us.

I don't have the attention span to write an entire autobiography. Or a novel. A short story, perhaps, but then again, I don't like writing in full sentences. The choppier the better.

Isn't that how we think, after all? Perhaps I shouldn't universalize it. I know that this is how I think. Circumlocutions and Ramblings and Confessions and Daydreams. Verbs and Explicatives. Jumbly, Disorganized, Terse, Mispelled, Parenthetical.

That is how I write, at least. I write the way I think. I overused ellipses...(parentheses)...Capitals..."quotes."

Damn the prescriptivists. Grammar and "proper" english. There is a place for both, I admit, but the best writers are those who transcend the rules.

So that's why I like Amy Rosenthal. She describes her life in charts and songs and quotes and snipits and illustrations. I know what makes her tick. I know what random things she latches onto for consolation. I know her really stupid fasincations and seemingly mundane (albeit fascinating) details about her childhood. She never expresses the deepest desires of her hearts or states verbatim her passions, sorrows, fears, beliefs. Yet somehow, by glimpsing her misconstrued thoughts in encylopedia format, i see her. All of her.

I'm a lot like Amy Rosenthal. I don't share the same pet peeves/credences/hobbies/childhood memories, but I share her outlook on presentation. I appreciate snapshots: photographs, memorobilia, quotes, newspaper clippings, taglines, song lyrics, bible verses, symbols, relics. I like finding the larger picture in the little things.

merry christmas, belated.

2005-12-27T20:54:00.000-05:00

Christmas was nice this year. Simple and thoughtful. Four items I received…quite nice. My class ring (recovered), a book about Christianity, a pearl necklace, and a digital photography book. This may very well be the best assortment of gifts I have ever received.

But like joe said...Christmas isn't about commercialism. It isn't about materialism. It isn't about Santa. It's not even about family and giving. It's about the most freakish event that occured in all of history, when God sent his Son -divinity- into this world-- sinfulness, confuisng, black, and messy. I really don't understand it, and i don't think I ever will., But that's what Christmas is. Wow.