John Mayer made me reevaluate my life. Ok, that's a wee bit of an overstatement, but going to see him in concert at Walnut Creek this past Wednesday did make me think about how much I've been slacking on my guitar practice, and about a time in my life when John's music was my soul's song. More on that in a minute.
I got a call from JaySun Webb about a week before the show, asking me if I wanted to go with him. His sister and her friends are the type of girls that melt over that kind of thing and they needed a fourth person to get the discounted ticket price. I was hesitant, but in the end I sucked it up and decided to go. The past 3 summers I've thought about going to see him when he comes to Walnut Creek, but every time I've been working at Caswell. I guess I felt like I owed it to the "Nathan Sloan" of years past to go see him since I never could before.
My "fanliness" toward John Mayer is a strange animal. It constantly changes, like the tides. One month, I may think he is the most amazing musician on the face of the planet - the next I brush him off as an arrogant, albeit rightfully so as far as musicianship goes, prick who could use more than a little voice training. In high school, my friend Matt introduced me to "Heavier Things" and I really liked it. Then I grew slightly ashamed of it's regular rotation in my car stereo. I finally packed it into a thick cd case, which got thrown in the back seat and mostly forgotten over the next few years.
It wasn't until Continuum that I really went crazy for his music. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I had just broken up with a girl, I was miserably lonely, and I had it stuck in my head that I should become a guitarist. Songs like "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" and "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" quickly became my songs - so easily relatable to the girl problems in my own life. "Heart of life," "In Repair," and "I'm Going to Find Another You" became my anthems. There are two things that make an album great - the fact that it is well written and produced, and the perspective of the person listening to it. A lot of it is in how your emotions vibe with the emotions of the person who wrote it. In the case of Continuum and myself, every single song was good, and most were outstanding.
The style of John Mayer's playing was also a new inspiration to me. When I finally got an electric guitar, it was a Fender Stratocaster, and I'm not ashamed to say that it wouldn't have been had I not loved that album so much. I took guitar study seriously for the first time. In six months I went from playing nothing at all to reading simple music and playing songs that I heard on the radio. It kept rolling and rolling, finally ending when I did the ultimate, (although not the ultimate, ultimate) and learned how to somewhat play his song "Neon." If it were not for John Mayer and my broken heart, I would certainly not be a guitarist today.
What hit me at this concert was how I'd forgotten this debt. In the past year my interests have strayed to other bands and other activities outside of guitar playing. I've put down my six-stringer for days at the time in the interest of goofing off with friends, playing video games, and pursuing other hobbies, (of which, there is a new one every month). Thankfully I recently sold off my xbox to get a new all-tube Fender amp so that's one distraction down, anyway. Since going to this show and being reminded of that time in my life when the blues pulled me through, I took my Strat to a guitar shop last week and it is still there, being set up so that it's ready to play.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
My Wife
I'm very sorry to be that guy but today I was watching HGTV and "Get it Sold" came on. The host is Sabrina Soto and it is her job to stage the spaces in a home so that it will sell more quickly. It is my job to make her fall in love with me. I know it sounds crazy but she will absolutely be my wife no matter what.
Of course, I'm not that crazy. She does, however, make me listen a little more intently to how I should stage my home should it ever go on the market. Good job, HGTV, for picking a host that isn't a scary old woman or a man of questionable orientation.
P.S. If you start watching the show and steal her out from under me, I will kill you.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Long Way Home
I'm still uneasy with the traffic in Raleigh. It's almost been a week, but I guess it is going to be one of those things that takes a couple of months to fully adjust to. It's not so much the people, I don't believe. It's more the sheer number of people and the way everything is laid out. This place is massive, and there is no one spot on the road that makes it more apparent than the spot I'm about to drive up on in a few seconds. Western Boulevard slides across the bottom of State's campus like a fat kid at an ice rink. The walls of brick soon give way to a rare patch of trees and after you pass everything with "Pullen" in its name, you know you're almost there. It's my favorite spot so far - I'm driving by it right now. Just before the Saunder's St. exit the trees disappear and reveal the biggest little skyline in the world. What a view.
I jerk the wheel to steer myself back onto the exit ramp. Obviously, I'm still in that slightly giddy and naive state of mind. It doesn't take much distraction on unfamiliar streets to land you in a heap of trouble. I'm taking the long way home toward Garner because Mom and Dad said the cheapest gas was in this direction. This is only the second time I've really paid for my own gas. My parents have been good to me, maybe too good. In any case, I'm adjusting to life outside of the nest and so far everything has gone well. I eat subs from the sub shop next to the ministry center purchased with my own money and I burn my own fossil fuel going to and from home. This is a big step.
What the crap! That guy nearly merged into me. Stupid white van and your stupid banged up, spray-painted side panels. Ah! There is 440. The gas stations are supposed to be on the other side.
...
It does feel a little weird to be on a college campus and no longer be a college student. By weird, I mostly mean that it makes me feel old. Not a bad old, just a regular sort of old. The freshmen this year look like high school kids. One day they'll practically look like 4th graders. I'm prepared for this. What is cool is that I still get to walk among them. I exist on campus, (and across Hillsborough Street in the ministry center) for the sole purpose of making the name of Jesus better known. I eat when I need to eat and I sleep at whomever's place I can fall asleep at. Several of the perks of college life - mostly the stuff you get to do between classes - are mine for the taking, all without a GPA floating somewhere in space over my head, scowling at me with its angry old man scowl. Not half-bad.
What is half-bad are the lines at this gas station. I'm going to have to circle around several times just to find a spot. There is a guy just parking in the back and he looks like a urban cowboy. That's a little unsettling. All this over gas that's 10 cents cheaper than anywhere else? We're a funny bunch of people. Every morning, adults rolling out of their beds mumbling something about needing coffee before stumbling out the door and zipping down the interstate in an effort to earn some little keep in the world. Sure, there are the joys of family, HDTV, poker night, shopping with the girls and what-have-you, but ultimately, what are we as individuals really working for? What is the business of our existence? Is it really all in fighting the small battles - getting the cheaper gas on the other side of town and going home satisfied that we have stuck it to the man for the day? I'm just poor. Maybe thats why we do it, we all feel poor. I may not have much money but I don't have a few other things either.
...
Speaking of money, I just hit $41.99 when my car filled up and clicked the pump off. How often do you get that close to an even dollar when the pump clicks off? Oh yeah, back to the few other things that I don't have. I don't have a house payment, a wife, a long-term job or anything else that would tie me down to a particular location or a particular schedule for life. I'm an open vessel for God to use, (most of the time, I believe this), and the paths He can take me on are as varied as the roads leading out from the heart of this state. For now, I'm taking the one that leads back to Four Oaks because I have laundry to do. Who knows where I'll call home tomorrow.
I jerk the wheel to steer myself back onto the exit ramp. Obviously, I'm still in that slightly giddy and naive state of mind. It doesn't take much distraction on unfamiliar streets to land you in a heap of trouble. I'm taking the long way home toward Garner because Mom and Dad said the cheapest gas was in this direction. This is only the second time I've really paid for my own gas. My parents have been good to me, maybe too good. In any case, I'm adjusting to life outside of the nest and so far everything has gone well. I eat subs from the sub shop next to the ministry center purchased with my own money and I burn my own fossil fuel going to and from home. This is a big step.
What the crap! That guy nearly merged into me. Stupid white van and your stupid banged up, spray-painted side panels. Ah! There is 440. The gas stations are supposed to be on the other side.
...
It does feel a little weird to be on a college campus and no longer be a college student. By weird, I mostly mean that it makes me feel old. Not a bad old, just a regular sort of old. The freshmen this year look like high school kids. One day they'll practically look like 4th graders. I'm prepared for this. What is cool is that I still get to walk among them. I exist on campus, (and across Hillsborough Street in the ministry center) for the sole purpose of making the name of Jesus better known. I eat when I need to eat and I sleep at whomever's place I can fall asleep at. Several of the perks of college life - mostly the stuff you get to do between classes - are mine for the taking, all without a GPA floating somewhere in space over my head, scowling at me with its angry old man scowl. Not half-bad.
What is half-bad are the lines at this gas station. I'm going to have to circle around several times just to find a spot. There is a guy just parking in the back and he looks like a urban cowboy. That's a little unsettling. All this over gas that's 10 cents cheaper than anywhere else? We're a funny bunch of people. Every morning, adults rolling out of their beds mumbling something about needing coffee before stumbling out the door and zipping down the interstate in an effort to earn some little keep in the world. Sure, there are the joys of family, HDTV, poker night, shopping with the girls and what-have-you, but ultimately, what are we as individuals really working for? What is the business of our existence? Is it really all in fighting the small battles - getting the cheaper gas on the other side of town and going home satisfied that we have stuck it to the man for the day? I'm just poor. Maybe thats why we do it, we all feel poor. I may not have much money but I don't have a few other things either.
...
Speaking of money, I just hit $41.99 when my car filled up and clicked the pump off. How often do you get that close to an even dollar when the pump clicks off? Oh yeah, back to the few other things that I don't have. I don't have a house payment, a wife, a long-term job or anything else that would tie me down to a particular location or a particular schedule for life. I'm an open vessel for God to use, (most of the time, I believe this), and the paths He can take me on are as varied as the roads leading out from the heart of this state. For now, I'm taking the one that leads back to Four Oaks because I have laundry to do. Who knows where I'll call home tomorrow.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Snazzy New Shoes
Tomorrow I start my job in earnest. I'm excited.
Today I went to target and I had to go to the bathroom while I was there. In the stall I couldn't help but notice what was the most poorly drawn Swastika I have ever seen. If you are going to graffiti a bathroom stall with stereotypical bathroom stall graffiti, at least do a good job of it.
Today I went to target and I had to go to the bathroom while I was there. In the stall I couldn't help but notice what was the most poorly drawn Swastika I have ever seen. If you are going to graffiti a bathroom stall with stereotypical bathroom stall graffiti, at least do a good job of it.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Capital "R"
Today is Thursday and I'm feeling like it's the last day before the next chapter of my life. Tomorrow I will be helping Joe Blanchard, my boss at CCF and friend from college, move into his new home with his wife Lindsey. On Saturday I'm going to be on campus at State helping the freshmen move in. Starting next week I'm on whatever regular schedule my regular schedule ends up being. This is exciting.
One last note on Caswell. I left the gates for the last time on Tuesday. Strangely enough, it wasn't the saddest parting I've ever experienced at the end of a summer - I think I'm just happy to have something other than school ahead of me for once. We had a service on the pier that was almost dreamlike. I'm not sure the sun has ever played more beautifully across the inlet before. While talking to some staffers later I joked that it was God's way of saying "good job" to us for the summers work. I'm not sure if he's actually pleased, but I sure hope so.
From there I thought I was going to Wilmington to spend the night with my good friend Jacob Jackson, but upon phoning him just before the bridge I discovered he was in Tennessee on a mission trip. Luckily, I had already made arrangements with my old roommate, Jefe. We hung out, ate mexican, visited Bryan, and burned tobacco on his deck. In short: it was just like old times. I woke up yesterday morning and began the rainy voyage home.
Coming into Four Oaks and not knowing when I will leave again is a bit surreal. Obviously I'll be bouncing around in Raleigh from place to place, but Four Oaks will be my "official home" for who knows how long. I went straight to my Dad's office, because I knew he would more than likely be there. He was. I was greeted with his wonderful fatherly hug and I felt at home again instantly. My diploma had come in at some point over the summer and we set about framing it in his conference room. Now it hangs on the wall in my bedroom. I just look at it sometimes. I visited Elizabeth and my nephew Ryan yesterday afternoon, but Ryan was passed out hard the entire time I was there. I'm sure there will be other opportunities to play with him in the very near future.
Mom wants me to clean out my room, so thats what I'll be spending the rest of the day doing. I suppose I owe them at least that much for putting a roof over my head. Looking out the window at the old pecan trees that surround my house and not knowing what the next week will bring is a fantastic feeling. It's good to be home.
One last note on Caswell. I left the gates for the last time on Tuesday. Strangely enough, it wasn't the saddest parting I've ever experienced at the end of a summer - I think I'm just happy to have something other than school ahead of me for once. We had a service on the pier that was almost dreamlike. I'm not sure the sun has ever played more beautifully across the inlet before. While talking to some staffers later I joked that it was God's way of saying "good job" to us for the summers work. I'm not sure if he's actually pleased, but I sure hope so.
From there I thought I was going to Wilmington to spend the night with my good friend Jacob Jackson, but upon phoning him just before the bridge I discovered he was in Tennessee on a mission trip. Luckily, I had already made arrangements with my old roommate, Jefe. We hung out, ate mexican, visited Bryan, and burned tobacco on his deck. In short: it was just like old times. I woke up yesterday morning and began the rainy voyage home.
Coming into Four Oaks and not knowing when I will leave again is a bit surreal. Obviously I'll be bouncing around in Raleigh from place to place, but Four Oaks will be my "official home" for who knows how long. I went straight to my Dad's office, because I knew he would more than likely be there. He was. I was greeted with his wonderful fatherly hug and I felt at home again instantly. My diploma had come in at some point over the summer and we set about framing it in his conference room. Now it hangs on the wall in my bedroom. I just look at it sometimes. I visited Elizabeth and my nephew Ryan yesterday afternoon, but Ryan was passed out hard the entire time I was there. I'm sure there will be other opportunities to play with him in the very near future.
Mom wants me to clean out my room, so thats what I'll be spending the rest of the day doing. I suppose I owe them at least that much for putting a roof over my head. Looking out the window at the old pecan trees that surround my house and not knowing what the next week will bring is a fantastic feeling. It's good to be home.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
When I Grow Up...
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Last night I watched Cast Away and Tom Hanks says something at the beginning and the end of the film that is something to the effect of time being a precious commodity and how wasting time is a sin that we can't afford. Of course, the message of the film is something more along the lines of slowing down and appreciating what you have - but I feel a sense of urgency that, for some reason, I'm not acting on. I'm about to finish up another book by Don Miller, I mentioned it a couple of posts back, but I just got back from his website and the experience he had on which the book is based took place when he was 21. TWENTY-ONE!!! I'm already half-way through 22 and I'm still not sure what to do from here. Then I start to think even more about it and a lot of the artists and writers that I admire really got things cooking when they were younger than me. Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie was writing music in a band before he got out of college and I'm still trying to plunk out songs written by other people in a quiet room by myself. I'm not saying that I feel like I have to be a famous writer or musician to be happy or anything like that; I just mention those things to point out how I sometimes get the feeling that whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing, I'm getting behind on it. I wish there was a big neon sign somewhere with an arrow pointing the way.
Friday, August 8, 2008
You Were Always on my Mind
As I look at the coming end of the summer, I'm forced to reckon with the likely end of an era. The end of my tenure at Caswell. Though I'd love, (and do let me repeat, LOVE) to work here full-time, I really just don't think that's in the cards for me because job openings here don't just grow on trees. Well, most of the time they don't. I feel safe calling my time at Caswell an "era" because it really has been quite a long time. Over the past six summers people back home and from school have just stopped asking where I'll be from late May to early August. I'm all grown up now, supposedly, and it's time for me to pay grown-up bills and work grown-up jobs. That being said, I do find it a bit of a coincedence that my internship with CCF ends in May. Hmmm, what to do then?
I'm going to devote the lionshare of this post to a man whom I am sure to have inspired but one that has, from not-so-rare-occasion to not-so-rare-occasion, inspired me as well. Someone who is long overdue for recognition in my writings. That man is JaySun Webb. For starters, take his name. It is really spelled Jason, but he seriously insists on spelling it JaySun. Now I can't think of it any other way. That should tell you something about him. He may not come off as much when you first meet him, but he is the biggest dreamer I know, and unlike most people, he isn't easily discouraged from this habit.
When I tell people about the nature of JaySun's "big-dream" personality, I usually tell them something like this. He is a guy who has the most unrealistic aspirations for himself, more than anyone I've ever met before. In the year I've known him I've heard about his novel that he hopes to get published, his desire to start a rock band even though he did not have any idea how to play an instrument at the time, nor a real desire to sing or do anything else that would contribute to a rock band. He has wanted to be an actor and, at the same time, a filmmaker - going so far as to pitch story ideas to me. He has schemed an online store from which to sell his creative material and considered writing for semi-major magazines.
To most people, this seems like someone who has too many dreams and not enough sense to pick just one to follow. It seems downright foolish. But that's the beauty of JaySun and the beauty, I believe, of all succesful people. They are all foolish enough to believe that it's possible. When you aren't foolish enough, you'll definantly never make it. I am convinced that someday, somewhere, the name of JaySun Webb will be known for something. I'm still not sure quite what but it will because he really believes in himself. I only hope that a little of that drive has rubbed off on me.
JaySun. Don't forget me when you're big.
JaySun's Blog
I'm going to devote the lionshare of this post to a man whom I am sure to have inspired but one that has, from not-so-rare-occasion to not-so-rare-occasion, inspired me as well. Someone who is long overdue for recognition in my writings. That man is JaySun Webb. For starters, take his name. It is really spelled Jason, but he seriously insists on spelling it JaySun. Now I can't think of it any other way. That should tell you something about him. He may not come off as much when you first meet him, but he is the biggest dreamer I know, and unlike most people, he isn't easily discouraged from this habit.
When I tell people about the nature of JaySun's "big-dream" personality, I usually tell them something like this. He is a guy who has the most unrealistic aspirations for himself, more than anyone I've ever met before. In the year I've known him I've heard about his novel that he hopes to get published, his desire to start a rock band even though he did not have any idea how to play an instrument at the time, nor a real desire to sing or do anything else that would contribute to a rock band. He has wanted to be an actor and, at the same time, a filmmaker - going so far as to pitch story ideas to me. He has schemed an online store from which to sell his creative material and considered writing for semi-major magazines.
To most people, this seems like someone who has too many dreams and not enough sense to pick just one to follow. It seems downright foolish. But that's the beauty of JaySun and the beauty, I believe, of all succesful people. They are all foolish enough to believe that it's possible. When you aren't foolish enough, you'll definantly never make it. I am convinced that someday, somewhere, the name of JaySun Webb will be known for something. I'm still not sure quite what but it will because he really believes in himself. I only hope that a little of that drive has rubbed off on me.
JaySun. Don't forget me when you're big.
JaySun's Blog
Thursday, August 7, 2008
My Laptop
A few weeks ago I was looking for some information online about how to fix something on my laptop when I ran across an article on how to change the color of the Apple logo on the back. I'm seriously considering it. I think green would be a good change of pace. I've had this iBook for over four years now and it's beginning to really show it's age. I can remember when I got it at orientation for UNCW - my parents brought it down to me and it felt like Christmas in July. Back then, Apple computers were even more rare and trendy than they are now. It's only been since the rising popularity of the iPod that sorority girls and the like have picked up on them. O my GOSH - they're SOOOO CUTE! It was still a time when only graphic designers and film nerds wanted Apples. I say this because I remember the looks I got at orientation staying in Graham Hall. Dell had this deal they'd struck up with the school, and all the other kids were hauling around there stone-grey slabs while my bright white Apple shone through the crowd. Strangers would actually stop and ask me about it because it was a serious novelty.
I love this horrible piece of trash. It has had it's fair share of problems, thats for sure. When I got it, the internal wireless card was shot so I had to send it in to get a new one. Thankfully I'd gotten the three year warranty, something that more than paid for itself. The little rubber feet fell out every summer at Caswell because I rest my laptop on the 2x4 shelf on my bunk and when I pick it up I always forget that they hang over and pop off. By the end of the summer I hunt around on the floor to find them. This summer I just bought new ones off of ebay. A rubber stopper on the top of the monitor ripped off one day when I was playing with it. The hard-drive started having issues after about a year, but I just kind of ignored it. Finally, last May when the warranty was almost up, I decided to make use of it one more time and they replaced the drive. The speakers are under-powered and they now sound more like metal vibrating on a dashboard than whatever I try to play though them. The internal microphone clicks in a strange pattern ever 20 seconds or so - making it impossible to record anything that doesn't annoy the heck out of you upon playback. I've replaced the power adapter twice and the battery once, (one of those cheap batteries that was made in China and is obviously violating several patents). The plastic outer casing scratches if you look at it sideways, I swear - and to top it off, I dropped the thing on its side off of my desk chair last April and the monitor doesn't line up with the base when I shut it anymore. This means that the latch doesn't catch and it the top just kind of bounces around.
In spite of all of this, it has still outlasted and will continue to outlast the hunks-o-garbage that all of my friends bought their freshmen year. I can do just about everything I need to do on a day-to-day basis with relatively little slowdown. When I think of all the good that has come of this laptop - all the writing, the research through school, the friendships that I've made or kept up with over long distances, the tickets to shows and concerts that I've bought - it really dulls the sting of all the things I just listed. When I decided to start this internship with CCF one of the things that struck me a few days later was that I was going to be stuck with this dying laptop for at least another year. I want to be able to edit movies and photography and do complex web authoring, etc. etc. That is the kind of professional work that my tired old iBook now shuffles through at best. I crunched numbers and re-crunched them only to find there was just no way out. My compensation won't be able to touch the price tag on a new one of these bad boys. I was seriously bummed about it.
I'm reading a Don Miller book called, "Through Painted Deserts." One of the central messages of that book seems to be an anti-commercialism/anti-materialism one - a message I more than need to embrace. In one section, Don recounts when he and his traveling companion, Paul, are at the bottom of the Grand Canyon preparing for the day-long hike back up. He is utterly exhausted in every sense from the hike down and through the canyon, very little food, and a near sleepless night in below-freezing conditions. After dreaming of decadent breakfasts the days prior, Don finally comes to the point where he agrees with Paul that a bowl of raisin bran would be the best thing in the world to him.
My laptop really isn't that bad after all.
What have you blessed with?
I love this horrible piece of trash. It has had it's fair share of problems, thats for sure. When I got it, the internal wireless card was shot so I had to send it in to get a new one. Thankfully I'd gotten the three year warranty, something that more than paid for itself. The little rubber feet fell out every summer at Caswell because I rest my laptop on the 2x4 shelf on my bunk and when I pick it up I always forget that they hang over and pop off. By the end of the summer I hunt around on the floor to find them. This summer I just bought new ones off of ebay. A rubber stopper on the top of the monitor ripped off one day when I was playing with it. The hard-drive started having issues after about a year, but I just kind of ignored it. Finally, last May when the warranty was almost up, I decided to make use of it one more time and they replaced the drive. The speakers are under-powered and they now sound more like metal vibrating on a dashboard than whatever I try to play though them. The internal microphone clicks in a strange pattern ever 20 seconds or so - making it impossible to record anything that doesn't annoy the heck out of you upon playback. I've replaced the power adapter twice and the battery once, (one of those cheap batteries that was made in China and is obviously violating several patents). The plastic outer casing scratches if you look at it sideways, I swear - and to top it off, I dropped the thing on its side off of my desk chair last April and the monitor doesn't line up with the base when I shut it anymore. This means that the latch doesn't catch and it the top just kind of bounces around.
In spite of all of this, it has still outlasted and will continue to outlast the hunks-o-garbage that all of my friends bought their freshmen year. I can do just about everything I need to do on a day-to-day basis with relatively little slowdown. When I think of all the good that has come of this laptop - all the writing, the research through school, the friendships that I've made or kept up with over long distances, the tickets to shows and concerts that I've bought - it really dulls the sting of all the things I just listed. When I decided to start this internship with CCF one of the things that struck me a few days later was that I was going to be stuck with this dying laptop for at least another year. I want to be able to edit movies and photography and do complex web authoring, etc. etc. That is the kind of professional work that my tired old iBook now shuffles through at best. I crunched numbers and re-crunched them only to find there was just no way out. My compensation won't be able to touch the price tag on a new one of these bad boys. I was seriously bummed about it.
I'm reading a Don Miller book called, "Through Painted Deserts." One of the central messages of that book seems to be an anti-commercialism/anti-materialism one - a message I more than need to embrace. In one section, Don recounts when he and his traveling companion, Paul, are at the bottom of the Grand Canyon preparing for the day-long hike back up. He is utterly exhausted in every sense from the hike down and through the canyon, very little food, and a near sleepless night in below-freezing conditions. After dreaming of decadent breakfasts the days prior, Don finally comes to the point where he agrees with Paul that a bowl of raisin bran would be the best thing in the world to him.
"You know," Paul begins, "it's funny. Two weeks ago when we talked about things we wanted or our aspirations, we would have talked about houses or boats or cars. Now that we've been on the road for a while, everything is reduced to a bowl of cereal." Paul develops a smile as he stands straight again. "Isn't that just beautiful? Cereal. There are people in this world who are killing themselves because they want more and more of nothing. And the only thing you and I want in this world is a bowl of cereal. That just show you how the things we think are important really aren't important."
My laptop really isn't that bad after all.
What have you blessed with?
Monday, August 4, 2008
Rollin' on a River
I'm writing this from the computer in the Reception Center at Caswell. It is the last check in day of the summer - so bittersweet. Bitter because it means the summer is almost over...and because check-in day sucks, but sweet because I know it's going to be a great week like all the others this summer.
One of the big things returning staffers tend to do is rate their summers. This morning I was walking from the cafe to the staff house and I started rolling the whole thing over in my head. I came up with this order from worst to best: 2006, 2003, 2004, 2008, 2007, 2005. The more I think about it, the more idiotic this seems. I can't remember everything that made my experiences the other summers what they were. I've mentioned in past posts on my old blog how memories eventually get compressed for storage in our brains as memories of memories and more often than not, it's probable that those placeholder memories are far from accurate to the thoughts and feelings you had in the moment. The present is so weird because were never really in it, by the time you think your most recent thought, it's already in the past. So, in a way, we think of the present as the moment most recently passed and judge the past according to how recently we remember recalling it as the present (when it never really was the present).
I think I'm getting a little too heady for a check-in day. I'm going to go to my Guest Services meeting now and limit my ponderings on time to the pondering of how long it will take me to digest whatever concoction we're having for lunch in a couple of hours.
PJ just farted over the speaker phone.
One of the big things returning staffers tend to do is rate their summers. This morning I was walking from the cafe to the staff house and I started rolling the whole thing over in my head. I came up with this order from worst to best: 2006, 2003, 2004, 2008, 2007, 2005. The more I think about it, the more idiotic this seems. I can't remember everything that made my experiences the other summers what they were. I've mentioned in past posts on my old blog how memories eventually get compressed for storage in our brains as memories of memories and more often than not, it's probable that those placeholder memories are far from accurate to the thoughts and feelings you had in the moment. The present is so weird because were never really in it, by the time you think your most recent thought, it's already in the past. So, in a way, we think of the present as the moment most recently passed and judge the past according to how recently we remember recalling it as the present (when it never really was the present).
I think I'm getting a little too heady for a check-in day. I'm going to go to my Guest Services meeting now and limit my ponderings on time to the pondering of how long it will take me to digest whatever concoction we're having for lunch in a couple of hours.
PJ just farted over the speaker phone.
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