Living Life in the Superlative

Home

2011-12-01T15:38:00.004-06:00

I took a trip to Germany a few months ago. I typed this on my phone between opera rehearsals. Today, as I was cleaning out my notes app, it caught my attention and I decided to leave it here to find again later.

I'm at the house in Weimar. Kind of ridiculous but now that I'm here I miss Oklahoma and everybody there. I'm beginning to realize that no matter where I am I find a way to long for a place that is somewhere else. I guess that's the dirty travel secret nobody tells you about. You start to leave little pieces of yourself in all the places you visit. As you get further and further spread out, it becomes impossible to ever be completely whole again. My love for places like Waco, Puerto Viejo, Weimar, New Orleans, California, and Hinton all coexist and fight for supremacy depending on which of those longings has been stoked most recently. When I'm hot in the Oklahoma summer I consider the mildness of the Costa Rican climate, and struggling with language barriers in foreign countries always makes me long for home.

They say you can't go home again, and that is the difficulty with letting yourself make homes all over the world. Being a tourist is tough for me, so in my head I make new "homes" all the time. I latch on to experiences; I let them be significant.

Me.

2011-11-13T02:35:00.005-06:00

I am accepting of others.
I am casual.
I am compassionate.
I am enthusiastic.
I am expressive.
I am imaginative.
I am methodical.
I am pressure-prompted.
I am reflective.
I am spontaneous.
I am tender.

I apply logic.
I ask questions.
I initiate.

I like people.
I like theories.
I like open-ended things.

I think abstractly.
I think in concepts.

I value authenticity.

Hello. I'm John Carmack.

Culture

2011-11-02T09:07:00.001-05:00

“We have to create culture, don't watch TV, don't read magazines, don't even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you're worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you're giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told 'no', we're unimportant, we're peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.' And then you're a player, you don't want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that's being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.” ― Terence McKenna

Banjo

2011-06-30T03:06:00.010-05:00

Place: Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, February 2006
Setting: An open-air bar on ten foot stilts that overlooks the ocean. Nighttime. I was in the bar with eight other people. Four of them were Rastafarian musicians playing a set. Congas, banjo, harmonica, and one of them was playing a "bass" fashioned out of a bucket, a mop handle, and some kind of thick string I couldn't identify.

I had acquired a banjo just before leaving for Costa Rica but had not learned how to play it. These guys didn't really know how to play either. The performance was more rhythm than melody, although it had a loose harmonic consistency to it.

I sat in the near empty bar, enjoying the music as the waves from the beach provided white noise in the background. The latin/Jamaican rhythm was infectious. Before long I was smiling, then nodding along, and finally grinning from ear to ear. I kept my eyes glued to the hand movements of the banjo player.

After about thirty minutes, the four musicians took a break. The conga player came to where I was sitting, pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. He produced a joint from some hidden space on his person and lit it with care. Finally, he looked me in the eye.

A deep, thickly accented Jamaican voice: "You play." It wasn't a question.

I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that. "uh... the banjo?"

"Yes, I saw you. I saw you watch. You have music, you have it here." He thumped his index finger twice against his chest.

I missed what he was saying to me. "I don't play yet, I'm about to start learning. You guys are awesome."

He regarded me, taking a drag off his joint and exhaling slowly. He never broke eye contact. "When we play again, tonight, you play with us."

I was nervous. I wish I had answered differently. "No, no, I couldn't. Let me learn, I'll come back. Maybe a year, maybe two, but I'll come back and play with you guys."

"Good."

He paused and took another hit off the joint. His deep Jamaican voice rumbled slightly as he exhaled the smoke.

"I will be on the beach."

He looked at the beach.

"I will wait with faith."

I went back last year but I couldn't find these guys. I'll try again next time. I still don't play the banjo, but now I realize I didn't have to. They just wanted to make music.

Me too.

Schöne

2011-06-27T12:44:00.039-05:00

Today I met a girl. I met her on the train from Berlin. She was a lovely girl. Her name was... well, I don't think I know her name. I guess I never will.

I was standing on a train platform, waiting for the train to arrive that would take me from Berlin to Weimar. I was nodding my head to my music. I had my eyes closed behind my sunglasses so that I could hear the track better (a habit I picked up in my music studies). As the song on my headphones came to a satisfying resolution, I smiled. It was an easy smile, a comfortable smile, the kind of smile you might see me make after I've just had a delicious meal or accomplished some trival personal triumph like guessing where my keys are on the first try.

Still smiling, I opened my eyes and removed my sunglasses. I panned my vision over the train platform, taking in everything I could see one last time before a train pulled up and whisked me away to some other place. I was just about to finish my scan and put my sunglasses back over my eyes, and that was when I saw her.

She was thirty feet away, standing at my 10 o'clock. She looked about 5'5" tall; she had long, thick, strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail that swished between her shoulder blades. She had let her thick bangs fall over her forehead, a hairstyle not uncommon for a young German woman. Her frame was eye-catching, a feminine set of curves wrapped in a pair of tan jeans and a conservative brown tank top. She carried a small red satchel, its strap slung over her left shoulder. But I didn't see any of those things at first. No, the first I saw of her was her eyes. They caught my attention not because they were beautiful (though I should tell you that they were beautiful: an icy, pale blue, full of light and curiosity, nestled on either side of a petite and freckle-covered nose), but because they were looking right back at me. She was staring. I had caught her.

My smile, still on my face from the music I had finished only moments ago, grew into a grin. She let slip with a grin of her own and her eyes darted toward the ground. If my color vision would permit me to see flesh tones, I imagine I might have seen her blush. I held my gaze, waiting for her to look back at me. She did. Peering up from under her eyebrows, the pale blue eyes were illuminated by the bashful smile still decorating her face, lending them a warmth you don't often get to see in German women. We held eye contact for what seemed like minutes, though I know in reality it was only moments. I told myself to approach her, but that thought was interrupted by a familiar series of sounds: vibrating metal, brake pads, and a powerful engine switching from thrust into idle. My train was arriving. It was time for me to leave. I wondered if the girl was going to Weimar. I hoped she was going to Weimar.

The train stopped. Its doors came to a halt right in front of where I stood, as if the train were stopping just for me. The crowd (including the girl) moved en masse towards the entrance. As the girl came nearer to the doors, her eyes focused on the train but her body language was directed at me. She wanted me to say hello.

Her right arm was draped over her satchel. I walked up to her. As I came near, I extended my left hand. I placed my first three fingers on her forearm. Her head snapped in my direction. I saw her eyes again. Whatever it was I had planned to say, it was forgotten. I stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. I smiled again, stalling while I came up with something.

Got it! My brilliant opener: "Do you speak English?"

She grinned. "Yes, a little bit."

"Oh, good. Is this the train to Weimar?"

"Yes! You're going to Weimar?"

"Yes, you?"

"Mm hmm."

"Well hey, let's sit together and chat, we can be train buddies. You up for it?"

I sensed that I shouldn't have used an idiom. She seemed confused, but she nodded so I figured she had gotten the jist. I let her precede me onto the train. She turned to the left, into the first class cabin. My heart sank. My ticket was for the second class cabin. My great romance was over before it had started. I laughed aloud, wordlessly chiding myself for becoming attached to this anonymous girl after only a ten second encounter. Shaking my head, a grin on my face, I turned to my right and entered the second class cabin.

I found an empty seat and sat down next to the window. I put my bag under the chair. I leaned back and looked towards the door of the cabin.

The girl walked in, and I felt my heart thud in my chest. I kept cool, figuring she was headed to the bathroom or something, but she saw me and held eye contact. She smiled. I smiled back. I patted the seat next to me and she took it.

There wasn't a moment of awkward silence for the entire trip. I mean, sure, there were pauses, but they only served as paragraph breaks in an otherwise seamless conversation. We discussed all sorts of things. She amazed me with her knowledge. Her interest in history, her perspectives on art, even the way she talked about her dog, it was all indicative of a soul whose curiosity was only matched by the drive to see that curiosity satiated. We had read a few of the same books, though she had read them in German and I in English. She told me about some movies I should watch while I was learning German.

Three hours later, we arrived in Weimar. I started walking towards my destination, and she walked alongside me. The air was warm. The sun was shining. I felt content, and I continued to enjoy my conversation with the girl whose name I will not know.

We came to a point where our paths were separating. I asked her where she was going.

"Mm, I must go back to my school."

Hey, a college girl, I thought. "Oh, you're in school? What are you studying?"

"Study...? oh, no, I am not studying anything. I am in the ninth grade."

"OKAY WELL IT WAS VERY NICE TO MEET YOU BUT I'M AFRAID I'M IN A TERRIBLE RUSH HAVE A PLEASANT AFTERNOON."

And then I ran away.

The Known Universe

2011-06-24T11:30:00.004-05:00

I'm going to pass the mic to some other people for this entry. I'm going somewhere with this, just not today. Please watch these videos if you have the time, they are important to me and I am eager to hear other people's reactions.

Consider, for a moment, the problems that are causing you to feel stressed today.

Consider them again.

I wish I could communicate half as well as Carl Sagan did.

Carmack

2011-04-29T08:06:00.004-05:00

Cornelius Carmack was born around 1681 somewhere in Ireland. The first record of Cornelius in America is October 2, 1723. According to the testamentary proceeding from the Court in Cecil County, Maryland, he used the name Carmack in October 1723. In November of 1723, he used the name "Maccarmick" and in August of 1725, he used the name McCarmick. He later moved to Fredrick County, Maryland where he died. His will was sworn in 1749 and at that time all of his children are officially mentioned as Carmacks. Regardless of the name that was used in the old Country, it is obvious that Carmack was the name that he decided would be best for his family in America. This decision to adopt this variation of the name by Cornelius, makes the name Carmack unique only to his descendants and it seems to ensure that anyone with this name in America is a direct descendant of him.

http://familytreemaker.genealogy.com/users/n/o/r/Michele-L-Norton/GENE5-0002.html

I was in Annapolis, Maryland today, going through old records in an attempt to find this mention of Cornelius in the testamentary records. After about a half hour of going through card catalogs I was able to track it down.

There he is.

Growth

2010-11-27T16:43:00.005-06:00

The first time somebody asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I was in first grade. I wish they hadn't asked. It's such a limiting thing to ask a little boy, it implies that he should have an idea already. I think it's meant to be cute; people ask the question expecting "fireman!" or "astronaut!" and then they can laugh at the silly little boy.

But I thought about it, I thought really hard. I wanted to give the right answer, I didn't want to lie, because then if I grew up and didn't become that thing I had said, the question-asker would remember and they would think I was a liar.

I remember my dad's father ("Daddy Bob") had arthritis in his hands, so they were very gnarled and his fingers looked like they were always causing him pain. I didn't think it was fair that he had to have pain in his hands, because he was such a good man. I wanted to help him. Dad told me there wasn't a cure for arthritis. I thought that wasn't fair that there should be a sickness that doesn't have a cure, it should be against the rules. So the next time somebody asked me what I wanted to do, I said "a doctor, so I can cure arthritis so my Daddy Bob's hands won't hurt anymore."

Daddy Bob died two years later, when I was nine years old. I cried a lot. I had never known anyone who had died before and I missed him because he read me stories and played bingo with me. I felt like I let him down because I wasn't old enough to cure arthritis yet and now I couldn't ever help him.

Obviously, I never became a doctor. I didn't even want to be one, I just wanted Daddy Bob's hands to stop hurting.

This was my first lesson in writing a future that probably won't happen. I still do it. I get excited about some possibility, I see a wonderful future and I fill it with details big and small. I did this before I came to Baylor and lots of it came true. I did it before I moved to New Orleans and less of it has come true. I'll probably do it for the rest of my life (see, there I go again). We take the things that are behind us in the past, add them to the decisions we're making in the present, and we use them to write a future that could possibly happen based on those decisions.

But that's not how life works. We don't get to see how it ends, we only get to watch the next thing unfold one day at a time. We can move toward a goal (or not) and we can pursue something we want (or not), but focusing on our future is what pulls us out of what we're creating for ourselves right now. We're not smart enough to see the future, and we can't make our decisions based on what might or might not happen. All we can do is focus on the things that we want, right now, in this very moment, and do what we can to move towards them.

For some people this means creating safety for their child, so they go to work and they earn money that will go to the kid's braces and college tuition. For some people this means finding a person to love, so they go on dates or go to bars. For some people this is as simple as calling out for pizza. At some point in our lives, we'll all be or have been the person who is searching for one of these things.

As a kid, all we're ever expected to think about is what we want right now; kids are called "the future" but that's just us projecting our hopes onto them. Kids, when they're not misbehaving, are being in the moment, playing on playgrounds and building adventures in their mind. Asking a kid what they want to be when they grow up is asking them to grow up a little in their mind, or at least that's what it did for me. I don't want to make a kid think about that, so I don't ask them questions like this. Instead I try to get them to tell me a story.

Commenters

2010-11-23T18:57:00.002-06:00

This one goes out to the commenters.

I took advantage of laundry day by going back and reading every last entry on this blog. I did this once two years ago and ended up making a few entries private because they were drama-filled. I did the same thing today, except the posts I took down I mostly took down because they were boring or didn't add anything to my story. The ones that are left are the ones that deal with funny stories from my past, major revelations about my character, and the posts that fill in details I might otherwise forget (primarily the Costa Rica entries, Jan-Mar 2006).

While I was doing this, I realized how long I've really been at this. Equally important, I realized how long some of you have been watching me do it, and I can't tell you how grateful I am. You commenters have given me advice, encouragement, support, and self-insight I would not have received if I did not have this blog, and it was almost always exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.

First and foremost, my aunt Nancy. I think she has been reading this blog longer than anybody, and is probably the only person to have legitimately "found" me rather than following a link I provided here, as evidenced by her first comment, which is pretty hilarious. Nancy always makes me feel good about my writing, and as I read through the old posts I saw how shamefully rare it was for me to respond to her even though she never stopped encouraging me. If she didn't keep commenting and telling me she enjoyed these posts, I might have forgotten about this blog long ago, and days like today wouldn't be possible for me. I owe Nancy my ability to consistently write with my own voice and express my thoughts clearly, because without this blog I never would have had all this practice. Thank you so much Nancy.

The rest are in no particular order, but all are important.

Ashlee Ford - lots of great comments out there from you, all of them making me feel cooler. You're the "glue" that keeps our little band of high school misfits together, I'm glad you keep reminding us all to meet for Christmas-ish, else I would have virtually no ties to my high school experience. Aside, of course, from...

Nate - There were four or five comments that you've made in the past five years that were simply amazing, I wish I had bookmarked them so I could link to them now. You often leave comments that I don't understand at the time, then I come back a month later and it's like you were living in my head but I was a month behind and you got to my thoughts first. You manage to see the truth behind pretty much all the BS I spew (especially when I don't realize it's BS), and that's why you're my best friend in the world. Sorry for being cheesy, it makes me feel weird too, but I wasn't going to not say it.

Cobb - Always with the jokes, uplifting thoughts, and grammar corrections (both in English and Spanish). I think you're the only K-Psi who has been reading these posts this whole time, and even though we rarely talk I consider you a close friend.

There were several others who have left me multiple comments that I appreciated (Talley, Michelle, Laura, Caroline), and plenty of one-timers who left great insight as well. Anybody who has taken the time to read any of this has my gratitude; I tell myself I write this blog for me, and that's true. But having people respond to my thoughts is what lets me grow through this and know that I'm heading down a positive track. If it weren't for this blog, I wouldn't be capable of having the conversations I get to have today, and if it weren't for the commenters, I might never have realized some of the things that have made me who I am now.

Thanks, guys.

-John

Facebook

2010-11-18T17:34:00.014-06:00

I decided to try something new with facebook yesterday and I was really glad with how it turned out. Documenting it here for my future benefit. If an image is too small to read, click it and it will take you to the full size version.

Things started out pretty mundane...

...and shortly thereafter got more colorful.

But then it got fun.

I answered some questions on the fly, so I made a few mistakes.

Morose

2010-09-06T22:29:00.003-05:00

Forgive me while I wax morose. Don't read too much into it.

I have had several dreams in my lifetime where I died. I always have a moment to realize, "I am about to die." Once it was a tornado coming directly for me. Another time I was riding in a car that flew off a cliff. A recent one had me in an elevator that fell down the shaft unexpectedly. Every time, I close my eyes and say, "Well, that's all there is. I wonder if I was right about everything." That's it; that exact phrase, every single time.

If you came here to know me better than you did before, I'd like to think this was helpful.

Romance

2010-06-06T16:30:00.001-05:00

Almost everything our culture teaches us from the time that we’re born points us to the idea that romance will save us. This irks me.

When I was growing up, I could be a lonely kid from time to time. I remember saying prayers like “Oh, Jesus, please don’t rapture me before I get to kiss a girl.” Once I had done that it became “please don’t rapture me before I get married so I can have sex at least once.” Later still it was “please bring me a good wife.” I spent large amounts of time greatly concerned with how and when I would fall in love next or who I would ask out on a date next. Too much of my life was built around finding romance, and it all sparked out of some deep insecurity that, in retrospect, came from the fear that I could never be happy alone.

I don’t know if this was my own fault for buying into the myth that romance could save me, or if I should blame the culture that created the myth. It doesn’t really matter. I just wish I didn’t see these same feelings in so many other people. I’ve joined online dating sites in the past, and they are filled with people who seem less interested in who they are going to date than whether or not they actually will date. From conversations I have with my friends and sometimes strangers, I know that these feelings are not exclusive to the type of person who signs up for online dating sites. The ideas aren’t universal, but they’re far more prevalent than we should have ever allowed them to become.

It was December 2008 when I abandoned the idea that romance would save me, though I will not go into the “why” of it in this blog. What is important is that I became comfortable with the idea of being a single man who is not trapped in the search for a mate. I wish I had done it sooner, though I don’t think I could have. It was a pretty major epiphany for me and it required me to let go of a great many things I had always believed to be sacrosanct.

First and foremost was the idea that I was supposed to get married. Or the idea that anybody was “supposed” to get married. The story of “boy meets girl, they fall in love, they get married” is a good story, but it’s become something that is expected (and to many people, required) in the story of a successful life. Lots of people write this story for themselves, in their own heads, from the time they are very young, and I suspect very few of them know why they are doing it. I certainly didn’t know why I did it.

I have been to many, many weddings. I’ve been a guest, a groomsman, a photographer, and, on one notable occasion, a crasher. I have seen people get married who clearly liked each other perfectly fine but didn’t necessarily know why they were there. I’ve seen couples who clearly didn’t know each other that well but seemed to be getting married because they were of age and they figured it was time to be married. Sometimes two people are just incredibly attractive and marry each other because they found someone equally attractive and decided they would never do any better. And apart from all of those, I’ve been to maybe six weddings where I knew with absolute certainty that the only thing these people could have done after they met each other was to fall in love and spend forever together. Maybe six out of at least fifty. Everybody else seemed like they were just following their script.

Maybe I’m being too judgmental, but that’s not my goal. I just know that this is not something I want for myself. I’m not following a script anymore, and I don’t currently plan to ever marry. If I get married, it’s going to be because there was simply nothing else I could do. It won’t be because my girlfriend or her parents or my parents expect it (and bless my parents for never pressuring me about this even once). It will be because I needed it to happen more than I needed it not to happen.

Nowadays, when I go on a date, the goal is not a second date. The goal is to make a connection that is real, and if one can’t be made then there won’t be a second date regardless how attractive the girl is. Maybe this sounds obvious to you, but I’ve been on plenty of third and fourth dates without being able to tell you why I was going on them other than “because she’s hot.” I don’t do that anymore. I’ve been this way since December of 2008, and I like it better this way; I’m much happier, both in and out of relationships.

This wasn’t initially meant to be about me, but it definitely became that way. I’m okay with that.

Tree Man

2010-05-24T18:36:00.003-05:00

This is a story from my childhood; it has no bearing on my present condition and I have written it for the sole purpose of writing it.

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Have you ever felt like you were suddenly in the middle of a horror film? I have.

I used to go to a camp called Sky Ranch near Van, Texas. It's a Jesus camp; you live in a cabin with 12-20 other kids your age while the college-aged counselors make sure you don't kill yourself and every once in awhile you sing songs and pray. Also there's horses and sailboats.

One summer I managed to snag a pretty mischievous group of counselors. Let's call them Luke, Bill, and Evan; I don't remember their real names. I only remember the terror they made me experience. One night, while we were walking to dinner, one of the counselors (let's say it was "Luke") said, "Man, it's pretty dark, I hope Treeman doesn't come for us."

Being the sucker that my older brother has always known me to be, I took his bait: "Who's Treeman?"

Luke: "Oh, he's bad news. He's either a small tree or a large man dressed like one, we don't know which. All we know is he's been around these parts for a real long time. He comes out at night and takes people who don't respect the land, you know, people who climb trees and break the branches off or people who cut down forests for money."

Me: "You're making that up."

Luke: "Fine, don't believe me. Just be careful out in the woods during capture the flag tonight, if you break any branches you're on your own."

Me: "..."

We made it to the mess hall for dinner and I started asking more questions about Treeman. My cabinmates thought I was stupid for buying it at first, but as each of the counselors gave his own harrowing account about what Treeman had done to campers in the past our skepticism began to fade. Long story short, the only kid who didn't believe it was the "macho" kid name Jared who had to pretend not to believe it for the good of all of us. If he had bought it I'm pretty sure the rest of us would have given in to despair.

That night we played Capture the Flag. You have never seen anyone creep through the woods more carefully than I did. No way was I going to break a branch off of a tree and incur the wrath of Treeman. The game was ultimately called because it had started to rain and there was lightning coming after the rain.

The last part of the day at Sky Ranch is when we would have cabin devotionals. Now, this was probably a violation of every rule Sky Ranch had about how much counselors are allowed to change the schedule at night, but we didn't have a devotional that night. We just talked about Treeman and how terrifying he was while the storm raged on outside.

In the midst of a particularly scary story from Bill, Luke interrupted him: "Oh man, we're missing a counselor, where's Evan? He knows it's too late to go out on a night like tonight..."

THEN ALL THE LIGHTS WENT OUT.

It was chaos. All of us were in our bunks, and I am one hundred percent certain that if I had not been paralyzed by fear I would have been screaming and running for the door. The lights flickered a few times and I heard Luke say "Where's Evan?? WHERE IS EVAN??"

Then Bill pointed at the window where Evan's face was pressed up against it, his face looked full of fear and his clothes were soaking. He pounded once on the window, then A TREE BRANCH CAME FROM BEHIND HIM OUT OF NOWHERE. The tree branch seemed to grab him by the shoulder and pull him away.

None of us knew what to do; even Jared was stuck in his bunk, unable to do anything but yell "WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO? WHAT ARE WE GONNA DOOOOOOOO?"

Then the lights came on, Evan came inside and said, "So did it work?"

Jerks.

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This has been "Childhood Stories with John." Tune in next week when I tell you how Rob convinced me that bananas are actually pig feces.

Bells

2010-04-09T01:59:00.002-05:00

This is a short post about handbells. Before you read it, I have to tell you two things.

One: Yes, I play handbells.
Two: You are not the first person to think this is funny.

The video below represents one of the most exhilarating musical performances I've ever been a part of. It's really very silly, but I am immensely proud of it. If you're looking for me in the video, I am the one who looks like me.

Now here's the thing: I am fully aware of how dorky this is. One doesn't get much nerdier than being in a handbell choir. In spite of that, it is the lone dorky part of my personality about which I have never been the tiniest bit self-conscious. I only picked it up in my fourth year of college (some people would call this their "senior" year but in my case that term is not nearly specific enough), so this is right about the time the metaphysical concept of "me" started becoming less of an idea I was guessing at and more of a reality I was living in. It was about this time that I shed most of the awkward insecurity I picked up in junior high. So I was perfectly comfortable at this point being a guy who picks up weird hobbies that most people have never heard of.

This was all by way of explanation and is really only incidental to the reason I came here today. Here's my story:
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So today in handbells, somebody played something and it sounded like the chorus from that song "You make me feel like dancing" and I started singing it in my head then I laughed a little. It was pretty cool.

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I believe the response you're looking for is, "Cool story, brah."

Selfish

2010-03-19T18:51:00.004-05:00

Just like anybody else, I get lonely from time to time. It doesn't come in days or weeks of self-pity or anything that one might classify as an "emo kid" kind of reaction; it's more like a few minutes in some day every now and again where I realized I haven't talked to anybody for awhile and I start to feel a little isolated.

And immediately, when I feel lonely, two things happen: I get more self-absorbed, and I want everyone else to pay attention to me. Sometimes I'll tweet something (these are usually my worst tweets, neither funny nor insightful nor particularly interesting in any way), other times I'll go through my facebook news feed and make comments on things from people I haven't talked to in weeks/months/years. This is me at my worst, I think. Not because it's malicious or mean or anything like that, it's just pretty selfish.

This isn't something that happens to me a whole lot; if I post a comment on your facebook and we haven't talked in awhile, it's far more likely I just had something I wanted to tell [i]you[/i] in particular or I hadn't heard from you in awhile and wanted to see what was up. Or maybe you posted a status that made me think of some response, and I thought my response was clever enough to share with the world (this is by far the most likely scenario, even if my response wasn't actually all that clever).

I think in the future, when I get that isolated feeling, I'll probably just call some people and ask them questions about their life. The tendency towards self-absorption is tempting but I prefer to avoid it. If quality introspection is what helps me stay stable and content, then neurotic self-obsession is what will drive me to a far less comfortable existence. Asking other people about their lives helps me "widen my lens," so to speak, and see that there's more out there than my peaceful little existence.

The Wacky Uncle

2009-11-21T20:02:00.002-06:00

My sister-in-law will be having a baby in February of next year. I have done some thinking.

I am unmarried, and I am not seeking to get married soon.
I consider myself an actor of sorts.
I give people weird personality tests.
I do magic tricks.
I tell really stupid cornball jokes.

In short, I have got the role of "wacky uncle" ALL SEALED UP.

Old Conversations

2009-11-11T06:02:00.002-06:00

Here is, verbatim, and in its entirety, a conversation I had three years ago. I present it here, without context and for no clear reason.

"So Ray."
(long pause)
"Uh... yeah?"
"Julie wants to know if we ever talk to each other by yelling through the bathroom wall."
(another long pause)
'Well, this would be the first time."
(my turn to pause)
"Okay, talk to you later."
"Yeah."

In-Class Essays; or rather, an Essay on Classes

2009-11-09T13:13:00.003-06:00

As a person who is not currently a student (in any formal sense), but has spent practically his whole life up to this point as a student, I have spent a great deal of time thinking of the nature of "the class" as an entity. Not the people who make up the class, nor the classroom the class is held in. Rather, The Class. English 1304, Communications 1301, etc. In this time spent thinking, I have come to two conclusions.

1) Classes are stupid.
2) The classes that I had the easiest time focusing on, regardless of content, were the classes that were structured like five-paragraph essays.

Everybody knows the basic essay format: you write your first paragraph which includes a thesis, and spend the rest of that paragraph making broad brush strokes illustrating why your thesis needed to be said (these two things do not need to happen in that order, but it is understood that they must both happen in the first paragraph). You then spend three paragraphs illustrating why your thesis is a good and proper thesis, and is in fact far superior to other theses which might disagree with it. Finally, you write a concluding paragraph that sums up your previous four paragraphs. This paragraph may or may not include a lazily-paraphrased restatement of your original thesis, depending on how late at night you finished your essay and how interested you are in your subject matter at this point in the process.

Classes that follow the same structure have a way of making a class bearable for me, probably because it follows the recovering procrastinator's rule of "breaking the big thing into smaller things so it won't seem so big." In my mind, this happens thusly:

Syllabus Day - The Opening Paragraph
This seems self-explanatory and like something one could easily jump past, but in my experience as a student who has been both highly successful and embarrassingly unsuccessful, a class's opening paragraph is vital to how I will perform in a class. The opening day needs to introduce me to the ideas we will cover in class in a way that makes me want to care. The phrasing here is important: nobody can make anybody care about anything in a significant way in a single class period, but they can make somebody want to care about it. Nobody cares about anything until they've sacrificed something for it, and they won't sacrifice anything unless it's something they believe they could care about.

So a thesis statement for an American Literature class's opening paragraph might say something like, "This semester, you're going to learn about the evolution of philosophy in America throughout its history by examining its literature." The professor would then tell us which stories and authors in particular illustrated which philosophies without needing to elaborate on who those authors were or what those philosophies entailed; that is what the rest of the semester is for. Every class in which a professor has done something like this has resulted in me actually doing my homework for at least the first third of the class.

The problems that arose for me were when a professor did not really present an opening paragraph. Rather, they would pass out a syllabus, explain the attendance requirements, and tell us what books we needed and then send us away telling us that we needed to have such and such homework done by the next class meeting. Often, they would simply read verbatim from the syllabus. I believe that these professors really thought they were giving us an opening paragraph. But the essay had no thesis, and it had no hook. In retrospect, if I ever did that first assignment, it always felt like I was working ahead rather than simply keeping up. And now I think I understand why: I had no idea where the assignment was taking me, because I had no clearly defined thesis for the class.

Most of the Rest of the Class: Lectures & Exams - Supporting Paragraphs
The first assignment, given on syllabus day, is the opening sentence of the second paragraph. The first test is a comprehension check on how well you read that paragraph. And so on and so forth for the rest of the semester, until...

The Final: The Concluding Paragraph
If a professor has written their essay well, everything that was briefly touched upon during the first paragraph has now been covered in-depth over the rest of the semester. Now the student must take their last comprehension check: the final. It's never as difficult as the previous tests, but it does sort of lazily graze over the points that were made in those paragraphs. The student should now be able to regurgitate the general ideas behind the first paragraph that the professor gave on the opening day, but now they should actually understand what it all means and why it needed to be said. They know why Benjamin Franklin was a perfect example of Enlightenment thinking and they probably have some sort of opinion on Langston Hughes. Maybe, at the end of it all, they don't actually care about the subject, but the professor has successfully made them attempt to care. In my case, if I was doing well in the class, it was because I had finally started caring sometime after the first test.

So there you have it: five paragraphs. I have no idea if any other students feel this way about their classes; I only know that this is how my mind operated during the many years I spent in school. And it was consistent; I can think back on specific classes in which I did very, very well (Psychology, one of my four music histories, and Intro to Communications in particular) and this is definitely how they were structured. Of course, I did fine in several classes that weren't structured this way simply because I had to, and I did miserably in one class that was structured exactly this way because after attempting to care about the subject I found that I really, really, really did NOT care about it at all. So obviously it's not a hard and fast rule. And I think I like it more that way; if it were one of those things that were always true, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun to think about.

It would be too much like math.

Hog Fever

2009-09-23T00:26:00.002-05:00

I've said this already, but I'll say it again here, for posterity:

I can't believe I got swine flu.

--------

Earlier today, my roommate Clint came into town after spending two weeks in a medical test facility in Austin. He came in, made soup, and gave me a stuffed pig in honor of my malady. We sat and chatted and watched an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Then he left. Shortly thereafter, I took some NyQuil and went to sleep.

When I awoke about an hour later, I was pretty certain that I had hallucinated the whole encounter. I could not convince myself that Clint had actually been in the house. I sat in my bed for a full ten minutes debating whether I should call him and ask if I had seen him today. I ultimately decided that his answer would be unimportant, because the fact that I needed to ask the question in the first place was evidence enough that something was probably not right. Fortunately, I then headed into the living room and found the stuffed pig. That confirmed for me that I had actually seen my roommate and had not, in fact, been pulling a John Nash (although Clint does bear a superficial resemblance to Paul Bettany, in that he is both tall and blonde-haired).

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find me a Jennifer Connelly to feed me some soup while I do math.

Montage

2009-08-25T04:34:00.000-05:00

When I travel, I find that I need a very specific soundtrack. It’s not a particular artist or genre that’s important, nor am I in search of a precise beat or even a certain type of lyrics. No, what I’m looking for is specific in a way that’s more difficult to define. I’m talking, of course, about montage music.

As the song plays through my headphones, I need to picture a series of images indicating to the viewers (yes, I know there are no “viewers” in reality, but you know full well why I imagine that there are viewers, because you do it too) that I am, in fact on a Very Meaningful Journey. Images like a very distant shot of the train I’m on as it speeds by. Maybe a close-up on my face from outside the window as I look past the camera thoughtfully. A shot that just shows my hand coming out of the window to do that cool wavy thing where you feel the air move over your arm. Definitely a shot where I see an amusing sign and smile to myself at how silly people can be sometimes.

Are you putting together a soundtrack for the montage I’m building? I am, because I can’t help it. When I travel, I need songs that fit these images, otherwise my Very Meaningful Journey (VMJ) becomes simply a journey (j). Can’t have that.

Some songs on my montage playlist:
“Breathe” – Michelle Branch
“Right Now” – Van Halen
“Waiting Game” – Yellowcard (all shots during this song are in slow-mo, of course)
“M79” – Vampire Weekend
"Angels of the Silences” – Counting Crows (this is a “Journey Starter” meaning it must come after a shot of me getting excited and maybe hitting my steering wheel with my palm right as the drums kick in)
“Have a Nice Day” – Bon Jovi

I want to hear other people’s montage mixes. Somehow I bet this could wind up being one of those things nobody agrees on, like pizza toppings or the best route across town. Everybody’s got their own, and I want to steal the bits I like from yours. You can have mine too, it’s okay with me.

Generalizing

2009-08-08T06:00:00.002-05:00

I had this conversation recently:

Woman: "Men don't notice details. All they see is boobs and butt, and if they like what they see then that's all they need. The details are lost on men."
Me: "Well, at least we don't generalize, the way all women do."
Woman: [pause as she seems to ponder what I have said, then...] "Ugh, that is such a man thing to say."

---

Things are still good in Germany, for all who have been asking after me. If I haven't responded to an email or facebook message that you've sent, please don't take it personally. It probably means I wanted to take the time to write you a "real" response and never got the time and eventually it slipped out of my head.

I'm very much looking forward to heading back to Waco next month, but in the meantime I am having the time of my life here in Weimar. The only things anyone expects me to do here are a) learn my music and b) perform it well. The fact that I'm enjoying so much is very affirming in my decision to make this my career for the rest of my life.

It's ridiculous how much the human mind is capable of memorizing in a very short amount of time, by the way. I remember it used to take me close to two months to really feel like I knew an aria. I remember one aria in particular that Prof Sadlier (my voice teacher) assigned to me that I STILL haven't learned a full year later (Billy Budd's aria, if you're curious). Then, this week, I decided I wanted to learn some new arias, and two days later I had three of them in my voice and I'm anticipating that by Tuesday of next week I'll have them comfortably memorized. In the meantime, I'm still memorizing the role that I'll be performing next month. That's close to two hours of music learned in only a few weeks. And I'm not even close to being a "quick study" compared to some of the people here. My buddy from Mexico, Jesus, has now learned five ROLES this summer, and I don't think he's even broken a sweat to do so (again, for the curious: Don Giovanni, Bartolo and Figaro from Nozze, and Don Alfonso and Guglielmo from Cosi. It's honestly some of the most impressive work I've ever seen, but I think it's really just par for the course for this job. I love watching these people work; it's inspiring.

Okay, time to go. I've got studying to do!

Berlin

2009-07-26T10:04:00.004-05:00

I visited Berlin yesterday. I had no idea what I was in for. It's one thing to study something in school or remember back to when I was a kid and saw the Wall coming down on the news, but going to the city itself (having done no research of any kind beforehand) seemed like a very abstract idea; I was not actually all that excited. This continued even right up to the point where we got off the train and started walking around. I turned to Joel (one of the guys I'm here with) and said, "Yep... it's pretty much a city." Had it not been for our amazing, mind-blowingly great tour guide, I doubt I would have enjoyed it all that much, simply because I would never have known where to look.

If you're ever in Berlin, you MUST use this company: http://www.insidertour.com/

And you ABSOLUTELY MUST request Brian as your tour guide. The experience would not have possibly been the same without him there to walk us through the story of the city.

We spent the entire day on foot; we walked around from 10:30am to 6:00pm in the cold and rainy weather. I hadn't slept the night before and I hadn't eaten anything all day. But the thought of stopping the tour or leaving for a moment to grab a bite to eat never even occurred to me. That is how wonderful this tour was; even after being awake for 32+ hours, I still wanted to hear more of what he had to say.

The story of Berlin is something that I cannot hope to summarize via the limited medium of text, but I'm going to do my best. Brian managed to spend the entire day building up the sad, hopeless, bitter plight of Berliners during the years of the iron curtain that I could not help but feel deep sympathy for these anonymous people whom I had never met. They were cut off from their loved ones from August 12, 1961 until November 9, 1989. Families torn apart, grandparents separated from newborns they hadn't yet met, newlyweds who lost all contact with the rest of their families, and the list goes on. In the final speech of the day, Brian took all of these oppressive feelings we had been given throughout the day, all of the sad memories we had shared with these anonymous people, and completely blew the lid off of them when he told the most moving story of the night the wall come down you could possibly ever hope to hear. I was deeply moved. It was absolutely beautiful.

I'm about twenty five years old. I can't imagine what it must be like to lose contact with someone for twenty-eight years, because I can't even imagine what twenty-eight years must be like. That's how long these people had to live in isolation from those that they loved. Thanks to Brian for helping make that real to me.

The man loves that city to death, and I understand why now. I would live there in a heartbeat. If I come back here in a few years to get a job, I would love to live in Berlin. Or Weimar. Or anywhere, really. This is a wonderful country.

Now I've just got to learn some German.

Admiral's Club

2009-06-21T07:28:00.004-05:00

Buying the one-day pass to the Admiral's Club was an unnecessary indulgence. I'll admit it. But I refuse to regret it.

Here I sit, at LAX, completely isolated with my fresh coffee in a giant, empty room that is softly lit by lamplight as the sun has just begun to rise and peeks its light through the giant windows that overlook the tarmac... in the midst of the second busiest airport in America, I can't imagine there's a single place that's more peaceful. Which is what I need right now. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. It has, however, been the best imaginable type of crazy that there is.

I've just finished a two week program for emerging young opera singers in Los Angeles called OperaWorks (www.operaworks.com). I am about to make a very important statement, and before I do that I must put a few things in context. That context is as follows:

I have spent much of my life traveling. I love to travel, and I have experienced many unique and wonderful things in my life; I hold these memories dearly. From a week in London to eight weeks in Costa Rica to many, many trips to Disney World growing up, I sincerely believe that I have had one of the best lives anyone who is my age could possibly ask for. I am incredibly happy with how my life has been up to this point and I have no regrets worth mentioning or significant turmoil that would cause me to be an unhappy person in general. Taking that into account, I make the following statement:

This was the best two weeks of my life.

If you are involved in opera, you need to be involved with OperaWorks.

At this moment, I am singing better than I ever have in my life, and I didn't take a single voice lesson. I took acting lessons. I did coachings for interpretation and diction. I took yoga. I was coached on my posture by one of the producers of Aladdin. I waved my hands around in the air like an idiot and produced sounds I didn't know I could make while improvising a seven-part ensemble piece about a turkey sandwich. I danced... very, very badly, in front of many, many people. And nowhere in any of that did anyone mention anything about vocal technique or passagio or soft palettes or anything like that. And yet here we are, two weeks later, and I am one thousand percent stronger as a performer.

There's so much more to say, but the fact is it's just going to be more of me gushing. I am so thoroughly exhausted right now, but I'm equally exhilarated by the prospects I have in front of me. I have a direction for my career, I have a plan for my future, and I know what steps I need to take from here to make this life happen for myself. I can't wait.

Thanks for reading everybody. I'm so glad you decided to stop by. Next stop: Germany for Lyric Opera Weimar (www.lyricoperastudioweimar.com)!

-John

PS
The friends I made are what made it so over-the-top special. My colleagues are all beautiful, and I can't wait to see them again. Until then, I will miss them dearly.

Limerick

2009-05-27T00:35:00.003-05:00

I'm writing a blog post in limerick
(Though I fear that it might seem a gimmick)
So readers, beware
It might lose its flair
And then you might give me a dropkick.

I'm learning a role for the summer.
It keeps me from having good slumber.
Italian is hard.
And my brain feels like lard
From taking in words like a dumpster.

My future right now is uncertain.
It's obscured by a magical curtain.
There's talk of more school
But it's "grad" so it's cool.
And I guess there are worse ways of hurtin'.

History Lessons from Myself

2009-05-19T02:43:00.003-05:00

In reading some old entries, I've gotten a little frustrated with how whiny I used to be. I know I found some catharsis in writing those entries, but they no longer really reflect how I deal with problems or how I view unpleasant times in my life. I think I might go back and privatize most of them. I don't really want to delete them, because I know I need to read them sometimes to remind myself who I was and remember how I became who I now am. But anyone who reads them now in attempt to know me better will see only snapshots of a person in increasingly rapid stages of change and development. Often they show me encountering things for my first time and handling them clumsily. Bad breakups, unpleasant illness, and bouts of pompous self-importance all creep into my entries from years past, and I can't easily convince myself to keep those things as matters of public record.

So I imagine it's time to clean up a little around here. This entry hereby officially adds that to my "to do" list.

At Nathan's Request...

2009-04-24T01:03:00.003-05:00

Nathan requested update photos of my growing hair. So here we go.

For reference, this is me on the day of the shaving, while sitting in Geology entertaining myself:

This is me yesterday, about a week after shaving:

This is me moments ago, eight days of growth:

I'm Low on Shaving Cream

2009-04-15T11:32:00.003-05:00

Well... I did it.

Yesterday, before going to class, I took a shower as I always do. When I got out of the shower, I looked at my head in the mirror. My bright orange hair was frizzy from being towel-dried, giving my head the appearance of being on fire. I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself. And then, with the kind of sincerity one can only muster when talking to oneself, I narrowed my eyes and said out loud, "You look ridiculous." The face in the mirror seemed to agree.

So I grabbed my clippers. I regarded them for a moment, then set to work. After trimming the hair down to being only a couple of millimeters, I took a second to appreciate that my hair was an even brighter orange as I neared the scalp. Rather than dwell on this for too long, I grabbed my cream and shaving brush and set to work lathering up. The mixture of shaving cream, water, and badger hair was warm against my recently liberated scalp, and as I applied it to the area at the base of my neck it tickled a little bit. The razor was new, and sharp, and it did not bother my skin. It cut cleanly through the fine hair that was left, and for a few hours after I was done, the scalp was very smooth. Forty-five minutes after the begining of this paragraph, I looked like this:

Reaction so far is mixed.

I'm not going to shave it again; this was a one-time thing, I'm not interested in maintaining it as keeping the cue ball clean requires a whole lot of work. I would like to have my old, non chemically-damaged blonde hair back, and according to Wikipedia that will happen at a rate of about .46mm per day. That's about one centimeter per 20-21 days, or one inch every 45-48 days. I may keep a log just for fun. Probably not, but maybe.

Rhapsody in Blonde, Brown, & Orange

2009-04-13T16:33:00.003-05:00

A week ago, I looked like this:

On an impulse, I was convinced to see what I would look like as a brunette. It came out very dark. Too dark. I had to shave my goatee because it was a pretty obvious mismatch. After that, I looked like this:

Fact of the matter is this: it doesn't look right. It's not necessarily bad, it just doesn't look right. So I bought some product to strip the hair of color, after which I looked like this:

Yes. My hair is orange.

I then attempted to use the dye I'm holding in the previous picture to re-tint my color to some shade of blonde. The result? Slightly darker orange.

This is what I look like now. I'm leaving it for probably a week, after which I will likely shave it. I'm allowing the week so that I can grow my goatee back and can safely shave my head without looking like a chemo patient.

I felt this was significant enough to merit a blog post.

It's All About the Benjamins

2009-01-21T12:27:00.004-06:00

In a recent patriotic flurry (yes, I was inspired by Obama's speech) I began doing a bit of reading on early American history. I feel like I'm more or less well-versed in the topic already, but it's just so very interesting that I don't know Wikipedia will ever successfully tire me on the subject. This led me to seek out a quiz telling me which founding father I would be. And wouldn't you know it...

A good blend of all great things - Fantastic! You are a very balanced, well-rounded person. You could do anything you set your mind to. Just like Benjamin Franklin, you're known to be a bit strange or even eccentric, but you are also wise and generally very charismatic. You like to stop and think about things, like to surround yourself with intellectual pursuits and lofty dreams, but you are also down-to-earth when it comes to other things. You are a dabbler: that is, you try a lot of new things. Risks don't seem to frighten you, as long as they are well thought-out first. You like to have theories and ideas, but you are never detatched. People generally see you as one to be admired. It is very difficult to get you really, really angry. This is good because, when you do get angry at someone, you tend to stay angry for a very long time. You should probably keep at what you're doing if this is all the case; but just be careful not to let it all go to your head! Be sure to use those abilities!

Click here to take the quiz for yoursef.

-----

Lately I've been noticing my eccentricities and strangeness more and more. While I wasn't exactly self-conscious about it (what would be the point?) I would sometimes leave a particularly unusual conversation and think to myself, "Wow, I have no idea how most of that happened, but I'm pretty sure I was the one leading the way." Having good company by way of Benjamin Franklin makes my recent awareness of my occasional oddness seem less like something I should attempt to rectify.

I do not seek to specialize, I don't think. I sing because it's the thing I can succeed at that will allow me other pursuits. I love being on stage more than anything, sure, but that's such a small portion of the career path I'm on that the stage itself should hardly qualify as the goal of the pursuit. The real questions I've had to ask myself during my recent introspective periods:

Q: Do I enjoy rehearsals more than I enjoy not being in rehearsal?
A: This is important... rehearsal, based on what I've been learning, is the "9-5" of a professional singer if such a thing can be said to exist. Aside from the crappy "just payin' the bills"-type jobs one must take while starting out in the business (ie waiting tables), it seems the bulk of your time is spent in rehearsal rather than performance. I'm sure there are exceptions to this, it has just been my experience thus far that for every hour I spend performing, I spend at least forty preparing (this is an estimate based largely on counting on my fingers and thinking back to the two productions in which I have been cast). And in my experience, rehearsals are fun. My answer is a resounding yes. Singers are, by and large, sociable creatures who get along well so long as everything is going well, and I enjoy being around them and working with them. The exceptions to this have been those with low work ethic or self-important attitudes. I am certain the professional world has very little of the former, but I am equally certain that those people are replaced by twice as many self-important divas (or divos, for that matter). Either way, the negative of these two personality types has not been sufficient reason for me to change my answer; the positive of constantly meeting new friends in casts and always being able to share new jokes and stories will forever be appealing to me.

Q: Do I find my subject matter interesting?
A: Yes. I find opera to be absolutely fascinating. The history of the art form as a whole intrigues me to no end (check my browser history sometime if you're really curious), and even moreso I am enthralled by the individuals within the stories of each opera I see or perform in. The question "why would someone do that" is a never-ending reservoir of introspection and analysis, and each opera I've encountered has been filled characters that need to be understood at their most fundamental level in order to be done justice. On top of that, this interpretation can change based on who is singing the role; a potentially depressing line of thought can be given an air of nostalgia or wistfulness or playfulness, based on what the actor perceives it to be. We are limited to the notes and rhythms on the page, certainly, but our facial expression and vocal tone are rarely notated for us. I have stated elsewhere in this blog that I find small talk to be a waste, that it's reading a person as a pamphlet when there's a whole novel to be discovered; this is the part of my nature to which role research appeals most sincerely. My subject matter will never get old until I have run out of characters to interpret or new ways to interpret them.

Q: Can I handle the stress of having to line up new jobs and auditions all the time for the rest of my life?
A: Absolutely.

Gotta go to class now...

Baylor Fanhood

2008-12-21T01:41:00.003-06:00

I was having an SMS conversation just now and I sent this text message... I liked it enough that I wanted to share it, but it's too long to send via twitter.

"Baylor fanhood is an acquired skill involving optimism immune to disappointment by either the media attention we receive or the performance of the team itself. My dad is a master; I am on year 24 of study and still only consider myself a novice."

Tagged

2008-12-17T19:50:00.003-06:00

Nancy tagged me several days ago and I'm just now getting around to responding. So now I am supposed to post six interesting facts about myself, and here are the ones I have chosen:

1) I listen to Christmas music at all times of the year. Particularly the summer. I listen to it the least in December. I don't know why.
2) I secretly believe that playing basso handbells makes me look macho. I know that this is patently ridiculous, but I believe it anyway.
3) I want to be in a Muppet production as a Muppet who looks and sounds like me. This wish was inspired by a dream in which an ex-girlfriend cursed me to being a Muppet and I ended up liking it, so she changed me back out of exasperation. This was almost certainly put into my subconscious by the "Smile Time" episode of Angel. Also somebody once told me I laughed like a muppet.
4) I love the process of traveling almost as much as being in the place I am going, but only when I am with the right traveling companions (my roommate Ray, for example) or completely alone. Even commercial flights, when taken alone, are therapeutic experiences for me.
5) The ONLY time I like being alone is when I travel. This will all change when I meet my wife, though, because she will also love to travel and will like all of the same road games and audiobooks as me. I say this with this kind of certainty because it may well be a deal-breaker. If only road trips were acceptable as second dates, it would save everybody so much time.
6) Even though I haven't been in Oklahoma since the holiday season started, I have been humming the B.C. Clark Anniversary Sale Jingle throughout this road trip. I was unaware of this until my waitress at the sushi place in Vegas asked me to stop.

Wow, two posts in one day... I think it's been a long while since that's happened.

This = More Like It

2008-12-17T18:07:00.002-06:00

Ahhhh... much better.

Since last I posted, I've spent two days in Las Vegas, which, while fun, were not exactly what I think of when I take trips like this one. It was a bit too hectic, too much noise. Not quite... Spartan... enough for my taste. When I get away, I enjoy some hustle and bustle as much as the next guy, but my current locale is much more my speed.

I'm sitting in one of my favorite places in the world. The Higher Grounds Coffee Shop in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. Common Grounds in Waco is a nice place and all, but whenever I'm in there I get the distinct feeling that I'm not the right kind of cool, or not cool enough, to be in there. First off, I can't grow a full beard and I rarely wear my emo glasses. Second, I don't own any Tom's shoes. Thirdly, I don't listen to any Indy music that didn't spawn from Five Iron Frenzy. Since Pagosa Springs isn't a college town, the coffee shop maintains the relaxed atmosphere I really enjoy without giving me the impression that I'm being out-pretentioused by the dude on the couch with all the stickers on his MacBook. Not that there's anything wrong with those guys, or Common Grounds, for that matter, I just tend to feel out of place there is all. I'm a small town guy by birth, so places like Pagosa make me feel like I'm really on vacation; Vegas and Waco don't. So, sitting here in this small town, surrounded by snow and beautiful, still mountain air, I'm relaxed and calm and not concerned with much of anything other than how early I want to go to sleep tonight so that I can start snowboarding tomorrow morning.

I spent last night in a sleeping bag in my car, parked in the parking lot that's about thirty feet from the rim of the Grand Canyon. It was pretty uncomfortable, but only because I still have a tire in the back of my car leftover from the events of last Saturday. When I woke up, I was a little saddened to see that it was foggy as all-get-out and that I couldn't in fact see anything past the rim. I'm actually not sure if I was seeing the rim, I just couldn't see anything past the rail. I got some pictures, which I'll upload when I'm back in Waco, to show you just how thick the fog was. If you've ever flown a plane through a rainstorm, you'll have an idea what it was like.

So I left the canyon a few minutes after sunrise (which is when I awoke, hoping to get a glance of the sun coming up over the canyon... doh) and headed for Pagosa Springs. I spent the day driving, relaxing, and listening to audiobooks, and now here I am. I snowboard tomorrow, then when I get off the mountain I'll depart directly for Waco. I don't imagine I'll make it the whole way without stopping to rest, since snowboarding is probably the only thing I tend to have the motivation to do until I collapse (since I only get to do it a very few times per year). I imagine I'll pull into Waco around noon on Friday, at which point I'll pack up my computer and head to Oklahoma. Or maybe I'll chill for a day or two in deserted Waco, I'm not sure. The beauty of all of this is that I'm making it up as I go. I've had a vague plan in my head from the start but none of what I have planned has actually been what happened.

This is the most effortless smile I've made in weeks. In fact, I didn't even realize I was smiling until I saw the picture. This trip has been a very good thing indeed.

I've Seen Better

2008-12-14T00:15:00.005-06:00

I don't like being negative on here. I don't like having a negative attitude in general. It puts me in a bad mood and I'm incapable of hiding it and it makes people not want to talk to me, and who enjoys that? But I'm about to unleash a little negative energy, just because I'm kind of needing to and I'll phrase myself better if I do it here.

My day started, more or less, at midnight last night. I got out of a movie with some folks, and nobody was hanging out afterwards, so I got home and realized I wasn't all that sleepy. I decided I would skip town for a couple of days. Anybody who's been following me here for awhile knows I do this from time to time. Sometimes alone (Pagosa Springs 2004, Omaha 2006, Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica, Pagosa again in 2006) sometimes not (Chicago 2006, New Orleans 2008). Last night I left with no particular goal in mind, although I did pack my snowboard just in case.

I have an application on my iPhone that tells give me snow reports for all of the resorts in America in order of their proximity to me (Snocater if you're wondering, it's fantastic). I checked it before falling asleep in my car at a rest stop in the Texas Panhandle last night, and it told me that Wolf Creek was the nearest resort that had received snow in the past week. So I decided I would go to Pagosa again. Then I woke up and started driving again, and everything started the long downward spiral into the most difficult personal road trip day I've ever had.

First off, I made reservations in Pagosa. Shortly after, dad texted me to tell me there were blizzards incoming. I checked the snow reports, and sure enough, "severe winter storm" warnings at all of the resorts that were open in all of Colorado and New Mexico. So I had to decide: drive the seven hours back to Waco, or power through and pick an alternate location? I decided on the grand canyon and cancelled my reservation in Pagosa. This cost me 10% of the room to do since I was making a "day of" cancellation. Then I pulled off for gas and got hit in a speed trap and got a speeding ticket. I brushed this off, and headed towards Flagstaff (nearest sporting goods store before the grand canyon) to pick up a below-freezing rated sleeping bag. When I got to Flagstaff, all of the sporting goods stores were closed down for a concert in downtown.

So I had to change my plans again. I had been planning to make my way to Las Vegas tomorrow, but I decided I would go tonight. I called ahead to make a reservation for a room, just to be sure I would have one when I got there. It was a non-refundable reservation at the Bellagio, simply because if you're going to go to Vegas then you need to do it right. Two hours away from Vegas, my front left tire blew out. I pulled off to change it. While I was changing the tire, in sub-freezing temperatures, in started to snow. Hard. Then, when I got the original tire off, while I'm standing there shivering and freezing, I put the spare tire most of the way on. It got hung on a lug nut, so I reached around to change the angle of attack a bit. That's when the jack gave out and broke in half. The tire nearly came down on my hand, but I pulled it out just in time. My rapidly moving hand knocked the spare off of the lugs. It fell under the car, which landed on the tire and popped it. It popped my SPARE TIRE.

I called a tow truck service. They said it would be 30-45 minutes. I waited an hour and a half and called them. They forgot about me. They sent a second guy. Another 30 minutes. I called again. Guy #2 went the wrong way. I called again. Guy #3 found me, but only after calling me on my cell and having me explain where I was three times to him. He had been checking the wrong side of the highway. All the while I'm soaked and shivering in my car.

He started to change my tire after replacing the spare into its rim and reinflating it. His jack broke. He had a spare jack. It was too short. He pulled out the first one and it worked again. All of this ended up costing me $120. I drove to a Best Western and will take my car to Wal-Mart to get new tires tomorrow. I think I have to fix my brakes now too since the car has landed on them three separate times.

Ugh. On the bright side, I do have my health, and I am still alive, and I have a family who loves me very much. But I don't think I can remember a worse day in recent memory, and this is supposed to be my vacation. Yargh.

Baylor Opera Fall 2008

2008-11-12T17:55:00.003-06:00

I promised several people some months back that I would do a better job of alerting them to my performances with Baylor opera. I even said in September that I would post an update about exactly that. However, I haven't really had any concrete information to give out until this week. And now I do. If anybody is willing/able to make it, here's where you can see me perform my next role:

Baylor Opera Presents: Cavalli's L'Ormindo
Where: Roxy Grove Hall (the tumor growing out of Waco Hall, on the side facing Armstrong Browning Library)
When: Saturday, November 22nd at 7:30pm (there is also a performance on Friday, which will also be fantastic; however, people wanting to come hear me sing in particular should come on Saturday)
How much does it cost? Nothing. It's free entry to both students and the public. Come enjoy a free show!
Do I need to speak Italian to enjoy it? Not at all! We are singing in English and have updated the text and staging to better reflect contemporary life. I think we've found some great comedy in the text, and the performance should be perfectly accessible for anybody who enjoys music at all.
Are you done typing questions to yourself? Yes I am.

I'll see you there!

Bursting In On Your Shrink

2008-10-10T13:45:00.002-05:00

It's kind of a television convention that when one of your main characters is in therapy, at a certain point they're going to burst into their therapist's office inappropriately while said therapist in the in the middle of an appointment. Usually this comes about because of some awful thing that has caused the protagonist's emotional dam to burst, and the therapist gets ruffled but ultimately helps out our lead character.

I think it would be humorous, if there were a show about a therapist, to have a recurring character who would frequently burst in at inappropriate times with problems that aren't really that severe. I'm seeing things like, "My shoelaces just won't stay tied, it's really irritating," or "Hey, I'm a little hungry and can't decide what to eat, what should I do?" It's probably only funny in my head, and really wouldn't work as a running gag, it just seems like this is the kind of thing that needs to be made fun of by somebody, somewhere.

It's Not Morbid if You're Just Pontificating

2008-09-24T03:21:00.002-05:00

I don't spend much time focusing on death. I acknowledge in my mind that it's something I'll face one day, almost certainly sooner than I would like, but other than that it's a topic that just doesn't cross my mind all that often. There's life to be lived right here and now, so to focus on the end of life rather than live it would seem to be a waste.

But every now and again (particularly after I've been watching Pushing Daisies or Six Feet Under) my mind does begin to drift that direction. I don't really think about how I'll die or anything like that, but I wonder what my funeral will be like. If I were to die mysteriously in my sleep tonight, who would speak at the memorial that would likely be held within the next week? Dave Fuller? Sam? How many people will go? Which (if any) of my ex-girlfriends would show up? Would my service be in Oklahoma, or in Waco? And if in Oklahoma, would it be in Hinton or OKC? Where would I ultimately be buried? What kind of music would be played, and how sincere would people be when they say things like "I'll miss him" to each other?

I remember overhearing a conversation between two people a few years back in which someone was explaining to the other person how at his church, they kept on file a "funeral plan" for when that person died. It contained an obituary as well as an order of service for their memorial, and a few other things which I can't seem to recall at the moment. They would update the file periodically, so if you were to suddenly die out of nowhere then your obituary would be up-to-date. This seemed to me then (and still seems to me now) to be fairly morbid. But I can't decide if I like or dislike the idea of having all of that planned out. People use the phrase, "that's what he/she would have wanted" pretty frequently, but honestly, I'll be gone and won't care all that much. The service would not be for me. It would be for those who are still here and want to say goodbye; am I really qualified to tell them how to do that? I'm not sure that I am.

I think, because I like to be in control of things, I can see myself making a document that would outline this (I haven't, but I can see myself doing it if I were in a state of mind similar to my current one). But I also think that my desire for those who love me to have the service they feel suits them best would prevent me from ever telling anybody about it... or even saving the document, really. I'd feel weird knowing it was there.

Apologies if this seems like a depressing topic. I'm not trying to bring anybody down, this is just the most interesting thought process I've had in the last few days and wanted to make sure I got it typed before it went away forever (or at least until I watched another episode of Pushing Daisies).

BUT... since I feel like making a list, I'm going to have some fun with this topic. Feel free to play along in the comments.

Top 5 Songs I'd Like to Have Played at My Funeral (in no particular order)
1. Gloria - braveSaintSaturn
2. Invictus - braveSaintSaturn (the title is misleading; the song has the exact opposite meaning from the poem of the same name; rather than being the "master of my fate" or "captain of my soul" it is a song of deference to God; very lovely)
3. On Distant Shores - Five Iron Frenzy
4. Don't Stop Believin' - Journey
5. Waiting for My Real Life to Begin - Colin Hay

I'm going to return to attempting to sleep now. Have a good Wednesday, everybody.

Listening to - In Excelsis Deo by Roper

Why Today is Fun

2008-09-22T15:27:00.003-05:00

I went to check my mail just now. As I was walking to the mailbox, the pay phone next to the pool (which I have never noticed before) starting to ring. I looked around, and seeing no one else there, decided to answer.

Me:"Baylor Plaza pay phone, this is Random Passerby speaking, how may I direct your call?"
Caller: "Um... what?"
Me: "You have reached the Baylor Plaza pay phone. Have you dialed in error?"
Caller: "Um... I'm sorry."
Me: "Thank you for calling today, and please do not hesitate to call in the future if you have any further questions. We appreciate your business!"

They hung up halfway through my spiel.

Five O'Clock and All's Well

2008-09-11T17:02:00.002-05:00

I've had a hard time coming up with much to say in the past week. I've tried to post something about three or four times but each time ended up deleting the draft because I simply can't think of anything "worthwhile" to say. There's very little conflict in my world at the moment, and my biggest concern is memorizing music for auditions and the upcoming opera (more on that in a post coming within the next week). All things told, I'm a pretty happy camper and have been for some time now. And any student of literature knows that a protagonist without conflict is a story nobody's going to read for very long. So, even though I'm fully aware I'm not a character in a story, I have a hard time trying to communicate something that is (at the moment) not a terribly exciting narrative.

I've seen several of my friends on Facebook as well as several blogs post thoughts about today being the seventh anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. Some of them have been quite poignant. There was the story of one guy who had just gotten out of drug rehab when the attacks occurred, and then used his newly-acquired zest for life to help those in need. It's a great read if you've got the time.

I have nothing so moving. I remember the whole day almost perfectly, from finding out what happened while I was in choir practice (when someone told us we turned on the TV and didn't get much done after that) to finally falling asleep at sometime after 3:00 in the morning. But it's nothing life-changing, so I can't attach much personal significance to it. I was saddened, sure, and I posed some philosophical thoughts that seemed deep to me at the time, but that's about it.

Mankind can be dark; in an attempt to seek God's (or in this case, Allah's) will, these men committed unquestionably evil deeds. This can lead to despair at the human condition, a feeling that it's hopeless to try to make anything better. It's the times we're tempted to give up that we are allowed to really show our quality.

"Sometimes, the bravest thing of all is to hope." - braveSaintSaturn

I leave you with this:

One of my very, very favorite songs, quite expertly combined with one of my favorite movies. I don't know who made this, but I love it. Well done.

Listening to - "Daylight" by braveSaintSaturn

Musings on My Future in Blogging

2008-09-02T11:50:00.000-05:00

I've been going through the older entries here. I started this blog years ago to get my thoughts out of my head and into a place where I could come back any number of years later and see how my thinking has evolved or changed. It's strange to me how familiar all of the entries seem even though I remember writing almost none of them; I typically would write one and never read it again after posting it.

In doing that, I noticed how much more transparent I used to be when writing here. There were actual stories, and sometimes I would write my complete thoughts on some significant mental conflict I'd been having. In reading the entries, I can see that my writing has become less linear and coherent and is now far more sporadic and largely seems meant to promote whatever I'm enjoying at that particular moment in time (music, books, politics, what have you). Hardly compelling reading.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this; lots of people read here via my FriendFeed, or on Facebook, or by actually just visiting the Blog. And I love that. I love thinking that maybe my thoughts are interesting or unique enough to be worth peering into from time to time, even if that's not necessarily the case. But full transparency here, like I used to write, is less of a good idea now. It used to be cathartic, but now I think I would feel a little too on display. A little bit naked, open to scrutiny or judgement from people who only know me through facebook or from back in Hinton, when I was more or less a completely different person from the one I've grown into.

So I've got to find a balance here. I want to share what's going on in my life and how it's affecting my thoughts, because there are people who read this (Nancy, dad, Ashlee, Nick, Cobb, and others) who take genuine interest and use it as a way to keep up with me. Other people have told me that they have read it as a way to get to know me better. Still others have read it to find things that they perceive to be wrong with me and then attempted to use them as arguments against me in battles I tried to leave behind years ago. Surely there's a way for me to do this, and do it well, while not leaving myself open to attack.

I'm going to give it a shot, simply because as I said above, I like doing this. I plan to post more frequently, which shouldn't be too difficult given my relatively light workload for this semester. Here's hoping you hear from me soon.

-John

Listening to - the Dr. Horrible soundtrack (now available on iTunes!)

Nuptials, Romance, and Car Thieves

2008-08-11T12:43:00.003-05:00

My brother got married!

(image from my wonderful aunt Nancy's blog)

I don't think our family could be any more thrilled. I couldn't have asked for a better sister-in-law, and I look forward to seeing the life that she and Rob make together.

While I was in Fort Worth for the wedding, riding around with Rob and my dad running errands before the ceremony, someone broke into my car (which I had left in the hotel parking lot). The thief left behind my camera, iPod, a couple of CDs, and headphones. They did, however, take my Garmin GPS unit and my atlas. Dad has postulated that maybe they mistook my atlas for instructions for the Garmin. I've decided that some poor schmoe had gotten so hopelessly lost in the madness of the D/FW metroplex that he abandoned social and legal limits just for the sake of finding his way back to civilization. Having experienced firsthand the chaos that accompanies your typical drive through the area, I have to say I almost feel sorry for the guy.

Other than that, though, it was really a beautiful weekend. Lots of love, lots of happiness. I'm in Waco now for a couple of days, but on either Tuesday or Wednesday I'll be driving to Oklahoma to meet my baby brother, Macarthur! Big week for the Carmacks! I've got a new (to me) sister, and a brand new brother, and all it cost me was a couple of maps.

Listening to - Pre-Ex-Girlfriend by Five Iron Frenzy (I'm on yet another Five Iron kick... probably because of the new bSS album coming out in September)

2008-06-20T21:00:00.004-05:00

So then. I may have gotten myself into something I'll wish I hadn't done.

I got talked into (re: was asked one time to) join in a Triathlon Relay in Oklahoma City with Nate on August 3rd. I'll be the swimmer. I have never swum competitively in my entire life. I've got six weeks. Guess what I'm about to go do (hint: not watch TV).

For what it's worth, I've lost some weight and added some muscle, so if there's ever a time in my life when I could quickly train for this kind of thing, this is it.

December:

May:

Clearly I'm in better shape in the second photo, but a 450m swim race... this is going to be tough. Here's hoping!
Listening to - Still Alive by Jonathan Coulton

2008-05-24T13:00:00.004-05:00

People frequently ask me what it's like to be colorblind. The other day, I got confused while trying to buy lemons and walked directly to the oranges before realizing they were the wrong size. Just to show that I am not an idiot, I decided I would take a picture with my trusty camera phone and run it through a colorblind filter. You tell me if you wouldn't have been a little confused at first.

Here's what anyone else would see:

And here is what I saw:

To me, those images look identical, so it's my assumption that the filter is an accurate representation of what I see, but it could be a little off and I would have no way of knowing. Either way, I think you get the idea.

2008-05-07T22:37:00.001-05:00

Semi-Important Announcement Ahead

Many people who read this blog are very old friends or acquaintances. Others are newer friends, some are strangers, and others still are people who have almost no association with me but this came up in their Facebook feed because they're "friends" with me and that's the kind of thing that happens. The following applies to all of these people, but the apathetic among you may prefer to simply skip to the summary at the end.

For the rest of you, I have a little story. It might be just this side of cheesy, I don't know, but if you're interested in a brief summary of my musical life, then read on.

In my youth (and yes, I say this with the full awareness that it is odd for someone only 24 years old to use a phrase like "in my youth") I was primarily what was known as a "band kid." I didn't join choir until three years after I had started playing the trumpet. When I did join, it was mostly because I couldn't think of a decent reason not to and I had the time available in my schedule. For several years, this served as a precedent for my priorities: band came first, with voice following behind as a not-particularly-prominent second. I was decent at both, sure, but I liked band more.

So I came to college and wanted to be a band director. Then I found out how much time that would require me to stay in the practice room, and within a year I decided to change from instrumental to vocal music education, because I figured on that being less practice time. I was right, but being a music education major only made sense as long as I was going to be teaching band, because I had no interest in conducting choirs; so a year later, I changed to church music. That didn't really pan out either, so then I (seemingly randomly) became a business major for about three semesters before finally returning to the music school. I had decided that even though I hadn't been able to find a decent fit for my interests in the music school, I needed a musical outlet and I needed it frequently. So I came back as a general BA in Music, a more general degree that would look appealing on grad school applications if I decided to go with a post-graduate degree in another field. It was then that I met my current voice teacher, and everything got all messed up.

You see, this guy decided for whatever reason that I had a voice and just needed to be shown how to use it. So he went and got me all excited about singing. Then he told me I should be in the opera, and because he hadn't steered me wrong to date, I said sure. Now I've gone and gotten to where I love doing it. And coming up soon is my first opportunity to perform in an honest to goodness opera, and in spite of my desire to appear to be the embittered, disaffected college student, I'm pretty freaking excited about it. So if you're interested in music, or are just a friend of mine and want to see what I've been up to lately, you should come to the show.

And so here's the announcement the skippers were looking for. To get their attention, I'll use boldface.

What: Baylor Opera Performances
When: Sunday, May 11th; Monday, May 12th; Tuesday, May 12th, 2008k, 7:30pm (my performance nights will be Sunday and Tuesday, but there will be other fantastic singers on Monday performing the same shows, so come that night if you want to as well)
Where: Jones Theater in the Art Building on Baylor University campus
Why: Because you support the arts, and more importantly you support your friends

Hopefully I'll see you there. If you're curious, I'm "Bob" in Menotti's Old Maid and the Thief.

Listening to - Adelade by Anberlin

2008-03-18T21:01:00.002-05:00

In case you couldn't make it, here's my recital in its entirety:

Thanks again to those who came! And no guilt for those who didn't... seriously, that was a gross day. The people who came were troopers.

2008-02-09T11:48:00.001-06:00

Thanks for all of the birthday messages and whatnot, everybody. It's not even noon yet and already I'm feeling very loved. You are all great.

2008-02-05T22:48:00.000-06:00

I grow very weary of Baylor fans telling me that voting for Ron Paul is foolish simply because he won't win. If you really feel that way, why did you go to all those football games?

2007-10-22T12:44:00.001-05:00

I have been saying this since the seventh grade. Thank goodness I'm not the only person out there who thinks like this.

http://www.alfiekohn.org/teaching/edweek/homework.htm?2

That's a great read. You should click the link, especially if you or someone you know is in education. I like to work hard and I know how good the satisfaction of a "job well done" can feel, but getting me to do homework has always been like trying to herd cats. This is mostly out of an unwillingness to spend extra time on a task I feel I already sufficiently mastered during lecture. For some reason the consequence of not doing homework (lower grades) was never enough of an incentive to make me do my homework, because I have always felt grades were an inadequate indicator of one's mastery of a subject.

If I could have it my way, every class would end with an oral final where you are called in to talk to your professor for one hour about any of the subjects he has covered in lecture. If you can show that you are conversant in the topic, you pass. If you cannot, you fail. You could argue that this takes time the professor doesn't have, but how many hours do you think history teachers spend on each of their students' essays? Wouldn't a conversation be roughly the same amount of time and ultimately be an easier, lower-stress way to gauge the students' understanding? If this system were in place, I'd have graduated a semester early with a perfect grade point.

Of course, this system would also eliminate the whole ABCDF grading scale. Why? Because as I said before, it is a ridiculous indicator for how well one understands a topic. It is often more indicative of a student's willingness to do busywork than their ability to converse and postulate on the topic (or in the case of math and music, execute the given task), and if said ability is not the point of these classes, then to what purpose are they meant to further my education?

I love to learn, but I hate education. Very little (if any) of my mental progress in the past ten years of my life has had anything to do with academia. I say this not to brag, because I think it's pathetic, but more because I fear for when I have kids and they are forced to do these menial tasks. When they ask me if they have to do it, and I say yes, because they have to get good grades so that they can get into college and then get good grades in college so that someone will hire them when they graduate, I will say it and I know I will believe it, and I'm already mad at myself for it. The problem here? There is no way in the universe the accepted method of teaching schoolchildren will change so dramatically any time in the next twenty years. Even though the system is obviously broken, I will be forced to submit my children to it even though I have nothing but disdain for nearly all of the most basic tenets of education. Because otherwise, they fail at life. And that is retarded.

Stream of consciousness paragraph:
Occam's razor: "entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity." Or, as it is more commonly stated, "The simplest solution is almost always best." Simplify. Less paper. Less stress for the kids. How do we teach without pounding information into a child's head? We appeal to them, and make it interesting. We do not turn them off and bore them or tire them of the subject. In math, we give them a problem, give them tools to solve it. We challenge them to find out why this works. In history, we tell them a story. Give them a narrative! History is full of fascinating narratives that are being ruined by poor storytellers posing as educators. Quiz them, certainly, but in a way that makes them think, not memorize. Ask them what can be learned from ego of... well, any French ruler, really. Ask them what might have happened if one war or another had gone the other way. And don't just feed them an answer, make them give you something that they thought up on their own.

I'm losing focus here. Time to stop.

2007-08-17T19:18:00.000-05:00

I did some controlled-airport landings today, and it just so happens that President Bush is having a BBQ in Crawford. So, a controlled airport in Waco meanings landing at Waco regional. Where it just so happens all of the president's guests (and press) were landing. All of this led to the following picture:

That's just good-timey fun.

Also, in way more exciting news, I also took my check ride today. You are reading the words of America's newest certified private pilot. Huzzah!

2007-07-01T23:19:00.000-05:00

I'm in the library, working on one of the three papers I have due tomorrow. I'm about six hours into what will eventually turn into an all-night writing binge. I got tired of sitting in silence, so I pulled out my iPod and put on some music.

I told it to shuffle. First song that came up: Pressing On by Relient K. How very appropriate. It kind of got me pumped to keep writing. Thank goodness for small favors.

Listening to - Pressing On, made famous by Relient K as recorded by The String Quartet

2007-06-02T13:46:00.000-05:00

Recently, our living room got new carpet, compliments of Baylor Plaza I. Our landlady was all too happy to give it to us, since we're coming up on our fourth year in this apartment and the carpet was already several years old when we moved in. After moving in the carpet, our apartment looked like this:

If you look at the image facing the door, you will notice our TV hanging on the wall. Also, if you notice the layout of the apartment, you will notice a distinctly rectangular quality to it. This has led to a problem with television viewing: we have a somewhat small area in which people can sit and comfortably see the TV. This has led to one of our couches being put behind the other, which can lead to people in back not being able to see. Since we had just gotten new carpet, and this had led to a slew of home improvement measures in the apartment of late, it was time we solved the television viewing problem once and for all.

The solution? Why, homebrew stadium seating, of course.

With only a couple of days before classes started for the summer, I figured I would start in the same place every great project starts. Google, of course. After searching such in-depth terms as "build a platform" and "do-it-yourself stadium seating" I came up with a couple of useful PDFs in regard to home construction. I made the appropriate measurements, drew myself a diagram in Photoshop, and then it was off to Home Depot for lumber and supplies.

By the way, if you ever need any help cutting lumber, the guys at the Waco/Bellmead Home Depot are some of the friendliest folks I have ever met. It practically changed my whole opinion of Wacoans entirely; seriously, these people are very nice and incredibly helpful. Maybe it was because they were morning people and I was the only person in the store at 6:45 that particuarl morning, but I have never receieved better service anywhere. This project would not have come together nearly so well if they hadn't been willing to answer my newbie questions and point me to the right supplies (hammer staplers, deck screws, etc.). Just thought I'd throw that out there.

So, anyway, upon returning from Home Depot I set to work. I meant to document this process better through photos, but I got wrapped up in working and only managed to get three "in-process" photos. If somebody has done a Google search similar to mine and this page has come up, I'm sorry I haven't provided better instructions. If you need help, you should ask the people at Home Depot.

After about an hour and a half of actual work on the platform, I had made significant progress:

However, the battery on my cordless drill was dead, which meant no more pilot holes. I had to take a break. I let it charge overnight, and the next morning I managed to finish constructing the platform itself:

Next I had to find carpet. I called our leasing office and got the name of the supplier for our apartment complex; I called those guys, told them how much carpet I needed, then spent some time online learning how exactly to lay carpet. A book on laying floors from (you guessed it) Home Depot came in very helpful as well. Also, former roommate Ben Cozad (God bless him) happened to be passing through town just as I was needing to cut carpet and gave me some very helpful hints on how to do that. So, about a hundred staples and 60 square feet of carpet later, we had a finished product:

The apartment looks pretty good now, and Ray and I are pretty proud. It's been a good week for Apartment 114.

2007-03-13T15:04:00.000-05:00

Wiley Post was an aviation pioneer. He was the first pilot to fly solo around the world, invented the pressurized suit in order to fly at higher altitudes (paving the way for NASA to create the space suit), and is widely credited with discovering the jet stream.

At the age of 26, before he started flying, Wiley Post lost his left eye (and as a result, his depth perception) in an industrial accident. Using the money from the resulting settlement, he bought his first aircraft and began his aviation career. Without this settlement, he never would have been able to buy his first plane. And so, if he had never lost his depth perception, he never would have become a pilot.

So if he can fly just fine without his depth perception, why in the name of Pete is it such a big deal to the FAA that I can't see green?

2007-02-09T11:25:00.000-06:00

Here I sit, in my college level physics class, and somebody just asked what "sedated" means. Sweet Lord.

2007-02-03T00:45:00.000-06:00

As my long, unwinnable, undiagnosed battle with Attention Deficit Disorder (and the accompanying insomnia it can bring to many a distractable soul) carried me into yet another late night of restless-yet-weary cognition, I was reminded of a dear friend of mine. A friend who has for years now has listened to my stories without judgement or comment, never raising a doubtful eyebrow at some ridiculous thought I might have deigned to type, never interrupting my anecdotes in order to offer an humbling one-up, nor even pretending to listen while actually going over a list of to-do's. Who this is, I scarcely need say; for here we are, once again rekindling the relationship I never know I'm missing until suddenly I'm typing. Hello, friend.

With my birthday once again on the horizon, I lay (as in "past tense of 'lie'") here tonight wondering why I never seem to have an answer for people when they ask me what I'm up to. Because, as we all know, I'm still a bloody undergrad at Baylor, the default answer ends up being, "school." This is something that has incresingly begun to weigh (not the past tense of "why") on me, as this makes me feel like a rather boring, unremarkable person. As someone who is egotistical enough to think of themselves as most certainly remarkable, this tells me that somewhere in the past year my life has taken a turn for the predictable. I go to class, I do my homework, I spend time with Julie and other friends, and I absorb pop culture. This is all I do. I haven't left the state of Texas since Christmas. I haven't been anywhere else besides Oklahoma since May (when Cozad and I took our legendary trip to Chicago). I haven't left the country since I returned from Costa Rica in March of last year. In short, my life has gone from the kind of thing that allowed me to experience new things around every corner to one that has grown stale and routine. This is no one's fault but my own. Rather than dip into my credit line in order to go snowboarding over Christmas break, I made the wise financial decision to remain in Waco to play my trumpet for money at the Baylor basketball games. This allowed me to pay rent without having to ultimately pay interest on a credit card, but it simultaneously kept me away from an annual trek that I am slowly realising has taken on significant spiritual and emotional meaning for me.

The catalyst for this post comes from I would consider an unlikey source; although I suppose upon inspection it's really not all that contrived a connection. For whatever reason, something my music history professor said in her lecture today reminded me of a quote from Calvin & Hobbes. I don't remember what she said, but it was enough to make me stop using my laptop for its legitimate classroom purpose (re: note taking) and diverting it towards a usefulness that a spiral notebook could never have afforded: Google. Thinking of the comic strip I had once treasured so dearly made me wonder what its author was up to anymore. This led me to Google Bill Watterson's name. From there, I read most everything I could no the man; interviews, speeches, a Wikipedia entry, anything the Internet could offer me. If anyone reading this is not familiar with Bill Watterson and his views on commercialism and art, they should definitey take a look at some of the stuff he's written. Because Google offers a vast library of resources for doing exactly that, I won't go into detail here; you really should read his stuff for yourself. The man is passionate, and he has maintained his integrity through battles over merchandising of his characters. He is a man lacking in greed and replete with value and love for his artform. Even if he fought a battle for an artform that neither needed nor wanted a champion, his tenacity and resilience are things I cannot help but admire. Go read his stuff.

But back from my little aside, what Watterson's battle called my attention to was the fact that I am becoming something I used to see as despicable. My conversations rarely run much deeper than what was recently on television or what so-and-so said in class the other day, my taste in music is becoming more mainstream in order to allow me to have iPod playlists people will like when I host gatherings, and I find myself succumbing to all of the things Edward Norton found himself rebelling against in Fight Club. Shopping at Ikea, drinking Starbucks coffee, and watching too much damned television. Each in and of themselves is not anything to be ashamed of, nor is there anything really wrong with any of that. It simply isn't the kind of life my personality is going to permit me to have. I require change. I need growth as a person. Quite frankly, I think I'm just due to go on an adventure. I need time alone to be me and only me; those times in my life when I have been alone in some place that is brand new to me are always the ones that inspire the stories I tell for years afterwards. Rarely is an anecdote from class worth mentioning two or three days after it has passed, but I still tell with fondness about the first time I went snowboarding alone. This is not happenstance; there is a direct and obvious correllation between these things. I need a break from the routine.

It's about time I did something new. When I do, I'll tell you about it here.

"It's a magical world, Hobbes ol buddy! Let's go exploring!" - Calvin

2006-12-04T12:48:00.000-06:00

Most Amazing Light Show In History

This is quite possibly one of the most amazing things I have ever seen.

http://www.snopes.com/photos/arts/xmaslights.asp

Turns out it's real as well. Get excited.

2006-11-22T14:07:00.000-06:00

I laugh out loud every time I watch this.

2006-10-07T15:29:00.000-05:00

So I received an email the other day from Audioblogger telling me that, starting on November the first, they will terminate their services. This means I can no longer simply make a phone call from the road to make an audio post. I will be forced to remember it was I might have said and then put it into cohesive and easily understandable sentences and paragraphs... so pretty much, if I'm on the road, you'll not be hearing from me at all. Not that this is any different from how it's been for the past couple of months. I know, my little space here online has been uncharacteristicaly quiet since around the middle of the summer. I would like to say with confidence, "But don't worry, I'm back and I'll be updating more frequently now" but the fact remains that I have very little to say at the moment. I'm working on it; once life becomes more exciting, you'll hear about it.

Still working on finding a way to fly even though I am colorblind. No progress as of yet, just a ridiculous amount of red tape and brick walls. I don't like it.

Listening to - Baylor vs. Colorado on Dallas AM radio. My attention span is way too short to follow a game on the radio. Hence the blog entry. Go bears.

2006-09-16T12:52:00.000-05:00

WOW... so, those were some sad and negative entries yesterday. *laughs* Honestly, I shouldn't call in entries when I'm in as bad a mood as I was yesterday. While there is the occasional funny moment, it just comes out as a giant gripe-fest. Nobody likes that.

I finally started reading one of my Anne Lamott books today (the one from way back in August... Bird by Bird), and now I'm hooked. I only got as far in as the introduction, and it turns out Ryan was right: it's like a female Donald Miller. Dammit. Now I've got to read everything she's ever written. And do I have time for that? No.

Quick recap of the past month and a half:
-Band week/other BUGWB things: exhausting but amazing. As ready as I was to be burned out on band, it was a matter of about five minutes into our first rehearsal and I got all giddy and excited again. I'm glad I came back for a fifth year; I've always been slow to get tired of things when compared to my peers, after all.

-Classes: Not so great. Academically, I will do just fine this semester, I'm just less than impressed by the presentation of material I'm being given. Mythology, which should be a very interesting class, is basically a repeat of my heritage class from this summer, except instead of the history of the church we're talking about the history of ancient myths. Believe me, it's far less exciting than it sounds. Do you care about the speculated actual location of the city of ancient Troy, if it did in fact even exist? Neither do I. Add on to that music history (interesting but dry) and geology (I learned all of this in eighth grade... seriouisly), and you've got a rather lackluster load of classroom activities. Thank God for handbells and musicianship. My Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are the highlights of my academic week.

But honestly, I'm just being bitter. I spent this spring learning Spanish from a giant bald man named "Chico" who spoke next to no English in an open-air classroom surrounded by orange trees and toucans. Of course I'm going to have a hard time returning to routine classwork.

-Misc: I have rekindled my passion for Whataburger taquitos, given up drinking, started working part time (super duper part time... 4-10 hours a month) at Express, gotten hooked on Grey's Anatomy, started falling for somebody new, and am still speaking Spanish with whomever will listen (and some whomevers who don't... I'm not picky). My old cell phone broke in half, so I replaced it with an almost identical model except that the new one is black instead of silver.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Currently listening to - Take It Back by barenaked ladies (off of the new CD, Barenaked Ladies Are Me... get on iTunes and give it a listen, it's great stuff)

2006-09-15T18:49:00.000-05:00

2006-09-15T18:33:00.000-05:00

2006-09-15T12:46:00.000-05:00

Ashlee Ford: I will be back. I promise. You're right, I've been far too lax lately. It's high time that was fixed. Look for something this weekend.

2006-08-07T22:06:00.000-05:00

Since I was but a wee lad, people have warned me: "Don't go grocery shopping when you are hungry." This is good advice; it prevents impulse buys and gross overpurchases of foodstuffs, and I try to adhere to it as often as I can.

There is related piece of advice; one that the legions of wise people in my life have failed to pass on. I discovered the need for this tidbit while on a trip to Barnes and Noble tonight. It goes as follows: when you have been re-reading old books all summer, don't go to Barnes and Noble without either a) a game plan or b) a chaperone. I walked in looking for light reading. A popcorn book. Fluff. I walked out with an ambitious bag full of seven diverse books.

If I were to look at my book-buying spree as a trip to the mental nutrition grocery store, I could say that I've covered all of my basic food groups. I've got my carbohydrates (award winning fiction, good stories that tell about compelling characters; filling but not necessarily nutritionally important; in this metaphor, Empire Falls by Richard Russo), my dairy (information download sans interesting narrative; tasty and useful, but too much of it and I'm just stopped up and uncomfortable; 101 Things To Do With Your Private Pilot's License by Leroy Cook), fruit and vegetables (delicious and nutritious; good for mind and soul; Bird by Bird and Traveling Mercies, both by Anne Lamott), meat (make-you-think, change your perspective types of books; real protein; Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell), and finally, the junk food (a couple of Dan Brown books; that's right, suspense fiction by a popular writer; quiet, you, I'll bet you went to see MI:III in the first week, leave my Dan Brown alone). Altogether, a balanced literary diet to bring me into the upcoming fall semester. Much excitement to follow.

Still loving my Cubs hat. I wear it entirely too much.

2006-07-16T18:37:00.000-05:00

So despite the fact that I was walletless for the entire day, John and Chelsea's wedding was an impressive amount of fun. Michelle and I had a bang-up time playing with people's heads; rather than explain that we were just very good friends who have dated in the past but now occasionally go on date-type outings that are one hundred percent platonic, we figured it'd be way more fun just to let people believe what they had already assumed. It was incredible how people managed to phrase their questions so that we were able to preserve the illusion.

For example, instead of asking, "how long have you two been together?" a couple of people asked me, "when did you two start dating?" to which I was able to respond "about a year and a half ago." The question of "when did you two stop dating" never came up, so I did not feel too compelled to offer the information forward. We were told by a few people that we should get married. Others asked us how we were going to get by on just Michelle's band director's salary while I was finishing school. We agreed on most marital issues that came our way, but we found out that we are not milk compatible (I like 2%, she's a 1%). It was without a doubt the healthiest fake relationship I've ever been in.

Congratulations, John and Chelsea.

2006-07-10T19:02:00.000-05:00

I went to Texas Roadhouse today for happy hour, and while I was flirting with the bartender she spilled my margarita on me. It was the best date ever.

Listening to - Roll to Me by Del Amitri

2006-06-21T18:52:00.000-05:00

Holy cow, I am so bad at class. It's been way too long since I've been a student.

I wish I could just be in college without actually having to be a student. That would be awesome.

Listening to - Better Together by Jack Johnson

2006-06-11T22:08:00.000-05:00

Before I begin the bulk content of this post, let me make something perfectly clear: I love marching band. More than that, I am in love with marching band. BUGWB (the Baylor University Golden Wave Marching Band) has provided me with some of the most fulfilling experiences of my life, and the people I have met through the organization will be the friends I have for the rest of my life. There's nothing quite like the atmosphere before a football game surrounded by people such as yourself who have invested themselves so thoroughly into the event that they're willing to wear a wool uniform in 90+ degree heat. The yelling, the cheering, Les Mis intro at the opposing team's huddle, Bruin Pride block, the Tennessee Waltz... it's amazing. I love marching band.

That being said, so follows the rest of the post.

This season, in all likelihood, is going to kill me. The Baylor football schedule is as follows:

9/2 - TCU
9/9 - Northwestern State
*9/16 @ Washington State
9/23 - Army
9/30 - Kansas State
*10/7 @ Colorado
10/14 @Texas
10/21 - Kansas
10/28 - Texas A&M
11/4 @ Texas Tech (probably a pep band)
11/11 @ OSU (probably a pep band)
11/18 - OU

An asterisk indicates that the band will not be at that game. I'm speculating about the pep bands (smaller groups of musicians, usually core players and particularly spirited individuals, and the occasional sucker freshman who got talked into going), but if past trends and current talk is to be believed, this is the schedule for marching band this year. Add on to that a trip to Round Rock for an exhibitional show at a marching contest and you've got a whopping ELEVEN performances for BUGWB this year, with only two free weekends from the beginning of September until the end of November.

I have just done some math regarding my history of marching band. This year, my fifth year in college marching band (and quite certainly my last), added on to the six years in high school marching band (we start marching in seventh grade to make up for the small size of our high school and the lack of interest in the band program in general) makes eleven years in marching band. We averaged about ten games a year in high school, which equals 60 games in high school marching band. Add on to that the eight games from freshman year (68), eight from sophomore year (76), nine from junior year (85), and six more from my first senior year (91). Having said all of that, with the ten games we will be doing this year I will finish out my career on my 101st game as a band member. Forgive me for saying so, but holy balls. That's a lot of band. When I bow out of Tennessee Waltz for the last time, I get this feeling that I'll be pretty ready for it.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

Listening to - You & Me & The Bottle Makes Three Tonight (baby) by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

2006-06-09T12:24:00.000-05:00

Germany is playing Costa Rica in the world cup, and Germany is winning 3-1 at the moment. I'm sitting at Chili's hoping for something amazing to happen, but I fear the end of Costa Rica's world cup bid is imminent. And still, I cheer.

VAYA, COSTA RICA! PURA VIDA! VIVA LA COSTA RICA!

I want to be in El Coco watching the game with Vito and Ana. I suppose Chili's will have to be the next best thing.

Okay, I've got to go print my homework out now. Go Ticos!

Listening to - Straw Hat and Old Dirty Hank by barenaked ladies

2006-06-07T11:32:00.000-05:00

Summer classes keep one incredibly busy, but the subject matter can't seem to keep my mind occupied. Brit Lit is pretty fun, since all I have to do is read at night and discuss during the day, so I'm having no problems there. But music history is eating my lunch... way too much information to absorb. Every time I go into that class I feel like I should be wearing a dunce cap. I miss Costa Rica, where I felt like the smartest person alive; languages are easy for me. Rote memorization of composers, dates, terms, and other such things, not so easy. Everybody else in the class seems to be doing just fine, though, so I know it's not just the pace of the class. It is me. Crap.

So I think I may have burned a bridge in the past week. Not on purpose, mind you, but it seems to have happened nevertheless. It's quite a sad deal, but as dad keeps reminding me any time I come to him with a problem of this nature, "this too shall pass."

Today is the seventh.

2006-05-31T12:22:00.000-05:00

Eric Whitacre

You should really click on that link.

I have been on a huge Whitacre kick for the past week or so; a couple of weeks ago I ordered some CDs of his and have been listening to them almost nonstop since they came in; there's an occasional break for some Dave Matthews or some Barenaked Ladies, but for the most part it's been all about the Whitacre. I've known about him since my sophomore year of high school, when I had to learn i thank you God for most this amazing day for All-State choir auditions. At the time, I hated him because his music was so hard to learn. I couldn't cheat and steal the pitches I was supposed to sing by guessing the harmonies; there was too much dissonance and not nearly enough tonality for my ear to find it all that pleasing (not that I knew to describe it that way when I was sixteen; I just didn't like how hard it was). But then, later that year, I actually heard a recording of the piece and suddenly I understood what all the fuss was about. I got the dissonances, I understood the leaps, and I was floored. I've pretty much been hooked ever since.

Any vocalist who has ever sung his piece Water Night is aware of the fourteen note simultaneity that happens at the big climax of the piece (if you're familiar with the recordings, it's the part where the whole choir seems to yelling "if you open your eyes night opens doors of musk"). At this point in the piece, all twelve pitch classes of the modern chromatic scale are represented, spread out across four octaves of vocal parts. It is huge. Play this thirty seconds of music in a room full of music majors and all of them will suddenly don a facial expression that most people associate with a lovesick puppy. It's a combination of feelings such as awe, joy, and envy at having not thought of the idea first. This moment is, without a doubt, my asolute favorite moment in all of music. It's just that good.

So... go buy some Whitacre.
-Carmack

Listening to - Sleep by Eric Whitacre, performed by Polyphony

2006-05-14T01:48:00.000-05:00

Life just doesn't quite have the same zing it had while I was in Costa Rica, guys. Sorry for the lack of updates, but if it helps you feel better, you're not missing much.

Quick update:
-Tomorrow is my last day at work. Huzzah.
-On Monday, Cozad and I are leaving for Chicago for our long overdue "we really need to do a road trip together" trip.
-Next Saturday I will probably see some high school friends, and it will be good.
-The UT track team does not tip well, and I hope that all of them suffer mildly severe ankle sprains tomorrow. If any of them ever read this, know that I am shaking my fist at you right now and there's nothing you will ever be able to do about it.
-King size beds are awesome, unless you live in Texas and don't have air conditioning. But they still beat futons hands down.
-Scooters are sweet, no matter what your motorcycle-driving friends might tell you. Who needs to go faster than 50mph anyway?

I might do a few audio blogs while I'm in Chicago, so please do check back.

Listening to - Sleep by Eric Whitacre

2006-05-03T14:21:00.000-05:00

Not a whole lot to say lately, guys. Here's a quick rundown:

I hate my job. I have never, ever hated a job before. Shredding paper was unpleasant but it never made me miserable. Bank teller/hot dog vendor will probably go down as the best summer in history. I liked Subway because I really liked making sandwiches; I know, it's weird, but seriously, I would have contests with myself. How quickly I could make sandwiches during the lunch rush. My crowning achievement was the day when there was a baseball tournament in town and I was working the counter by myself because the other guy called in sick. In the hour between noon and one in the afternoon, I made, rung up, and took payment for no fewer than seventy-four sandwiches. That's one sandwich every 48.6 seconds. Admittedly, there were multiple orders where I made five sandwiches at once and took payment for them all at the same time, but I still made all those sandwiches. Pretty sweet.

So that was a digression. Forgive me.

Seriously, I hate my job. I've already quit, but I told them I would work through Mother's Day so I'm not just leaving them high and dry. This should make it easier for me to be there, but it is in fact next to impossible now. Every customer that treats me like dirt makes me think, "why don't I just tell them off and walk out the door?" But then I look at my coworkers and how shorthanded we already are and I can't just walk out on them. So I take the bad treatment and the crappy tips and the being miserable, and it just gets worse and worse; I have an incredible amount of respect for anybody who can do this on a permanent basis. It takes infinite patience and skin thicker than a rhino. From now on, I am forever a 20% tipper.

So after my job ends, I'll have two weeks until summer school starts. I haven't really decided what to do with that time yet. It's summer, so it's warm enough to sleep outside, and even though gas prices are ridiculous there are a few road trips I have wanted to take for a very long time. I'm thinking about driving the entirety of old US Route 66. But then there's also the Grand Canyon. Ever since reading Through Painted Deserts I've wanted to hike down to the bottom and stay the night. That would take a couple days' time, and I don't know that I would have time for that if I were also driving the whole highway.

It would take me about nine days to drive from Chicago to LA if I drove about eight hours a day. Add on the two days it would take to get to Chicago, then the three days to get home from LA, that's a full two weeks. I have sixteen days in between my last day at work and my first day of school, so I could just make it. But then I would not be able to fly during those days, thus postponing my private pilot certification. As cool a story as it would make to have driven the whole "mother highway" (http://www.historic66.com/ their term not mine), it just seems like it would be significantly cooler to be able to say "I'm a pilot." Then I could just fly to Chicago or LA whenever I wanted.

Okay, that last sentence just settled it right there. I'm going to get my first solo next week, then I'm going to set to work on my cross country flights. My instructor doesn't think I'll be able to get certified by May 30th, but I'm determined. We'll see.

This has been "my decision-making process" with John Carmack. Tune in next week to watch me pick out a shirt. For now, I go to clean my kitchen and then it's off to work.

Watching - Friends Season 9

2006-04-21T10:01:00.000-05:00

I've been talking to several people about what's going on with me lately, so we'll consider this the official place of reference for a "what happened."

Shortly after Ashlea and I broke up (in the vicinity of ten to fifteen minutes or so) I came to the decision that I'd made a horrible mistake and set to work immediately on a plan to fix what I'd made wrong. So began my first ever campaign to really try to undo a breakup. Long story short, there were many small romantic gestures, one medium gesture, and one really big gesture. I don't want to go into details; this blog may be very candid about the details in my life, for the most part, but sometimes things really are just private. Suffice to say, there were flowers, letters, pictures and couches involved.

But it was not to be; I'd done some pretty thorough damage. There was a final talk last night, and we're still on great terms, but the relationship as we knew it has ceased to exist. So now I pack it away and move on. But lessons have been learned, relationships with friends have been strengthened, and my brother and I are better in touch than we've been since he left for college six years ago. Altogether things could be worse. I feel fine. I slept well last night, started eating again, and I suppose my ugly, ugly couch will find a safe place to stay until a time comes when it's ready to be donated. I'm thinking the kitchen.

So, next on my big lifelong list of things to do: learn to fly. I start today.

Listening to - Never Do Anything by barenaked ladies

2006-04-18T23:10:00.000-05:00

Sorry guys, it seems to me like I'm updating a lot lately, but I think I've started three entries in the past two days that have ended up just being saved as drafts.

For anybody keeping up, Ben made me eat a chicken sandwich today. God love that boy. I'm not used to being stressed, so this whole "loss of appetite" thing has taken me by surprise. It was a bit of a battle the whole way through, but I finished the thing off, so hooray for that. My body can continue to function as normal and, at least for another couple of days, I don't have to worry about starvation. Sic 'em.

I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but I had something of a rough day at work again. I actually had a table get so mad at me that they walked out of the restaurant. Everybody else though they were just being jerks, but I really wasn't giving them the best service I could have. I knew it and they did too. It kind of hurt my feelings, which is ridiculous. I can't take it personally, because the rest of my tables were fine. My tips were lower tonight, but I don't think I gave sub-par service; I think I just gave worse service than I usually do.

I don't think I'll be able to keep working this job through the fall. Summer will likely be enough for me. But we'll see.

2006-04-16T21:00:00.000-05:00

Still can't sleep... God I'm exhausted.

So today was interesting. It was Easter, and I think this is the only Easter of my life where I haven't gone to church. I worked a double shift today that started at 11:00, so I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere. It was pretty frustrating, though, because I ended up only getting one table for the entire morning; they called ahead to make sure they would have a table, and I got assigned to their table. Then they were late by about a half hour. Then they sat and talked for an hour after they had paid. And when I finally went to pick up their check, I found that they had only given me a 9% tip. That's $18 out of a $200 bill. For three hours of work, with them being my only table. Works out to about six dollars an hour, and that's really frustrating. Especially considering that Friday night I was making closer to sixteen dollars an hour. I should have gone to church.

After I came back from my hour long break (I'd call it lunch, but I didn't actually eat, so it was just a break), things got better pretty quickly. There were some Spanish speaking people waiting at the hostess stand when I went to check in, and I talked to them for a little bit using my mad Costa Rican Spanish skills, and found out from a lady that there was a convention for some Hispanic church in Waco that had brought people in from as far as Mexico City (she told me which church, but I didn't know the word and now I don't remember it).

Not ten minutes later, I just happened to get a table with a family (mom, dad, five year old kid) who had worse English than I have Spanish. So I got really, really excited. At first the dad, who spoke very broken English, tried to order in English, but then I told him that I could speak Spanish if he would prefer (in Spanish, thank you sir). He suddenly looked very relieved, and I got to spend the better part of an hour speaking only Spanish. I can't tell you how good that felt; I haven't spoken that much Spanish since I got to the airport on my way out of Costa Rica.

So anyway, short story long, the family was impressed with me. The kid and I bonded over talking about how much we liked bread and butter (seriously, he really, really likes bread and butter), and the dad and mom liked that I gave them good service as well as tried to speak to them in their own language. The kid even gave me the ultimate compliment by assuming that I didn't speak English (he asked me how I could work in this restaurant if I only spoke Spanish [Como puedes trabajar aqui si no hablas ingles?]). That was freakin' sweet. They ended up leaving me a 40% tip. After they had left, I felt better than I have in almost a week.

Well, at least for awhile. Then the regular ol' grumpy Americans started coming in again and I had to deal with people who didn't care that I spoke good English, they just wanted their food and they wanted it five minutes ago. And where the hell were those lemons they asked the busboy for? That would be coming out of my tip, etc. etc. That pretty much put me back where I had been before, but it was nice while it had lasted.

Also, the kitchen staff now knows that I have good Spanish and so have stopped calling me a cabron. That's nice too.

Currently Watching - High Fidelity and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

2006-04-14T12:07:00.000-05:00

Lots of posts lately. I guess that's just the way it is sometimes.

Good things I have accomplished today:
Really cleaned my room
Did the apartment dishes
Cleaned out my car (found Mary's sunglasses, they were tucked way underneath the seats behind some papers)
Had breakfast at Harold Waite's while reading some Donald Miller
Picked up some guitar stuff at Holze's Music Co.

And to think, this is about the time of day I've been getting up for the past three weeks, and already I've gotten this much stuff done. Every single time I finally fix my sleeping hours, this is exactly what happens. So why don't I do it quicker? Excellent question. I don't think I'll ever know the answer.

So on Sunday I wrote a lengthy entry that contained a few paragrpahs of purposely vague material. I'm feeling a little less inhibited about opening up right now, given current circumstances, and so I'm going to clarify as best I can. If you didn't read Sunday's entry, this might not make much sense.

I know myself to have a very stark, pronounced, and unabashed fear of accidentally ending up with the wrong person. I know full well that this is not something that is anywhere near unique to me, but that doesn't make it any less real. A problem that many people share doesn't cease to be a problem simply because it is a common one; it just becomes easier to ignore or shrug off. This translates, roughly, into a fear of commitment. After all, if I never commit to anyone, then I can't commit to the wrong person, can I? Safety in loneliness would be a simple way to say it, but obviously it's not as simple as all that. Who wants to be lonely? Not me. So this is a thought process that doesn't make sense. Still, in spite of that, and the fact that I know full well that it is completely retarted, my fear continues to allow me to feel safe.

So, in light of this fear, any time I start to get comfortable in a relationship, I try to convince myself that I'm not really all that into it. I become convinced that my comfort is really just a sign of apathy and boredom as opposed to contentedness. I tell myself, "You know, if this relationship were to end, I bet it wouldn't bother me. I'd be fine, probably trying to chase some other girl in a few days." This is reprehensible. Not just the thought process, but the fact that I do it every single time and the fact that I am always lying to myself. It is, as of this writing, impossible for me to admit that I actually just like the girl and just happen to feel comfortable around her because she's easy to be around. And so, because I am incapable of being comfortable, I decide to make things uncomfortable.

Anyone I've dated for more than a couple of months since coming to college can tell you approximately when this happened, even if they didn't know it was happening. Why do they know this? Because this is when I start to pick fights. I do things that are irritating and pretend not to know how irritating they are. I pretend to be irritable, and I am short with them. Like some elementary school crush or something, I antagonize them. Then I get to see them mad, pretend it's their fault, and when it's gone on for long enough I'll just throw up my hands in frustration and end the relationship. Problem solved, commitment avoided. It's a foolproof plan, acted out on an almost entirely subconcious level. Of course, within twenty-four hours after things end I realize what a bastard I've been and wish desperately that I could take it all back, but of course it's too late and the damage is done. The one time I called the girl the next day, she was crying her eyes out and I didn't have the heart to try to fix things; I felt horrible for making her feel that way, and I had no way of knowing I wouldn't do it again. I pretended that I had been trying to call somebody else and had dialed her number by mistake out of habit. Seriously, who does that? I mean, aside from evil people.

Aside: the greatest failure in my life, it seems, is the failure to figure out that unlike Photoshop, I have no "Apple-Z" buttons to push (that's "Control-Z" for you PC users; the "Undo last action" command). I never realize that I can't take things back until after I realize that I might want to. Solution: think before I speak. Problem: I've never been very good at that. Ask any of my teachers from high school.

Second aside: I'm not sure what I mean when I say "evil people." I guess I mean people that do stuff that all of us do, the stuff that hurts people, but they're not doing it subconciously because they're selfish, they do it on purpose because they're mean. I would also imagine that they don't feel bad about it afterwards. In this example, we'll say that's what it means. I reserve the right to change the term's meaning for future posts.

I don't know how, I don't know when, but this blog entry will come back to bite me in the face. When I write about relationships, they always do. So why am I going to post it?

I don't have a good answer for that. Anymore, I post on here because it's something that makes me feel good. Problems be damned, I like to write and this is my podium, so I'm going to keep writing.

Ashlea and I broke up, by the way.

Listening to - One Sweet World by Dave Matthews

2006-04-14T03:09:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to go to sleep for about an hour now, laying in the dark while the Tylenol PM I took tried to work its voodoo on me so that I could get some rest, but as always it is to no avail. I am, and I guess I will always be, a nocturnal creature.

I still like my job, even after having a rough first day on the floor. I had some rude customers, but I also had some friends come to see me and that was pretty cool. I'm looking forward to working tomorrow, mostly because I can't seem to find anything else to do. I'm gaining weight back that I lost in Costa Rica, and that's bugging me. I suppose I'll have to get out on the bear trail.

Oh, and if I can get the night off, I'll be going to K-Psi formal. Tara is cool for letting me be her tag-along date. You hear that, Tara? You're cool.

2006-04-12T00:13:00.000-05:00

I have no stories to tell from my present, and so today I will regale you with an epic tale from my past.

Behold the history of Gauntlet Foilball.

Guantlet Foilball was a game that was borne out of a combination of boredom, competitiveness, and sadism. A large group of high-school aged guys (about 30, if I recall) had finished their third night at church camp, and we had been sent up to our bunks in order to start the process of not sleeping before we had to get up again the next day. Just like any other boys dorm, there was roughhousing, mostly in the form of pillowfights. That is, until somebody produced a ball.

A foil ball is an interesting thing, in that nobody is ever sure why they have decided to make one. But it is as certain as anything: whenever there is a group of teenagers eating in a cafeteria setting, if they are served baked potatoes, some guy is going to make a ball with the foil. In the event of two competing foil balls being made, sometimes they will merge or other times they will begin to rapidly compete for the remaining foil that has not yet made its way to the trash cans. This is completely up to the makers of the balls, but if we are to believe that bigger is, in fact, better, then it is obviously much wiser for the two collectors to combine their efforts than to divide them among a dwindling foil supply.

On this particular night, the cabin had been served baked potatoes, and the competing foil balls had been merged to make a rock-solid ball of foil, sized somewhere in the vicinity of a grapefruit. This was a perfect size for tucking into one's arm, like a football, and running around trying to get nowhere in particular while trying not to be hit with things. And this is exactly what happened, person after person getting tackled or hit with pillows, until eventually there was a cry for order in the chaos. Someone should make teams, it was said. So then they organized two teams of two, and each team would receive the ball for a time and begin trying to force their way through to the other side of the room. Again, not unlike a game of football.

However, those of us watching were bored. We were not chosen to be gladiators in this new and wonderful sport, but we still felt that participation was tantamount to our being able to enjoy our evening. So some people began grabbing their pillows and standing between the bunk beds, and whenever the brave warriors in the middle would come near, we would whack the crap out of them with our feather-filled mallets of doom. This would become known as the Gauntlet, and we as the Gaunleteers. It was a noble position indeed, and we considered it the highest of honors.

If you need help visualizing what's going on in this story, here is the playing field. Drawing is nowhere close to being to scale.

This first game lasted for only about fifteen minutes before the youth pastor came into the room and made us go to bed, but we were hooked. Just like Shekki and Ooga-Booga before it, Gauntlet Foilball had become a part of the canon of the FBC Hinton's youth group and was there to stay. We played the next night, and then the next, before we went home for the year and had only our memories to remind us.

Until, of course, the next summer when we made a movie about it. But that's a story for another day.

-Juan

2006-03-25T21:14:00.000-06:00

I have no problems with who I am now, and am in fact quite happy being the person I am, but when I remember who I was when I graduated from high school, I get a strange feeling. I don't think the guy who graduated from high school would like me very much, and I know pretty well that I wouldn't like that guy. I'm a very laid back, open-minded fellow, and my high school self was very much more judgemental and closed-minded. He didn't mean to be, and I'm sure he meant well (in fact, I know I did), but that doesn't change the fact that we probably wouldn't like each other.

New title! Yaaaay!

2006-03-17T11:16:00.000-06:00

Hey, everybody.

I did make it back safe and sound, just in case anybody was concerned. I took a trip to Colorado immediately after my return and have only just gotten back to Waco for good. I am now catching up on the episodes of 24 that I had missed. Hooray for 24.

2006-03-10T17:48:00.000-06:00

I'm about to head out to a "farewell dinner" with some friends from school, and I don't have much time because I always harrass them for being late. If I am late now, it will certainly never be forgotten.

Anyway, tomorrow I fly back to the Estados Unidos. My time in Costa Rica has come to an end, or rather it will in about 14 hours, and I can honestly say that I'm feeling pretty good about it. I love this place, no doubt, and this is an experience I'll always be grateful for, but there's something to be said for hot showers, cold milk, and pet sterilization.

It's been a good two months, but it'll be better to be home.

Pura Vida!
-Juan Carmaque

Listening to - Homeward Bound by Simon & Garfunkel

2006-03-08T21:17:00.000-06:00

I can't stop going to iTunes. God help me, I will spend every last dime I have solely for the sake of satisfying my unquenchable desire for more music.

Among the artists I have added to my library since coming to Costa Rica (this does not include extra CDs that I have purchased from artists that I already had):
Kip Fox
Gorillaz
The Beautiful Girls
Jack Johnson
Joe Purdy
Mitch Hedberg
Howard Shore (LOTR soundtrack)
Klaus Badelt (Pirates of the Caribbean Soundtrack)

I have too much music already. Someone, please, make it stop.

2006-03-07T18:46:00.000-06:00

It dropped below seventy degrees today, so everybody's wearing jackets.

Silly Ticos.

2006-03-04T17:22:00.000-06:00

Whew... only one week left. Crazy how time seems to fly, but then when I think back to the airport and when Bryan and I were watching the mountains get closer through the airplane windows, it seems like forever ago. But I can't start getting all nostalgic yet, because I do in fact have to finish out this last week before I'm truly out of the woods.

I didn't leave town this week; I wanted to get a bit of a feel for San Jose. Four hours was enough for me.

Bryan and I hopped on a Bus around about 11:30 and took it to Coca-Cola market, and set about trying to find our way to the Museo Nacional de Costa Rica (more or less the museum of national history). In the process, we were told five different sets of directions (none of which were correct), thwarted two attempted pick-pocketings, and earned another fun story.

It turns out that the beggars like to earn a little bit of coin by showing tourists how to find certain landmarks in the city. The fact that there are no physical addresses in Costa Rica makes it difficult to find your way around sometimes, and so this is a potentially helpful service. Neither Bryan nor I had small enough amounts of change to offer to anybody who would show us the way, so we ignored attempts at such help. However, one guy was very isistent that he show us the way and wouldn't leave us alone. He get saying "Museo nacional, si? Si, yo les mostrare! Venga, venga!" (National museum? Yes, I'll show you! Come, come!"

So finally I said, "Si, bien, pero no vamos a pagarle a usted. No tenemos dinero suficiente." (Okay, fine, but we're not going to pay you. We don't have sufficient cash." He nodded his agreement and took us to something that looked very museum like, then said in very accented English, "Now one thousand for me." (1000 colones, roughly two dollars). I looked at him and very fimly said, "Yo le dije que no pagaria. Esto es que yo dije, y esto es que yo hago." (I said that I wouldn't pay you. This is what I said, and this is what I do.") He wasn't very happy about this and would not leave us be. He kept changing the amount back and forth from a dollar to 1000 colones. I kept repeating myself before Bryan finally reminded me that he probably wasn't going to listen. So I bid him adieu and went inside the edifice he had shown us to. He stood at the gate and stared at us the entire time.

The little punk took us to the wrong place.

We were in the national theater. But we couldn't leave, because this guy was standing out there staring at us like we had just killed his parents. So we went inside the cafe just off the lobby and sat there for ten minutes in the hopes that he would be gone when we left.

He was kind of gone. He had given up on glaring any money out of our pockets and had started begging around from other people in the entry plaza, and Bryan and I made a swift and stealthy escape. A couple of blocks later we finally looked behind us and saw that he had not followed us. We asked for directions again, ended up in yet another wrong place (and I know we followed those directions correctly, the people in San Jose just don't like gringos), and so we gave up on the idea of ever finding it and decided to head home. We stopped in a cigar shop and checked some stuff out, then went through the central market (just kind of so we could say that we've been) and headed towards the bus stop.

On the way, we saw some guy get arrested. I'm not sure for what, but he certainly wasn't fighting it so I guess he thought he had it coming or something. Kind of interesting, because people weren't stopping to stare nearly as much as I would have expected. I guess it's kind of a common thing in the area, but it was a first for me.

So Bryan and I hopped back on a bus and found our way back home. We were back around 3:30, more or less four hours after we had left. God help the Baylor Jazz Band, thank goodness they get to leave the city while they're here.

Buenos tardes, mis amigos. Estoy cansado.
-Juan

2006-02-28T20:53:00.000-06:00

So I always think to myself that I might give up something for lent, but I can never think of anything that I actually feel like giving up. It's like that year when my only New Year's resolution was to make New Year's resolutions the next year (I didn't). I'll probably think of something the day before Easter, tell myself I'll write it down later, then not do it.

Anyway, I stayed home from school today. I woke up around four o'clock this morning feeling like the guy from Alien (you know, the one who dies because of the alien living in his stomach; that guy), but I really couldn't tell you why. I haven't had any abnormal foods for the past couple of days, in fact everything I've had since returning from Puerto Viejo has been the same stuff I eat every single day. But regardless, my immune system has failed me yet again, and I am vaguely reminded of how mono once conquered me (see every single entry from last fall, and bow before the power of my ability to complain about stuff for weeks). I don't like being sick. Hopefully tomorrow will be a different story. I can only hope.

So tomorrow we finally finish reviewing old material and get our first fresh stuff in almost two weeks. We begin on the dreaded "subjunctive" tense, which doesn't exactly exist in English, but as far as I can tell is the polite way to give commands that would otherwise be rude. Kind of like the difference between saying "Go away" and "I would like for you to leave, please." At least, that's what I think it's going to be. I don't know for sure, because I haven't learned it yet. I'll get back to you on that one. I'm pretty excited to be getting back into new material; review is nice, because it helps me really get the hang of stuff we've covered, but sometimes it really seems a little unnecessary since it's all stuff that we had covered only a week before. So hooray subjunctive, long live the tense.

Okay, I'm headed back home to see if I can't get some sleep.
-Carmaque

2006-02-27T17:33:00.000-06:00

Today was kind of a hard day of classes. I got some news yesterday that is by no means bad, but is certainly unexpected and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had a hard time concentrating, and I think out new teacher got a little frustrated with me. I hate that.

So at the end of the day, when all I really wanted to do was speak some English, I couldn't stop thinking in Spanish. Every time I would use a conjuction in my head, it was always in Spanish (case in point, I almost typed "siempre" instead of always, even though that's an adjective and not a conjuction).

But then I remembered my scooter, and all was cool again.

Sorry to be a bit vague today, this entry is kind of more for me to remember than it is for people to read about. I'll be funny again tomorrow, promise.

"No urine a mi pierna y me diga está lloviendo."
-Juan

2006-02-26T15:36:00.000-06:00

Fotos nuevas para ustedes.

Costa Rica - Puerto Viejo

"Estoy detras de palo."
-Juan

2006-02-25T19:15:00.000-06:00

Today was easily one of my favorite days in Costa Rica so far.

It started around about 5:30 this morning, when the howler monkeys outside of my cabin decided to give me a wake up call a good hour before my alarm was to go off. I wanted to be angry, but then I realized how undeniably awesome it was that there were monkeys waking me up and therefore decided to embrace it. This was followed by my complimentary breakfast; I was expecting cold bread and third-rate jelly, as America has forced me to grow accustomed to, but I was greeted (in German/Spanish/English, which I have decided to call "Englermish") by one of the lodge employees with the question, "How do you like your eggs?" It was closer to "A usted, como le gusto Ihre Eier? Scrambled?" Seriously, they move in and out of languages just like that. They're German immigrants who studied English in school but have lived in Costa Rica for several years. The owner's name is Wolf, which is sweet. Anyway, I got some really good scrambled eggs for breakfast and had a nice trilingual conversation with a couple of the guy's daughters. It was weird.

Moving on, it was pretty rainy this morning, so the beach really wasn't an option for me. However, I did still have my scooter (which still rules, see previous entry), and so I decided I would do some exploring of the area. I packed a few things in my bag (guidebook, passport, camera, iPod, etc.) and headed north.

Upon reaching a fork in the road, with one direction taking me to Cahuita and the other taking me to Panama, I realized that a whole world of possibility had opened up to me. I was only 32 kilometers from the border crossing at Sixaola, and another stamp on my passport was just too much to resist. So I revved up the ol' Yamaha and headed towards Panama. It was still raining pretty hard, though, and the speed limit was 80km/h (50mph), so I was getting pelted with rain and actually started to get a little cold. In Costa Rica, for crying out loud! I'm such a pansy; good thing I have a scooter to keep me macho.

Anyway, about 45 minutes later, the sun came out just as I was pulling into Sixaola. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Luckily there are kids who hang out at the bridge all day long to help tourists like me figure out what we're supposed to do. One of the ninos by the name of Emeriano latched onto me, and I've never been so grateful to have an eleven year old kid following me around. He spoke no English, but he spoke very clear Spanish and he had plenty to say. He pointed out the immigration office to me, helped me figure out which forms to fill out, and then he walked over the river Sixaola with me and provided some nice conversation about the area. Apparently a lot of tourists come through Sixaola in order to get to some area called "Bocas" and do a tour or something that's supposed to be pretty sweet. But there's also a fair amount of college-aged gringos just like me who just want to be able to say that they've been to Panama.

On the other side of the river Sixaola (meaning, in Panama), after paying my exit tax in Colones and receiving my change in dollars (which I don't understand), I went over to the neighboring Chinese restaurant and had a Pepsi. I put my iPod headphones on, turned it to "Panama" by Van Halen and watched some soccer on TV.

Yes. I have listened to "Panama" in Panama. Can you say that?

I finished my Pepsi and walked around town for a minute, and realized that there really wasn't much there. A supermarket, the aforementioned Chinese place, and a candy store were really all that the town had to offer. The main business of the town is pretty much wrapped up in people crossing the border, which is why all of the local kids hang around. As best I as I can tell, there's even a system for it. The 3-7 year old kids walk around shining shoes, the 8-13 year olds guide people through the process of crossing the border, and the 14-17 year olds are the managers of the whole operation, telling which kids to go with which tourists and pointing the shoe-shiners towards the people who look the most gullible. Anybody older than that works directly for immigration, either behind the stamp-desk or guarding the bridge.

So I returned to Costa Rica, walking the 200 or so yards across the footbridge that would take me back to immigration.

Oh, sidenote that I forgot to mention: it is illegal for motor traffic (for the most part) to cross the bridge. All persons must go on foot. Except, of course, for semi trucks. Seriously, just people on foot and semi trucks. I don't understand it, but that's the way it is. The road is EXACTLY the right width for one semi truck and one person. But not a fat person. Only skinny people can cross this bridge without fearing for their safety. Okay, end of sidenote.

By the time I had gone through both sides of immigration again, the sun was out in full force and it was about 1:00. I figured that meant that it was about time for me to be at the beach. I hopped on my hog (conveniently parked next to an orange juice tienda, which had some of the best juice I have ever had in my life that was purchased in exchange for the parking privileges) and headed back to Puerto Viejo.

The drive back was glorious. The sun was on my face and the scenery was alternating between banana plantations and rainforest the whole way. At one point, I couldn't help grinning. Then a fly flew into my teeth. I stopped grinning after that, but I still felt pretty good.

About forty minutes later, I got back to town and continued heading south. The best beaches around here, apparently, are very isolated. The only road that goes to them was only paved in the past couple of years, so they aren't yet feeling the strain of tourism and have retained much of their original beauty. And man, what beauty. It wasn't white sands and turquoise water, like you might find in Cancun or something like that, but it was definitely some of the most beautiful beach I've ever seen. Undisturbed jungle for miles, with the only eyesores around being the sixty-year-old men wearing speedos ("banana hammocks") who occasionally pass by. Aside from them, t was fantastic.

I got a little hungry, so in the southernmost village I could access with Growling Thunder (my scooter), I decided it was high time I had more seafood. Manzanillo, the village I was in, is apparently known for having some fantastic Caribbean seafood, so I ordered a whole grilled fish. Seriously, that was what my waiter (who was black and spoke very good Spanish with a Jamaican accent) recommended to me. Outrageous how good it was. I love the food in this area.

I spent the rest of the daylight hours working my way up the twenty kilometers or so of beaches in search of some of the most beautiful stretches on which to get some photos and maybe catch some sun. Once the sun had gone down, it was (of course) time for supper.

This was easily the best meal I've had yet, if not in Puerto Viejo then in all of Costa Rica. This village, in addition to being known for its seafood and its surfing, is very well known for the Italian immigrants who have settled down here. Italians everywhere. Italian food everywhere. I picked a restaurant that was right on the beach (Amimodo, if you're curious) and watched the last rays of daylight disappear while I perused the menu.

Get this: lobster ravioli. Outrageously good. I finished so quickly I think my waitress thought I had spilled it or something. I had never had lobster before, mostly because every time I thought I would have it I would look my lobster in the eye and realize that I simply couldn't sentence him to whatever fate my stomach would decide for him. This is why my food shouldn't have eyes while it's on my plate. Luckily, ravioli has no eyes, and thus I had the culinary experience of my year. Brilliant.

So tomorrow I have to leave around 11:00 in the morning to return to San José. If it rains again (which it probably will) I won't make it back to the beach, but I'll have had a good time here anyway. Either way, I've got seven or eight pictures I'll be posting either tomorrow or Monday, so we'll have some good times then. Hasta Luego.

"No hay motos aqui."
-Juan

2006-02-24T19:58:00.000-06:00

One more weekend at the beach. Life is hard.

This weekend I am on the southern Caribbean coast, in the vicinity of Puerto Viejo. It's just me this week, as Bryan is saving some money for the snowboarding trip and therefore does not want to have to pay for a hotel and such. I understand completely, but I had to come down here; from everything I've heard, the two beaches south of here are some of the most beauiful on this entire coast. I'll be sure to let you know for sure after I've experienced them firsthand.

Today, I decided that I want a motorcycle in the worst way. My hotel is a few kilometers south of Puerto Viejo itself, so my options were either to walk, get a free bike from one of the places around town, or rent a moped from the shop right next to the bus stop. Of course I opted for the kickass moped. Don't make fun, it's awesome, and all the ladies love it. Or at least they would if they had time to notice me as I zoomed by them at breakneck speeds of up to 40km/h (26 miles per hour). Anyway, it rules and you're probably wishing you were me right now, and you're right to do so. But enough about me and how much I rule while I am on my moped, we must discuss other things.

After checking into my hotel today, I was informed that there was to be a volleyball game on the beach in about ten minutes. This made my day. Of course I went to join; however, my day was quickly un-made as I realized I had gotten myself into a hyper-competitive game of old gringo men who aren't very good versus young Ticos who probably play professionally. I got put on the old man team. And they really weren't very good. They kept getting mad at me for missing blocks and not diving properly, and at first I convinced myself that I was horrible, but then I started paying attention and I realized I was one of only two people on our team who consistently scored points for our team. Then I felt better. Anyway, I don't think I'll be joining tomorrow's game.

Once the volleyball thrashing had ended, I got on my moped (re: motorized throne) and headed for a little Italian restaurant about 2 kilos north of my lodge. I had been told that this was the place to go in town for great cuisine, but even knowing that I was still astonished. I didn't want to be too gringo-like and simply order a pizza or something, so I asked my waitress what was "el mejor" (the best) food to get tonight, and she quickly told me to go for the marlin. Or as those of us who aren't from Florida call them, swordfish. I was informed that the swordfish had been caught earlier that day.

Outstanding. I believe that's all that needs to be said. If you're ever in Costa Rica, go to Puerto Viejo, go to La Pecora Nera, and order the Marlin. It is, as I have just decided to say, "Knock You Off Your Awesome Scooter" good.

So now here I sit, in an internet cafe across from the local club, typing journal entries for all to enjoy. But that, I'm afraid must come to an end, because I believe I shall go and make a few new friends at the club before taking my peashooting crotch rocket back to my awe-inspiring hotel.

Oh, and there's howler monkeys living outside my cabin again. Those guys are everywhere. Silly monkeys.

"Habla espanol? Really?"
-Juan

2006-02-22T17:09:00.000-06:00

If you do not want to read in Spanish, you might want to skip to the end.
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Este es mi primero tratado escribir una historia in mi "blog" solamente en español. Mi grammar posiblamente va a estar mal, pero yo voy a tratar. Si alguien se hablaba español muy bien y leia este, por favor coregame. Yo quiero estar mejor a español que otras gringos, asi quiero estar coregido. Solo asi ustedes pueden mejor el situaccion, yo lo estoy haciendo sin un diccionario. Entonces es dificil para mi.

Esta mañana, yo me levanta a las 7:40 a.m. y me vesti. Entonces, yo camine a la parada del autobus y llega a la escuela a las 8:20 a.m. Yo tomo un siesta pequeño antes de comemzaron las clases. Hoy es un buen dia. Hace mucho sol, y no hay mucho nubes. Me encanta la clima de Costa Rica, porque es muy agradable.

En los clases, Bryan y yo no aprendimos mucho hoy, pero nosotros hablamos con nuestro profesora mucho en español. Mas practica esta bien para aprender, y asi nosotros practicamos con frequencia. Hoy aprendimos tres or quatro frases tipica de Costa Rica, por ejemplo “Estoy detras un palo“ (I am behind a tree). Me cae bien nuestro profesora, porque ella muestre nosotros como se dice cosas como los Ticos.
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Okay, that's enough for now. I'm out of class for the day, and that's quite a bit of thinking to do while I'm trying to scarf my pizza at the restaurant I'm sitting in. I have no idea how well that will translate online, because I am lacking several very important keys on my English-layout keyboard. Most notably, the vowels with accents. For this reason, many of my verbs will not translate, most notably any use of past imperfect verbs (in English, "would do" or "used to do", or hypothetical situation verbs). As I said before, I did that without a dictionary or consulting my notebook, so there are likely several grammatical errors, and so a translation might not make much sense. But if a Tico were to read it, they would know why I was trying to say, and after only six weeks of Spanish in my entire life, I'd say that's quite the accomplishment.

"Fijame!"
-Juan

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ps
I have read the Babelfish translation, and it is horrible. Trust me, my spanish is better than that, I'm just using a few idiomatic phrases that are not being picked up by the tranlator here and there, and it's adding unnecessary prepositions like crazy. Good luck with that translation, but again, please understand: it's not even close. This is one of the disadvantages of learning from Native Speakers: many of the things I say and understand only make sense when they are used in exactly the right context. I don't get up: I levitate from my bed. I don't get dressed, I myself put my clothes on me. I don't forget things, they forget to come with me. In Spanish, you don't do anything. Everything just kind of happens to you.

2006-02-20T17:30:00.000-06:00

I have received some horrible news.

Juan's Mountain Sports is closing.

This was the best snowboard rental shop I have ever encountered. Great service, amazing prices, knowledgeable personnel... this is terrible.

We'll miss you, Juan.
-Juan

2006-02-19T22:08:00.000-06:00

The cafe is closing now, so I must be brief.

The beach was awesome. I did surf, and I did get up on the board on my first day, thanks to the amazing Bob Clarke and his fantastic pedagogy. I got no pictures of it, because I was in the water surfing and had no time to photograph myself while the ocean beat the crap out of me.

However, here are the rest of the pictures.

Costa Rica - Dominical

"Pay attention, Juan."
-Juan

2006-02-18T09:58:00.000-06:00

Sorry about the length of time between updates, I just really haven't had much to say lately. There's been class, there's been pool at El Coco, and that's really about it.

Today, though, I am in Dominical. Dominical is a beach on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, and our timing for getting here couldn't have been more perfect. The sun here sets very early, you see, I'm assuming because of the proximity to the equator (9 degrees north latitude, if you were interested), and also because there are mountains everywhere that the sun will often sink behind very quickly. So after taking buses for most of the day through the mid-southwestern part of Costa Rica, we got a Taxi in a city called San Isidro for the final 40 kilos to Dominical. As we were driving, we noticed the sun was just beginning to set behind the mountains, providing one of the most fantastic views I have ever seen (I know I've been using a lot of majorative language in my posts lately, but that's just because this country really is that beautiful).

Then, after watching the sunset behind the mountains, our taxi got past the last of the mountains and the road we were on opened up right onto the beach. So then we got to watch the sun set a second time, only this time over the ocean. Outstanding.

Along out journey yesterday, we met a new friend who calls himself "Jammin' Jim." He's an entertainer in Aspen who's taking some time off to do some backpacking in Costa Rica. Very cool guy. Here's his website, if you're interested:

Jammin' Juggling

So today I woke up pretty early while Bryan and Pete were asleep and went to swim in the ocean for a little bit; very cool. I'm not a fan of saltwater, really, but swimming in the ocean is just good times. I've thought about renting a surfboard and trying my hand at surfing, since everybody who sees me lately just kind of assumes I'm a surfer anyhow (long hair, fairly decent tan, good grammar but unusual language, and of course the baggy shorts). We'll see.

That's all for now. I'm sure there will be pictures eventually.

Listening to - Breakdown by Jack Johnson

2006-02-14T16:38:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. Or rather, Feliz Dia de Amor, ustedes.

A few of us from the school who either lack significant others or simply have significant others who are far, far away are getting together for dinner at the Tex-Mex restaurant later today. Should be a fun evening, assuming there are no couples nearby. It's kind a gringo joint, though, so there's a good chance there won't be. But who can say for sure? Yo no lo se.

"Nosotros traemos el diente."
-Juan

2006-02-12T13:32:00.000-06:00

I did just about the coolest thing EVER last night.

After returning to the lodge, we decided to take another night walk now that we had seen everything in the day. We headed out to the best view we had seen during the day, the one right on the continental divide. What we saw there is something I don't think I'll ever forget.

You see, most of yesterday, we had jokingly bemoaned the fact that the cloud forest wasn't cloudly at all. We had really kind of lucked out, in that we got to see the forest on one of the few days of the year when it wasn't completely shrouded in mist, allowing for maximum visibility. In fact, you couldn't even call the day "partly cloudy." It was as clear as a summer day in Waco. This allowed for some spectacular scenery during the day, but the real show came during the story I have just finished interrupting and to which I will now return.

The moon was almost full last night, and there were still no clouds in the sky, so we were able to get to the divide pretty quickly and easily. It was about a 2km walk, and we only had to use the flashlight for a stretch near the beginning when our eyes were still adjusting. When we got there, we turned west towards the Atlantic, and saw a gigantic wall of clouds creeping its way towards us. The wind was howling through the valley directly in front of us and blasting us in the face. It was quite possibly the coldest I've been since leaving Colorado in January.

The wall of clouds moved through the valley, and crept its way up the hill in front of us. We ran over to the other side of the peak we were on and watched as what had only moments before been a clear and cloudless night turn into some of the densest fog I have ever seen. The clouds moved like waves in the ocean, rolling over one another and being pushed about by the wind, before settling into the forest and remaining there for the rest of the night. We watched this happen for what felt like five minutes but turned out to be closer to thirty, running back and forth from west to east and watching the process repeat time after time until the forest was no longer visible from where we stood. By the time we went inside, we had all come to the conclusion that we would likely never again have the opportunity to see what we had seen, and that we were privileged folks indeed. Undoubtedly the single coolest experience since coming to Costa Rica, and I have a hard time thinking of anything that might top it.

Meanwhile, Pete, who didn't go with us, had been locked out of the room in only a towel and had spent the entire hour we were gone trying to find a way back in. Oops.

So I'm back in Santa Ana, safe and sound, and here are the pictures I promised. Enjoy.

Costa Rica Pictures, Part Deux

Es la verdad.
-Juan

2006-02-11T18:15:00.000-06:00

Hey again, everybody.

So Monteverde is amazing. I've taken more pictures here than anywhere else in the country I've been combined. I'll be posting those here once I return to Santa Ana, so don't you worry none.

The trip up here yesterday was forever long, roughly five hours from San José. We were riding with a tour group of senior citizens who were from (I think) Scandanavia. One of the guys asked me if I was Swiss while he was sitting down, and when I said no, he just said, "Oh, you look Swiss. My mistake." I guess that's a compliment, I don't know.

When we got to town, we got some food and headed out to the lodge we're staying in. I just have to say that I owe a big fat "Thank You" to the folk's at Frommer's, because the travel book I bought before leaving the States has come in immensely handy here especially. Because of them, I was alerted to the fact that there are dormitories right at the foot of the biological reserve that were super cheap for students. $38 per night gets us three meals a day and free admittance to the reserve (normally $12). So needless to say, we're doing quite well for ourselves. Hooray for us.

After getting accustomed to our lodgings for the evening, we decided to take advantage of our proximity to the reserve (as well as the uncharacteristically cloudless night, complete with a nearly full moon) and take a slightly prohibited night walk through the jungle. Quite possibly one of the coolest experiences of my life. We didn't see any animals, but it was just really cool to hear the sounds and feel the air. It's really humid, but it's so cool that you really don't even notice it. I had to wear my sweater for the first time since coming to Costa Rica; crazy.

This morning, after waking up early thanks to the family of howler monkeys living outside of our window (seriously), we had some breakfast and headed into the reserve to see what we had been missing the night before. I really wanted to spring for a guide to come with us, but it was pretty pricey (about $25 per person in the group... a little too steep for four college students just trying to see some plants and animals).

Slightly-relevant side note: there are some strange little raccoon-type creatures that come near the lodge every morning and harrass the incoming tourists. I saw one of these things try to snatch a photographer's bag out of a chair, but it failed miserably due to the fact that it tried to pull the bag out from the back of the chair, and so the bag was to big to fit through the space between the seat and the back. The chair came a-tumblin' down on top of the thing and nearly scared the daylights out of it. Hilarity ensued.

Back to the story: so it turns out that we probably should have sprung for the guide. The park had some of the most beautiful stuff I've ever seen in person, but I had no idea what I was looking at most of the day. Also, we failed to see any birds or mammals outside of the long-nosed raccoons outside of the lodge and the monkeys near our window. Not to say it hasn't been a great time, but it definitely would have been nice to see a quetzal or an ocelot or something. Another time, perhaps.

We walked in the forest for close to five hours, then we headed back to the lodge to do some R&R before leaving for what is called around here a "Canopy Tour." Canopy Tours involve strapping on a harness, climbing some trees, and then spending three hours or so riding ziplines through the forest. In other words, quite possibly the sweetest thing ever. I've got some photos for you that I'll post on Monday or Tuesday. Very sweet.

Not much more to say for now, I'm afraid. Have a great night, everybody.

"No... no, I can't afford that. No. No. No. NO TENGO DINERO, ALREADY!"
-Juan

2006-02-09T16:15:00.000-06:00

Today is my 22nd birthday. I would say that in Spanish, but I am using my laptop and therefore am without a tilde on my keyboard. I don't want to look like I'm not spelling things properly, because that would negate my presence here in Costa Rica. Plus it would just be silliness.

As has been my birthday tradition for the past few years (since pledging K-Psi, I believe), I dressed a little nicer than I normally would this morning. I can't say why for sure, really. I suppose the attention-starved individual within me just hopes somebody will take the bait and say, "Why are you dressed so nice today?" and I will be able to say, "Oh, I do this every year on my birthday." Then I have found a way to let them know it's my birthday without having to pimp it around. Kind of a manipulative way of getting a smile and a "happy birthday," but I have found that it works very well.

I've gotten a good amount of birthday wishes from the staff at Conversa, as well as from several of my friends and classmates. Altogether, as good as a birthday in a foreign country can be expected to be.

Today has made me slightly introspective and nostalgic, as birthdays have a habit of doing to people, and so here are some of the more exciting things I've done since I turned 21, in chronological order:

I have finished training a pledge class for Kappa Kappa Psi.
I have watched the Baylor Lady Bears take the NCAA championship.
I watched my buddy Tom get married, and got to sing at the dinner to boot.
I spent a summer working as a professional hot dog vendor.
I have driven to Omaha to watch Baylor in the College World Series of Baseball.
I took my car past 100,000 miles.
I finally got my hands on the guitar of my dreams. Hooray.
I joined a group of people known as the Party Posse. Hooray again.
I got to play the Waco Hippodrome with the Brian David Band. I mean, it was only one song, but we still brought the house down.
I have spent a semester in a handbell choir.
I have gone to the Hear of Texas fair and realized that I am grossly underweight to be living in Texas.
I have conquered mono, but not before it conquered me for awhile.
I unsuccessfully pledged a fraternity because the registrar's office misled me and made me sad.
I have hosted a party that did, in fact, get shut down by the police, and in the process earned a hilarious story about the fence on my back porch.
I have finally left the North American continent, back when I went to London over New Year's.
I have been to the center of the lower 48 United States (Lebanon, Kansas).
I have also been to see the world's largest ball of twine.
I have had several conversations completely in Spanish. They were mostly one-sided, but I have understood a whole lot more than I ever could have before.
I have rappelled down a waterfall.
I have been to a rainforest.
I have partied in the same pool as Canadians, Israelites, Costa Ricans, and a Dutch person, all in a hotel situated right next to the Caribbean Sea.

I suppose it only gets better from here, eh?

Anyway, I'm not sure how the rest of my day is going to go. I've got to study for the test tomorrow, so that will be next, and after that I suppose I'll go sit in the lobby of El Coco (the bar I'm living in) and see if anybody I know walks in to have a birthday-type dinner with me.

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes, everybody. I have quite honestly lost track of how many people have texted, AIMed, emailed, facebooked or blog-commented to wish me a good day. It's nice to have friends, I tell you that. You guys are the best.

There probably won't be any new entries for a few days, because tomorrow we're leaving direct from school to head to Monteverde; and I'm not sure about the availability of internet in the cloud forest, but I'd bet good money that there's not much. As I said yesterday, I will be getting pictures, so there should be a nice update on Monday or Tuesday.

Listening to - Never Do Anything by the Barenaked Ladies

"No hablo espanol, dammit!"
-Juan

2006-02-08T21:24:00.000-06:00

I had a conversation with my host mom today, and I never had to say,¨"¿Que?"

By no means does this mean I can speak Spanish, but I can understand a HUGE amount more than I did when I came here. Especially when I've got a pretty good idea what someone is about to ask me anyway. Heh.

This weekend we're headed to Monteverde Cloud Forest. Trust me, I'll be getting a whole lot of pictures there. Cloud forests are rare. Only about three or four of them in the world, I'm told.

For more info on cloud forests, check out these places:

Cloud Forest Alive
National Geographic Aritlce on Cloud Forests

Also, check out this article about the Resplendent Quetzal. It is the bird to see down here, apparently, and is really quite interesting to read about.

The Resplendent Quetzal

If this doesn't satisfy, you may google it.

"¿Que huelo?"
-Juan

2006-02-07T16:06:00.000-06:00

Quick entry today, I'm using up somebody else's bandwidth and there are people waiting. Also, I am being watched.

Internet cafes are all down today, I think partially because of the serious internet clog due to the very close election results here in Costa Rica. I'm not sure what the connection there is, but that's what they're telling me.

The beach was fun, but I got no pictures. Sorry. Maybe stories another time, I dunno. There will be more beaches, though, so there will be pictures. Rastas are everywhere in Cahuita.

Pete ate a cheese empanada at the bus station in San Jose, and subsequently got food poisoning. Moral of the story: don't eat in San Jose. Don't eat anything at all, no matter how convincing the grifter selling the food might be.

"You can't point your finger with your hand full of sheet, mon!" - Rasta Man from Cahuita
-Juan

2006-02-02T21:10:00.000-06:00

Not much to say today, everybody, sorry.

Tomorrow, we start our first weekend at the beach. Highly exciting. All of the bars and clubs are closing down this weekend, because the elections are taking place on Sunday and they don't want people voting drunk. That's funny. So we won't have much to do, but I'll bet we can find a way to have fun on a beach. You know, like taking naps and such.

I'll get pictures.

"Explique en ingles."
-Juan

2006-01-31T19:00:00.000-06:00

Indirect objects today. The geek within is enjoying this far more than I should admit.

It rained today while Bryan and I were walking down the mountain, and of all days for me to be wearing only an undershirt it had to be today. I felt very self-conscious and was worried that the Ticas might see my nipples, so I tightened my backpack so that the straps covered them. Call me a pansy if you must, but the people here are weird sometimes, and they'll make fun of gringos for just about any reason; for instance, I made fun of a gringo the other day just because he couldn't speak Spanish. I mean, it was Bryan, but still, I'm not even a Tico and I make fun of the gringos. So you can understand my apprehension.

By the way, the term for a male nipple in Spanish is "tetilla." Note that it is feminine. However, on a female breast, it is called a "pezon" and is in fact masculine. This language weirds me out.

No me gusta cuando usted puede ve mi tetillas.
-Juan

2006-01-30T17:30:00.000-06:00

I fixed the link to the photos, but if you don't want to scroll down, here it is again:

Costa Rica Photos

New teacher again today. A guy named Chico. He's cool. We covered direct objects today, and it made a whole lot of things I've heard in the past few weeks make so much more sense. In Spanish, you see, the DO comes before the verb, whereas in English it comes after. For example:

"I did it."

In Spanish, would be this:

"Yo lo hice." (I it did)

This will take some getting used to, because there's no logical way to wrap it up in good English grammar like there are most other things. But that's okay, because I have a jungle outside.

This has been "Brief and incomprehensible Spanish with Juan." Thank you for reading, please come again.

Adios.
-Juan