I came across "Runny in the Shadows," by Ian Urbina, the other day after class and was immediately sucked in. Anyone that has spent time in Eugene is probably familiar with the large street kid population. It's very well reported and very well photographed. Make sure to watch both of the shorts that accompany each part.
Part One
Part Two
On a less depressing note: I feel like crap again. I picked something up at the local festering disease pit, aka the grocery store. I could have sworn I washed my hands when I came home, but either way, no dice. So I was sick at the beginning of last week and fought it off and felt great over the weekend, only to get sick again at the beginning of this week. Awesome. I better not find the the little degenerate pip-squeak that more than likely passed this on to me, because if i do, I will stare at him/her with the angriest face I can muster. And I'll do it for at least 3 minutes! How do like them apples, Billy?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Too Real?
I'm not sure how I feel about all this. I mean, they're incredible and everything, but it just makes me think of Terminator scenarios. How long is it before they become [in Arnold voice] "self aware," and pissed that we're oppressing them?
Call me old fashioned, but I'm inclined to believe that machines are for evaluating math equations and dispensing porn, not killing or friendship. Have we forgotten that people serve both those functions quite well? And we're making more people by the day, so what do we need the robots for? How long is it before the Zeno robot gets jealous of the attention liitle Jimmy is paying to the family dog, and decides to do something about? I could go on like this.
One more question: How do we prevent all these robot doomsday scenarios?
Answer: Keep it simple, stupid.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Fall fall fall.
A couple of days ago when I woke up it was suddenly Fall. That morning the temperature was 50 degrees instead of the 60 to 65 it had been. When I looked outside I was faced with trees in shades of fire. The ground was now littered with the departed brethren of the remaining leaves. Only the squirrel’s tails showed above the leaves, and they twitched back and forth as they hid their treasures.
The wood floor was too cold for bare feet. I dug deep in my sock bin and found my grey pair of wool socks; my winter workhorse of socks. I skated into the kitchen to make breakfast and coffee. I’d lucked out and put steel cut oats to soak in the fridge the night before, so it would be a hot breakfast instead of a cold one.
I started writing that previous bit several weeks ago. I think I’ve said it every time, but it’s getting harder and harder to sit down and write. I’ve also been writing letters to my friends here, so I have to balance blogging time with letter-writing time. And my letter recipients are getting greedy and are bugging me as to when they’ll get their second letters. A certain Chinese girl with a heavy British accent is the worst of them.
They started out as actual letters, that have nothing real to do with whom they are addressed to, just silly gibberish about spies, communists and fake encounters with bitter ex-lovers. But the letters grown more into short stories and letters from one fictional character to another that happens to have the same name as the actual recipient. This has been a bit of a curse, because now they’re harder to write, take longer to finish, and they increase expectations. I don’t want to give the next person a letter that they might think wasn’t as well thought out as the one I gave to their friend for fear that they may feel let down. So, don’t any of you start harping me about when you’re going to get your letter, or I’m liable to abandon the whole thing.
Other than writing, I’ve been climbing a lot more these days. With the turn in the weather my bmx bike and I are able to spend less and less quality time together. When I need to get my mind away from school the rock wall has been my usual destination. My forearm stamina is getting better and I’m starting to tackle some tougher routes, but it’s slow going. I’ve learned that when they bolt up a route on the wall they have very specific moves (how you move your body to get from one hold to the next) in mind, and your job is to figure out those moves. Of course if you can find another move that they didn’t intend, that’s fair game as long as you stick to the holds on the route. I thought it was going to be a lot easier to look at a route from the deck and figure out the moves you need to do. I’ve yet to be able to read a route on the ground and actually translate that into successful moves on the wall.
A little more than a month ago I traveled with the UIUC Climbing Club down to Jackson Falls, in the Shawnee National Forest, down in the southern tip of the state. There is a falls, but Jackson is basically a big canyon with woods in the middle and a rock face most of the way around where locals have established more than a hundred different sport climbing routes. I was able to get in two climbs before a huge storm came roaring into the canyon. The wind suddenly sounded like a train as it tore through the trees. Leaves that had been falling gently were now shooting sideways. The rain wasn’t immediate, but my friend Lodo was on top of the route when it came. He went up to get all the gear that had been placed, and now he was repelling in a downpour. We’d picked a good spot and had an over-hang to sit under where we waited for a break and ate walnuts with honey. Our break came but it didn’t last long. On the trek back to camp we all got soaked through and the trail was a bog. One member of out party, Gabby, only had flip-flops, which she quickly abandoned for bare feet. She reminded me of a hobbit slogging through the mud. She was at the back and every time we turned around to check on her she had adjusted her clothing so that it looked like she was wearing a different outfit. We joked that the next time we turned around she’d be wearing a sombrero and poncho, or a Michael Jackson costume. Thankfully it only rained for five hours or so and we were able to come out of our tents and party around the campfire during the night.
The climbing community was a great find as there no bike community in town. People have bikes they use to commute, but there’s no bike culture. I’ve discovered that rock climbers and bikers are very similar people; the only real difference being that one group plays on rocks and the other on bikes. And the lingo is different. But their priorities and sensibilities are almost the same. For me, it has meant a group of fast friends. And after hanging out with international students that do nothing but study, it’s a welcome change. I love the international kids, but I don’t know what they are “studying” all the time. I’m starting to wonder if they say they are studying, only to spend most of their time talking on Skype or MSN Messenger. That or they don’t like me and they’re really having crazy coke parties, orgies and games of Russian Roulette in the basements of their student housing buildings. I doubt that though. When I told Cathryn, the Chinese girl with the British accent, that I had been hanging out with the climbing club, her response was, “Aw, you have a life. No fair.” It’s not much of a life but it’s working out just fine for now.
I’m getting very anxious to come home and visit everyone. I miss home quite a bit. I miss Charly Bear, Rusty, Maddie and Dexter. I miss drinking beers on the Dixon’s front lawn with Lewis. I miss not needing to drive to Chicago to get film developed! And I miss my family. I wish I could have teased Maddie about her close encounter with a cow. Poor thing just wants to herd. Two more months. I’m going to New York to see family for Thanksgiving, so we’ll all have to wait until Christmas time. I think we can all make it. My friend Joyce keeps telling me to invent a teleporting device, and it’s times like these that I think I picked the wrong field; I should have been an engineer.
The wood floor was too cold for bare feet. I dug deep in my sock bin and found my grey pair of wool socks; my winter workhorse of socks. I skated into the kitchen to make breakfast and coffee. I’d lucked out and put steel cut oats to soak in the fridge the night before, so it would be a hot breakfast instead of a cold one.
I started writing that previous bit several weeks ago. I think I’ve said it every time, but it’s getting harder and harder to sit down and write. I’ve also been writing letters to my friends here, so I have to balance blogging time with letter-writing time. And my letter recipients are getting greedy and are bugging me as to when they’ll get their second letters. A certain Chinese girl with a heavy British accent is the worst of them.
They started out as actual letters, that have nothing real to do with whom they are addressed to, just silly gibberish about spies, communists and fake encounters with bitter ex-lovers. But the letters grown more into short stories and letters from one fictional character to another that happens to have the same name as the actual recipient. This has been a bit of a curse, because now they’re harder to write, take longer to finish, and they increase expectations. I don’t want to give the next person a letter that they might think wasn’t as well thought out as the one I gave to their friend for fear that they may feel let down. So, don’t any of you start harping me about when you’re going to get your letter, or I’m liable to abandon the whole thing.
Other than writing, I’ve been climbing a lot more these days. With the turn in the weather my bmx bike and I are able to spend less and less quality time together. When I need to get my mind away from school the rock wall has been my usual destination. My forearm stamina is getting better and I’m starting to tackle some tougher routes, but it’s slow going. I’ve learned that when they bolt up a route on the wall they have very specific moves (how you move your body to get from one hold to the next) in mind, and your job is to figure out those moves. Of course if you can find another move that they didn’t intend, that’s fair game as long as you stick to the holds on the route. I thought it was going to be a lot easier to look at a route from the deck and figure out the moves you need to do. I’ve yet to be able to read a route on the ground and actually translate that into successful moves on the wall.
A little more than a month ago I traveled with the UIUC Climbing Club down to Jackson Falls, in the Shawnee National Forest, down in the southern tip of the state. There is a falls, but Jackson is basically a big canyon with woods in the middle and a rock face most of the way around where locals have established more than a hundred different sport climbing routes. I was able to get in two climbs before a huge storm came roaring into the canyon. The wind suddenly sounded like a train as it tore through the trees. Leaves that had been falling gently were now shooting sideways. The rain wasn’t immediate, but my friend Lodo was on top of the route when it came. He went up to get all the gear that had been placed, and now he was repelling in a downpour. We’d picked a good spot and had an over-hang to sit under where we waited for a break and ate walnuts with honey. Our break came but it didn’t last long. On the trek back to camp we all got soaked through and the trail was a bog. One member of out party, Gabby, only had flip-flops, which she quickly abandoned for bare feet. She reminded me of a hobbit slogging through the mud. She was at the back and every time we turned around to check on her she had adjusted her clothing so that it looked like she was wearing a different outfit. We joked that the next time we turned around she’d be wearing a sombrero and poncho, or a Michael Jackson costume. Thankfully it only rained for five hours or so and we were able to come out of our tents and party around the campfire during the night.
The climbing community was a great find as there no bike community in town. People have bikes they use to commute, but there’s no bike culture. I’ve discovered that rock climbers and bikers are very similar people; the only real difference being that one group plays on rocks and the other on bikes. And the lingo is different. But their priorities and sensibilities are almost the same. For me, it has meant a group of fast friends. And after hanging out with international students that do nothing but study, it’s a welcome change. I love the international kids, but I don’t know what they are “studying” all the time. I’m starting to wonder if they say they are studying, only to spend most of their time talking on Skype or MSN Messenger. That or they don’t like me and they’re really having crazy coke parties, orgies and games of Russian Roulette in the basements of their student housing buildings. I doubt that though. When I told Cathryn, the Chinese girl with the British accent, that I had been hanging out with the climbing club, her response was, “Aw, you have a life. No fair.” It’s not much of a life but it’s working out just fine for now.
I’m getting very anxious to come home and visit everyone. I miss home quite a bit. I miss Charly Bear, Rusty, Maddie and Dexter. I miss drinking beers on the Dixon’s front lawn with Lewis. I miss not needing to drive to Chicago to get film developed! And I miss my family. I wish I could have teased Maddie about her close encounter with a cow. Poor thing just wants to herd. Two more months. I’m going to New York to see family for Thanksgiving, so we’ll all have to wait until Christmas time. I think we can all make it. My friend Joyce keeps telling me to invent a teleporting device, and it’s times like these that I think I picked the wrong field; I should have been an engineer.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Sweet Georgia Brown!
Who would have thought grad school would take so much time? Geez. I apologize for the lack of posts, but homework has gotten heavy. Statistics and Macro are especially to blame.
I took a trip up to Chicago on Saturday of this last weekend with my friend Nooshin, (pronounced 'Noo-sheen'). Nooshin is also in the MSPE program and she hails from Iran. She is also my salsa partner. Neither of us are very good, but we try. In Chicago we didn't really do all that much. We did go to the Willis Tower (formerly known as the Sears Tower, I like to think of it as the Bruce Willis Tower) and walk out onto one of the glass cubes that extend from the 103rd floor. Needless to say it was pretty amazing. I suggested to Nooshin and the lady standing next to us that we should all jump at once and test its strength. The lady told me I'd be jumping alone. I don't see what the big deal is. Skidmore, Owings and Merrill say they can hold five tons.
After that we headed to the "beach." It was warmer than I thought. Certainly no Oregon Coast temperatures. Then we walked around downtown. A lot. Oh, and we hatched a new plan that we would both go to Kuwait to work after graduating because they pay an absurd amount and their currency is strong.
Yesterday I got a bicycle care-package from my good friends Harry and Moke, who are still putting in time at the bike shop in Springfield, OR. I cannot thank them enough for their generosity and all around love. I have the best friends a guy could ask for and I hope you all know that. Thanks to Harry and Mike I gave my fixed gear a new rear cog and some love tonight after I finished up Stats homework. I've got my work cut out for me to come up with a return-favor.
I suppose I should tell everyone my new marriage plans. Nooshin tells me that in Iran, while driving say, on the freeway, it's not uncommon to get pulled over and hassled for no good reason. Now, if a young man and woman are in the car, they'll be questioned about if they are married and if not, what exactly they're doing, and does the girl's father know what going on. Nooshin says that it's not unheard of for two young people to be forced into marriage if the men believe that they're doing untoward things. So, what I'm going to do is go to Iran, find some cute Iranian girl and drive around on the highways until we get pulled over. Surely they'll take one look at me and assume we're doing something untoward, and BAM! Wife. Simple as that. Although, I would have to pretend I'm Muslim, and that could be a problem given that I can't grow a beard. Perhaps a prosthetic? Either way, this kid's going places. And it ain't California.
Well, it's time for bed. My next project is going to be taking some photos of all my friends here and give you a little about them. The photography situation in the Midwest is abysmal (a developer in Chicago charges $25 to send 4x5 slides back the 120 odd miles, on top of the $3 to develop each slide, outragious). So I'm going to get some 35mm black and white. Nice and artsy. But I won't leave you hanging. Here are some photos I took of my place. I don't know how to post them here (or if it's even possible) so I posted them on my filckr site. To get there, go here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/23600488@N08/sets/72157622201598351/
Well, I'm off to bed. Remember: don't trust anyone over thirty.
Cheers.
I took a trip up to Chicago on Saturday of this last weekend with my friend Nooshin, (pronounced 'Noo-sheen'). Nooshin is also in the MSPE program and she hails from Iran. She is also my salsa partner. Neither of us are very good, but we try. In Chicago we didn't really do all that much. We did go to the Willis Tower (formerly known as the Sears Tower, I like to think of it as the Bruce Willis Tower) and walk out onto one of the glass cubes that extend from the 103rd floor. Needless to say it was pretty amazing. I suggested to Nooshin and the lady standing next to us that we should all jump at once and test its strength. The lady told me I'd be jumping alone. I don't see what the big deal is. Skidmore, Owings and Merrill say they can hold five tons.
After that we headed to the "beach." It was warmer than I thought. Certainly no Oregon Coast temperatures. Then we walked around downtown. A lot. Oh, and we hatched a new plan that we would both go to Kuwait to work after graduating because they pay an absurd amount and their currency is strong.
Yesterday I got a bicycle care-package from my good friends Harry and Moke, who are still putting in time at the bike shop in Springfield, OR. I cannot thank them enough for their generosity and all around love. I have the best friends a guy could ask for and I hope you all know that. Thanks to Harry and Mike I gave my fixed gear a new rear cog and some love tonight after I finished up Stats homework. I've got my work cut out for me to come up with a return-favor.
I suppose I should tell everyone my new marriage plans. Nooshin tells me that in Iran, while driving say, on the freeway, it's not uncommon to get pulled over and hassled for no good reason. Now, if a young man and woman are in the car, they'll be questioned about if they are married and if not, what exactly they're doing, and does the girl's father know what going on. Nooshin says that it's not unheard of for two young people to be forced into marriage if the men believe that they're doing untoward things. So, what I'm going to do is go to Iran, find some cute Iranian girl and drive around on the highways until we get pulled over. Surely they'll take one look at me and assume we're doing something untoward, and BAM! Wife. Simple as that. Although, I would have to pretend I'm Muslim, and that could be a problem given that I can't grow a beard. Perhaps a prosthetic? Either way, this kid's going places. And it ain't California.
Well, it's time for bed. My next project is going to be taking some photos of all my friends here and give you a little about them. The photography situation in the Midwest is abysmal (a developer in Chicago charges $25 to send 4x5 slides back the 120 odd miles, on top of the $3 to develop each slide, outragious). So I'm going to get some 35mm black and white. Nice and artsy. But I won't leave you hanging. Here are some photos I took of my place. I don't know how to post them here (or if it's even possible) so I posted them on my filckr site. To get there, go here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/23600488@N08/sets/72157622201598351/
Well, I'm off to bed. Remember: don't trust anyone over thirty.
Cheers.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
For Pug
Today I must say goodbye to one of my dearest friends, Igor the Pug. I met Igor when he was just a little pup and I immediately fell in love with that ultra-expressive, velvet-soft face. I remember coming back to the Dixon’s house late at night with Lewis to find Igor sleeping on his chair. We could never keep ourselves from waking him up and sticking our faces in his. He would always lick your face snuffling and grunting, then work his way to your ear so he could chew on it. During waking hours I loved to get him worked up playing to the point where he would sprint around the room. The faster he went the closer his butt would get to the ground.
I am not able to be with my little buddy for his last moments but I did get a chance to say a few final words to him over the phone. I told him that he is a champion, and that I try to live by his teachings. He has taught me that I must keep things in perspective. There are no things more important than family, sleep, food and a friend to rub your back. He taught me to never waste an opportunity to enjoy the sun. Lying in the sun in your backyard is a perfectly productive, and in fact essential, activity.
I also told Igor that I would likely never find a better sleeping buddy. I cherish the memories of nights spent sleeping with Igor on the couch in the family room. On a cold winter night there is nothing like having a snoring Pug at your side, singing you to sleep and warming you at the same time.
I know Pug is surrounded by the ones who love him most. My heart goes out to the Dixon family. As hard as this is on me I know it is immeasurably harder on them. They raised a great one and anyone who has had the pleasure of meeting Igor is in their debt. My personal debt to them is immense, and I hope these words can offer some kind of solace.
I don’t remember if I managed to choke out a goodbye to my friend, but I hope I didn’t. I don’t want him to get the impression that I won’t see him again. Our story is not over. This chapter may be finished but there is a whole book yet to be written. I’m just going to have to be patient. I know that Igor will be waiting for me at his place in the sun with a piggy-chew and his hedgehog. But until then I will miss my friend dearly. I love you Pug. I look forward to the day I can rub your shoulders and press my face into yours again.
I am not able to be with my little buddy for his last moments but I did get a chance to say a few final words to him over the phone. I told him that he is a champion, and that I try to live by his teachings. He has taught me that I must keep things in perspective. There are no things more important than family, sleep, food and a friend to rub your back. He taught me to never waste an opportunity to enjoy the sun. Lying in the sun in your backyard is a perfectly productive, and in fact essential, activity.
I also told Igor that I would likely never find a better sleeping buddy. I cherish the memories of nights spent sleeping with Igor on the couch in the family room. On a cold winter night there is nothing like having a snoring Pug at your side, singing you to sleep and warming you at the same time.
I know Pug is surrounded by the ones who love him most. My heart goes out to the Dixon family. As hard as this is on me I know it is immeasurably harder on them. They raised a great one and anyone who has had the pleasure of meeting Igor is in their debt. My personal debt to them is immense, and I hope these words can offer some kind of solace.
I don’t remember if I managed to choke out a goodbye to my friend, but I hope I didn’t. I don’t want him to get the impression that I won’t see him again. Our story is not over. This chapter may be finished but there is a whole book yet to be written. I’m just going to have to be patient. I know that Igor will be waiting for me at his place in the sun with a piggy-chew and his hedgehog. But until then I will miss my friend dearly. I love you Pug. I look forward to the day I can rub your shoulders and press my face into yours again.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
In the Beginning there was . . .
Hello and welcome. Though I have already made one posting I consider this to be the inaugural address of The Dismal Reeder. While there is much to cover I expect I won’t get to all of it. I’ve got laundry running and I’m sure that getting up to throw stuff in the dryer will cause me to forget some brilliant sentence, anecdote or idea. And, might I add, that this is no small task, because I know my audience. Not only will my mom be reading this very attentively, but also the Dixons, Simmons, and one Eldridge-Burns. All of the above are very adept with words. There’s a lot of pressure. I keep thinking of a cartoon boiler about to explode; swelling and shaking violently, whistling as it shoots rivets from its seams. Hopefully this will be a boiler that doesn’t explode, but instead gives out a final, anticlimactic cough and wheeze as it sags forward in a tired slouch. If I’m going to explode there are a couple souls I’d like to take with me. But I don’t want to get into a discussion about the merits of suicide bombing. My good friend Lewis came up with the name “The Dismal Reeder,” which is a clever play on Economics’ alternate name, “The Dismal Science,” and my name, Reed. I myself am not dismal at all. Quite the contrary. Give me a few weeks in econ graduate school and the title could be more literal than I would like.
I suppose I should cover the drive first. It was long. Southern Idaho sucks. Wyoming sucks until you get to the Medicine Bowl. All of Kansas, that I saw, sucks. And “I’ll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognized Mizzourah.” John Mateer assured me that all of Kansas does not, in fact, suck. According to him there are places in Kansas where all you can see for miles are sunflowers. I saw no sunflowers, John. It was a let down. What I did see in Kansas were lots of billboards along I-70 about Jesus and abortion; all the same old sayings. You know: “Jesus is the way” and “Jesus died for us,” and ‘ain’t you glad your momma chose life?’ But the best one was a head shot of Jesus in a wheat field holding a wheat stock. No words. It made me want a billboard along a heavily traveled interstate. What better way to force people to look at your nonsense? Most of them are probably desperate for stimulus anyway.
By far the best part of the drive was seeing John Mateer and Robert Story along the way. I wish I had more time with both. Having not seen John in four or so years, it was especially nice to get to sit down with him and catch up. John works the night shift saving lives in the emergency room. He had to work the night I arrived so our time was limited to a few hours the next morning, but I wouldn’t trade those hours for the world. John has the heartiest, most genuine laugh in all of Creation, and it’s addicting, quite possibly the heroine of laughs. Lucky for me I lived with Jake Lewis in Woodstock and had some good stories to share so I could get my fix. I already miss it.
The problem with spending as much time as possible in Boulder with John was that it cut into my time for visiting with Robert in Topeka. I did get to sit and talk with him during a trip he made to Portland a few months before my journey so it was not a Hey-I-haven’t-seen-you-since-high-school-and-I-know-I-didn’t-get-in-until-11pm-and-you-have-to-work-in-the-morning-but-thanks-for-shacking-me-up-for-a-night situation. But it would have been nice to be able to sit down to a leisurely dinner and beer with my friend. In the end I can’t thank the two of them enough for providing me with places to stay along the way. Knowing that there was a friendly, familiar face ahead at the next rest stop made the trip infinitely better.
Now that I’m here and settling myself in, it seems less and less insane that I’m 2100 miles away from home in a strange town about to start graduate school. As I write this I have two days left before our week long orientation begins. The humidity is not as bad as I expected and quite tolerable. Urbana itself is a charming little place. There is a beautiful historic district with as many trees as any neighborhood in Portland that I travel on my way to campus. My apartment is fabulous. It’s amazing how when you’re paying for it, you avoid turning on lights like you’re allergic. I have a big living room and decent sized bedroom with a wee kitchen, plenty big for one person, in between and off to the side. I have yet to meet anyone from my building.
I realize that this is probably getting a little boring. ‘I did this . . .’ ‘There is this . . .’ and so on. I can’t say I’ve had an experience worthy of being written about. I talked to a Mormon guy on campus for a little bit. We’d been discussing how many faiths there are and he tried to tell me that Mormonism was the one true faith because he prayed about it and God said that it was. I said, ‘good for you, but my understanding is that the Book of Mormon is the weirdest of them all.’ He claimed it was no stranger than the Old Testament. And to that I must say, “Touché.” The Old Testament is down right strange. And yet, within all that weirdness, religion has set itself up well to assert its legitimacy. The Mormon even said that just like many of the Old Testament prophets and their followers, the Mormon prophet and his followers are seen by the masses as being loonies. “Clever girl,” I say with an Australian accent.
Well Sir, the time to rap this up is nigh as I’m starting to ramble. Sometimes when I write, a feeling comes upon me that says, “Hey, Jerk Off, quit wasting their time. Where do you get off, eh?” And I always know that the belligerent, New York Italian guy in my head is right. It’s time to call it a day and wait until next time.
My vision for this blog is small updates, a few sentences to a few paragraphs, mixed in with larger “articles” or “stories” that I’ve attempted to write well. That way this blog might be something interesting to read instead of being my own glorified Twitter. Much love to everyone.
Post Script: It is now two days later. The reason for the posting delay is that the person in my building with “free” wireless rudely password protected it. What’s the world coming to these days?
I suppose I should cover the drive first. It was long. Southern Idaho sucks. Wyoming sucks until you get to the Medicine Bowl. All of Kansas, that I saw, sucks. And “I’ll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognized Mizzourah.” John Mateer assured me that all of Kansas does not, in fact, suck. According to him there are places in Kansas where all you can see for miles are sunflowers. I saw no sunflowers, John. It was a let down. What I did see in Kansas were lots of billboards along I-70 about Jesus and abortion; all the same old sayings. You know: “Jesus is the way” and “Jesus died for us,” and ‘ain’t you glad your momma chose life?’ But the best one was a head shot of Jesus in a wheat field holding a wheat stock. No words. It made me want a billboard along a heavily traveled interstate. What better way to force people to look at your nonsense? Most of them are probably desperate for stimulus anyway.
By far the best part of the drive was seeing John Mateer and Robert Story along the way. I wish I had more time with both. Having not seen John in four or so years, it was especially nice to get to sit down with him and catch up. John works the night shift saving lives in the emergency room. He had to work the night I arrived so our time was limited to a few hours the next morning, but I wouldn’t trade those hours for the world. John has the heartiest, most genuine laugh in all of Creation, and it’s addicting, quite possibly the heroine of laughs. Lucky for me I lived with Jake Lewis in Woodstock and had some good stories to share so I could get my fix. I already miss it.
The problem with spending as much time as possible in Boulder with John was that it cut into my time for visiting with Robert in Topeka. I did get to sit and talk with him during a trip he made to Portland a few months before my journey so it was not a Hey-I-haven’t-seen-you-since-high-school-and-I-know-I-didn’t-get-in-until-11pm-and-you-have-to-work-in-the-morning-but-thanks-for-shacking-me-up-for-a-night situation. But it would have been nice to be able to sit down to a leisurely dinner and beer with my friend. In the end I can’t thank the two of them enough for providing me with places to stay along the way. Knowing that there was a friendly, familiar face ahead at the next rest stop made the trip infinitely better.
Now that I’m here and settling myself in, it seems less and less insane that I’m 2100 miles away from home in a strange town about to start graduate school. As I write this I have two days left before our week long orientation begins. The humidity is not as bad as I expected and quite tolerable. Urbana itself is a charming little place. There is a beautiful historic district with as many trees as any neighborhood in Portland that I travel on my way to campus. My apartment is fabulous. It’s amazing how when you’re paying for it, you avoid turning on lights like you’re allergic. I have a big living room and decent sized bedroom with a wee kitchen, plenty big for one person, in between and off to the side. I have yet to meet anyone from my building.
I realize that this is probably getting a little boring. ‘I did this . . .’ ‘There is this . . .’ and so on. I can’t say I’ve had an experience worthy of being written about. I talked to a Mormon guy on campus for a little bit. We’d been discussing how many faiths there are and he tried to tell me that Mormonism was the one true faith because he prayed about it and God said that it was. I said, ‘good for you, but my understanding is that the Book of Mormon is the weirdest of them all.’ He claimed it was no stranger than the Old Testament. And to that I must say, “Touché.” The Old Testament is down right strange. And yet, within all that weirdness, religion has set itself up well to assert its legitimacy. The Mormon even said that just like many of the Old Testament prophets and their followers, the Mormon prophet and his followers are seen by the masses as being loonies. “Clever girl,” I say with an Australian accent.
Well Sir, the time to rap this up is nigh as I’m starting to ramble. Sometimes when I write, a feeling comes upon me that says, “Hey, Jerk Off, quit wasting their time. Where do you get off, eh?” And I always know that the belligerent, New York Italian guy in my head is right. It’s time to call it a day and wait until next time.
My vision for this blog is small updates, a few sentences to a few paragraphs, mixed in with larger “articles” or “stories” that I’ve attempted to write well. That way this blog might be something interesting to read instead of being my own glorified Twitter. Much love to everyone.
Post Script: It is now two days later. The reason for the posting delay is that the person in my building with “free” wireless rudely password protected it. What’s the world coming to these days?
Friday, August 7, 2009
Creation
I've been convinced by the Dixon/Simmons clan that I must start a blog to keep everyone informed of my doings while off at grad school in Urbana-Champaign, IL.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
