Little People

This will be post #102 on Blogspot for me. I would have said something at post #100, but I didn't notice for some reason.

So today, Sandi gave me a "Passion of the Christ" promotional button. I was very excited, and I put it on my backpack.

I'm currently eating a bowl of soup. I'm beginning to hate soup very much. I need a new favorite food, so I can eat it until I'm sick of it.

Juice of the week: "Peach Orchard Punch." It's wonderful. And each carton is only $1. That's right. $1.

I interviewed two girls today about a play they were in. Theatre people really know how to speak. I got 50 minutes of interview on tape. This is gonna take years to finish.

You can rake pretty little swirls in the sand all you want, but the ocean will always wash them away.

Ummmmm

Need I say more?

I dunno

I feel the need to write something, because I've neglected the mighty BLOG for nearly a week.

Blake came to town last Thursday night, and that was crazy fun. We ran and hung out. It was a great break after I spent the entire day writing an oh-so-important story for the parent's weekend issue of the Lariat (Sidenote: the story was not included in said issue).

But no hard feelings. I drove to McKinney on Friday, and the nasty, nasty traffic put me in a strange mood. I had dinner with my folks, then visted my grandma. Goodtimes.

Saturday - I awoke early and left for Ft. Worth at 8 a.m. I got there about 9:30. I recorded at Marshall's until about 4:30, then I hauled it back to Waco-ville.

Sunday - My folks came to Waco to visit my church. I was unsusually lethargic during the sermon.

We went to Johnny Carino's for lunch, and I had some really rich chicken marsala and a mound of cheesecake. It was nuts.

I read and slept and fell into a trance for the remainder of the day.

And I had a walk in my Brit Lit class today, so I had extra time to wander campus and listen to the iPod - which, by the way, is a pretty sweet contraption.

iPod has arrived.

Ummmm...

Here's an email I just got from some random BIC person.

Dear fellow BICers-

October 11th is National Coming Out Day. I'm straight, as I'm sure a good chunk of you are too, but to follow a really cool tradition that was started at Duke to make a non-aggressive but clearly visibile anti-homophobic statement, I wanted to know who would be interested in wearing one of these: http://www.finebyme.org/
Send me emails quick cause I need to get the ball rolling.

Yes, I know some of you wouldn't. Don't bother sending me your hate mail, I just don't care.

Best and good luck on all ya'lls tests,

Christina

I dunno. I just thought it was entertaining.

For the love...

I was thinking about people today, as I sat and drank my lemon tea by the memorial fountain.

There are things about people that we often feel obligated to "tolerate" or "excuse."

These are the things that make us human. These are the things we should love and embrace.

Old School

I know how to load and operate this sucka.

When I get a little money, my creativity will run wild.

Hello, productive day.

Two hearts fading, like a flower.
And all this waiting, for the power.
For some answer, to this fire.
Sinking slowly. The water's higher.

Desire

With no secrets. No obsession.
This time I'm speeding with no direction.
Without a reason. What is this fire?
Burning slowly. My one and only.

Desire

Ryan Adams, you're a flippin' sage.

Flag football team shirts. That's me on the left.

Being alive.

Every Monday and Wednesday, I get out of class at noon. I have an hour before the next class.

So each day, I go to the bookstore and buy a bottle of lemon tea and two packages of peanut butter crackers. I sit next to the memorial fountain and eat them.

This is me in my element.

Some Spanish guy is yelling at the top of his lungs about Windex. Right outside my bedroom.

In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains ...

I got a fever...

... and the only cure is an iPod.

Just ordered one of these puppies. I hope they're as cool as everyone says.

The lady of the hour.

My life closed twice before its close --
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

I read last night, in the library, that the majority of Dickinson's poems can be sung to the tune of "Yellow Rose of Texas."

This revelation has provided me many hours of enjoyment.

Oh, dear.

Lightly stepped a yellow star
To its lofty place --
Loosed the Moon her silver hat
From her lustral Face --
All of Evening softly lit
As an Astral Hall --
Father, I observed to Heaven,
You are punctual.

-Emily Dickinson

Here's what I've done today.

I wrote this sucka this morning. Enjoy. (Britt, this one's for you.)

Election time is near. Americans stir like aggravated ants. It’s a time of high hopes and euphemisms, of baby-kissing and mudslinging. It’s a time of white smiles, blue suits and red power ties.

For the nation, the big decision brings the excitement of Christmas. For the press, it’s a three-ring circus.

Election time is about getting slapped in the face with the same information – over and over again. Television stations fill airtime with talking-head commentary. Radio personalities chatter nonstop, swaying public opinions with biting remarks and wheezing laugher. News stories uncover a thousand new scandals each day.

It’s overwhelming.

At election time, America is a zoo. Campaigns are in full force. Candidates are dancing on tightropes and shooting themselves from cannons. You’re surrounded on all sides by bloody battles for public support. You can’t run, and you can’t hide.

To be frank, the election is tiring. Between print and broadcast media, there’s more information out there than the average American can swallow. And the news repeats itself. Stations boast “round-the clock” coverage, but have no substance to fill the time.

It’s like being forced to eat the world’s largest hamburger, without any meat.

Jim Murphy, executive producer of “CBS Evening News,” said it best.

"It's a standing joke around here how little regard I have for the over-coverage of American politics,” he said in Howard Kurtz’ Media Notes. “The endless analysis of strategy, the endless inside baseball – it’s for political junkies, not the general audience. So much gets written and broadcast that just makes people's eyes glaze over.”

A flawless description.

I tried to keep up, but I fell into a brain-numbing trance. My politically-minded friends preached at me. “Be informed!” “This is the world we live in!” I would love to appease them, or even make them proud of me. But it’s useless.

Campaigns are filled with finger-pointing and fierce accusations. Media only makes this worse, by acting as a vehicle. If somebody said it, the media will print it. And it wears me out.

John Kerry’s “swift boat” controversy is a prime example. A group of veterans, known as "Swiftboat Veterans for Truth," challenged Kerry’s military record and claimed that he was not deserving of his “war hero” status. Kerry’s staff, in response, defended the honors he received. It has grown into a ridiculous discussion over the truth of a few facts.

Then there was the classic “weapons of mass destruction” debate. Did Saddam Hussein really manufacture nuclear weapons? Did the United States really have a reason to go to war with Iraq? Do we really have a reason to be there now? It’s an endless barrage of questions and mysteries.

There are so many voices, demanding to be heard. It’s impossible to know who to believe.

I’ve almost given up.

News certainly has lessened my appetite for politics – not just over the course of this current campaign, but over a few years. When I first learned about political theory and how the government is run, I loved it. I was excited about being a citizen and having a voice. But in the practical application, in reading the paper and watching the evening news, politics became drudgery. And I lost interest.

I still feel a duty to be informed. I’m not throwing in the towel yet. There’s still a lot to be learned from the news, and I can’t use disinterest as an excuse to avoid the world.

This circus of opinion – this juggling of facts, these flaming hoops of criticism – is what free press is all about. Journalists will report on what’s happening in our nation and world, whether it’s an act of bravery or a backhanded scandal. We must take the good with the bad.

If there’s chaos in the news, it’s because there’s chaos in our culture. I can’t hide from one, unless I hide from both.

I’ll grab my popcorn and find my seat in the stands.

The sound of living

I have a lot to do this week. I can't say I'm looking forward to it.

By Tuesday, I must write an editorial about the press' coverage of the presidential elections. Please note: I have not watched the news or read the paper in a matter of months. Feel free to leave comments or suggestions related to this problem. I'm not kidding.

I have to give a presentation about Emily Dickenson this Friday. I've got a lot to learn, and very little time to do so. Suggestions?

Hope your week is full of fresh fruit and small woodland creatures.

(And PS ... I saw this >>> piece of art in July, during a visit to the Smithsonian)

Me, for one night only.

A Tale of Woe

Dear, dear Poncho. Friend to all, and the bravest lil' cowboy I ever met.

Poncho was a fighter. I could see it from the start. I saunterd, excitedly, into Wal-Mart this afternoon, in search of a fish for my beloved cousin, Jessica. I scoured the entire fish isle for the perfect friend, the perfect companion ... then our eyes met.

He peered, longingly, through the murkey waters in his plastic container, begging me to release him. He was more beautiful than all the other Bettas - with bright, flowing red fins and a touch of iridescent gold on his body. He was a ruby, a precious gem. And his name was Poncho.

I selected the finest of foods and the brightest of marbles to fill his new home ... a coffee pot in Jessica's dorm room. I was so ecstatic, I gave Poncho a little kiss on the nose. He just smiled and shook his head.

A Journey

The drive home was an adventure. Poncho had never ridden on the dash before, but he held on tight, like the fighter he is. All the way to Ruth Collins Hall.

Jessica seemed to connect with Poncho immediately, though it took her a while to spell his name correctly. The three of us talked and laughed for ... I don't know how long ... the time flew by, we were having such fun.

I cleaned little Poncho's coffee pot, and filled it with room temperature water (he told me he liked that). Then tragedy struck.

A Battle

As I gently lifted my little hombre from his plastic container, for placement in the coffee pot, he lept from my hand and landed on my toes. With haste, I tenderly picked him up and placed him in his new home ...

... or ... his deathbed.

An Ending

Jessica and I fed Poncho his gormet Betta food, hoping to lift his spirits. But he refused to eat. He only circled his coffee pot, occasionally pecking at the surface for air.

But within the half hour, we could see that Poncho was fading. I'd never seen him look so pale, so ghastly. I could see the life leaving his face.

I pleaded with him to stay alive ... for me ... for Jessica ... for little Clementine ... But he didn't have to say a word. His eyes told of pain much deeper than the ocean, darker than the blackest sin. And with a sigh, Poncho released his last breath.

Jessica and I sat in bewilderment. Could this be real? Could we have saved him? It was hard, but we had to realize that it was Poncho's time. My time will come someday, and I'll have to say "goodbye" to the ones I love most.

But I only hope I can leave this place with honor, with dignity. I hope I can leave, knowing I lived a life of adventure, a life of love.

Just like Poncho.

Oh Yeah

Yeah, Baby. Hall and Oates. That's right.

Wednesday is kinda cool this semester. It's a rough day, but when it's done, the rest of the week is nothing.

I had my first Lariat story published yesterday, and I think another one is coming out Friday. Maybe I'll make it through that class after all.

I've decided to change my major ot English, 'cause that's what all the cool kids are doing. I really love my British Literature class. American Lit... ehhh... it's alright. So yeah. Smart people, here I come. I'm joining your club.

I've been listening to Wilco a lot for the past week. It's definitely growing on me. I understand I made a mistake starting out with "A Ghost is Born," but whatever. It's cool.

Britt's making me watch the Republican national convention tonight on CNN or something. So big political party. Yeeeaaah.

I'm going to record some this weekend, up there in Ft. Worth with Marshall. We'll see how that goes. Borders on Saturday night. Rock'n'Roll.

I'll update more later. And for the record, that's totally not a picture of me down there. I mean, look at him. Where are the bulging muscles and sweet ninja swords? Totally not me.