Tuna and Puppy

Well here it is, my 230th post.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, given that 230th seems rather large and some sort of benchmark in a way, but I said screw it and decided to write whatever came to mind.
Last week I got an offer to be a freelance writer for the Loudoun-Times Mirror (a situation that requires a lot of background and a whole lot of what could be chalked up to dumb luck). Today was a day off so I was working on my writing samples, which, for some reason, is the most stressful thing for me. Today I got a phone call from an editor at the Times-Mirror, asking if I'd be interested in interviewing for a position as an editorial assistant, a full time position. Oh and by the way, the interview is tomorrow. Have everything ready at 9am. Gulp. So tomorrow I interview for that, then head to my other job. The resume was easy to get together, but the writing samples--why is it so damn intimidating? I only have a few pieces I've written that I can look at and say, "Yes, that is actually what I wanted it to be." everything else is like a parent and a child: I only started it--what it became is a mystery. After much struggling I went with slight changes to a paper I wrote in college on (I kid you not) the religious dimentions of the railroad, and a story I wrote last year about a friend and a fire. I don't even know what they want, so we shall soon see how it all pans out.
Gosh, 230 posts. What the hell have I been saying?
That first post came before Thanksgiving senior year of college. Here I am, almost three years later, in my warm little townhouse with my three girlfriends and two cats, one that looks like a fish ("Tuna" as I like to call her, who is currently pushing at my left arm) and "Puppy" the kitten that seriously acts like a dog (and I hate cats. They aren't mine). I have a great car, a decent job, my family is close (but not stifling), my friends are nearby and numerous. I have community, I have adventures, I have options and plans. What I have been through in those 230 posts has been both hilarious and tragic. But I'm happy.
Tonight I had dinner with Natalie, my old mentor from high school. We had a long conversation about fear, and eventually I admitted that my hesitancy to go back to a doctor about my back pain stems directly out of fear. The last time I went brought too much in the way of possibilities and tragedies: I hardly think myself capable of handling such weights again. I never realized it until tonight: I hate that fear is dictating such a large part of my life. But what of it?

Mystery

Every year at this time I sing the same song; it is a consistency regardless of my location. So much so that I had to reread past blogs to make sure I'm not reposting. If I am outside and can feel this transitional air, I cannot help singing to myself:
"I could go crazy on a night like tonight
When summer's beginning to give up her fight
Every thought's a possibility
Voices are heard but nothing is seen
Why do you spend this time with me
Maybe an equal mystery.." *
I can remember being on a camping trip with my youth group in 1994, listening to that song on my walkman (yes, it was a tape) and looking up at the stars. It is still, over ten years later, a vivid and vibrant memory. In that memory there is a feeling--that mix of environment and experience, emotion and encounters--that arises when the season suggests its shift. I am basking in it.
And that question, "Why do you spend this time with me?" is something I think we all want to ask those that we love. In hopes of what? Identity? Affirmation? Is there a deeper meaning in that mystery of encounters? Why do we want so badly to be seen or be known anyway? Every person I have met has had a deep and basic desire to know and be known by someone or something; where and when we find what we seek: that is really the great mystery.

* From "Mystery" by the Indigo Girls. Off 1994's "Swamp Ophelia".

Be a Better Yuppie

Guest post:
"...we are at a disadvantage because the Jesus that exists in our minds is hardly the real Jesus. The Jesus on CNN, the Jesus in our books and in our movies, the Jesus that is a collection of evangelical personalities, is often a Jesus of the suburbs, a Jesus who wants you to be a better yuppie, a Jesus who is extremely political and supports a specific party, a Jesus who has declared a kind of culture war in the name of our children, a Jesus who worked through the founding fathers to begin America, a Jesus who dresses very well, speaks perfect English, has three points that fulfill any number of promises and wants you and me to be, above all, comfortable. Is this the real Jesus?
Is Jesus sitting in the lifeboat with us, stroking our backs and telling us we are the ones who are right and one day these other infidels are going to to pay, that we are the ones who are going to survive and the others are going to be thrown over because we are Calvinists, Armenians, Baptists, Methodists, Catholics; because we are Republicans, Democrats, conservatives, or liberals; because we attend a big church, a small church, an ethnically diverse church, a house church, or is Jesus acting in our hearts to reach out to the person who isn't like us--the oppressed, the poor, the unchurched--and to humble ourselves, give of our money, build our communities in love, give oru time, our creativity, get on our knees before our enemies in humility, treating them as the Scripture says, as people who are more important that we are? The latter is the Jesus of Scripture; the former, which is infinately more popular in evangelical culture, is a myth sharing a genre with unicorns."
Donald Miller, Searching for God Knows What

So what to do about it though? How do I live what I know?

A Real Mousekateer

So I was up at camp this weekend, working a team development course (TDC) for the senior class of a private school. It's a whole lot more work than it sounds. Anyway, I have a confession:
I think I picked up a mouse and threw it in my sleep last night.
Let me back up.
The two summers I lived at camp, I lived in a 9x12 platform tent (think boyscout-esque) and as it is not a totally sealed space, I often shared it (and thus all my belongings) with a myriad of mice, spiders, snakes, moths, and hell on insect legs (spider crickets, the creature that gives me the jibblies just naming). In my tenure there I got very good at defending my space without fully waking up. I kept a pile of shoes by my bed and got good at throwing them in the vicinity of the noise without opening my eyes. The mice loved the space between my tent and the rainfly, and if I listened well, I could calculate when it was right above me and punch the tent hard, thus launching said mouse off into the woods. Hey if they ate holes in everything you own and tried to crawl on you while you were sleeping you'd launch them too. So Sunday night I was once again back in the old staff tents, sleeping on a standard cot in my down sleeping bag when I (this is all assumption) realized there was a mouse that was crawling on my sleeping bag, toward my head. I don't like mice coming toward my head. So I waited til it got close, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, and threw it out the flap of the tent. This is when I woke up, sitting up right, staring at the tent flap.
I, for the life of me, have no idea if I did it or not. I don't sleep walk or do strange actions like that, so I am fairly certain that I did pick a brown field mouse up by its neck and throw it out of my tent, all while sound asleep. But I guess it's just a mystery. Wow that is weird.
Next week I'll catch a copperhead with my toes and throw it through a loop.

Cheers and Jeers

Cheer:
Gilmore Girls season premiere was FINALLY HERE!

Jeer:
The WB website gave the whole thing away beforehand. No surprises. Bah.

Cheer:
Dar Williams' album came out today!

Jeer:
Went on CD buying binge that was not needed.

Cheer:
Dar Williams "My Better Self"
Led Zeppelin "The Early Years"
White Stripes "Get Behind Me Satan"
Elliott Smith "Basement On A Hill"
and some others but I'm getting embarassed at my spending spree. Note: some were used.

Cheer:
Watched Gilmore Girls season premiere with Chad Danner, while drinking a cosmo.

Challenge:
Making sure Chad didn't speak through the show.

Cheer:
Hanging out with Hatch, Chad and Maskey.

Jeer:
The game of Uno THAT WOULD NOT EVER END.

Cheer:
The camping excursion in my backyard with Caroline and Murphy and ODB OBS that is coming forthwith.

Cheer:
Did I mention the camping trip was awesome?

Jeer:
Liz telling me "I think you need to take care of your deepest desire first..." and making me try to figure that one out...

Jeer:
The shower fixture that daily changes where hot, cold and off lie on its spectrum of watery misadventures. It's extreme showering. A new sport if you will.

This morning I posted while sitting in my towel; now I'm in PJs and my roommate is trying to sleep next to me (as big Chad is in her bed). Peace out from the DDH.

Lovesong for the Gator

The camping trip was a smashing success. We had about 30 kids and leaders up at the camp that I've been with for five years and it was close to perfect. Camp is a rather large area, much of which is located on a rather steep incline. On an average camp day, I'll probably walk about six miles.
Thus begins my lovesong for the Gator.
This past summer, camp bought a 6x4 John Deere Gator, and it has changed my life. I think that if I owned a Gator, I would end up weighing 300 pounds because I'd cease all activity outside of driving the Gator. Like everything I did this weekend centered around "...so I can drive the gator." Its six-wheeled goodness and special steering wheel knob took me over steep inclines, tree stumps, and gave me enough spiderwebs to the face to make we wear my sunglasses at night to keep them out of my eyes. Sunday evening I got back in my car and I had forgotten how to drive anything other than a Gator, so deep was my affection. Here's to you, Gator. Most useful thing I didn't know I needed.
Other Shoutouts:
Gilmore Girls season premiere tonight!
Dar Williams' new album (w/duet of "Comfortably Numb" with Ani Difranco?)
Stephanie Chapman has songs on Bonnie Raitt's new album, and Trisha Yearwood's! Holla to you, Schlosser!

Campy Happy People

Em and Liz (my two loyal readers) have both recently told me to lighten up and post more.
Bla. I have a chronic and serious condition that prohibits me from being funny on a Blog. Not good enough?
Fine, I'll go camping.
Talk to ya Monday.
Or something.
Think I'll start a Sports Illustrated-esque "This week's sign of the Apocolapse":
"Over and Over" by Nelly and Tim McGraw was a hit.
On VH1. And MTV. And CMT.
Explain this one to me.