I finally feel at least a bit relaxed, not entirely, but more so than I have in the last 2 days. (let me stop for just a second and tell you, I'm typing on a German keyboard, and many letters and symbols are in different places....I am becoming frustrated already, because I keep having to hit the backspace key) I am at my school, although I did not attend any classes today, I have been to my new home-for-the-summer, shed my backpack and showered, and there is nothing left to do but exist in a different country for a few weeks.
I realize more than ever before how different my brother and I are. What he loves doing, traveling and all of the things that accompany being a vagabond, I have realized I do not. Dislike is not quite accurate, but I certainly could not live the way I have for the last two days all of the time. I enjoy my routine. I like having a place to sleep, showers, bathrooms (that you do not have to pay to use), coffee maker, books, computer; a like having a home. Right now I miss having a home to go home to. (I also really miss Julie....but that is for another time)
I made it to London yesterday at 8:45 am, and, as the previous post indicated, I wandered aimlessly through the city trying to find some ghost of a trainstation that would take me on an overnight to Munich. When I first posted yesterday, I had been walking with my boulder of a backpack for an hour or two, but that was only the beginning. After I left the cafe, I was sure I knew where to go; surely the new set of directions could not be as bad as the first. I was wrong. The directions were not as bad as they were vague. I spent the next several hours walking through London, seeing everything I had ever heard about, but not having time to stop and look around. Finally, I gave up. I hopped a train to Brussels, being told I could find a connection to Munich from there.
As hard as I am trying to remember, I have no recollection of the train ride to Brussels. I remember the station in London, being grilled by a customs agent, eating an overpriced (isn't everthing in London?) bagel (first meal since 6:00 am), waiting in another waiting room for a couple of hours, and then I cannot even picture the train.
In Brussels I hit a wall. I was tired by the time I arrived there, having not slept more than 15 or so minutes at a time since I left Dallas, and so I was desperate to find a way to Munich. There were not direct connections, but I worked it out where I could take a train to Paris and then layover a few hours and take an all-nighter to Munich. The clerk asked if I would be willing to pay an extra 10€ for a bed on the second train, and I only laughed...that sounded GREAT!!
Paris woke me up a bit. It was cold and rainy, but what a beautiful place. I only wandered around for an hour or so, but that was enough to hook me. I think I will try to talk Julie into going there. It is tough to explain, but there is something uniquely magical about that place. Whereas walking around in London is like walking around New York City, crowded and hostile, Paris was very calm and inviting. I went and had a beer in a cozy little cafe where no one spoke English, though oddly beer did not need a translation, and then I caught my train to Munich.
A bed never looked so good as the one on that train last night. It was one of 6 bunks in a tiny room, each filled by a person. There was one English spoke, though he spoke French and German as well, one Frenchman, and three Germans. The trilingualist and one of the Germans talked well into the night, and so I laid in my bunk attempting to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. It is funny to me how different the European mind is from the American. Six strangers shared a room together last night, and it was no big deal. I really enjoyed the experience.
I finally arrived in Munich at 9:00 am, had a cup of Milchkaffee, which we would call a latte, and navigated the public transportation system to my new home. After meeting Max, the other half of my host-couple, Constantine and I (he is a Athenian couch surfer staying with Anja and Max) headed back into the city, he to museums, and I to register at school. So, here I am.
Now I am off to buy my books.....and a JACKET. It is rainy and cold here! Max and Constantine both laughed when they heard that I was advised it would be hot here. They said it might be summer-like weather in July, but probably not anytime soon. Oh well, it just adds to the adventure.
Till next time.
I realize more than ever before how different my brother and I are. What he loves doing, traveling and all of the things that accompany being a vagabond, I have realized I do not. Dislike is not quite accurate, but I certainly could not live the way I have for the last two days all of the time. I enjoy my routine. I like having a place to sleep, showers, bathrooms (that you do not have to pay to use), coffee maker, books, computer; a like having a home. Right now I miss having a home to go home to. (I also really miss Julie....but that is for another time)
I made it to London yesterday at 8:45 am, and, as the previous post indicated, I wandered aimlessly through the city trying to find some ghost of a trainstation that would take me on an overnight to Munich. When I first posted yesterday, I had been walking with my boulder of a backpack for an hour or two, but that was only the beginning. After I left the cafe, I was sure I knew where to go; surely the new set of directions could not be as bad as the first. I was wrong. The directions were not as bad as they were vague. I spent the next several hours walking through London, seeing everything I had ever heard about, but not having time to stop and look around. Finally, I gave up. I hopped a train to Brussels, being told I could find a connection to Munich from there.
As hard as I am trying to remember, I have no recollection of the train ride to Brussels. I remember the station in London, being grilled by a customs agent, eating an overpriced (isn't everthing in London?) bagel (first meal since 6:00 am), waiting in another waiting room for a couple of hours, and then I cannot even picture the train.
In Brussels I hit a wall. I was tired by the time I arrived there, having not slept more than 15 or so minutes at a time since I left Dallas, and so I was desperate to find a way to Munich. There were not direct connections, but I worked it out where I could take a train to Paris and then layover a few hours and take an all-nighter to Munich. The clerk asked if I would be willing to pay an extra 10€ for a bed on the second train, and I only laughed...that sounded GREAT!!
Paris woke me up a bit. It was cold and rainy, but what a beautiful place. I only wandered around for an hour or so, but that was enough to hook me. I think I will try to talk Julie into going there. It is tough to explain, but there is something uniquely magical about that place. Whereas walking around in London is like walking around New York City, crowded and hostile, Paris was very calm and inviting. I went and had a beer in a cozy little cafe where no one spoke English, though oddly beer did not need a translation, and then I caught my train to Munich.
A bed never looked so good as the one on that train last night. It was one of 6 bunks in a tiny room, each filled by a person. There was one English spoke, though he spoke French and German as well, one Frenchman, and three Germans. The trilingualist and one of the Germans talked well into the night, and so I laid in my bunk attempting to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. It is funny to me how different the European mind is from the American. Six strangers shared a room together last night, and it was no big deal. I really enjoyed the experience.
I finally arrived in Munich at 9:00 am, had a cup of Milchkaffee, which we would call a latte, and navigated the public transportation system to my new home. After meeting Max, the other half of my host-couple, Constantine and I (he is a Athenian couch surfer staying with Anja and Max) headed back into the city, he to museums, and I to register at school. So, here I am.
Now I am off to buy my books.....and a JACKET. It is rainy and cold here! Max and Constantine both laughed when they heard that I was advised it would be hot here. They said it might be summer-like weather in July, but probably not anytime soon. Oh well, it just adds to the adventure.
Till next time.
I am lost in London. Not being funny...completely serious. I received vague-to-bad help from Gatwick, and now I am somewhere downtown looking for EurRail. I have no doubt that I will find it, but my back is hurting and I'm exhausted, so I thought it would do me good to stop at a little cafe' and let everyone know that I am safe and have arrived safely. I am hoping to catch an overnight train to Munich....if I ever find the place.
I don't think I have much to say right now. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I didn't sleep on any of the plane rides or lay-overs. I did read all but a few pages of a Milan Kundera novel, watched 2 movies, and listened to my Ipod, but no sleep. I'm starting to feel it.
Virgin Atlantic was definitely a good choice. There were only two of us occupying three seats in my row, free cocktails just after takeoff, good food, wine with you dinner....it was a very enjoyable time.
I wish I had something eventful to report. London is great, I've seen all of the sights already. Hopefully in a day or so I will have more to report from Munich. Till then,
Michael
I don't think I have much to say right now. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I didn't sleep on any of the plane rides or lay-overs. I did read all but a few pages of a Milan Kundera novel, watched 2 movies, and listened to my Ipod, but no sleep. I'm starting to feel it.
Virgin Atlantic was definitely a good choice. There were only two of us occupying three seats in my row, free cocktails just after takeoff, good food, wine with you dinner....it was a very enjoyable time.
I wish I had something eventful to report. London is great, I've seen all of the sights already. Hopefully in a day or so I will have more to report from Munich. Till then,
Michael
Passport Saga: The Final Chapter
3 Comments Published by Michael on Sunday, May 28, 2006 at 4:45 AM.
Tuesday, I walk back from the mailbox dejected, but still hopeful. Wednesday, same dejection, and only a slight tinge of doubt. Thursday, no sign of it anywhere, and I am beginning to get a bit anxious. As I gingerly step towards the box-o-mail on Friday afternoon, I am hope against all hope that it will be there, but I am disappointed yet again. Now the USPS is just joking around with me. The State Department's website said that my passport should have been there on Tuesday, but there is still no sign of it anywhere. There is only one day left for the package to arrive before I have to start changing my travel arrangements, and so all my chips are riding on Saturday afternoon.
When I reluctantly open the box on Saturday afternoon, about 1:00 pm, I am elated at the sight of a priority mail envelope....and it is from the State Department. "Oh, thank God," I say, "I thought it would never......." Julie Stone? It was addressed to Julie Stone. I rip open the package, and sure enough, it is Julie's passport, not mine. Julie's passport, which she had applied for several weeks after I had applied for my own, was in her hands before mine was. She might not even use hers this year, but I NEED mine!!!!
After a series of long, not-for-blog tirades against the USPS, the State Department, the neighbors dog, the soap dispenser, and anything else that I could see or think of, I started making phone calls. You would think it might be easy to speak with someone at the post office about a missing package, but the USPS has become completely automated, and it took the better part of 30 minutes to get an actual person on the phone. When I finally got someone on the phone, Paula, she was exactly the kind of person that I needed at that moment. She was concerned and willing to help me. After hearing the story of my woes, she vowed to call me back after she made some phone calls. I was unclear whether I would ever hear from her again.
She did call back. Turns out that my passport had inexplicably been shipped to Keller, Tx. According to the postal employees that I spoke to, there is no rhyme or reason for this, it was just a mistake. The second mistake apparantly worked in my favor. The Keller people were supposed to mail it to the Ft. Worth facility on Friday after they had mistakenly received it, and this would have ensured, according to Paula, that I would not have received it until Thursday or Friday of this next week. Instead, they accidentally put it in the wrong stack and it was still there, by the grace of God, on Saturday afternoon. We had to drive out and get it, but the passport is now in my possession. I now shower with it, sleep with it, use it as a fork, and anything else it can be used for, because it is too valuable to let out of my sight.
Now I am on for Monday. I fly out at 12:00 pm, and so I will see you all in August.
Aufwiedersehen for now,
Michael
When I reluctantly open the box on Saturday afternoon, about 1:00 pm, I am elated at the sight of a priority mail envelope....and it is from the State Department. "Oh, thank God," I say, "I thought it would never......." Julie Stone? It was addressed to Julie Stone. I rip open the package, and sure enough, it is Julie's passport, not mine. Julie's passport, which she had applied for several weeks after I had applied for my own, was in her hands before mine was. She might not even use hers this year, but I NEED mine!!!!
After a series of long, not-for-blog tirades against the USPS, the State Department, the neighbors dog, the soap dispenser, and anything else that I could see or think of, I started making phone calls. You would think it might be easy to speak with someone at the post office about a missing package, but the USPS has become completely automated, and it took the better part of 30 minutes to get an actual person on the phone. When I finally got someone on the phone, Paula, she was exactly the kind of person that I needed at that moment. She was concerned and willing to help me. After hearing the story of my woes, she vowed to call me back after she made some phone calls. I was unclear whether I would ever hear from her again.
She did call back. Turns out that my passport had inexplicably been shipped to Keller, Tx. According to the postal employees that I spoke to, there is no rhyme or reason for this, it was just a mistake. The second mistake apparantly worked in my favor. The Keller people were supposed to mail it to the Ft. Worth facility on Friday after they had mistakenly received it, and this would have ensured, according to Paula, that I would not have received it until Thursday or Friday of this next week. Instead, they accidentally put it in the wrong stack and it was still there, by the grace of God, on Saturday afternoon. We had to drive out and get it, but the passport is now in my possession. I now shower with it, sleep with it, use it as a fork, and anything else it can be used for, because it is too valuable to let out of my sight.
Now I am on for Monday. I fly out at 12:00 pm, and so I will see you all in August.
Aufwiedersehen for now,
Michael
Has anyone seen one of these (left) lying around....maybe with my picture on the inside? I am supposed to be leaving for the Deutschland on Monday morning, but if these bound pieces of paper, with a plastic-veneer, and a picture of yours truly do not arrive by Saturday I am going to have to change my flight plans, and this will make me oh'so cranky. I've been patient, but even the State Department said it should have been here two days ago. They also said, depending on my local mail service, this might take an extra couple of days. With that in mind, I'm not overly concerned, but I am a tad bit irritated.
So, if you thought it would be funny to take this from my mailbox and hide it until the last moment, "ha, ha".....now return it, please. And, if you are my wife, and you just don't want me to go, this may not be the best deterrent....although, it certainly would be effective.
Yesterday I came home to what I thought was surely junk-mail. Sitting on the counter was this week's edition of "Human Events: The National Conservative Weekly". For those of you who are not subscribers, and how could you possibly call yourself an American and not be, let me give you a rundown of the enlightening content. Simply put, it is exactly what it sounds like, complete with the obligatory picture of George Bush on the front page, and replete with the word liberal, used as a curse-word of sorts (picture to the right was taken from an advertisement on their website). Julie nearly threw it out, but she noticed the subscription information, and it was addressed to me.
You might be saying to yourself, "Michael, are you a closet fundamentalist conservative?" Though my credibility in denying this has taken a serious hit by being an apparant active subscriber to a publication that has as its second page story, "The Da Vinci HOAX: Exposing the Errors in the Da Vinci Code", nontheless, I have to say that I have not crossed over to the dark side. You question me? As well you should. I hear the questions, "Where did such propagandist literature come from?"...."Did it just magically appear on your doorstep?"...."Did the credit card act on its own initiative when it paid for this year-long subscription?"
The answer to each of these questions is quite comical. Several weeks ago, one of the parents of one of my students informed me, much to my surprise, that she and her husband would like to purchase a year's subscription to a philosophic journal on my behalf, as some sort of going away present. She mentioned that they knew a philosopher, which sent red-flags up all around me, (no one calls themselves that, and most misuse the title as some sort of catch-all for someone who reads books not on the bestseller's list) and he had recommended a few scholarly journals that I might be interested in. I was nervous, but nontheless flattered and excited, because I had been wanting to subscribe to a journal of some kind....and this one was free.
Apparantly, yesterday I received the scholarly journal that was promised to me....and I have 51 more fun-filled issues to eagerly anticipate. With articles entitled, "Read My Lips: No New Amnesty", "The Da Vinci Code: Cashing in on Defaming Christ", "The Left is Hopelessly Tied to the Culture of Death", and other such 'fair and balanced' articles, I can hardly contain myself. If nothing else, I cannot imagine that I will be absent fodder for my blog for the forseeable future.
Here is my one question about this purchase: Who gets to know me for more than 5 minutes and thinks that this is my kind of news rag?
I am on my way out of the door, but I just have to say....GO MAVS!!!!!
Two days ago I read a short story by Frank O'Connor (right), entitled, "The Drunkard", and certain themes have stuck with me since. It is a very short read, so if you have a few minutes, I think it would be well worth your time. It was a funny twist of fate that even led me to this story. I was looking for a short stories by Flannery O'Connor, and I stumbled on this thinking it was hers. Quite lucky for me, because it was great.
For those of you who don't have the time, allow me to recap. It is the story of a young boy and his alcoholic father. The father has a tendency to fall-of-the-wagon when the circumstances are right, and this usually has catastrophic consequences for the young boy's family, symoblized by the memory of his mother having to go and pawn the kitchen clock.
The father's binges are caused by certain events, which the boy and his mother fear when the words are so much as mentioned. One such 'trigger' is funerals, and the story ominously begins with the retelling of the death of one of the father's peers. Though the father is not particularly close with the deceased, there is a certain social responsibility involved with his attendance at the graveside, and so he goes to the funeral, son in tow. After the casket is lowered into the ground, the throng descends upon the local pub. The son pleads with his father to take him home to no avail, but the cycle has already begun, and there is nothing for him to do but watch the inevitable destruction of his father and family.
As the father gets his beer, he turns from it to chat with his chums, leaving the glass unattended to tempt the boy. The youth's curiosity takes precedence over his better judgment, and he chooses to steal some drinks of the mysterious brew, whose allure is so strong that it continually wrecks his family. When the father turns around it is too late. The young boy has downed the entire beer and is thoroughly drunk. The remainder of the story centers on getting the drunken child home and the consequences that necessarily ensue.
What I love about this story is the obvious reference to the hypocrisy of human nature in the concluding interchanges between the father and son. When the effects of excess alcohol are evidenced in the son; the beligerant attitude, the buffoonery, the shame, the father is repulsed by what he observes. He is shown to be hypocritical, because these same attitudes and actions in himself are acceptable, while in someone else they are shameful.
The question must be raised, who is the drunkard. The easiest route is to say that it is both the father and the son. What I know for certain is that I am the drunkard. I am both the son, who mirrors others' sins, and the father, who is repulsed by my sins in others. Either way, both of the characters are similar in the fact that they each mirror the other. The father's hypocrisy is more scandalous to the reader, but is it truly any different than the child's? Am I any different than either?
I find my sins and/or character flaws quite comfortable to live with, yet I am repulsed by the attitudes and actions of others that are only different manifestations of my own wicked heart. The greediness of those around me, seeking money and possessions above all else, turns my stomach, but I am entirely comfortable with amassing my own fortune, though it might be smaller than others. It's sometimes as simple as being frustrated by those who speed on the highway, but undoubtedly I will do the same the next time I am late for a meeting, disregarding the safety of those around me. I hate cell phone users in public, but I have been/will be guilty of the same offense. Laziness is irritating in my student, but in myself I excuse it as "much deserved rest". Self-righteouness, lust, bitterness, anger; the thought of my reactions to them, internal as they may be, cut me to the quick. In fact, as I run through the laundry-list of what I deem to be shortcomings in others, I find that the majority of them are my own disguised in different forms.
It seems, in the words of Val Kilmer (the first and last quotation I steal from him I imagine) from Tombstone: "Apparantly my hypocrisy knows no bounds."
Jamie has been politely getting-on-to-me for not posting about my good news, but I have been a little hesitant this last week to really be excited about anything yet. As those of you who are close to me may know, I have been in an interviewing process with St. Albans Episcopal School for the past few months, and at times it has seemed like a shoe-in, while other times it has been painfully slow and nerve-racking. The waiting is over, though, and last Monday I received a contract offer, which I jumped at. From all that I know, it is a great school, and I have a great opportunity presented to me.
I met with my new principal briefly on Monday, and she handed me over to one of the other English teachers there, so that I might discuss curriculum. Coming from Christway Academy, I assumed they would force me to use textbooks, or that they would at least be pretty strict about what the classes must consist of. I was dead wrong. They are the type of school that I was hoping for. I have been given almost complete freedom to design my classes as I see fit. The only real stipulation is that the read novels and learn to write papers over them. Is that not every academician's dream?!
After spending 2 hours with this teacher, I was excited, but there was also an undeniable knot in my stomach, which was only partially attributable to the impending Mavs' game later that night. What made me most nervous was the fact that these teachers know what they are doing. The other two teachers in the English department are seasoned veterans who have been teaching over 20 years apiece, and who have read more novels than I by a mile. It is not just that they have done those things, though that is impressive in itself, but they both seem really, really sharp, University of Dallas PhD.-student-sharp. As I left the meeting the full weight of the situation came upon me; there are these two apparant literary giants, and then there is me, a newcomer to the academic community. I am going to have to pretend to be one of them, which means that I am going to have to study for arse off this summer in preparation for the Fall.
Last night Julie and I thumbed through our library in pulled a couple of dozen books that would be suitable reading material for the 2 English classes that I will teach next year. It sounds as if the 2 History classes already have curriculum, but I found some stuff to supplement those classes, too. In the next week before I head overseas, I am going to have to winnow this stack of 20-30 novels down to 12-15, and come up with some rhyme or reason for doing so. I will then pack these up, read them this summer, and then figure out the best way to teach them. I am excited and scared-to-death, all at the same time. I have been dreaming of this opportunity for the last several years, and now it is here; I feel a bit overwhelmed at the prospect of it all.
As I get a final list going, I'll post them for your critique.
I met with my new principal briefly on Monday, and she handed me over to one of the other English teachers there, so that I might discuss curriculum. Coming from Christway Academy, I assumed they would force me to use textbooks, or that they would at least be pretty strict about what the classes must consist of. I was dead wrong. They are the type of school that I was hoping for. I have been given almost complete freedom to design my classes as I see fit. The only real stipulation is that the read novels and learn to write papers over them. Is that not every academician's dream?!
After spending 2 hours with this teacher, I was excited, but there was also an undeniable knot in my stomach, which was only partially attributable to the impending Mavs' game later that night. What made me most nervous was the fact that these teachers know what they are doing. The other two teachers in the English department are seasoned veterans who have been teaching over 20 years apiece, and who have read more novels than I by a mile. It is not just that they have done those things, though that is impressive in itself, but they both seem really, really sharp, University of Dallas PhD.-student-sharp. As I left the meeting the full weight of the situation came upon me; there are these two apparant literary giants, and then there is me, a newcomer to the academic community. I am going to have to pretend to be one of them, which means that I am going to have to study for arse off this summer in preparation for the Fall.
Last night Julie and I thumbed through our library in pulled a couple of dozen books that would be suitable reading material for the 2 English classes that I will teach next year. It sounds as if the 2 History classes already have curriculum, but I found some stuff to supplement those classes, too. In the next week before I head overseas, I am going to have to winnow this stack of 20-30 novels down to 12-15, and come up with some rhyme or reason for doing so. I will then pack these up, read them this summer, and then figure out the best way to teach them. I am excited and scared-to-death, all at the same time. I have been dreaming of this opportunity for the last several years, and now it is here; I feel a bit overwhelmed at the prospect of it all.
As I get a final list going, I'll post them for your critique.
Happy Birthday Dad!
I admit that this is perhaps the gayest 'dad-cake' that I could possibly find, but my time this morning is somewhat limited, and it is a birthday cake after all. I hope your birthday is filled with lots of real cake and rest.....but the chances of the latter are remote at best.
Let me tell a little about my dad. Dad is 51-ish (sorry) and he has a grand total of about a dozen children, give or take a few, due to a combining of two families these last few years. That in itself would be no big deal, because we kids are 20-30 years old, right? Two of these kids are somewhere in the neighborhood of 6-7 years old, and so that changes things dramatically. He and Barbara decided they liked the parenting bit so much that they re-upped for another 16 or so years. It's like the soldier who finally gets sent home from combat after years of hard and dangerous service only to get antsy once back home, and so he signs up for another tour of duty. Or better yet, like the prisoner who is released, but he can't stand the freedom, so he commits another crime in order to get arrested and thrown back into prison. (I thought you would like those, Dad).
In all seriousness, he is a good man and a great example for me and my brother(s) to follow.
Thanks for all that you do, and have a great birthday.
I admit that this is perhaps the gayest 'dad-cake' that I could possibly find, but my time this morning is somewhat limited, and it is a birthday cake after all. I hope your birthday is filled with lots of real cake and rest.....but the chances of the latter are remote at best.
Let me tell a little about my dad. Dad is 51-ish (sorry) and he has a grand total of about a dozen children, give or take a few, due to a combining of two families these last few years. That in itself would be no big deal, because we kids are 20-30 years old, right? Two of these kids are somewhere in the neighborhood of 6-7 years old, and so that changes things dramatically. He and Barbara decided they liked the parenting bit so much that they re-upped for another 16 or so years. It's like the soldier who finally gets sent home from combat after years of hard and dangerous service only to get antsy once back home, and so he signs up for another tour of duty. Or better yet, like the prisoner who is released, but he can't stand the freedom, so he commits another crime in order to get arrested and thrown back into prison. (I thought you would like those, Dad).
In all seriousness, he is a good man and a great example for me and my brother(s) to follow.
Thanks for all that you do, and have a great birthday.
I have decided to run for public office. I am all of 25 years old now, and I'm pretty sure that I have the world figured out. Sure, I don't know much about foreign or domestic policy, I am quite bored with C-Span, and my knowledge of the functions of the government has been routinely set up against the most recent episode of "The West Wing", but I have a platform by which I will attain victory.
My position is simple: Public Floggings. I believe many of our nation's problems might be solved with public, legal beatings. Of course, this does nothing to curb illegal immigration or terrorism, or most other major issues, but it would reduce the inconveniences of my day; frankly, isn't that what is most important?
So, who deserves these public pummelings?
- Movie Talkers: is there anything worse than those people who cannot make it two hours without talking, and generally quite loudly, to those next to them. If you are incapable to sitting quietly and enjoying the show, stay home!, or suffer the consequences that you deserve.
- Cell Phone Junkies: there is nothing wrong with answering your cell phone in public places. The 30-45 seconds it takes to tell them, "Hey, I'm sitting at Starbucks right now, so can I call you back when I leave?" is perfectly acceptable. That is the beauty of the cell phone. What is not acceptable is yelling, and does anyone talk into their phone without yelling; I've never seen it, while in a public setting. Someone even answered their phone in church yesterday morning....and talked to the person! There are appropriate places for phone conversations and inappopriate places; learn the difference or be prepared for the shame and pain that comes with public lashing.
- Soccer Moms in SUV's: I recognize that there are some of you, though the number is limited, that understand the intricate workings of using a steering wheel, and who realize you are truly not the only people on the road; I'm not referring to you. I am referring to those who don't realize that they are driving what amounts to a military-tank, or a school bus, and who see no need to take into account other people on the roadways or in parking lots. They just talk on their cell phones, take up ten parking spaces at a times, and pretty much motor around wherever and whenever they want. In truth, I wouldn't let them drive my bicycle, but the DMV has seen fit to let them operate these 10-ton battering rams, and the rest of us are forced to pay the consequences. Well, I say, not anymore.
- The Absent-Parent: Simply put, when a child is in public, should it not be the parent's responsibility to control that kid? If I am having dinner with my wife, should I have to pretend to be amused by the 4-year-old reaching from behind my both and playing with my hair? While I'm shopping at the bookstore, should I have to contend with Jr. running up and down the aisles yelling, knocking books to the floor as he goes? I can hardly blame the kids for being kids, so I choose to blame the parents for not being parents. A good, hard flogging should do the trick.
- "That Happened to Me Once" Guy: you know him/her, the one who cannot let a comment go by without personalizing it and telling their own story. "I had a horrific car accident this weekend; my entire family was killed. We were..." He interrupts, "That happened to me once. I once backed into a car at the supermarket. I had just gone in to buy some onions, or was it lettuce...." The next 10 minutes are filled with his life story, and no one else can enter into the conversation. These people must learn that conversations are for everyone, not just them. There is a title for what they are doing: monologue.
Feel free to add to the list...I'm sure I will
What is the opposite of a pioneer, trendsetter, or forerunner? However you might define this, Julie and I are exhibit A. We may be the last people on the planet to have seen "Brokeback Mountain", but last night we stayed up well past our bedtimes and enjoyed some Oscar-worthy cinema (or so it was hyped).
Now before you begin nodding your head vigorously in agreement, let me tell you why I was disappointed. I don't object to the portrayal of homosexuality; I recognize there are those men who prefer men, and therefore making a film that chronicles such a thing seems to be in keeping with the time honored tradition of art-imitating-life. If I had a problem with art imitating those lives that I disagreed with, I wouldn't read about 90 percent of all of the books I read or listen to the majority of music that I enjoy, since, my artistic tastes tends towards the perverse at times.
What I objected to was the poor storeytelling of the writer and director. There is good art and bad art, and I feel confident saying that this was indeed the latter. In my limited understanding, great works of literature and film (though I am hardly an expert on either) major on the subtleties of dramatic moments. Dr. Cowan, my esteemed professor, always pointed back to the scene in Dostoevsky's The Devils, where Nastassya is standing next to the window as dawn is breaking through the window, hair slightly disheveled, and the strap of her dress hanging from her shoulder. With this attention to details, slight as they may be in stature, the reader imagines exactly what took place with she and Stavrogin the night before. Or take the example of Milton's Paradise Lost, still burned fresh in my memory, where Adam and Eve's sexual encounters are described as "strange noises" and nothing more. Is there any doubt what was happening? In the death of Anna in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, is there a need for gory detail? Instead of describing the flesh being torn from her, he describes a "candle flickering and burning out forever".
What "Brokeback Mountain" forgot was subtlety. Would it have been less of a movie without passionate sexual scenes? I argue it would have been brilliant. The story itself is worthy of great film, because it deals with subject matter that has been untouched by artistic-hands at large. Contrasting the stereotypical-masculine and the undeniably-feminine in one person is something that the great authors and directors would be proud to create, but it was cheapened to a second-rate-romance-novel-gone-awry by being gratuitous.
So, I say, "Shame on the director." Shame, not for dealing in unpopular subject matter, for that I applaud you, but for doing it so poorly. You had a chance to make great cinema, but you settled for the popular.
In the words of Christ, "It is finished." I irreverently quote the Saviour, not becuase I have conquered death and sin for all of humanity, I believe that has been done, but on account of the end of yet another semester. That's right, last night was the Milton final, and I am officially on summer vacation. I was going to take a May-mester, but I'm a coward. I don't have the stamina to do it right now, and so I am going to, instead, actively pursue the leisurely lifestyle of a true philosopher. I shall spend my remaining weeks in the States going to work, reading, playing and watching basketball (paging Chad and Dustin), making beer, and enjoying the freedom associated with not studying every free minute.
This brings me to my summer-long experiment in leisure. From the time of Socrates, philosophers have held to the notion of leisure as a prerequisite for fruitful philosophy. In their estimation, the greatest minds are not those who are concerned with the things of daily life, such as marriage and family, or extended labor and toil. It is no surprise, then, that the Pauline notion of it being most fruitful in ministry when unencumbered by the trappings of marriage is prosribed by an obvious scholar of Greek thought.
Be not alarmed, I am not leaving my wife, nor abandoning my job, but I am going to do my best at living in a leisurely manner. The Greek conception of leisure has been modified in modernity, but originally it entailed both study and gymnastics (exercise). We have since discarded both in favor of television and mindlessness, and I believe our leisure to have become less fruitful.
Perhaps this distortion of the natural order of things has led to our unproductivity as a culture. In writing my essay on Paradise Lost last night for my final I was reminded of Milton's portrayal of Adam and Eve in the garden both before and after the Fall. They were originally naturally inclined to toil in joy during the daylight hours, and in the evenings they relaxed and refreshed their minds and bodies. Only after the Fall are they shown to be selfish with their time and energies. They neglect work to pursue unchaste lusts, ravaging one another sexually until exhausted, and their leisure becomes an all-consuming enterprise, based upon passion. The sex act before and after sin is a picture of their change of state. Lust accompanied laziness, and this self-indulgence replaced the time normally devoted to God honoring tasks. So too did the time that was set aside for leisure and rest, namely sleep, become less restful and refreshing.
Perhaps I will be no more than a barfly in a German BierGarten, but my hope is that I will live in leisure, the way the Greeks intended it, feeding both mind and body.
This brings me to my summer-long experiment in leisure. From the time of Socrates, philosophers have held to the notion of leisure as a prerequisite for fruitful philosophy. In their estimation, the greatest minds are not those who are concerned with the things of daily life, such as marriage and family, or extended labor and toil. It is no surprise, then, that the Pauline notion of it being most fruitful in ministry when unencumbered by the trappings of marriage is prosribed by an obvious scholar of Greek thought.
Be not alarmed, I am not leaving my wife, nor abandoning my job, but I am going to do my best at living in a leisurely manner. The Greek conception of leisure has been modified in modernity, but originally it entailed both study and gymnastics (exercise). We have since discarded both in favor of television and mindlessness, and I believe our leisure to have become less fruitful.
Perhaps this distortion of the natural order of things has led to our unproductivity as a culture. In writing my essay on Paradise Lost last night for my final I was reminded of Milton's portrayal of Adam and Eve in the garden both before and after the Fall. They were originally naturally inclined to toil in joy during the daylight hours, and in the evenings they relaxed and refreshed their minds and bodies. Only after the Fall are they shown to be selfish with their time and energies. They neglect work to pursue unchaste lusts, ravaging one another sexually until exhausted, and their leisure becomes an all-consuming enterprise, based upon passion. The sex act before and after sin is a picture of their change of state. Lust accompanied laziness, and this self-indulgence replaced the time normally devoted to God honoring tasks. So too did the time that was set aside for leisure and rest, namely sleep, become less restful and refreshing.
Perhaps I will be no more than a barfly in a German BierGarten, but my hope is that I will live in leisure, the way the Greeks intended it, feeding both mind and body.
After mentioning it yesterday, I found where the article "Bourbon" came from. It is found in the book "Signposts in a Strange Land", a collection of his short treatises. I was going to type it up for your reading pleasure, but luckily I also found a website that already had the text posted. So, if you are up for a great few minutes of reading, check it out.
On that note, though. I was surprised to talk with a couple of people yesterday who had never even heard of Walker Percy, much less have read him. That is really a shame! I am not the greatest proponent of American Literature, foreigners are just too good, but Walker Percy is genius. He is on the short-list of the great American authors among those literary minds that I would trust. I have most, if not all of his novels, and a few other works, so come and borrow one or two and give them a read. I assure you it would be well worth your time.
School being the way that it is, I seldom venture outside of the friendly confines of the house on the weekends for more than a few hours at a time. If I go and visit family or friends on Friday, you can count on the fact that I will be at home the majority of Saturday and Sunday making up for it in studying of some variety. This weekend was different, though. I had my first final at 7:00 pm on Saturday, which required minimal study, so other than a few hours here and there of concentration I truly enjoyed myself.
Friday night was a great time with our good friends Brian and Stephanie, Ryan and Amber, and Dan and Alison. Dan is graduating this week with his Masters in Pastoral Studies (I think) from Baylor, and he and Alison are moving to Atlanta this summer (his hometown). We don't see them very often, but they are friends from our undergraduate days, and so we celebrated with them into the wee hours of Friday night....it was probably hardly past midnight, but that is 'wee hours' for us nowadays.
By way of a brief aside, I found a great tobacco shop in Arlington, which I think I like better than my favorite one in North Dallas. Dan is a cigar smoker, and the rest of us enjoy them too, so I wanted to buy us four really good cigars in honor of the occasion. I was in a bit of a hurry after school, which didn't give me time to go to my shop, so I did a Google search and came across The Cigar Shop. We walked in and I immediately loved it. For those of you who don't frequent cigar stores, there are a few distinctives that make or break the experience. First, the smell. This place was not some cheap pot-smoker-in-disguise shop that smells of stale tobacco and other substances, but it was filled with the aroma of fine cigars and pipes. It's a bitter sweet sensation that is something akin to the existential feeling associated with coffee shops. Already I like the place. Secondly, they were so friendly and helpful. Julie and I have long commented on the fact that tobaccoists and liquor-store owners are quite possibly the nicest people on the planet. Growing up a staunch Baptist I would never know that, but I would put a tobacco shop owner up against most ministers I have met any day. To make a long story only slightly less long, in the course of the ten-minutes that we were in the shop we purchased three fairly nice cigars and were given three for free. One of the apparant owners gave Julie one, which she tried to refuse (don't worry, I scolded her for it), and then he gave me two. Needless to say, I have found my new tobacco-home.
After dinner the four of us guys retired to the back porch to smoke our rather large cigars with an equally nice bottles of rum and southern bourbon....I can't remember what kinds, but they were smooth. Drinking bourbon always brings me back to Walker Percy, who has done a better job than any of capturing the romance of drinking Early Times on a summer's evening...but we didn't have Early Times (on that note, remind me to quote some excerpts from Walker Percy's essay Bourbon in the coming days). We sipped our rum and bourbon, smoked our cigars, and talked literature, philosophy, and theology. We are all on similar paths in life, and so we spent a couple of hours, as we joked, "plotting our wives futures". We even managed to read and translate a little German poetry as it began to storm, which was pretty fitting.
Saturday was devoted to playing football, studying, napping, and taking a very long and hot (not air conditioning) test. I enjoy Dr. Cowan's finals, because they give you the opportunity to really think on and expound upon the novels that have been read that semester. I will greatly miss her presence at the University.
Yesterday was quite a suprise. Julie and I went to the early mass and then to Sunday school for the first time. The rector led the class, which dealt entirely with Anglican history, and so we were fascinated. I have yet to meet an uneducated Episcopal priest, and so generally they insights are profound. We will make that a habit. Later, I watched the Mavs with Debby...but we won't dwell on that, and I was set to go home and study when I received a call from my old friend John Morgan from Sky Ranch. He was my boss, and a groomsman in my wedding, but we had not spoken in almost two years. In short, the leadership team I was apart of in 2003 was going to dinner that night, and I met up with them. We spent the entire evening catching up, eating good food, and wondering why we hadn't all seen each other in so long. It was a definite high point of my weekend.
One more little story before I go. Shaun Menary is one of my friends that I hung out with last night, and he is the co-founder of Randomshirts.com. He took us to their offices in Richardson, and I have to tell you, I have never been to a workplace in my life. When I last saw him the company was just taking off, and they were working out of their apartment in College Station, doing the shipping theirselves, and making some nice cash in the process. Now they are truly an international operation, working with numerous organizations, and apparantly doing REALLY well. They have one of those offices you see in magazines or movies, you know, the ones that are too cool for anyone to actually get any work done in. We were all really proud of them. The greatest, though, he gave us an armful of samples of their shirts and new line of posters. I love Shaun!
For those of you who read all of that, you deserve a prize.
Friday night was a great time with our good friends Brian and Stephanie, Ryan and Amber, and Dan and Alison. Dan is graduating this week with his Masters in Pastoral Studies (I think) from Baylor, and he and Alison are moving to Atlanta this summer (his hometown). We don't see them very often, but they are friends from our undergraduate days, and so we celebrated with them into the wee hours of Friday night....it was probably hardly past midnight, but that is 'wee hours' for us nowadays.
By way of a brief aside, I found a great tobacco shop in Arlington, which I think I like better than my favorite one in North Dallas. Dan is a cigar smoker, and the rest of us enjoy them too, so I wanted to buy us four really good cigars in honor of the occasion. I was in a bit of a hurry after school, which didn't give me time to go to my shop, so I did a Google search and came across The Cigar Shop. We walked in and I immediately loved it. For those of you who don't frequent cigar stores, there are a few distinctives that make or break the experience. First, the smell. This place was not some cheap pot-smoker-in-disguise shop that smells of stale tobacco and other substances, but it was filled with the aroma of fine cigars and pipes. It's a bitter sweet sensation that is something akin to the existential feeling associated with coffee shops. Already I like the place. Secondly, they were so friendly and helpful. Julie and I have long commented on the fact that tobaccoists and liquor-store owners are quite possibly the nicest people on the planet. Growing up a staunch Baptist I would never know that, but I would put a tobacco shop owner up against most ministers I have met any day. To make a long story only slightly less long, in the course of the ten-minutes that we were in the shop we purchased three fairly nice cigars and were given three for free. One of the apparant owners gave Julie one, which she tried to refuse (don't worry, I scolded her for it), and then he gave me two. Needless to say, I have found my new tobacco-home.
After dinner the four of us guys retired to the back porch to smoke our rather large cigars with an equally nice bottles of rum and southern bourbon....I can't remember what kinds, but they were smooth. Drinking bourbon always brings me back to Walker Percy, who has done a better job than any of capturing the romance of drinking Early Times on a summer's evening...but we didn't have Early Times (on that note, remind me to quote some excerpts from Walker Percy's essay Bourbon in the coming days). We sipped our rum and bourbon, smoked our cigars, and talked literature, philosophy, and theology. We are all on similar paths in life, and so we spent a couple of hours, as we joked, "plotting our wives futures". We even managed to read and translate a little German poetry as it began to storm, which was pretty fitting.
Saturday was devoted to playing football, studying, napping, and taking a very long and hot (not air conditioning) test. I enjoy Dr. Cowan's finals, because they give you the opportunity to really think on and expound upon the novels that have been read that semester. I will greatly miss her presence at the University.
Yesterday was quite a suprise. Julie and I went to the early mass and then to Sunday school for the first time. The rector led the class, which dealt entirely with Anglican history, and so we were fascinated. I have yet to meet an uneducated Episcopal priest, and so generally they insights are profound. We will make that a habit. Later, I watched the Mavs with Debby...but we won't dwell on that, and I was set to go home and study when I received a call from my old friend John Morgan from Sky Ranch. He was my boss, and a groomsman in my wedding, but we had not spoken in almost two years. In short, the leadership team I was apart of in 2003 was going to dinner that night, and I met up with them. We spent the entire evening catching up, eating good food, and wondering why we hadn't all seen each other in so long. It was a definite high point of my weekend.
One more little story before I go. Shaun Menary is one of my friends that I hung out with last night, and he is the co-founder of Randomshirts.com. He took us to their offices in Richardson, and I have to tell you, I have never been to a workplace in my life. When I last saw him the company was just taking off, and they were working out of their apartment in College Station, doing the shipping theirselves, and making some nice cash in the process. Now they are truly an international operation, working with numerous organizations, and apparantly doing REALLY well. They have one of those offices you see in magazines or movies, you know, the ones that are too cool for anyone to actually get any work done in. We were all really proud of them. The greatest, though, he gave us an armful of samples of their shirts and new line of posters. I love Shaun!
For those of you who read all of that, you deserve a prize.
I try my best not to steal the content of other blogs when I write my posts, but today I read something that is worth stealing. In the academic community one can get around this by referencing the source, and so I give full and complete credit to Shaun Groves and the good people (or selfsame person) at Shlog for a great post this morning (maybe you should just read his and skip mine).
I truly enjoy Groves' posts, but today's was particularly relevent to me because it delved into the intellectual malaise of the Christian community. In his post he references Dick Staub, whom I admittedly know nothing about, and he links to an article written by Staub that brings up the Da Vinci controversy. It is a short article, and well worth the read, even if only because he quotes some of my favorite one-liners concerning educating Christians, which have been written by great men.
Our fear of culture must die if there is any hope of relevance within said culture. A professor in college used to hammer me with these words, "You must engage the philosophers using their own terms." He was referring to my weak attempts to interpret Plato and Heidegger, trying to teach me to adopt their own language. Plato's demiurge is not the same of Israel's God, and so I have to approach him using his terms. Heidegger's Dasein is seemingly bastardized with any translation into english, and so it must be understood and identified for what it is. In the same way, then, I think we as Christians must approach our culture.
Should we see Da Vinci? Not only do I think we should see it, but perhaps we should be first in line, enterring the theater with open and unbiased minds, ready to study the 'terms' of culture. It is high time we stopped being so afraid of being 'corrupted' by the world and decided to start living in it for the glory of God. That requires being 'in it', though.....or we can choose, and yes, it is a choice, to remain irrelevant, learning our theology and singing our songs, and we will continue to drift farther and farther from the world God has created us to live in.
I truly enjoy Groves' posts, but today's was particularly relevent to me because it delved into the intellectual malaise of the Christian community. In his post he references Dick Staub, whom I admittedly know nothing about, and he links to an article written by Staub that brings up the Da Vinci controversy. It is a short article, and well worth the read, even if only because he quotes some of my favorite one-liners concerning educating Christians, which have been written by great men.
Our fear of culture must die if there is any hope of relevance within said culture. A professor in college used to hammer me with these words, "You must engage the philosophers using their own terms." He was referring to my weak attempts to interpret Plato and Heidegger, trying to teach me to adopt their own language. Plato's demiurge is not the same of Israel's God, and so I have to approach him using his terms. Heidegger's Dasein is seemingly bastardized with any translation into english, and so it must be understood and identified for what it is. In the same way, then, I think we as Christians must approach our culture.
Should we see Da Vinci? Not only do I think we should see it, but perhaps we should be first in line, enterring the theater with open and unbiased minds, ready to study the 'terms' of culture. It is high time we stopped being so afraid of being 'corrupted' by the world and decided to start living in it for the glory of God. That requires being 'in it', though.....or we can choose, and yes, it is a choice, to remain irrelevant, learning our theology and singing our songs, and we will continue to drift farther and farther from the world God has created us to live in.
My semester is finally ending, and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. This has been a particularly taxing semester, and so I welcome its departure. I must say, though, that I have grown increasingly fonder of the Russian novels that I have been engrossed in, and it will be a shame to leave that 'world'. Soon my head will once again be cluttered with a smattering of modernity, postmodernism, Germans, Czech's, Italians, Englishmen, and a host of others, whose novels with infiltrate my brain and muddle things. I will undoubtedly hearken back to the simple-complexity of the 19th Century Russian author, whose struggle for purpose and meaning amidst the darkness cannot help but inspire even a comfortable American.
The last of our novels, Anna Karenina, will be finished later today, but I wanted to pause and reflect on one of the last section of the book in which Levin 'finds God'. The wonder and amazement at his discovery gave me pause, so much so that I just couldn't go on and finish the last few pages without allowing his words to reverberate within me and flow out onto the keyboard.
Through the words of a peasant Levin's thoughts become entangled in his mind, and he begins to verbally work them out, saying,
To live not for one's needs but for God! For what God? What could be more senseless than what he said? He said we must not live for our needs - that is, we must not live for what we understand and what attracts us, what we wish for, but must live for something incomprehensible, for God whom nobody can understand or define...Thought worth pondering, if you ask me. Perhaps the greatest awakening within my soul these last few years has been that awakening to the mysteries of the faith. Perhaps this comment seems contradictory to my previous posts which concerned Calvinism and prayer, but I understand that God is not always a reasonable deity.
...Theodore says that Kirilov, the innkeeper, lives for his belly. That is intelligible and reasonable. We all, as reasoning creatures, cannot live otherwise. And then that same Theodore says that it is wrong to live for one's belly, and that we must live for Truth, for God, and at the first hint I understand him! I and millions of men who lived centuries ago and those who are living now: peasants, the poor in spirit, and sages, who have thought and written about it, saying the same thing in their obscure words - we all agree on that one thing: what we should live for, and what is good. I, and all other men, know only one thing firmly, clearly, and cerianly, and this knowledge cannot be explained by reason: it is outside reason, has no cause and can have no consequence.
Was it reasonable to have Isaac sacrifice his son as a sign of obedience? Soren Kierkegaard put it quite well when he called this act absurd. It is the absurdity of the faith that gets lost in our modern, post-enlightenment world. We want to label our beliefs, answer the questions that are ambiguous and contradictory in Scripture, and conduct the Christian life as we do the fields of technology and science. Everything is knowable, and with enough effort we do not have to live in the dark anymore. There is no room for the absurd anymore.
Tolstoy reminded me today that faith in God is beautifully unreasonable sometimes. One must live recklessly, leaning into the unknown, and realize that not all mysteries are meant to be solved. That makes me contented....I glimpse Levin's amazement.
Did any of you realize that this week is Teacher Appreciation week? I sure didn't, but the last two days have been great at Christway. One of my students brought be pigs-in-a-blanket for breakfast this morning, another brought candy, and there has been gum and candy in the lounge all week. Rumor has it that a Barnes and Nobles gift card is coming my way as well.Seriously, is there a better job in the world?
A Little Nietzsche to Cure What Ails Ya
1 Comments Published by Michael on Tuesday, May 02, 2006 at 3:37 PM.
The blog world has been pretty quiet lately in my circle of reading, and my mind has been a bit mush as well, so I thought I would awaken some thought today by picking up Thus Spake Zarathustra from my library shelf and beginning it again. I read it during my undergrad, and admittedly it was above my head at the time, but I read a few chapters today and loved it.
Chapter 2 is pretty interesting. Zarathustra has come down from his mountain home for the first time in 30 years in order to "empty his cup" of knowledge to those beneath him, when he meets a saint in the wilderness. I won't go into the whole of the discussion, but when Zarathustra claims to have come down out of love for man the saint says,
"Why did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it not because I loved man all-too-much? Now I love God; man I love not. Man is for me too imperfect a thing. Love of man would kill me."He later says,
"I make songs and sing them; and when I make songs, I laugh, cry, and hum: thus I praise God. With singing, crying, laughing, and humming, I praise the god who is my god."I don't claim to be a Nietzsche scholar, but I do find his words challenging to my faith. I believe him to be in this scene confronting what I can term as the modern Christian who hides in the "forest" of their personal beliefs, unwilling to engage the world. It is the love of the world that has caused us to flee from it, and so we have alienated men. We are content to sing our songs, but cannot love men, really love them, for fear of being corrupted by them. I am reminded of how silly this appears to those who, though atheistic, truly care for people, and choose to invest in them, whereas we only pretend to do the same.
I have not really mentioned mine and Julie's side-gig, because it has been a bit sporadic, but after this weekend I think it is well worth mentioning. We have been playing in a 4-part band called Everyday Grace with another couple since about January, mostly in the songwriting process up till now. We met at the church that owns my school when the pastor asked the 4 of us to come on board and begin leading worship on Sunday mornings. We did that for several months, and when we felt it was time to leave we kept playing together. We have mostly done some worship leading gigs while trying to write some new songs, but more lately we are playing/planning small shows that feature our original music. None of us are seeking a career move out of this, but it is really fun to enjoy my artistic side.
This weekend we play at an art-gallery showing in downtown-Dallas. It was on the top floor of Southside on Lamar. If you ever drive into downtown on I-30 you will see the giant sign on your right. I have always wondered what it is, and now I know. It is the old Sears building, and now it houses really trendy lofts, art galleries, and other such too-cool-for-me places. We did three hours in a concrete loft, where we didn't even need a sound system; just a couple of guitars and some hand percussion. This may sound vain, but the stuff we have been writing is really good in comparison with anything else I've ever written. We had a good crowd that was not there to see us, but sat around after they viewed the paintings and were really attentive.
I have been walking on air since Saturday night. How cool is it to get to sit around for 3 hours drinking free wine and champagne, playing music to a good audience, and being in a cool artsy setting. All was right with the world for that night.
I'll let you guys know where we are playing next...maybe you could come and hang out.
