Independent

I’m living in a state that was once a sovereign nation before the United States slipped its meddling, greedy fingers around its independent throat. A sovereign, independent, self-sufficient nation. With royal leaders and a loyal people rich in its own, and to the Anglo-Saxon visitors, savage, history. Now it is a state of the Union. A state thousands of miles from the teat from which is suckles. A state dependent on the mainland for sustenance. A state which has perhaps a week’s worth of food on the island to sustain its occupants. A state which is unable to feed its own should it be cut off. One that no longer grows its own food, but dependent on flow of food and tourism from abroad. We have made an addict and a mooch out of a once truly free and independent land. We have robbed a people of their independence to absorb them into a united nation based on the very principles we stole.

And it seems we continue to do the same abroad. Cutting other nations from the hierarchy and leadership they are accustomed, making them dependent on our security and protection. Our money and our food. Like feral animals we see in the gutter…thinking we know better…picking them out of their comfort, out of what they know. Not understanding why they fight against what we can only perceive as security and comfort. It’s good enough for us, why can’t it be good enough for them?

At the same time, we ourselves are becoming dependent on these lands…for Pacific outposts, for oil, for our own sense of pride. Refusing to look to our own. Our poor and homeless. Our hunger and lost. Ours in search of solace and refuge. Now we yank those towards us how do not seek sanctuary while pushing aside those screaming at our borders for acceptance. While we turn a blind eye to our own people crying from the gutters.

I was morbidly curious how the Fourth of July would pan out in Hawaii. There are a many proud people here. Protesters screaming for release of these islands from the union…a return to their old sovereignty.

How would Hawaiian’s celebrate a day important to the lineage of the thousands of immigrants and colonists that settled the mainland? Immigrants and colonists who sought the freedoms that the US in turn tore away from the Hawaiian people? The same way they celebrate everything else.

The Hawaiian, Polynesians, Filipinos head to the beaches and backyards to fire up the grills. Any reason to gather and eat as a family. BBQ and teriyaki. Kalua pork and poke. Food everywhere.

The Chinese embrace the noisemakers…the firecrackers and fireworks they themselves first introduced to the Western world. The twilight was resonant with the screech and pops of hundreds of gunpowder explosions.

And the military boys are placated with concerts on the bases and freely flowing beer.

But are we really celebrating? Or just using the day as another paid holiday…an excuse to eat and make merry? Without any thought or curiosity about why we create such a ruckus of light and sound in the air. Without reflecting on what it means to be free? If we are proud of our country? And if not, proud of what she has done, at least proud of what she stands for? And what is our responsibility to her? To continue the legacy of freedom and independence penned out by the founding fathers. To ensure our own feel their ancestors came here not in vane but indeed found the freedom they hoped for.

I am not proud of what the leaders of this country have done. I shutter at how other nations view our greed and callousness. But nonetheless, I am proud to be a part of this nation. And I respect with great awe the principles on which we were founded. We will find our path again.

Catching up

I hate the post holiday funk. The joy and awkward of visitations fading away so quickly into memory. Fuzzy around the edges. It was surreal...moving so effortlessly from blanketed snow to muggy greenery...never even batted an eye. Not even a change of clothes short of shedding the winter coat at O'Hare before passing through security. Shedding of the winter coat...removing an old skin, too bulky for the destination...unburdening what no longer works. Heading onto a new climate. Heading into a new year. A new start. On my own again.

I longed to dive right back to work here...and dive I did. Right into a pile of stress and miscommunications. The network is down at the theatre. And this is a theatre, while still in the 20th century, has failed to set up any backup in case this vital form of communication is down. Oh, like maintaining a call board, or even the simple task of picking up the phone. So most people this week had no idea what the what, where and when was. Thankfully...no performances. Just workshops and rehearsals. I did appreciate the workshops. It was neat to hear the early stages of the scripts that we'll be tackling next season. All but two of them are new works or new adaptations. The new work is one big appeal of this theatre. I just wish the artisitic director put his foot down a little harder to ensure said scripts are finished in a timely manner...

But the workshops, while fun, were ultimately a waste of my time when the tour show has about a week to be finished. I'm nervous for this show. Mostly because I don't care. And why don't I care? Because the director does not bother to think of things ahead of time or answer questions. He's a little too impromptu for my taste. And I also get the vague impression he hasn't bothered actually looking at the designs or using the rehearsal costumes. Tech is going to be a mess...

But tis a New Year. I hope one better than the last. Too many goodbyes in 2007. Great accomplishments that seem pale and slightly insignificant now...Sorry...I've been quite moody and merose these last few days. The funk will pass. It always does.

New Year's eve itself wasn't bad, though I still think the highlight of the break was my first night back...sitting in Nicole's apartment with Andrew, and another friend of Nicole's, watching Hot Fuzz while those of us wishing to partake of booze sipped lychee martini's. I was thrilled that the vodka from Maui made it in transit alright.

New Year's eve I ended up killing a lot of time on my own while Nicole worked. Time alone much needed. Eating a meat pie with a cider at Elephant and Castle. Wandering the loop, past the Goodman, through Macy's, through the park, in the Chicago Cultural Center. I'm forever annoyed at how early everything wants to close up in the evenings. It was hard to find a warm interior that wasn't a bar after 6pm...and the snow was falling heavily by that point. My gloves had been carelessly left in another's car on my return trip to Milwaukee. My fingers ached and toes tingled as I sludged along, now counting the minutes until I could join my friend for the evening festivities. I passed through the park...saw Lincoln sitting in solitude as well, dimly lit, covered in snow. Probably chilled to the bone as well.Eventually I started heading Northward and Westward...in the vague direction of Nicole's job. A dry stone bench, hiding beneath the protection of a large stone vase caught my eye...out of the wind...away from much of the drifting snow. So I sat. And did a stupid thing. Something that should have been done in person many days early. In a sour mood. A phone call. In the cold. Tears, cruel words, anger and fear. And deep love and respect. Freezing cold. Alone. On the phone New Year's eve. I must have been sitting incredibly still during the phone call...a security guard from the bank I perched next too came out to make sure I wasn't frozen. I smiled and thanked him, though I'm sure he noticed the streaks on my face. He wished a happy new year and moved on. As did I...to find some warmth for my frozen toes as the phone call wrapped up.

I found brief solace in Macy's. Maybe 10 minutes or so before they closed their doors...but long enough to warm through again.

And back on foot through the streets towards Chicago Avenue. Finding a not so crowded jazz bar along the way...with yet an hour to kill. Two gentlemen let me settle in the one open seat between them. Both smoking as if the world were about to end...and for their pathetic cigarettes and cigars...it was about to. Midnight. Doomsday for smoke in bars. Signs already posted. Bartenders sucking down smoke as someone drowning would gasp for air.

Sipping bourbon. And surprised by a text. Another friend, loosely defined. Seeing if I'd started my festivities. And rubbing in the fact, though I hope unintentionally, that he was about to head out with his girlfriend. Salt in a new wound. Though how could he have known about my earlier phone call.

Finally the golden hour approached. Nicole met me at the bar and we promptly left for a locale that didn't place as much emphasis on foot attire. Seriously...it's the middle of winter in Chicago. Do you honestly expect every woman to be walking the streets in strappy dress shoes? So onto the train...
We found a sweet little local dive on Belmont. Le Tavern. Just crowded enough...still a space with a table. Quiet enough to sort of carry on a conversation. And a swallow of champagne from a styrofoam cup. A much better end than a swanky bar or overrated dance club. No cover. No hassle. Just the bar and the company.

And sopped it all up at 12:20 with a patty melt and sweet potato fries at a 24 hour cafe. First meal of the New Year was a nice greasy one.I think we made it back to the apartment around 2am. Promptly feel asleep for a few hours, only to rouse at 6am to head to O'Hare. Goodbye again. I hate goodbyes. It was tough saying goodbye to that poor Honda too...I was sad to sell that faithful car...but I wouldn't have been driving it for another year and a half...if that...
Handing over my winter coat to Nicole. One last hug. And turned around. I kind of felt as though I was turning my back on the past. And this time around...REALLY uncertain about the future...short of having a job and a home.

And it was home. Drop dead tired upon arrival in Honolulu...and slightly cranky from the delay in Maui and rude, unhelpful gate personnel for my connecting flight. Immediately hit with the muggy and warm...the moisture sucked out of me in the cold midwestern winter suddenly thrust back upon me as I exited the plane. And the overwhelming thought that, while lonely, tired and a titch sad I was home.

I am home. I'm just not sure if this home is what I really want.

Should be working

But I'm not. Six shirts lay there...waiting. Hoping for the completion that the attachment of their collars will bring. Longing to be whole when I deign to get off my ass and finish their hems. I need a break. Not from work. But from the lack of motivation that snuck up upon me unawares. I kinda feel like those shirts...something's missing, something's not quite done. But it will all be made whole again. Eventually. When I choose to do something about it.

It's the weird state of things. The stasis. Christmas one week away. I cannot fathom it's that late in the year already. That 2008 is ready to descend. The distance is mind boggling. Non-existant. The thought that I have to get on a plane and sit still for 10 hours in order to come back and see family. For little over a week. And then return to this little island in the middle of perpetuity. Away. Isolated.

I'm in frickin purgatory.

Pornographic Brushes

It never fails. Shortly after a good design meeting, I begin visualizing the watercolor on the page and as a result, lusting over the brushes I cannot afford.

Jack Richeson Kolinsky Sable Brushes, how you tease!

The Round 14 is a mop of a watercolor brush. I am thrilled to own a 10, the slightly smaller sibling.

But, oh for a 14!

It does not seem to matter how much of a wash of paint I mix, the Kolinsky sucks my palette dry. Forced upon the page, the loaded brush oozes a swath of rich translucent color. Such thick vibrant strokes of color. I love how quickly I can fill an area with a hue...how easy it is to tease and manipulate the bristles to bend to my whims. Rinsing the brush off and quickly sucking it to a point again...the fine detail such a meaty brush can offer when handled with the lightest touch. (I'm pretty certain given my preference for natural pigments and my habit for sucking on my brushes I will die of cadmium poisoning)

Hmmm...smooth black handle. Blessedly short so I don't feel like I'm painting a mile away from the paper or about to poke myself in the eye with the length of the handle. Satin finish, and wood...not the cold plastic of many other brushes. With the delicate gold embossing on the side. So new. So pristine. So untainted.

Until I get my hands on it.

I will use it. I will abuse it. I will force the brush to work until stray bristles begin to peak out from its perfectly tapered head. Occasionally I will ignore it for another brush. Most days, I will gently clean it and cherish it. But a day will come when I let it linger too long in the rinse water. The feral will soak up too much water...the wetness will seep into the wood of the handle causing it to swell. The black paint will split. And for that defect I will use it and cherish it all the more.

Dazed

We live in a society of oblivion. I am stymied that everyone around me seems to walk around in a continuous state of semi-consciousness. Students at the school constantly bump into me because they are fixated on typing a text message or too engaged in a conversation to watch where they walk. People cross the street in front of emergency vehicles unaware of the sirens...phone glued to their ear or headphones cutting them off from the world. Commuters crowd the sidewalks in bunches, refusing to budge for those whose commute is by foot on those sidewalks. Drivers regularly refuse right of way to bikers and pedestrians because all they see is the next car they may be able to pull out behind. Co-workers attempt to solve a problem by cutting out the immediate irritation rather than taking in the entire situation and addressing the source. Tunnel vision. Selective hearing. No one seems capable of viewing the big picture anymore. Maybe my training as an artist keeps me biased. I was taught composition...the work as a whole...yes to notice the details, but not get caught up in them.

Why do we continue to live in our own little worlds?

Falling into place

A the rain...the steady downfall of rain from an overcast sky. With the chill that accompanies it. If it weren't for all the greenery I might mistake the weather for fall. Oh wait. It is fall. But the day allowed me to don my leather boots for the first time since arriving here.

Rain such as this does two things to me...its makes me melancholy and lethargic. I want nothing more than to curl up in bed, preferably with someone's arms wrapped around me. And it makes me a little stir crazy...eager to leave the comfort and get soaking wet. So a little of both today. I stayed in bed later than usual (no daylight savings here...) and then roused myself to go out the coffeeshop. Surprise of surprises! Waffles! Oh I was in heaven. While slowly sorting out the awkwardness of last night's text messages through a phone call. And reading the paper.

Besides Dog's recent publicity, the other news I stumbled across was an article about Radford High School...populated primarily by military transients. These words struck me. How true they seem, though I know several civilian students who are doing quite well:

"According to a study conducted by sociologist Rudi Williams, military dependents tend to score higher on tests, are less likely to become delinquents, have a higher median IQ and are much more likely to achieve a college degree than their civilian counterparts.

The downside? Constant reintroduction to new social groups and communities forces the military dependent to assimilate quickly. Achieving a comfort zone of community life is impossible."

--Burl Burlingame, Star Bulletin Nov. 4, 2007

No wonder I always feel aloof, but seem to ease into a new place effortlessly. And get the urge to pick up and move every three years or so...

A bad joke

A priest, a sailor and a politician met up at a bar to lament the same girl. The priest commented how she would come to him for guidance. He missed offering acts of contrition and setting her on the right path. The politician spoke of how she seemed amused by his half truths, white lies and bleeding heart promises. He missed the tolerant ear she offered while he was spinning yarns. The sailor sat quietly with his beer, a smile on his face. The other two pressed him, saying they knew he still saw her from time to time. He smirked and said, "what can I say...she likes seamen."

Yes, there is an inside story behind this. And no, I am not going to tell you within a public forum.

Persistance of a memory

Yesterday found me not only sentimental but also reflective. Pensive. Particularly about memory. Emotional connections....

I blame a recent viewing of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I've never regretted the things I've done, but that movie made me ponder missed opportunities...and a reason to treasure memories even more. When at the moment, those memories are all I really have of some of you. Photos, yes. The occasional phone call (even when spoken in animal tongues). But mostly memories.

This particular train of thought struck as I wandered through the campus at University of Hawaii, Manoa. I look just like any other college kid, though I'm not any longer, nor do I have a desire to be. But it recalled the days back in Stevens Point. With the family. And I began not only recalling memories, but reflecting upon what memories actually are.

I could not derive any emotional connection from those images. My memories...primarily images. Flickering reels of film dotted with static, jittery, unfocused and from one perspective. Fun to watch. Black and white, without the sound track. Eliciting a general sense of happiness or sorrow depending on the memory, but no deep emotional connection. I feared I may be monstrous, devoid of emotion, cold. But I know this is not the case.

Recalling images...the memories themselves, could not conjure the feelings I felt during those times. To recall the emotion connected to the memory it takes much more...the environment. Sounds, smells, visuals. But even more than just these. The deepest sense memories, the most powerful reactions, always seemed to stem from vulnerability. The feeling of insecurity. In my most delicate moments, the strongest memories are created. And the most powerful emotional reactions recorded...love, fear, anger. When the walls come down. Then the memories and emotions flood forward.

And upon reflecting on memories, I was astounded at how much a happy moment was soured by the actions that followed it. By the imposition of anther's interpretation upon the scenario. I love allowing an event to unfold, to see what the next progression may be, without forcing it, without trying to define, analyze or interpret it as it happens. But to experience the moment itself. Recently, memories have been forged with the bitter taste of someone else's push to make the event into something other than what it was. To read too much into it, instead of enjoying it for what it was.

Of course, I'm one to talk...I always find myself in my own head. In my own thoughts...analyzing, interpreting. But I hope that I never, ever try to impose an impression upon a memory. Share the significance yes...but never an attempt to force the memory to be viewed from a completely different angle. Each memory is unique to the individual. I'm not saying one shouldn't attempt to see something from a different angle, to walk in another's shoes. I'm talking about attempts to vandalize a memory. Distort your own unique perspective. There is no reason why you can't maintain your own personal snap shot while still glancing upon what another's photo may be. But please...do not defame, vandalize the original. It is the uniqueness that makes the memories special...personal.

It is the imposition of another's lens that makes the memory devoid of what made it special to you in the first place.

Clarifaction for the stalker

Ouch...so I've seemed to have sparked some bit of reflection among several people about the use of technology with a previous post. My first response to that is yeah for stimulating discussion! Even if uncomfortable. I would like to point out this was not directed at anyone in general. Well, I lie...the scope of the entire post anyway does not apply to one individual...but my feelings and commentary stem from the recent article on friending, and my own frustration of technology limiting people instead of aiding.

Technology is a great tool, but it is just that...a tool. Facebook, myspace, these blogs provide a great PUBLIC forum for keeping in touch with people and proliferate information and ideas. Blogs in particular have been used by people to spread the seed of thought, encourage, stimulate, exchange ideas...they are all the personal fluff that journals such as this one occasionally tumble into. With the time shift phone calls become prohibitive, hard to schedule appropriate times to call people. Letters take time in a world of instant gratification. Emails and blogs are great for keeping in touch with friends and family.

But I'm starting to see a trend where the internet is becoming another wall to hide behind. I'm not attacking keeping touch with old aquaintances by way of reading blogs daily, checking on social networks or the like. I am not condoning reaching out to new people via the web either. But emails, personal sites, social pages are becoming a replacement for human interaction instead of the tool and aide that is should be. It is dehumanizing society. It is killing our language. OMG WTF. You're totally my BFFE but not worth the effort to actually say you're my friend, or even type out the few pesky extra letters. Grrr.

But there are several examples of these social sites that allow for voyeurism without the other person's knowledge. If you except a friend request or post to a public forum, your words and profile are up to be read. You are deluded to think that information is suddenly private.

Before I continue for clarifications sake: I will use the terms stalker and vitcim. The roles are much more clearly defined instead of an attempting to be PC or sparing feelings to those who feel offended by such terms.

What irks me are the features that allow the stalker to consciously decide that they will use these sites to view other people from afar. Consciously decide to use a cloaking device (such as the invisible stealth mode in Yahoo Instant Messenger) to keep the victim unawares of the activity.

My thoughts on upping the privacy on this blog has more to do with a desire to create less public access to more private thoughts.

And I'm really too lazy to manage several blogs devote to a specific topic each. Maybe if I were getting paid for it. Wait...Rutgers did pay me for the last two and a half years of blogging due to the "student experience" it colored for the newbies on campus. Thankfully since graduating they've only allowed provided students with the posts typed during the time of my incarceration...err education.

Anonymity and the internet

My biggest pet peeve with the world wide web...with social networks, blogs, IM's, personals sites, the natural of the beast in general:

An awful lot of people have access to an awful lot of information without your knowledge. The ability of someone who wishes to remain nameless and faceless to read about someone else, and possibly to think they know you well because of what they find, what they glean from profiles and blogs. That somehow gathering that information facelessly in a chair in front of a computer screen makes is okay...perhaps even more ethical than attempting to gather the same information by physically shadowing them.

It's not honest. It's secretive. It's unnerving. It makes me suspicious of the other's guilt...that they are somehow doing something wrong and to avoid getting caught must remain hidden...or that there are more sinister plans. Or perhaps it's just a social ineptitude that prevents said stalker from being able to interact with people in person...instead relying on technology to do the work for them.

Particularly bothersome are functions such as the ability to not only sign in "invisibly" (I can see you, but you can't see me) on Yahoo Messenger, but also to set "stealth" modes for individuals. To set yourself up as a voyeur without the other persons knowledge or consent. Other sites "stalker" modes are even creepier...on a site that logs the individuals who view a profile (as opposed to just providing a counter of hits) you have the option to view anonymously. Essentially becoming that dirty old man watching your ever move without your knowledge.

Also troublesome..."friending" on social networks. You can stumble across a profile you like and offer the figurative handshake or introduction by means of a friend request. But often said request is not accompanied by a greeting. No hello. No 'I'm so and so and I saw your profile, you intrigue me. ' Fine. But "friending" is safe. It just adds another number and face to a list of "friends" but inclusion to such a list, the ease with which people toss the word friend around within the binary void devalues the term. There are people out there who make it a game to friend as many people as possible. Can these people say they are truly friends of the 100+ individuals listed. Maybe if Friends lists were renamed Acquaintance lists I wouldn't feel so oddly about the whole thing.

And news feeds on programs such as facebook which inform all those on the above mentioned friend list of any change to your profile. When you've moved, changed jobs...even a change in relationship status.

And google search. Have you ever googled yourself? I recommend it...see how well known you've become on the web. And realize all of that information is made publicly available.

Again, asserting the need for a private forum. I'm toying with the idea of upping the level of privacy on this blog. Please be patient if you can't access it sometime in the next month. Email me and I'll add you to those who have access. This is off course assuming a majority of my readers have my email. And you won't find such contact info on any profile of mine. I refuse to make personal contact information available to any passer-by. Sorry.

Dirty Little Secret

A while back I stumbled across this video by All American Rejects. The postcards depicted were part of a larger art installation which has since bloomed into Post Secrets. Post cards sent anonymously with a secret scribed upon it. Some funny. Some disturbing. But mostly universal. Heart wrenching. A few words bearing fears of loneliness, regret, loss, rejection. We really aren't alone in all of this.

postsecret

From a friend

A touching epistle from a friend, student and classmate back at Rutgers:

"Distance is indeed the great divider, and although the saying may go that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" I highly doubt that this is truely the case.

It is not however, the distance measured between two points on a map that determines the intimacy of people, but the distance between two hearts. Fondness for someone is found in the memories we hold not in the physical presence of another individual. True physcal presence may build and strengthen the relationship, good time mean more good memories and such. Still it is only the heart that can measure the worth of another intividual in our eyes.

I often find myself melancholy when I realize how distant individuals are from my own heart. Memories that fade, and are difficult if not impossible to recover. The sound of another's voice, or that particular smile that could be shared only at a certain moment under certain circumstances. These things that once rang so clearly in my mind now drift off into a gentle, misty haze to only be seen in glimpses, never fully viewable again.

It is around this time that tears of regret swim in my head. I feel that I do not honor those I loved as I should. The dead, the living, the near to me, the far, even those who I see on a regular basis I do not honor rightly in my heart.

So in this brief and poetic moment of melancholy I honor you. Your beauty and your grace, the angels, the devils, those I've laughed with, lusted for, most importantly those I've lived for and who I'd still die for. Thank you for your moments. And although I'm sure this is simply sappy and ridiculous I thank you anyway, especially those who think this is least to do with them. Be glad that you brighten someones memories however briefly."

It's nice to see the stars

The evenings out here are magnificent. I can see the stars again. Not just the major ones, but the blanket of pinpricks of various size and hue. Amazing. Not the blinking lights of air craft that cover the Jersey skies. Tonight I even caught a glimpse of a shooting star. The first one I've seen since that night years ago when Nicole and I wandered into Schmecklee Reserve to bask in the Aura Borealis. Yet another reason why I continue to take jobs in the middle of farmland or mountains every summer.

I'm on the prowl for work come August. I've found several great opportunities, mostly that of academic shop supervisors. The jobs I've sent out resumes to are a bit spread about though...two in Massachusetts, one in Ann Arbor, one in North Carolina, the one I truly hope for in Chicago. I'm not sure I have the stamina or self confidence for the constant fight for livable employment in New York. But I'm not closing any doorways yet.

More food for thought

I stumbled across this story once before and it always makes me smile a little. Hurray for logic. Hurray for Faith:

A University professor at a well known institution of higher learning
challenged his students with this question. "Did God create everything
that exists?" A student bravely replied, "Yes he did!"

"God created everything?" The professor asked.

"Yes sir, he certainly did," the student replied.

The professor answered, "If God created everything; then God created evil.
And, since evil exists, and according to the principal that our works
define who we are, then we can assume God is evil."

The student became quiet and did not answer the professor's
hypothetical definition. The professor, quite pleased with himself,
boasted to the students.Another student raised his hand and said, "May I ask you a question,
professor?"

"Of course", replied the professor.

The student stood up and asked, "Professor, does cold exist?"

"What kind of question is this? Of course it exists. Have you never
been cold?" The other students snickered at the young man's question.

The young man replied, "In fact sir, cold does not exist. According to the
laws of physics, what we consider cold is in reality the absence of heat.
Every body or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits
energy and heat is what makes a body or matter have or transmit energy. Absolute zero (-460 F) is the total absence of heat; and all matter becomes inert and incapable of reaction at that temperature. Cold does not exist. We have created this word to describe how we feel if we have no heat."

The student continued, "Professor, does darkness exist?"

The professor responded, "Of course it does."

The student replied, "Once again you are wrong sir, darkness does
not exist either. Darkness is in reality the absence of light. Light we
can study, but not darkness. In fact, we can use Newton's prism to
break white light into many colors and study the various wavelengths of
each color. You cannot measure darkness. A simple ray of light can break into a
world of darkness and illuminate it. How can you know how dark a certain
space is? You measure the amount of light present. Isn't this correct?
Darkness is a term used by man to describe what happens when there is no
light present."

Finally the young man asked the professor, "Sir, does evil exist?"
Now uncertain, the professor responded, "Of course, as I have already said.

We see it everyday. It is in the daily examples of man's inhumanity to man.
It is in the multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world.
These manifestations are nothing else but evil.

To this the student replied, "Evil does not exist, sir, or at least it does
not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like
darkness and cold, a word that man has created to describe the absence of
God. God did not create evil. Evil is the result of what happens when man
does not have God's love present in his heart. It's like the cold that comes
when there is no heat, or the darkness that comes when there is no light."

The professor sat down.

The young man's name -- Albert Einstein

A christening of sorts

My tattoo is now seven months old and had yet to be named.

Thus let the phoenix be named Prospero.

For some reason I'm drawn to characters such as this...note he and Faustus both promise to renounce, change, begin again at the end, start a new life as it were...one does, the other doesn't. Ying and yang...lightness and dark...

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,

Before you open your mouth to complain...

"A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain."

William Shakespeare

Superbowl Precedence

I was a little confused when I picked up the liturgical ministry schedule to find that Sunday, February 4th's mass was listed at 3pm. I assumed a typo and planned on reading at the 8pm mass as usual. Then I received a call from the Catholic Center to confirm I was a lector this weekend. She clarified that mass was at 3pm, not 8pm. It didn't dawn on me until today what could have caused it.

Is the Superbowl that important to that many people?

To the Catholic Center's credit, they are accommodating a large group of youths by the schedule change in addition to fostering the sense of community by hosting a party....an alternative to the bar crowd that is sure to monopolize the city tomorrow.

The Rutgers football craze I understood to an extent. College football in general, I can appreciate. Watching professional sports I do not get. To see athletes paid that much for mediocre performances....

Most actors get paid far less without health insurance or pensions and they're expected to preform 4-8 times a week in addition to rehearsals, tech, fittings....

Entertainment is a fickle business.

nearing the end

My last class of the semester was this past Monday. But Monday feels like weeks ago for all the trips in and out of New York for Country Wife and the emotional dilemmas I refuse to reveal to the general populace. It never fails. At some point everyone sees me crack. Now that the beginning of the end has arrived, I'm wondering if I didn't just throw away one of the most important pieces of my life. Cryptic, yes. But most of the people who regularly read this have some inkling of these ramblings. To everyone else, I apologize for the randomness.

Words to Remember

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.

"If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

"You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you.

"Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever of any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."

--Martha Graham