tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30762338742451345212024-03-05T20:57:47.951-06:00documentation: i said the answer was blowin in the wind and it wass/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-36197099364541250742008-12-22T19:42:00.008-06:002008-12-22T19:57:40.168-06:00Engagement<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJtDx3anAnR-TMEALi7wh6kYTE_QswQS9J2wGZgsHjg_nWeZpI-GyeAXxxgRZhuSWSAaAyKtfT-Pu8i6kf3RBZErHDZTTCAkT9hvgCYZ-dkDvQBZK0SPu99A_OUFiLk3M__PPAeXDuoeX/s1600-h/DSC04385.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJtDx3anAnR-TMEALi7wh6kYTE_QswQS9J2wGZgsHjg_nWeZpI-GyeAXxxgRZhuSWSAaAyKtfT-Pu8i6kf3RBZErHDZTTCAkT9hvgCYZ-dkDvQBZK0SPu99A_OUFiLk3M__PPAeXDuoeX/s320/DSC04385.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282798521875708930" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtW1_MwXW_FYUV11d7y3n94TsLNGYdhUah8itoFmnE5guOR3NkHkrs73HrkEocxUjSxhwGwzf8Ki5uWPCdkXoKrjuqSTpQ9YrWDdRDA23JIJxuluDrTFMoFFWYKNM9NjJFfuxHXJyq6DW4/s1600-h/DSC04383.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtW1_MwXW_FYUV11d7y3n94TsLNGYdhUah8itoFmnE5guOR3NkHkrs73HrkEocxUjSxhwGwzf8Ki5uWPCdkXoKrjuqSTpQ9YrWDdRDA23JIJxuluDrTFMoFFWYKNM9NjJFfuxHXJyq6DW4/s320/DSC04383.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282797930051418482" /></a><br /></div>A funny thing happens when you get engaged. There is some sort of newness that is brought into your life, a newness of self and desire. Life is no longer lived for myself, but with another in mind. Life is no longer based on my successes or my failures. Life is aimed at becoming one with my other. <div><div><br /></div><div>This new feeling of life is omnipresent. There is no escaping that which is inevitable. I will be sleeping with a man in nine months... in the same bed. This period of betrothal is surely opening my heart, as I become a woman whose life is to be lived with another. Already, I feel more beautiful, loved, embraced. It is a wonderful, memorable moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love to know that my friends who will someday be engaged might feel this feeling - of truly belonging. I love to know that someone will love them beyond what they can imagine. And, I love to know that I have experienced this love myself, and will continue to in the next nine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Preston proposed at the top of the Continental Divide in Colorado. As we looked out on the beautiful mountain scenery, encased in fresh snow and diamond dust, we wept and clung to one another. To make it better, our new closest snowmobile-riding friends had prepared celebratory cups of dry mix Swiss Miss hot chocolate. What could be more perfect?</div><div><br /></div><div>The stone is my mothers, the design is my fiancee's, and the finger is mine. How blessed am I to live a life well deserved? To have followed His decree and to feel this new intimacy?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-70111830580270336682008-10-01T15:45:00.003-05:002008-10-01T15:51:30.809-05:00For the sake of noveltyI need the kind of saving that requires a bloody war<div>I'm running out the back while its knockin' at my door</div><div>I have not agreed to take it or respect its passing blow</div><div>There is power, there is thunder, and I sell tickets to the show</div><div><br /></div><div>(Soon everything around me will be crumbling to dust and I would be returning to the ravages of lust.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I am in need of a savior.</div><div>I am in need of a savior.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the sake of injustice, I have profited my own</div><div>Pawned my jewels at the corner for some grey and blistered stone</div><div>For the sake of novelty, I have whored myself along</div><div>Bartered my lasting soul for a brief and hollow song</div><div><br /></div><div>If there was one thing</div><div>in this world I could esteem</div><div>then let it carry on me</div><div>and witness my first apology</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-5282433215832662982008-09-29T11:16:00.004-05:002008-09-29T11:35:54.738-05:00Come, beloved seasonSo, my parents, in fleeing the hurricane that has ravaged the southern coast of Texas this month, including Montgomery, have found refuge in the likes of fall foliage, known best as an aspen tree. The beautiful leaves have, in the last few weeks, turned a sunny color of yellow-orange in the photograph they have sent us all reminds me of an autumn I never had. <div><br /></div><div>In Texas, we have no Autumn, no fall. All is left to the after-effects of Hurricanes and the introductions of our short, wet, scaly winter week. The trees kind-of loath change here. The summer just ambles on into October, leaving them hot, dry and down-right unaware of the changing of season. The best hint of cool breeze we get is the less-than-common breath from the north, sponsored by a strong storm somewhere above and West. If then, the air is fresh, we can all but suspect that our weather will return to its naturally humid state, post-haste. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's not much I can say about the fall except that it's my favorite season. I think it might be all of our favorites. What of summer? Clearly, those who love the summer in Texas would rather spend their days lying on the surface of the sun, surrounded by mirrors. And fall, the mythical unknown in the mind of the children of Texas. The seemingly natural reaction of the tilt of the earth - everywhere else in the world. And, we, the rest, are but dreaming of this orange and yellow and golden-red land of Canaan, where the wealth of sun-color flows like the wine of heaven. </div><div><br /></div><div>To all of this reality, I say, "Come, you beloved season! Make me your lover! Shine down upon my face that I might also feel the coolness of your touch. Fear not the ways of summer, but feel welcome in this place."</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-35889374911642941242008-08-04T10:16:00.000-05:002008-12-10T00:47:44.175-06:00<div style="text-align: left;">We drove an hour out to Hamilton pool last weekend. As we drove farther into the hill country, our expectations soared. Big trees, rolling hills, vast country-side. We were all wearing our swimsuits and watery hiking shoes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">As we drew closer, we realized our fate. PARASITES IN THE WATER</span>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Later that week, we went to the Greenbelt, wrapped around with 360 degrees of inner tube - ready to hit the water. As we hiked down into the gorge, our bodies began to perspire and hearts were ready to make a big entrance, saying, "Kowabunga!" into the water.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">As we drew closer, we realized our fate. NO WATER. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From now on, I'm keeping an eye on the weather forecast. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aPrPwJiGRQMGAWqavLurvTyDFI-e-3X9o662hsSyAvt7NYdJ9sSTrCGmqFmjpGAY_dNJxcfs9sSFuPAR8r5geO_APV3pLrf8KH7AfZaaDttj-fuWQgG242tseH-dvtVNb3hvoMW67-PJ/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"> <img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aPrPwJiGRQMGAWqavLurvTyDFI-e-3X9o662hsSyAvt7NYdJ9sSTrCGmqFmjpGAY_dNJxcfs9sSFuPAR8r5geO_APV3pLrf8KH7AfZaaDttj-fuWQgG242tseH-dvtVNb3hvoMW67-PJ/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230681949310255906" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aPrPwJiGRQMGAWqavLurvTyDFI-e-3X9o662hsSyAvt7NYdJ9sSTrCGmqFmjpGAY_dNJxcfs9sSFuPAR8r5geO_APV3pLrf8KH7AfZaaDttj-fuWQgG242tseH-dvtVNb3hvoMW67-PJ/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">And, this week looks like rain. Hallelujah.</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-49146009276222478482008-07-07T16:55:00.000-05:002008-12-10T00:47:44.530-06:00Week ONE: Update ONE<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Cnh5tHZuV4Z32HIHXb3W4vM57Z5qDRw_v5bY8ihGc0uTnUigw5RJ9BfhGYCpBlCpR-jwnlrEYNvBVlphBG5GLe-UEiP8vKEUBnqlM5rCkLaDRGsR3kBtZeLxRi8LYg1DT3y2FJLzKZ15/s1600-h/DSC03344.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Cnh5tHZuV4Z32HIHXb3W4vM57Z5qDRw_v5bY8ihGc0uTnUigw5RJ9BfhGYCpBlCpR-jwnlrEYNvBVlphBG5GLe-UEiP8vKEUBnqlM5rCkLaDRGsR3kBtZeLxRi8LYg1DT3y2FJLzKZ15/s320/DSC03344.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220398458038015090" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfk6QnvchVd9oC1NGOk8P_ePIfztLKo_op5pjEiMu6jMj3a8fzKMJSHW47MAT2AyN-QUk8TCufAzzIbT3E6rQfCdpeYGTo7LLFs_rMkxEXupbTvDbeOYOKh99jPEvP2JjbDwr1UMTRgf7/s1600-h/DSC03336.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfk6QnvchVd9oC1NGOk8P_ePIfztLKo_op5pjEiMu6jMj3a8fzKMJSHW47MAT2AyN-QUk8TCufAzzIbT3E6rQfCdpeYGTo7LLFs_rMkxEXupbTvDbeOYOKh99jPEvP2JjbDwr1UMTRgf7/s320/DSC03336.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220395887310941730" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Surprises are wonderful: </span><div><br /></div><div>a beautiful rainstorm</div><div><br /></div><div>a wonderful new read</div><div><br /></div><div>a perfect porch nap, disturbed only by a passing train</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-70782929670855150122008-07-07T14:52:00.000-05:002008-12-10T00:47:45.513-06:00Month of Summer: Week ONE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yWHMwKoqgnszZaExj-5JcXd10fSPxF3od-aC1qwEklvMToOetVJ2T73d196RSlYCTXT3bGoBpUWp_gE0CBCJGgmz6fAPWF7NZnRLe0v1XamuOFvLysqaPd5UE7ppm0_pU3gfNQX2GxJx/s1600-h/n23914018_36236749_2494.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yWHMwKoqgnszZaExj-5JcXd10fSPxF3od-aC1qwEklvMToOetVJ2T73d196RSlYCTXT3bGoBpUWp_gE0CBCJGgmz6fAPWF7NZnRLe0v1XamuOFvLysqaPd5UE7ppm0_pU3gfNQX2GxJx/s320/n23914018_36236749_2494.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220375090580325778" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJd-n1tRjrHPoluFttkyxFKDjDrkqbaqBYfJlFMmIqCO9L9S7BFWh9-2telIlPWXJg_yDEeBL54VLDQX1KJj8VsW5uO2dURW6hd0pcRW2Ar7fd3nYRuolkVSG0EBCuxwu-kWAp9HgfoA2/s1600-h/DSC04290.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJd-n1tRjrHPoluFttkyxFKDjDrkqbaqBYfJlFMmIqCO9L9S7BFWh9-2telIlPWXJg_yDEeBL54VLDQX1KJj8VsW5uO2dURW6hd0pcRW2Ar7fd3nYRuolkVSG0EBCuxwu-kWAp9HgfoA2/s320/DSC04290.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220370504689523458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxFMet-ZIwa_QCNe7m-wefAJBSx7Nx7zrybS8iVme9rDyizxUWKPdh-wPZ0q0qpFfmxCcBgbYh8g3Wx-j-HEfege7imxKZbSB6BLaDGXquRMwUIIkbozWIQAMS7_5JoWZZDvSqi6hQf-L/s1600-h/DSC04282.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxFMet-ZIwa_QCNe7m-wefAJBSx7Nx7zrybS8iVme9rDyizxUWKPdh-wPZ0q0qpFfmxCcBgbYh8g3Wx-j-HEfege7imxKZbSB6BLaDGXquRMwUIIkbozWIQAMS7_5JoWZZDvSqi6hQf-L/s320/DSC04282.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220370506826301474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcYp6Ak1zGh4J0Y8e6WiftV8yoVTLBZYiLNwFvjoVWReHh5k-eAjMh_LEgRG4KEjKbrwmTENOseTdFX2DSfUK1jNX_XoCV-9G49qS_dDTqW0rq_Ic6wOup1O1izCKLV_OSrapL4URz2GS/s1600-h/magnolia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcYp6Ak1zGh4J0Y8e6WiftV8yoVTLBZYiLNwFvjoVWReHh5k-eAjMh_LEgRG4KEjKbrwmTENOseTdFX2DSfUK1jNX_XoCV-9G49qS_dDTqW0rq_Ic6wOup1O1izCKLV_OSrapL4URz2GS/s320/magnolia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220370510261507394" /></a><br />I have to say that this weekend was one of the better weekends I have had recently.<div><br /></div><div>Kimber and I have decided that July is Month of Summer, and it's gone off without a hitch. We have a list of things we plan on doing this month, such as celebrating the fourth with the rest of Austin downtown while listening to the symphony orchestra, (which was beautiful, by the way - I cried. It was one choked up tear to recognize the beauty of sitting out on the grass in the middle of downtown in Auditorium Shores, hearing the hum of children dancing and playing, listening to the familiar melodies of our country's great home tunes and lighting the way with fireworks almost directly overhead.) visiting Marfa, the art town, and taking Jordan's pup to Red Bud park. </div><div><br /></div><div>Its only been a week and July has been great. As I said before, ID4 was wonderful. I haven't had one that great in a while. It was so weird to not have my parents around. Preston and I drove to Montgomery to see my brother's family, as they were staying at my parents' house. My parents, however, were in Colorado. (When are they not?) It was so relaxing and reviving to hang out with him and his wife plus two young ladies. Claire can put her head underwater, and Phoebe swims about in her little floater-suit. I was going pretty strong the whole time, playing "King, Queen and Princess" with Claire, but, later, when I was waking up from a stolen TV nap in front of the Astros, I figured maybe I was older than I thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>Preston and I came back on Sunday morning to finish building a project we've been working on. Jordan and I have these green tables in the living room that I have recently grown to dislike, so P and I re-painted the legs and cemented a stone/mosaic on top. It looks pretty cool. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope this month of summer works out. I really would like to look back on July in August and know that it was not to be wasted. If only it would rain. Rain would make the entire summer worth being called summer. (But our first hurricane is being born in the ocean...)</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-46519510159965272022008-03-20T13:40:00.001-05:002008-12-10T00:47:45.904-06:00my hair looks good today<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jW-IXeHbNe_LqKfMeEGAGnmHalmXPjusa2kJAXWmBvdZNwjSzau8cEtcjw0FNVtsYnbASXd2KJxX3w8pD6OOxevnJIOD-lYsNMuPUiISo0tPIPZOOwk9XBfmtKc9FDy-xf5sqQDcJmHN/s1600-h/lat+and+kimber.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jW-IXeHbNe_LqKfMeEGAGnmHalmXPjusa2kJAXWmBvdZNwjSzau8cEtcjw0FNVtsYnbASXd2KJxX3w8pD6OOxevnJIOD-lYsNMuPUiISo0tPIPZOOwk9XBfmtKc9FDy-xf5sqQDcJmHN/s320/lat+and+kimber.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179902255345730162" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmkdgewLbyDVHvdiP5mdgnmL2ys90ptTzbFlayVTSC44SLz-3hfvpxYdMGmPdcuoGJ_Qsr79HOT5aenak_e8dGxkMupRkt9pXLwmWjSm-ho5IagdsepyWV2J8suywUbjrym8CGYIwhGf4/s1600-h/Limes-46Y14.jpg"></a>I've moved three times now because the bees here seem to be following me in my every move, it's a little hot, and the dishwasher splashed water all over me through the window in which he was washing and beneath which i was sitting, but it would be difficult to make me more peaceful.<div><br /><div> </div><div>I came here to write and have a delicious glass of iced tea, and I accomplished both of my goals. Here I sit, writing and drinking tea, and it is Thursday, my favorite day. The music played in this joint is so ambiguous that the fire truck sirens resounding in the distance, leaving the the station in search of flames to stifle, seem to be a counter melody to it's harmony. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Probably the most beautiful of days since I've gotten back from my break in the canyon, Austin has given me so much with it's sunshine and smiles. I wish this was what life really looked like. That look that promises that everything will be just this way tomorrow. That look that sings the melody of the entire city taking a deep breath. I have said before that the "woo" is one of the greatest sounds I know. The "woo" is what brings people together. But, in this case it is the "hum" of small conversation and individual people enjoying themselves, doing the things humans do, without worry. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The Canyon was a good time. It was that moment of life that you say to yourself, "this is wonderful. School... not so wonderful, but I can appreciate it because I am supposed to." No one ever says, "get your hiking done," or "make sure you fly a kite today." Someone says, "I really should be studying right now," and the rest of us grumble together as our hammers fall to the side of the road and our slave tunes recommence. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Of course, yes, this life is only just one inch in a mile worth of span-extension chord. What does it matter to do anything? You've got to work a little to enjoy a little. Thats terrible. I would rather work and enjoy. So, that's what the Canyon did for me, I guess. It was that kind of reminder that work and pleasure should not be mixed, but enjoyed simultaneously. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>So, on to trying new things, eh? I've been loving limes. If you think about it, a lime is one of God's perfect little things that, without it, one might not notice, but with it, one's eyes are opened to an entirely new sensory experience. My love for limes began when I noticed that one of my roommates had cleaned the dinner table off and placed a few limes in a bowl in the center. The beautiful green color of the freshest thing was burned into my mind. I wish I could paint to tell the world what I saw. I then, after seeing the beauty, decided to enjoy them otherwise.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>And, it's been a success. A royal success. A purple, velvety, plum, desire, royal success. </div></div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-20742123601251668502008-02-22T10:17:00.000-06:002008-02-22T10:41:57.820-06:00Tales from the creepiest building on campus<div>An update on me right-er now. I'm in a creepy hallway that reminds me of the school used in various teen-horror flicks as Swimfan, and, well others. Swimfan mostly. Did anyone else see that? CREEPY. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This building has to be one of the oldest on campus, given the gargoyles keeping watch from the roof and the elevator that takes 10 minutes to get to the fourth floor. Also, there are windows on the doors of the classrooms and offices that are that speckly, textured glass, circa 1965. The door of my classroom has a mail slot. Who gets mail in a classroom? The hallway is long and brown, with linoleum flooring and green cork boards. There's a chair across from me that seems as if it has been mauled by a hungry cougar. Why a cougar would want to eat a chair, I'm not sure of. But, I'm sure the writers of Swimfan would know. They did shoot their film in this hallway. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm serious, this chair is ridiculously frightening to be an inanimate object. It's unloved tweed fabric hangs off of it as it slowly sinks away with newness of the building. It sits alone as if waiting for someone important to notice it and give it new life. Or, maybe it's just waiting for me to be sitting in it with my hands tied behind my back and my mouth gagged because the psycho TA who had been waiting in his office for me to walk by finally got his wish. </div><div><br /></div><div>Probably not. But, you never know.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think, now, more than ever, I'm afraid of a school shooting happening here. I'm surprised that, in the wake of recent tragedy at Virginia, copycats haven't targeted us yet. There was one other school just recently. The guy hid behind a projector screen and took out nearly a full classroom. UT has 55,000 students. What is stopping just one person from doing that? It happened in the 60s. My dad was in school here when Charles Whitman climbed to the top of the main building tower and opened fire. You're not allowed to go to the top of tower anymore, but that's not where all of these recent shootings have been taking place. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's scary to be at the biggest school in the nation sometimes. Not just because of the constant threat of violence, but because of the threat of getting lost in the wake of so many other people around you being so successful. I think to myself sometimes that there is no way I will get a job after I graduate. There are so many other people competing against me from my own school. My GPA is not good enough, which is constantly weighing me down. I don't know how to shake it, other than to choose to not let it guide my decisions. I feel like I'm not the only person that feels this way. No matter your GPA, students here are all scared out of their minds about what is to become of them. Some of my friends that have already graduated and haven't found "real jobs" are among those. Then again, there's the possibility that God may put me in a place that has nothing to do with PR. Ok. I guess I'm ok with that. But, why am I here?</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-68857270398000036552008-02-14T14:44:00.000-06:002008-12-10T00:47:46.967-06:00I'll take a Thursday, please.<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVAAOPwKT4lOvBzhjRmOjcfo4_xVVjMK5P6sT2RVWk__4GVVo0jKT051_IfQ2eGzxRaPKrJ82zrd6HVIhZy-Ine_R6aOebEss2UPrXymeVK7Bvv8z1UxzsdxayMAxvzHL95Wt6FaepGTB/s320/DSC03135.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166946304603615970" /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilILhxyW-lKS24xNPxqhvDHueaw7-ZRioFrgKw1WARTm1cA6hHByDcXqJGNhE_Vp7JJk7iEOSi87iItmV5L0jrenZV3Ut6-ms_HMSj3ChKVKfKJ6tdkYYtH8d8r_K4iQEbXSs8G2RMpxqT/s320/DSC03104.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166945290991334098" /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"> </span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wzglCgqWpGamSN1EfrkpI5OTj9wW-Z0b4ZhrShaIPGzYizfa6KjhXazXh2qNVPRduzrc_GbVo028aAYuHqutpS54Xj31kRBfJnYbkjWTNDj0COAiCdEvIP8-74vY4ELKZxMgD2TNl5n0/s1600-h/DSC03111.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wzglCgqWpGamSN1EfrkpI5OTj9wW-Z0b4ZhrShaIPGzYizfa6KjhXazXh2qNVPRduzrc_GbVo028aAYuHqutpS54Xj31kRBfJnYbkjWTNDj0COAiCdEvIP8-74vY4ELKZxMgD2TNl5n0/s320/DSC03111.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166944410523038402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_BpQKM76bcc0HmUzhy0PQSqGjCIL94WUIHdJEEOILKwwkwCdEAlEIiT04c9Lmvzp68kPT8arvfyq5VjwTd50fBALDg0MaxyDlevWai2H492lEP1xLBl5ileTdak_N29R1dYNyb2ZVSrB/s1600-h/DSC03111.JPG">S</a>itting on a wooden bench, looking through Thunderbird windows, I realize how much I adore Thursdays. <div><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I've almost finished 2/3 of my Soy Vanilla Chai, my personal drink of choice since JoJo let me try hers during finals last year. They don't even ask what I want here anymore, they just say, "that'll be $3.13, please." and begin to make my drink. That may be part of the reason I love Thursdays. Not that I predict my friends here will make my drink every time, but it's always a pleasant surprise.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Every aspect of my Thursdays is great. No school. I get up around 9 am, read the paper, actually make my breakfast, watch a little Ellen, and then the rest of my day is determined by chance. Today, I've chosen the celebratory studying route. And, by celebratory, I mean, I haven't studied much at all since January 15th, and I'm celebrating my return to commitment.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Last week, I received a phone call on Thursday, saying "Sarah. It's a beautiful day. Let's take pictures of it." And, off we went -- skipping classes and group meetings in search of the sunset. Not to be cheesy in saying that, but we actually found what we were looking for. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>It is Valentine's Day today, though. So, hopefully, I will be placing a picture close to this one, but with better looking people in it next Thursday. Actually, I know I will. I have to. I commit here and now that every Thursday will be worth documenting. </div></div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-48511761194024006122008-02-01T10:24:00.000-06:002008-02-01T10:33:23.870-06:00I get hungry when I'm fastingSometimes, you just don't know what to expect. <div>At the turn of this year, for example, I had my year fully planned out. I would take the classes I'm scheduled for, stay home on Thursday nights because my best friends have fled the country, and see my boyfriend on the weekend. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I have gotten so far is - ok, I am taking the classes I need, but they are pretty much boring. I have been able to reconnect with some old friends through them, friends from MoCo. (By the way, did you know that Montgomery College is now LONESTAR COLLEGE? Weird.) I have made new friends. Kimber, Latane, Cessie, and I went to Midnight Rodeo last night. Danced in a completely ridiculous line dance for about 20 minutes, and then jetted. I mean, it really was the hustle, but some hip hop guy threw in a "walk it out" in and labeled it his own. Also, I don't see my boyfriend every weekend. It just doesn't happen. And, it may not even work out to live in the same town this summer and fall. It sucks a little. I was really looking forward to it. So, if it winds up not working out, I might be upset, but I might be surprised by other opportunities, as this year has already displayed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, Jen has really red eyes today. I think it's because she's stoned. Jen.</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-73767566385560635772008-01-19T22:57:00.000-06:002008-02-05T19:38:11.481-06:00The JortzSo...today was the day that Kimber and I made a band. It began as a pitch effort to write a song composed of three elements: outdoors, sunshine, and cleverness. The entire ordeal began in a dream I had while sleeping...I don't have dreams otherwise. I fell asleep in the end of Nacho Libre, the last moment I viewed of the movie consisted of a man in gold flailing his massive body atop Jack Black. (Not, white.) I awoke with a vision. A vision about a band. A band with Kimber.<div><br /></div><div>We took our own feet to the park down the street. I thought of taking my bike- her, a longboard (not short) but that just wouldn't do. I think we needed some time to be inspired together on our walk down the street. It was chilly and grey, and the cars passed by us as if fleeing from some sort of monster - and soon we might have been considered to have "entered the belly of the beast." That beast, the song.</div><div><br /></div><div>Together, we trekked down toward a few folks, one sitting on a picnic table, the others leaning around on each other. Other folks were gathered around, expectantly. A group of 14 year-old teensters awaited our arrival as if a gang waiting in an ally for an old woman to wander in, dropping off some trash. One of the girls approached us.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey, can we listen to you guys play?" she snarled. I could see in her eyes the look of predation while her "peeps" ran away. I was sure at that time that the runaways aimed to locate backup---with loaded guns. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kimber and I sat down- ready to chow on a meal of music-making. Suddenly, our lives changed.</div><div><br /></div><div>A group of dogs arose from the depths of houses behind the neighborhood chain-link fence. Behind them, a lone woman, wearing tights and a fanny pack. Following behind, the most enormous dog either of us had ever seen. (I thought he resembled some sort of triceratops/rhinoceros, without those crazy flat horn things, of course.) Needless to say, we named him Curtis.</div><div><br /></div><div>Curtis walked slow. He sometimes lay down on the wet grass, resting his bones, slowly being crushed by his perpetually engrossing skin/fat matter. Curtis breathed heavily and it became clear to us that he relied solely on the constant reassurance from the woman in the tights to continue living.</div><div><br /></div><div>If Curtis were a man, he would smoke a pipe and eat Pork Rhines on Thursday afternoons.</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to Curtis was a heard of dogs, large and small. And, just one lady, with a fanny pack. The dogs answered her every movement, while still retaining their individuality in chasing balls and smelling one another. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kimber and I could not quite understand why such a woman might own so many dogs? Small and large? Dogs? Lady with dogs? And, immediately we knew- our first song would be about her. And, her amazing hoard of pups. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our band is called The Jortz. Look out for us on MySpace. </div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-27283272114218074712007-12-31T17:48:00.000-06:002008-12-10T00:47:47.133-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj-xNyYOJv3dK8R-90yTSXeKe4JTWZgjsesBqHSsGqSfL0Er8xluw5Z8SEDMvF-qzho_Ef2lB3blpAn_olGMWeCdGnjZbn6-kqQ7d-GdfkEK1_MDnZ2nq_2SAWpCUUG5pocanV67D-097/s1600-h/34577.mia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj-xNyYOJv3dK8R-90yTSXeKe4JTWZgjsesBqHSsGqSfL0Er8xluw5Z8SEDMvF-qzho_Ef2lB3blpAn_olGMWeCdGnjZbn6-kqQ7d-GdfkEK1_MDnZ2nq_2SAWpCUUG5pocanV67D-097/s320/34577.mia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150288161467126258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">"Hands up, guns out, represent the World Town."</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-12511071214615647402007-12-30T15:01:00.000-06:002008-12-10T00:47:47.947-06:00Movement?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2TcbW8xYGp3vDjoPjZ1JG1Oef0l-E3XND3LDSktEBgrJxN8E7eU2kFw2pe2ZWX5usA2hwo3fjNav8pnMMDDzPgqQFaLXYNEdZvhIM9t2HZPrCO-0GwP394XpIDCB96aLybGZs27XFO2c/s1600-h/darfur.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2TcbW8xYGp3vDjoPjZ1JG1Oef0l-E3XND3LDSktEBgrJxN8E7eU2kFw2pe2ZWX5usA2hwo3fjNav8pnMMDDzPgqQFaLXYNEdZvhIM9t2HZPrCO-0GwP394XpIDCB96aLybGZs27XFO2c/s320/darfur.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149874560411488738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1brbLW1fzjDDchKM2wBuOMGKgypqVJrNNMdt0-7VOqGUCkLzT_zF4tiPkhoRVfYCTczmvu2q17LqY7BbHzky-W4ULliW0655ArRaZKj9zG_gxFticXPtQriGhGlkdBy_yEk8wPI1DbAKV/s1600-h/lookatgun.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1brbLW1fzjDDchKM2wBuOMGKgypqVJrNNMdt0-7VOqGUCkLzT_zF4tiPkhoRVfYCTczmvu2q17LqY7BbHzky-W4ULliW0655ArRaZKj9zG_gxFticXPtQriGhGlkdBy_yEk8wPI1DbAKV/s320/lookatgun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149874414382600642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sPdnAGAvX1xZ7ElSLVfIRRUMefqkIcv7APumBAS8k5AJa_VrMc02lvM9i0JmOd_NFOur2yHojWNiOOMIjWmT9-bHY2NUMtNHmfeAz0dqoXCOBn_71G4lQ9HJSEz3R3joGA1HfvnE1SMz/s1600-h/l_ef42a9415b2a8631a3673f4abf149c70.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sPdnAGAvX1xZ7ElSLVfIRRUMefqkIcv7APumBAS8k5AJa_VrMc02lvM9i0JmOd_NFOur2yHojWNiOOMIjWmT9-bHY2NUMtNHmfeAz0dqoXCOBn_71G4lQ9HJSEz3R3joGA1HfvnE1SMz/s320/l_ef42a9415b2a8631a3673f4abf149c70.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149874414382600658" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-60784032813672312902007-12-30T14:51:00.001-06:002007-12-31T17:45:23.808-06:00here/therebetween the fingers<div>crashing into the places<div>that are most virgin</div><div><br /></div><div>white and pure, quiet</div><div>nothing is heard around me</div><div>not the cry of those</div><div>who might not see it</div><div>all they might hear is bloody</div><div>and rare and broken</div><div><br /></div><div>silence here and there</div><div>echoes of the dark affaires</div><div>the world breaks apart</div><div><br /></div><div>"you think it's tough now,"</div><div>"well come to Africa," now</div><div>drums unheard through pine</div></div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-77005336002228404832007-12-25T22:38:00.000-06:002008-12-10T00:47:48.058-06:00Sea Wolf<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); "><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHHfn_2BOrVKFEUVzDM1qAQb1fyQnVFij_DlyAX97xCY_sp36hiN6TXhG-NXN58dLcpxDmGPFxJkSdXd9b8BzzNZhts7j74Unon_u_iWaOgOaoR00DC_pvmiprJZ_5g0RdjzVAES9_Djei/s320/seawolf.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148136576125358418" /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">An inspiration of sorts. </div><div style="text-align: center;">www.myspace.com/seawolf</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-55248758195538029612007-12-25T20:36:00.000-06:002007-12-25T20:39:49.821-06:00The other dayI want to start a band.<div><br /></div><div>Not like... that kind of band that plays places. But, the kind that is actually good for a while. I'm beginning to think that I haven't got much talent. Ok, yeah. I know I have a little, but I think it might be more represented by the help of a band. I don't care if we play somewhere. It might be fun. In front of people and all. I'm not sure what I want though. I need someone to tell me that "hey, we should start a really great band and make a lot of money."</div><div><br /></div><div>Actually, someone did tell me that the other day. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Never mind.</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-58836452568022934892007-11-15T21:14:00.000-06:002007-12-31T17:46:12.058-06:00What we gonna do now?my body aches and i feel it in all sides<br />from my ears to my back i've been attacked<br />there's not room left for good<br />or maybe the good i can let in<br />because i haven't<br /><br />my soul whimpers with the mention of more<br />where does it end, i want to know<br />if every person is invaluable<br />then why can i not put a face to the name?<br /><br />hunger replaces sadness replaces guilt replaces insignificance<br /><br />i tried the whole "Satan does not rule over me," spill<br />and i feel hands grip my throat<br />where is my faith in resurrection?<br />there is not blood around me<br />but there is suffering<br /><br />not much more i can say to myself<br />like lauren "what we gonna say now?"<br />nothing,<br />i need this.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-76912344308916959062007-11-06T15:00:00.000-06:002008-12-10T00:47:48.662-06:00you make everything gloriousThe day is grim and a full side cloudy. Chilly wind whips around the houses here and I sit watching the neighborhood through my warm-side windowpanes. It's November 6<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span>, my birthday, the day when you should celebrate with your friends. And...I am alone, and could not be more satisfied.<br /><br />Since moving to 78757, life has gotten easier to avoid. School is hard, so I don't pay much attention to it. Weather is nice and so I bask in it. Reading and music making have become my only true solaces...places where I am alone. I can't understand a place where I have to impress anyone but myself. I went to a party the other day. One where all my friends got up in the midst of conversation and danced their hearts out. And, other than the short, 4 minute respite of dance, I was eh bored.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjvoJ0IquSIDEoR44JjTUa4GP4aLzgfQ09h4HWnz0Neo_Py8MfjB-2B-aUYm7KmNEe5At-BsE4q_3DTCI3pCQ1Edrt0_fCB78BsyqKwwvhv8dIOAIP6K-jgxKrS3l7hzDnbtQGhAzdtLx/s1600-h/bat_for_lashes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129840903431708050" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjvoJ0IquSIDEoR44JjTUa4GP4aLzgfQ09h4HWnz0Neo_Py8MfjB-2B-aUYm7KmNEe5At-BsE4q_3DTCI3pCQ1Edrt0_fCB78BsyqKwwvhv8dIOAIP6K-jgxKrS3l7hzDnbtQGhAzdtLx/s320/bat_for_lashes.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br />I think I struggle with fellowship. I don't want to share my feelings, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">because</span> I feel like my feelings impart some sort of weight on the listeners shoulders. Why would I want to do that to people? I really don't care much to hear about everyday problems, to be honest. If it's not worth writing about before you tell me about it, being a loner, it's not worth me hearing about it.<br /><br />Lost in the wonderland that Alice creates has, after 24 pages, made me more excited about fiction than fact. It's election day, and I am not voting...again. I have class right now...but I'm not going. And, something irrelevant to stories already introduced, for the sake of "news value," there is still a war going on in Iraq. It sort-of feels like America has forgotten. My interest lies in when it will really be over. How many of my friends will die fighting in a war that no one remembers?<br /><br />Thanks to the Austin American Statesman, I know more about the Animal Shelter relocation than how far away we are from getting out of Iraq. The comparison of the importance of animal and human lives being risked is being weighed every day the paper chooses to write stories about dogs and their new homes. I care about dogs, but, I care more about my friend who <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fought</span> in Iraq, was injured after one year, and now America thanks him by allowing him to push papers behind a military desk.<br /><br />I want to know what's really important. Is Lewis Carroll more important than a story about an injured soldier in Iraq? Do cats and dogs really care where they go when they've been lost? I don't think so. I think that the avoidance of the entire topic all together is important. I'm not sure anyone even cares what's important anymore.<br /><br />On a personal note, I think my relationship with God is important. But, what does that mean, anyway?s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-11010299098669889632007-10-29T23:17:00.000-05:002008-12-10T00:47:48.803-06:00F. Scott<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwdfPxDtN0uiIp8C5VSK-jg-9_aD3abA02nFdFuZzN-N3vZbE9q_OlNPL8QWipZyImmigbis-gsW3ztG1NfiBul7g-S_8eMr7kuqABjNMHqve7PBGIhysyJ39cFBq1B3-U5XLNjuq_9Jq/s1600-h/Dallas+Trip+With+Prestino+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwdfPxDtN0uiIp8C5VSK-jg-9_aD3abA02nFdFuZzN-N3vZbE9q_OlNPL8QWipZyImmigbis-gsW3ztG1NfiBul7g-S_8eMr7kuqABjNMHqve7PBGIhysyJ39cFBq1B3-U5XLNjuq_9Jq/s320/Dallas+Trip+With+Prestino+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126983374694179010" border="0" /></a><br />So when you haven't blogged for a while, what is there to write about?<br /><br />Maybe about how all I really want to do is read some F. Scott.<br /><br />If Fitzgerald were alive, sitting with me in this study/coffee shop in which I've neither studied nor coffeed tonight, what would we talk about?<br /><br />I think I may talk to him about how good looking he is. I mean, it may be surprising to me how good he looks to be an author. I see him looking like Gatsby might have looked himself. I picture him, sitting across from me with his legs crossed, scratching his beard, and saying, "what do you enjoy most about my books?"<br /><br />We might talk about what kind of music he listens to. I think he may be fan of Jazz and a closet listener of Ryan Adams, although, Adams may be too abrasive for his literary mind/ears.<br /><br />Why did you not write any other novels, I would say.<br /><br />Why do I need to when I've done such a great job once. What if I screw it up next time?<br />----------------<br /><br />Otherwise, I want send a shoutoutloud to my friends in Montgomery County. Or, "The Mo." As I like to call it. I want to go home soon, just to check in on all the lives being lived. I have this one friend who is an amazing man of God. I don't think he knows how much he impacts the lives of people around him. He has this beard thing. I think it makes him wiser. Live Abraham, and Jesus.<br /><br />Also, my love back at College Park HS. She does not eat meat.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-41432698169777013932007-09-23T22:31:00.001-05:002008-12-10T00:47:48.968-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYoiz1xjzqpU7glss_o0AzekJp3JHQKev_0FlLV0YhpjUWX9MSbF35mSt3nh1EHMxrK1J_18GNJ_6sKHBRP_pyx_un1h8fJK0s-NaVd1kM_9ocRLAIQvn3iwCZWRlv1Y5ej06ysecDnA_/s1600-h/jackand+sarah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYoiz1xjzqpU7glss_o0AzekJp3JHQKev_0FlLV0YhpjUWX9MSbF35mSt3nh1EHMxrK1J_18GNJ_6sKHBRP_pyx_un1h8fJK0s-NaVd1kM_9ocRLAIQvn3iwCZWRlv1Y5ej06ysecDnA_/s320/jackand+sarah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5113613259512481586" border="0" /></a><br />So. ACL. Time of times.<br /><br />I think that lately, things in my world have been busy and boring.<br /><br />That's an update.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-69829147061140101192007-08-22T21:02:00.000-05:002007-08-22T21:12:28.937-05:00Just breathingI must make a clarification about my previous note: I don't see the church as something that is not good. I fully believe that the church is neccessary to the Christian life. I am just plain dissatisfied with the way we Christians interpret "The Church."<br /><br />Working at a church this summer, yes, did open my eyes to these things. But, I celebrate those eyes opened, and fully love every moment I spent there. I am very proud of the time I spent there. With these experiences under my belt, I feel much more comfortable to express my confusion. I believe that a freedom to question is pertinant to the living word. The bible confuses me, but not in a way that frusterates-- but rather enthuses me to locate dialogue about those confusing things.<br /><br />I, in no way, think that I am capable of articulating any official theories about this complex world of God's Word. I am just willing to be satisfied in not knowing everything-- God is much bigger than even the bible can put into words. Although the word is God-breathed, He did use human hands to vocalize his breath.<br /><br />And, even our breathing calls his name.<br /><br />So, I am satisfied with just breathing.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-85359514446705085402007-08-21T18:40:00.000-05:002007-08-21T18:54:42.986-05:00I don't need your gospel.Sometimes, I feel as if my life is just a little bit less meaningful than I would hope it would be. Not to say that I have not been given a purpose through Christ. I just have a problem understanding how i can be used to fulfill my purpose. I can say in honesty that I have changed in important ways this summer. But, some of those changes have made me so apprehensive about things-- <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ie</span>, THE Church, and, well...life in general. What kind of life is lived in order that we may continuously make an effort to please one another? I think, every life on this earth. Of, course I am being a little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">facetious</span>. How can every life on this earth be promoted by self indulgence? First in my mind, I see the life that so many people glorify in today's American society: Oprah Winfrey. She gives of herself everyday. Books, jewels, cars. So, thanks Oprah. To whose glory shall I attribute your greatness? Not only am I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">apprehensive</span> to her, but even to people I know well- those whom I enjoy the company of. How many times must we speak on things that we "still haven't formulated and opinion" of, while still trying to convince someone that your opinion is more important that others? Maybe that doesn't make <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sense</span>. But, it seems so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">classically</span> "church-talk" to preach in a way that is "all-encompassing," saying that we all are suffering of the same thing.<br /><br />IE: We all are hurting <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">because</span> someone has hurt us in the past. We are all at fault for our own <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">iniquity</span>.<br /><br />IS that true? I have difficulty believing that we ALL suffer in the same way. This is why i hated "Captivating," by Staci Eldridge. If you need gospel, go to the gospel. You don't need someone to tell you why you are suffering, save the everlasting truth of the word of God. (This is why I don't read self-help christian-life books anymore.)<br /><br />So, is it true that we are all suffering from the same thing, anyway? I don't know...the jury's still out. :)<br /><br />I think I will blog more. Maybe my thoughts can be better articulated in a more common manner than a summary account at the end of the summer. Of course, I say this, and really the only reason I decided to blog is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">because</span> I ran out of journal pages and I need to write. I need to.<br /><br />I need to read too. So, I'm going to go do that.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-59214822105301443042007-05-12T00:04:00.000-05:002007-05-12T00:19:38.909-05:00The EggmenMy friend, Rachel, and I decided to embark upon a mid-finals rendez-vous to Central Market today. We had gotten pretty tired of studying for our Physical Science final, and needed some sustenance. I hadn't done well on my previous final, and so, for the last 16 hours, it's been all about PS304. Hopefully something good will come out of this.<br /><br />It must be something about those Market/Dining places around here-- people love them. We had to wrestle through some pretty gross traffic on Lamar, and, as I figured, all of that traffic was going to Central Market. Moms, babies, Grandpas, you name it, they were all there. As we sifted through the many people waiting in line for food, we ventured around the buffet-style vendors, eternally saying "Excuse me," to a mom whom had just bumped into us, racing for that last bucket of Chicken Tortilla Soup. It was hard. But we pulled through.<br /><br />Upon checking out with our food, Rachel beat me to a "good line" and ended up making it out before I. I asked her to find a table outside, and yet, little did I know, there was no seating at all. MOMS EVERYWHERE.<br /><br />I tried to find her, and amidst my search, realized that there was an event going on- a concert that was getting ready to get started, and the band...The Eggmen. Obviously a Beatles Cover band. Then it all came together. The Moms, the grandpas. All for the glory of hearing Beatles tunes live once more.<br /><br />As the band played, we noticed a cultural phenomenon of sorts: babies dancing, moms shaking their butts with one another, and some old guy with a yoga shirt twirling around, oblivious to the world around him, and, inevitably, everyone tapping a foot to the beat. (I swear, the Yoga guy was the most incredible human being dancing I have ever witnessed first-hand. I was impressed.)<br /><br />I think this is why I love Austin so much. Or maybe it's why I love music so much. Either way, We learned a few valuable lessons today: Everyone likes the Beatles. Bring your kids to Austin and they will grow up to be hippies. That's really neat. And, it only takes good music to bring people from different worlds together.<br /><br />World Aid, anyone?s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-26869121197540032192007-05-08T22:49:00.000-05:002007-05-08T22:50:09.105-05:00A response to the gentle interaction of created and creatorthe sounds of leaves comes as the breeze moves<br /> from the tops of the trees to the bottoms<br /> and up through again and in and out<br /> as an invisible visitor, hindered not<br /> and free<br /> the breezeleaves float<br /> some escaping through thick air<br /> riding tiny particles of sea<br /> the sea the air the leaf<br /> work together in a dance of subtle movement<br /><br />the moist leavesbreeze hits my cheek as i sit<br /> and i am surrounded<br /> whispering shhhhh's and song<br /> speaking through these breaths of mine<br /> were once naught<br /> i am reminded<br /> of the leaves<br /> of the breeze<br /> of the seas<br /> and the breath that was supplied by one great breather<br /> that we leavesbreezeseas may breathe his name<br /><br />in and out and up and down again<br /> together in a dance without the lights on<br /> with subtle movements like a lover's first touch<br /> known. <div class="entry-body"><wbr> <wbr> without effort.<br />like a song</div>s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076233874245134521.post-28960799188680348812007-02-21T21:45:00.000-06:002007-05-08T23:02:57.160-05:00The Age of EaseSo, I haven't written a post in a while, and so, in order to continue on in getting an acceptable participation grade in this class, I have decided to end my dry-spell.<br /><br />Listening to Ryan Adams, while I type through a web-browser set against a Bob Dylan, No Direction Home desktop, I would not expect for my personality to be one that is digitally enhanced, or concerned--- but I am. Why this incredible fascination with recent activity related to my friends and comrades online? All I really do online is check to see if someone has left a comment on of my several outlets of internet community.<br /><br />So, running with this notion of a continued interest in displaying ourselves online, most of the time, creating ourselves an image that will be most attractive, I want to look at the evolution of this sort of Community.<br /><br />What is a Community, anyways? I like one of the definitions that dictionary.com provides.<br /><ol style="font-style: italic;" type="a"><li value="2">The region occupied by a group of interacting organisms.</li></ol>To me, this a clear explanation of the draw of these online communities. Organisms, (that would be us) find a mutual ground to interact, such as any population might-- for comradeship, and relationship. The ultimate goal of a community of organisms is to prosper and fulfill the natural requirement to procreate? Right?<br /><br />I heard a girl the other day refer to having sex as "Populating." Funny, and true. Way to go, friend.<br /><br />Being a student of PR, I have had to take some classes about the evolution of media in our world. All of my professors have chosen to label different periods throughout history in relation to how we have developed in information and digital technology. Each of my professors has chosen a different way of expressing each era, but they are all basically the same concepts.<br /><br />1. Pre-Printing<br />2. Printing<br />3. Radio<br />4. Television<br />5. Internet<br /><br />Some call our particular era the "Information Age," in relation to a rise in online use and supplemental relationships through online communities. Information usually means that we are acquiring things that we previously did not have, in this case more technology, and digitization. To me, the information age can be translated as the Age of Ease. Without lifting much more than a finger, our generation is able to access literally a world of things online. Without lifting much more than a finger, we are able to watch videos online from across the world. Without lifting much more than a finger, we are able to present ourselves as "date-able" and literally date online.s/dosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608859616395771319noreply@blogger.com0