Thoughts on Literary Criticism

Many English classes today spend a lot of time analyzing literary works through various lenses; post-modernism, new historicism, feminism, gender theory, new criticism...you get the picture. My Critical Issues in Literature Studies class deals with this aspect of modern English studies. We recently read an article applying similar principles to Disneyland (California). The writer discussed the elements of time in Disneyland (Frontierland/Adventureland=past; Tomorrowland=future; Mainstreet USA=adulthood/real life; Fantasyland=childhood/fantasy...fancy that). While reading the article, I wondered: "Did the designers of Disneyland really intend for it to be analyzed in this manner?" Reading that article, one would think that when the designers created Disneyland they thought these very things, and it was an intentional design choice. I personally, don't think so.

It seems more likely that they thought about children and children's entertainment of the time. Is it more likely that they created Frontierland because it was symbolic of the past, or because children's literature and entertainment of the time dealt with the old west? The same applies for the other lands of Disney (note: this is a cop out because I really don't feeling like drawing the same parallel with all the other places). Perhaps it is a product of hating the class, but I find many of the things we discuss absurd. Was Bram Stoker really making statements about gender issues when he wrote Dracula, or was he just writing a fun story? Granted, there are some books where it seems obvious that the author was making a political/social statement; Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness for example. Whatever the case, by making statements about the literature, it seems like putting words in the author's mouth that he did not necessarily intend.

In All Honesty, No

I had lunch with my mom this weekend, and it came out that I have a negative self image. I personally have known this for a long time, but I guess that was the first time I expressed it to my mom in so many words. So she gave me this book to read by Josh McDowell called His Image...My Image. The end of each chapter has application points to work through, and being the underachiever that I am, I just give them a cursory glance and half answer the questions in my head. Chapter 3's question talks about Psalm 139:13-16:

For you created my inmost being, You knit me together in my mother's womb, I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made, Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

It then asks if you believe this of yourself, if you can "honestly thank God for making you the way he did". And then I realized it: my answer, in all honesty, is no. I can thank Him that I wasn't born with some kind of debilitating disease, that I'm not confined to a wheel chair, that I'm relatively normal; but I can't thank him for making me just as I am. There is deep seated pain, bitterness and frustration at God for making me the way I am. Why couldn't I have been born with normal bone structure? Did I have to be this big? Why did I get fat? How come I'm not as smart as my brothers? Why did I get the high blood pressure genes from Mom's family, were the bones from Dad's family not enough? Why should I thank God for all the things about myself that I despise?

I have been lying to myself for a long time. I've been asked before if I was angry at God for everything that's physically wrong with me. I've always said "no" and talked about Amy Carmichael and how I knew God made me this way for a reason. And I do know it. I just don't believe it. My brain says "no", my heart and every fused bone in my body says "yes".

I want so dearly to make a fist, and snap my fingers the way everyone else does, and go to the store and buy shoes with a heal, and not have to worry about the width not being right, and eat salty food and not have to worry about my left ventricle. I thought I didn't have a problem with it, but I guess I do. I can't thank Him...at least not yet.

Memories

I was sitting on the couch this evening, thinking about how I should be upstairs working on a paper (theatre history, ick) when one of my house mates picked up a house photo album from my first year of college. Flipping through the snapshots I was reminded of all the good times with the girls in the house. From K.'s 21st birthday dinner at Chili's to the end of the year party in the limo, (the end of which found me and one other person sober) it was good memories all around, even the frustration with the couches was a blast.

So I just thought I would share a picture that I find particularly enjoyable from that year. I think it's one of those that requires a little bit of explanation. If you are among the millions of Americans afflicted with poor eyesight and can't see, it reads: "Laura-Stop stealing my underwear and eating them! Please. -heart- Mo Dude" My reply reads: "Mo, I'm sorry. I was hungry. -heart- Lau[squiggly][squiggly]" I don't remember how that joke got started, it certainly was not rooted in fact. Whatever the case, it still brings a smile to my face, and an ache of nostalgia to my heart, or stomach, or phalangeal nerve. It's funny how random things become when you live with people, but I guess that's why God made Eve in the first place.

It's hard sometimes, remembering how much fun we had my freshman year of college, and then being harshly reminded by my current situation that the good times are over, but I guess it's better to not focus on the fun that we had and look at the fun I can still have with my current roommates (despite the deplorable lack of certain amazing roommates due to marriage/graduation/natural progression of life).

Anyway, I hope you've had an enjoyable time trodding down memory lane with me and seeing a stick figure picture depicting my underwear eating self.

P.S. Sorry I haven't posted anything substantial in a while, I did write a soul-baring post, but it wasn't very complementary to someone, so I felt that I really shouldn't post it for the world to see, not because I didn't want to express my frustrations, but because I didn't want to speak ill of someone in public (I don't know why I think that makes it okay that I totally thought what I did, still do to be honest, but well, you know what I mean). Oh yeah, Mississippi was great, but I will wait on my pictures (which have yet to be turned in for developing, but I'm lazy, what can I say?) to post about it.

And Here I Am Again

Sitting here at 5 o'clock in the morning has brought me to realize that I have horrible time management skills. And at this very moment, I'm only making my dilemma worse by once again delaying work. My problem is, I think, that I hate the class for which I am working. I think the professor is an idiot, and I wish I didn't have to take it. I think the assignment is a load of crap.

But the more important question is: why didn't I do it this afternoon? I had several hours where I was just sitting around contemplating doing my homework, but never actually doing it. What is it about the night that is so enticing to me? Is it the silence? The empty feeling of a house gone to sleep. I know it's not watching the sunrise as a work. I'm hating myself at this moment for a number of reasons, but mostly because I have to be up in another four hours.

Unsure

I leave for Mississippi tomorrow, and I am unsure of what I will see. I am conscious that this trip, although brief, will not be easy; most things aren't if they're worth anything. I've seen pictures of Pass Christian, Mississippi before and after the hurricane. Total devastation. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but seeing it live and in person, even weeks after Katrina...let's just say that a picture, no matter how good, won't capture everything.

That being said, I'm taking along a camera, to capture my experience, and I'm sure they'll be up here soon. So frequently you see pictures of devastation and despair. I want to bring back pictures of hope.

This trip will be hard. Seeing my family's home after hurricane Charlie last August was hard enough, and the damage to our house and neighborhood, as bad as it was, cannot compete with the flattened homes in Louisiana and Mississippi.

More to come...

Out With The Old, in With the New

There'’s a new resident of the tree outside my window. The female cardinal (who I fondly call Clementine) that used to live there disappeared some time last week, and now there'’s a new bird who is at this moment giving me the evil eye and puffing up his chest. Methinks he's not used to having someone watch him. I actually don'’t know if it'’s a male or a female, or what kind of bird it is for that matter, but I'm in the naming process right now anyway. Martin maybe, or perhaps Carl. I like naming things if you hadn'’t noticed, maybe it's from reading Anne of Green Gables too many times (if that'’s even possible), or maybe I just like being familiar with my surroundings. He'’s gray with a white belly, and he's really pretty. He seems a little suspicious of me, 'cause he stares at me and puffs himself up a lot. I'’ll try not to begrudge him the spot in my tree; I was rather fond of Clementine, she'’d lived in by window off and on for almost a year now and I liked watching the bright red gentlemen callers that stopped by from time to time. I have a suspicion that Martin/Carl/the Godpigeon (he's not a pigeon, but I love the Animaniacs, so perhaps the scientific inaccuracy would be permissible) drove her away. He is, however, starting to grow on me, and he'’s irresistibly cute when he grooms his feathers. I have officially welcomed him to the window shared by the tree and room 5.

There's also this lizard that crawls across my window screen from time to time. I've named him Gary. I don't know that it's the same one every time, but well, I'm assuming it is, because that would be cool. It interesting how many little animals are drawn to my window into their world. I do enjoy watching them though, even the little moths that somehow find their way in between the screen and glass and can't seem to find their way out. I don't usually name them though, I know they'll probably be dead by morning, so what's the point really.

Sometimes I wonder if they watch me as intensely as I watch them. I have been know to stare at Clementine for several minutes at a time (usually when I should be writing a paper, but that is besides the point). It's really relaxing to watch these creatures who just live in their simple lives and don't worry about much of anything. Their routines are always the same, no all nighters for them. They are constant, but still alive, and I am happy to share my window with them, as I glance into their world, and they glance into mine.

Are We Missing Out?

I saw a program on PBS this summer about the new hydrogen cars and was completely fascinated by the technology that would enable to cars to operate with water as the only pollutant. Then I got to thinking about the advances in technology in the last century or so. Just think that a hundred years ago, most people would still have been driving a horse and buggy, and the fastest cars went an astonishing 20 miles per hour or something like that, and did you hear that two brothers from Ohio actually got something to fly!?! There were so many things that were brand new to people a hundred years ago, things that would have tangible affects on their lives. Refrigerators, electric lights, airplanes. Looking back at the last century, I wonder what it would have been like to live through that; to see cars become the primary mode of transportation and progress from the Model T to the Taurus; to watch Neil Armstrong walk on the moon live; to see a TV for the first time; to hear the voices of the actors on screen; to put a gallon of milk in the fridge and know it won't be spoiled the next morning.

I wonder if my generation has missed out on being astonished by technology. We've become so used to the leaps and bounds that are so common today that they aren't leaps and bounds...just the natural progression of science. I heard that they mapped the human genome (whatever that means), but what affect does that have on my life? They put an ice and water dispenser in my freezer door, now that's something cool, but not earth shattering. I barely remember the advent of the internet, but I only remember it, I have no idea what life was like before the internet. They invented a car that has no pollutants. Okay, so when are they going to invent a car that runs on air?

We have become jaded, unsatisfied and unimpressed by the technological advances that are daily changing our world. I really think I'm missing out.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

Some time last month, my voice teacher asked us to bring in our favorite poem to use as text. I have never had a favorite poem, so I began searching through poetry I'd read in high school to find a few lines of verse that tickled my fancy. I plowed through some Emily Dickinson, contemplated Alfred Noyes, cringed at Sylvia Plath, then came to Robert Frost. I paused. I remembered sitting in Mr. K's class reading assorted works of Robert Frost, only half paying attention, knowing that it was English class, and I could easily get away with making something up when it came time to produce some sort of work that indicated I'd been paying attention. I remembered that I liked it. Of all the poets we read, I liked him the most I think. I don't recall why exactly, just that I did. I read a few of the familiar titles, "Mending Wall," "The Tuft of Flowers," "Out, Out--," then "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening."

Having not seen it for several years, I read it again, seeing if it could pass as a 'favorite poem'. I found that not only did it pass, it became a favorite poem. When I got to class and recited it, I felt a little silly. Everyone else had chosen a poem that had some deep and profound meaning, something horribly valuable and grown up to say. Mine was just simple and calm. I liked that it made me feel peaceful inside. I liked how it was quiet and sad. On the walk home from class, I thought, why does this poem grab me? As I thought, a picture came to mind.

A little girl in her pajamas and slipper socks sits next to a window, knees pressed against the side of the radiator, elbows resting in the valleys on top. There is the soft glow of a night light shining near her, comforting her fear of the dark. But at that moment, her focus is not on the gloomy room behind her. Hands cupped under her little chin, she stares out into the dark night, watching the snow fall gently over her play land, tucking it in under a white blanket. The old gray maple tree outside her window doesn't look as sad now that he's covered in white. She knows she shouldn't be awake, her bedtime came and went hours ago, but she cannot pry herself from the transformation happening before her eyes. Tomorrow she will put on her coat and too big boots and play in it, make snow angels and snow forts, and maybe even a lopsided snow man with a crooked carrot for a nose. But tonight she'll just watch.

Deep Down

I've been doing a lot of thinking recently, most of it as I stare at my scarred finger, poking at the area void of feeling. It's hard to think about it. Every time I do, some place deep down in my stomach starts to tingle, my throat constricts, I feel the urge to cry. I keep imagining what will happen if the motion doesn't fully return to my finger. I might have to permanently change how I hold a pen. My thoughts float to the guitar resting in its stand six feet behind me, untouched since Monday, dust slowly accumulating on the frets grooved from years of love and frustration. Will I be able to play again? It was such a battle when I learned to play; molding my unbending fingers into unnatural positions; sighing in frustration as I came across chord after chord that I knew I would never be able to play; smiling at the strings when I found a way to do what everyone, including myself, thought impossible. Why did this happen now that I've finally gotten to the point where my repertoire is greater than a few three chord songs?

Could this be God's way of taking me down a notch? Stripping me of my pride, I don't seem to want to give it up on my own. Maybe He's asking me to give Him the situation; He made my body, He can fix it if He wants.

It seems dumb to cry over something like this. The stitches haven't even come out yet, it's been four days, of course it won't be healed in so short a time. I just worry sometimes that my hand will never be the same. In public I laugh and say, "It's awesome, isn't it?!?" Don't be fooled, it's just a facade. Deep down, I'm terrified. Every time I bump it accidentally and that electric shock shoots up my arm from what feels like the fingertip when in reality I've just hit the knuckle, will it be like this for the rest of my life? When I turn a page in a book and there's no sensation in my ring finger, will I ever feel the soft touch of paper on that fingertip again?

I bury my face in a bandana, hiding my tear-streaked face. I don't usually cry. I'm a robot, few people have seen me cry, just the bird that sits outside my window at night. I stare at her, she stares back at me with her beady black eyes. I wonder if she's ever cried.

Something Out of a Horror Movie...

...or it's just my finger. I wanted to post something so that people could see my stitches. This image came from me putting my hand on the scanner in my house, so it's not necessarily the clearest thing known to mankind. I will try and find someone with a digital camera so you can see my face too(not that there's anything wrong with it, just so you can see its more, or so I can make a goofy face), but well, that hasn't happened yet.

I know everyone wants to hear the whole story, but honestly that would take a while, and it kind of hurts to type, so you'll have to go on the plain facts for now (or call me if you want the details):
1. The accident occurred around 5pm, Monday, September 26 while I was cooking dinner.
2. I was splitting apart frozen pork with a butter knife.
3. The butter knife slipped and hit my finger.
4. As of this moment, there isn't much feeling on the left side of my finger above the cut.
5. The four stitches come out Thursday, October 6, one week from today.

Anyway, I think that's enough for now. Like I said, call me if you want the details. If you deserve to get the details, you already have my phone number.

Bruises

There are a lot of things I miss about playing soccer. The feel of the grass beneath my cleats, the rush I get when I make a good save, the tingle of my fingers in my gloves when the ball smacks them and doesn't bounce off, the soreness in my muscles after a hard practice, the camaraderie with my teammates. But what I miss the most are the bruises, picking myself up off the ground after colliding with someone and saying, "man, that's going to bruise!" Or waking up the next morning with an aching little spot of black and blue wondering where did that come from? but knowing that I earned it. Bruises are a badge of courage, screaming "Look what I did, I earned this! This is where some girl slid into me and I still got the ball! This is where I took a kick!"

I got a bruise yesterday. It wasn't from playing soccer. I hit my knee on the edge of the grocery bag turnstyle at Walmart. This bruise is a badge that says, "look at me, I'm a klutz!"

An 18" Man Does NOT Fit On a 16" Piece of Vellum

So it's been a while since I posted on this thing, at least since I posted anything of serious value. Well, I don't know that today will be of "serious value" but well, I'll try, mkay? My life has started to slide into a routine. Now that I'm twenty, I feel older, more responsible, and better able to get up at 8 o'clock when I must. Actually, no, that's a lie. Now that I'm twenty, I feel more disoriented, crazy scared about my future, and ready to attack my alarm clock if it tells me to get my butt out of bed one more time. I think the only responsible thing I've done in the last week was deposit my financial aid check (hurray for financial aid), and buy toilet paper when we (everyone in the house) found that our stockpile was completely depleted.

I'd have to say that my favorite class is Drafting by far, except when I. gives us an assignment which is actually impossible on the vellum we were given (hence the title of today's post). Anyway, I'm sure I'll figure something out, I have that kind of mind. Oh, and I would like to go on record and say that I absolutely love the parallel bar and the adjustable triangle, not that most people know what those are, but believe me, they're amazing. There's just something about drafting that makes sense in my brain. There's a need for meticulous attention, as well as a sense of artistry. Oh, and I get to hang a t-square on my wall, one of those items that makes me look smarter, and carry around a large plastic tube containing vellum one day a week.

Well, I don't really have anything else to say. This has definitely been one of those posts that I write just so I can look at something else on my home page when I pop open Mozilla Firefox.

Oooo, Pwetty Fwower

In the words of MadTV's Stuart, "Look what I can do!" Okay, it's really not that impressive, it's just a circle with arcs inscribed and a lot of pencil lead, but I'm proud of it, and I think it's pretty, so don't burst my bubble people.

On Turning Twenty

During my childhood, I had a burning desire to be older. I wanted to be able to stay up late, and drink soda whenever I wished, and watch PG-13 movies. Now, having stepped through the doorway between that precarious time known as the "teens" and the possibility filled "twentysomethings," I find myself wishing that I could somehow treat time like a VCR (oh dear, I'm showing my age, who uses VCRs anymore); rewinding, pausing, taking it slow. Now that I'm leaving behind the last vestiges of childhood and taking the big step into my twenties, I don't want to be older. I don't want to be five years older than the Harry Potter kids, or attending my little brother's high school graduation at the end of this year, or remembering middle schoolers when they were in first grade, or even worse, when they were born.

I'm just around the corner from being "grown up." I have a car, and insurance, responsibility, important life-changing decisions to make. Since when was I old and mature enough to even contemplate making a decision past what I want to wear to school that day (and I'm sure most people would question my ability to do that). I guess I'm saying that I'm not ready for this. My brother just got a job for when he graduates from college in a few months. A real job, a grown-up job. A job where you go to work and your name is on a piece of plastic Velcroed to the side of your cubicle next to the gap in the wall which constitutes a door. Once that happened I realized that in two years I'd better be thinking about getting one of those name plates with the Velcro on the back. And then I realized that I have no idea what I want to do with my life, a rather sizable obstacle which must be overcome prior to obtaining the Velcro laden plastic nameplate.

Moving up to school this year was something I have dreaded all summer for a variety of reasons. Near the top of this list is the prospect of having to figure out my whole life in the next semester (or at least getting some semblance of an idea of what I want to do). All of a sudden, pressure reared its ugly head, and I was struck by the reality that I won't be in college forever and I've got to take some major responsibility much sooner than I wanted. What all this boils down to is that I'm very afraid. There are so many things that I will be facing in the near future which might determine the course of the rest of my life. Should I stick with theatre, or drop it completely? Do I want to try my hand at writing as a major? Can I take the criticism if I do? What am I going to do with English Literature anyway? Teach? Teach what? Middle schoolers? Even the smart kids are holy terrors at that age. And the drama, I just couldn't take the drama. I guess I thought that if I just stayed home, time would freeze and I could stay in the summer of 2005 for as long as I wanted, I could have more time to make decisions about my life.

We Won

Cute...

...but I don't think I'd want one for a pet.

BRISTOL, Great Britain -- 'Kintana' is the first captive bred aye-aye, an arboreal nocturnal lemur, Daubentonia madagascariensis, a native to Madagascar, to be born in the United Kingdom. Bristol Zoo Gardens announced that it is the first UK zoo to successfully breed and hand-rear an aye-aye, the largest nocturnal primate in the world and one of the strangest mammals on the planet. (04/15/05 AP photo)

This one, on the other hand, is also cute and slightly less creepy looking. It's from the Philippines. Well, that explains it.

BOHOL ISLAND, Philippines -- A Philippine Tarsier watches as a photographer takes his picture inside a captive breeding center in Loboc town on Bohol Island. The endangered animal, who feeds on tiny insects is believed to be the world's smallest primate. (03/11/05 AP photo)

All of these (and more) are from a slideshow on the local news website. I thought they were entertaining.

Putting In My Two Cents

As I'm sure most people are aware, the NCAA has voted to ban the use of Native American mascots, imagery and nicknames in NCAA championship play. This decision has effected my school, the Florida State University. To say the least, I think it's ridiculous. The Seminole tribe of Florida has blessed the use of their name, the Indian head symbol, and everything else associated with them by FSU. Why trample on their rights as a tribe to be "politically correct." It's like the NCAA is saying, don't worry Seminole Indians, we'll protect you from being offended by something that DOESN'T OFFEND YOU!!! Oh, you like them using your name? Well, I'm sorry, you just can't do that, it's not politically correct. Frankly, NCAA, you need to take your nose out of where it doesn't belong. Why don't you fix things that need fixing, for example, the Bowl Championship Series, which I think everyone will agree sucks (to put it mildly), or perhaps the number of athletes who attend college to play sports, and don't end up graduating once their millisecond in the spotlight is over?

My question is this: do they really think that banning the Seminole head from Doak Campbell stadium will make it go away? Do they realize that college students are the absolute most stubborn group of people on that planet, and will doubtlessly wear the Seminole head with pride as soon as the NCAA tries to take it away? Do they want us to forget decades of being the Florida State Seminoles and suddenly become something else? Will they ask us to take down the Heritage Statue by the Union of the first African American Homecoming Queen wearing the traditional headdress of the Seminole tribe? Ask us to change the "Tomahawk" and "Renegade" bus routes? Take down the brand new bronze statue of Chief Osceola and Renegade on Langford Green? Change the street name of Chieftan Way?

I guess what they don't realize is that no matter how hard they try, there will always be Florida State Seminoles. There is too much heritage built into the campus and into the thousands of students who have been Seminoles for it to suddenly go away because they don't want to offend a tribe who is proud to lend its name to Florida State University.

They can rest assured, the Seminoles aren't going down without a fight.

Maybe You're Just Not Suited for a Desk Job

I was sitting at my desk today, entering numbers and contemplating how many trips to the rest room I could take before my coworkers are convinced that I have bladder control problems. And then I thought, what am I thinking about? And why am I thinking about it here? I could totally be half way to the bathroom by now? So I went, taking the bridge across the gap (the same bridge with the hidden hole through which I will inevitably fall one of these days), down the long wall of Worldwide Challenge pictures, and into the women's restroom at the end of the building. It was on the way back that I thought, maybe I'm just not suited for a desk job.

A Recurring Thought

At my place of work, there is a walkway connecting the two sides of the second floor. At one end stands an ultra high security door (you just need the right I-Disk to get in, so...that was sarcasm) guarding the entrance into the Donation Services section. I use this door multiple times in the day, seeing as it is one of the three pathways to the restrooms, to which I make frequent trips, not because of bladder problems, but because you don't have to do as much work when you go to the restroom eight times in the day. Okay, slight exaggeration, but not by much. Anyway, back to the door. Every time I walk through it and step onto the short bridge, I think for some reason that there will some time cease to be a bridge there, and instead of resting my foot on solid ground, I fall through the space in a Harry Potter, Hogwarts Castle kind of moment and find myself crashing to a stop on the first floor, undoubtedly breaking bones and probably spraining my ankle again. By the time I'm done contemplating this imagined disaster, I've already crossed the bridge and have started down the long wall adorned with award winning Worldwide Challenge pictures from decades past (my favorites being the one of the Filipino kid watching Jesus film, the little girl in the Church in some eastern European country, or the one of the guy and his grandson hanging out the window in some eastern European country).

Speaking of Harry Potter and Hogwarts Castle, anyone finished the 6th book yet? I finished last night, and I have to say, it was really really good. That is as far as I will go, so as not to spoil it for people (not that anyone actually reads this thing). I have only one question: when is the next one coming out?

Oh, for anyone who cares, I got an e-mail from the guy keeping the body count from summer project. More than 30 people total came to know Christ. Pretty cool, eh? I really should get on writing a newsletter for that. Hmmm...maybe later.

Differences

The last two days in Barbados were spent discussing things that will be different when we get home, how we would notice things about our own culture that we didn't notice before visiting a foreign country. For me, the biggest thing is how informed we are as Americans. This sounds like a good thing, right? Well, having been in a "no stress, no pressure" bubble for five weeks, I can say with great conviction that I would rather not know. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Here are a few examples.

In the seven days that I have been home I have heard, seen...been absorbed by national and world events of all sorts. I have heard about a girl, kidnapped and found alive-her brother was not so lucky. I have heard about terrible explosions in the London mass transit system. I have heard about an Egyptian ambassador murdered by terrorists. I have heard about a hurricane bearing down on my state. I have heard about a girl missing in Aruba, her parents desperate to find her. Every day when I turn on my radio, TV or computer I see everything that is wrong in this world; a coup here, a kidnapping there. It is at moments like those that I think come soon, Jesus, come soon. Even good news, the wedding of a good friend, is overshadowed by the weather and storm clouds looming on the horizon.

I just returned from spending five weeks removed almost exclusively from television, radio and internet. I heard about the girl in Aruba, but briefly, and only because we were on a Caribbean island as well, and were instructed to be extra cautious. As I sat in the Miami Airport waiting for my connecting flight, I heard the voice of our president wafting across the busy waiting area on ever present CNN, and I thought I'm home. I'm home to a place where I will instantly hear of all of the bad things happening in the world, and none of the good.

My Chicken is Starting to Taste Nasty

You know when you reheat food, and it's just not as good as when it was hot of the grill/out of the oven? This is especially true of chicken. Whilst sitting at my desk for lunch (I know, I'm a loser) and reading e-mails from various persons, I munched on my chicken salad with Caesar dressing, that is until the gag reflex started kicking in and I started getting really grossed out. I'll give it a little time and try again later. There is absolutely no way that I would be able to sit through my already painfully boring job on an empty stomach...ok, half empty stomach.

If you couldn't already tell, I am no longer in Barbados, but home once again in Orlando working at my 8-5 desk job processing checks. Exciting sounding isn't it?

It's weird not having practically every moment of my time on demand, I guess I kind of miss it...although it was kind of nice sleeping in 'til noon and a half or so. It was weird waking up on Saturday morning and not being in Barbados. I kept half waking up and expecting to see the ocean out the window and my roommate across the gap between beds. I think I kept going back to sleep cause I thought it was a bad dream or something. It kind of sucks being back where all my hometown friends are either: 1) still on project; 2) still in some foreign country serving Jesus with some other missionary organization; 3) spending all summer with crazy kids in Colorado (at CSU and otherwise).

Well, I think I'm going to try and brave the chicken again. Wish me luck.

Four Weeks Down, One Week To Go...

...not that that's a good thing.

Sorry I don't have any cool pictures for this week. We've been really busy this week, and I'm stressing out about talking at the weekly meeting on Tuesday. Pray for me will you? I'm a little nervous, but I know I can get through it with the power of the Holy Spirit. Anyway, yeah, not much to say. Our outreach went pretty well, a whole lot of people showed up, and we definitely got to talk to people, so yeah, that was cool. And the boys got to wear hair nets, and yes, I got pictures. Anyway, I'm actually supposed to be at game night liming with the Bajan students, so yeah, not much time, gots to go now.

















Here's a lizard that was outside our apartments, it was crazy huge.

As the Sun Set Over the Bay

You’re probably beginning to wonder just from reading my blog whether or not we’re actually on campus doing ministry. I assure you we are, it’s just that what we do on free days is generally about 10 times more exciting than campus times. This weekend’s excursion was no exception.

We took a boat ride on a catamaran out to swim with sea turtles and snorkel on a reef. The boat left Bridgetown harbor around 3:30 Saturday afternoon. Everyone sat on the net at the front of the boat for the sail out to the turtles. It took us a while to get there, but the time was well spent sipping pineapple juice laughing and doing fun things with digital cameras.

Fun with Cameras. That's Kelly acting like a seal.

When we made our first stop, everyone knew immediately which stop it was. There, off the front of the boat were two turtles in the blue waters. We were excited of course as we grabbed snorkels and masks and jumped in the water.

Dude Crush.

I got to pet one, but after a while my ears started hurting so I got out of the water, at which point I was asked to hold a rather cute baby, so I did while his parents swam with the other two kids. After a lengthy swim, we left for the reef. I wish I had pictures of that, but digital cameras and water don’t really mix well. There’s a sunken barge out there that was pretty cool to see, but by the time I spotted it the sun was beginning to go down, and we were ready to leave. We bounced along the surface of the water, the waves getting larger as the sun sank lower. Despite the roughening seas, it was very peaceful. The catamaran was driven by wind power, so there was no motor drowning out our thoughts, only the splash of the evening sea against the hull of the boat, and the wind in the sails.

Everyone. Taken from the mast of the ship by the captain.

All the students went to Oistins for dinner, and the staff had “Date Night”. Even though everyone was fairly wiped out, we still had a good time. I had the marlin and chips.

Mmmm...Marlin.

So yeah, that was all good. But more fun than Oistins was the ZR (pronounced Zed-R) ride there and back. There are two modes of public transportation in Barbados, government owned bus, and ZR, privately owned vans licensed by the government. The thing about ZRs is that there is no limit as to how many people you can pack into one. Hence, if you spend more than a day in Barbados, you will inevitably see a van with a wacky horn and a dreadlocked driver fly by you packed full of uncomfortable people. It’s only $1.50 Bajan to drive anywhere along the route between Silver Sands and Bridgetown, but there is also no guarantee that you will get your own seat. When traveling with a large group, you will likely end up in separate ZRs. It is almost guaranteed, however, that the driver will try to get all of you in one. On this particular night, we went in separate ZRs, but they were both very full even before we started loading people into them, there were already 12 or 13 people in the one I got on. There were four people packed into the back row, another four in front of them, and another four in front of them, and three in the front seat (including the driver). The door guy/money collector stood hunched over, holding on for dear life. You might think this is impossible. But no, I disagree, I personally have been in a ZR with almost 30 people. On that occasion, I had someone on my lap (thank goodness it was someone in our group), and Kelly was on the lap of a little Bajan man singing along with the reggae pumping through the speakers at the top of his lungs.

When we first got to Barbados, we called them G-Buses, a nickname they’d earned from the Spring Break group. What does the G stand for you ask? Ganja. Yeah. Apparently someone saw one of the drivers smoking a joint while driving over spring break. And with the way they drive, they’re either high or insane, we of course chose high.

A ZR in Bridgetown. Empty, as I'm sure you can tell.

Anyway, we really have been having a good time on campus. We’ve seen 22 people come to Christ so far. The students are really open to talking to us about spiritual stuff and just talking in general. Once you get past the initial who are you and why are you talking to me? it’s smooth sailing. I’ve found that a lot of people are already Christians, but they’ve never heard that it’s just Christ that gets you into heaven, not getting baptized or going to church. I think half of the people I’ve talked to are in that boat.

Here’s a couple of pictures I took on campus.

This is the view from the back side of campus, amazing, isn't it.


Here's Dan talking to some guy.


This is us praying at the end of the day. Clockwise from me: Me, Clarissa, Erica and Dan.

We had a toga/costume party on Wednesday night. Fairly uneventful, but fun nonetheless. It was great trying to come up with costumes without taking our bed sheets. My roommates and I went as M&Ms. I was the brown one.

Yummy. L to R: Leah, Clarissa, Katie, Me, and Dana.


Here's everybody. The guy in the red board shorts is Jimmy, trying to act like David Hasselhoff.

And now, for some random pictures…


A sticker I saw on a locker at UWI. I happen to agree.


Totally unplanned that everyone wore pastels that day, no lie.


No, they're not gay, just caught up in the moment, I mean, you've got to hug someone when the Righteous Brothers are playing.


Put those boys on the back of a magazine or something!


Older picture. Me on the jumping cliff at Crane Beach.

Anyway, more stuff has happened, but I'm kind of running out of time, and well, I haven't put the pictures on my computer yet, so yeah, you'll hear about that when I get to it.

So Here's What's Been Happening

Lots of stuff has been happening in the last week. Saturday was a free day, cause it was kind of rainy and we were supposed to go on an island tour, but since it was rainy we didn't. Imagine that. The boys made breakfast for the girls: french toast [freedom toast???], eggs, and fruit from a can. They were very proud of themselves.


Breakfast with the Boys

Most people spent the day doing laundry and grocery shopping. Me, in my wisdom and stubborn nature, did not want to pay $7 US for a load of laundry, so I decided to do it myself in the bathtub.


Laundry Day

After spending all of Saturday up to my knees in clothes (literally), I hung them to dry on the porch. Little did I realize that the rain that kept us from going on the island tour would keep my clothes from drying...for 4 days. I think a pair jeans are still a little damp, not to mention smelling like mildew. After a couple of days of frustration, I decided to let it slide, so now it's more of a joke than anything. Needless to say, I will have my clothes laundered by someone else, preferably someone with a washer and dryer.

Sunday we went to an Anglican church, which was frankly really different for me. There were these two birds fighting on the pulpit for must of the service, which distracted me from the really nasty wine taste that was left in my mouth from communion. There was a baby that got baptized, and the father looked like P Diddy or something. We had more sessions Sunday afternoon, and a lot of hanging out.

Monday we went on our island tour, even though it was still kind of gloomy. We drove past a bunch of rich peoples homes on the west coast.


Barbara Streisand's yacht club on the west coast.

Here's some more pictures, I'm about to run out of batteries or I would tell you what they're off. I'll try to do that some other time.


The girls at north point. Front Row (L-R):Tara, Clarissa, Erica, Leah. Back Row (L-R): Me, Kim, Dana, Katie.


Bathsheba.


Rocks in Bathsheba.


St. John's Parish Church.


Someone taking some Biblical advice.

I'll post more later.

News from the Front Lines

“There’s toenail clippings on the ground.”
“Ooohh, snacks!”
Hilarity ensues.

“Barbados, that’s kind of tropical isn’t it?”

Ah yes, the joy of roommates!!!

Crane Beach. Rated 5th Most Beautiful Beach in the World!

Every time you hear about a place, it sounds like paradise. If you’re talking about Barbados this is mostly true. And then of course there’s the matter of the heat and humidity, oops, I mean, everything here is wonderful, and no, I don’t feel like I need a shower all the time. But seriously, it is very beautiful. My apartment complex, Magic Isle, is on the ocean, and I can see the waves from my window. Nightly I am lulled to sleep by waves crashing on the sand and the crickets singing to one another. It really is beautiful.

Friday night we went to this place called Oistins. The fishermen go there to sell their catches and nightly they grill up some fish. A DJ plays the Barbadian National Anthem, followed by bad dance and reggae mixes of 80s songs. The fish was great, caught fresh that day, and cooked to perfection. The restaurant, if it could truly be called that, consists of picnic tables surrounding on three sides a tarp tent and a stage for the DJ. The cooks fry and grill fish under a colorful fish made of Christmas lights strung across the street. Around the outside of the picnic tables are simple stalls selling Banks beer (Brewed in Barbados), various imported beers, and sodas. The mood is festive as people wait for their fish and chips and dance to the reggae music. Guys from our group received impromptu dance lessons from the Bajan waiters as they strode by with other peoples orders. I got the flying fish, a local specialty, grilled, not fried. It quite tasty, and I was glad to get a flavor of something truly Bajan. A group of people went down to the shoreline and looked at the fishing boats; small and unassuming alone, but in large quantities rather impressive. The darkness cloaked them, making it difficult to see much detail in the boats further from the shore except for the white stripe above the waterline.

The fish in lights at Oistins

Saturday was spent mostly in meetings, although we had some free time in the afternoon. I spent most of it doing Four Laws practice, and checking e-mail at the internet café across the street. I did make it out to the ocean, but only for a short time before having to go back in to eat dinner and prepare for the evening session. That night, the students went out to some coconut trees near the beach (since it was after 10pm and we were not allowed off the Magic Isle property) and just hung out. We’ve done this for a few nights now, and the act has been dubbed “Liming at the Palms.”

First night of liming. (L to R) Big Phil, Scott, Philipe, Katie, Dana, Me, Dan

Sunday after church we went to Crane Beach, rated the 5th most beautiful beach in the world (see above). It was great. There was a cliff to jump off of. I don't think most people would think I would be the type to jump off a cliff, but well, I did, and it was fun, monster wedgie and huge waves aside.

Here's Scott jumping

Here's me jumping

After a long day at the beach, we went to Bubba's for dinner. In Barbados they have this drink called a Shandy Twist. Technically, it's alcoholic, but it only has 0.9% alcohol in it. Even the very legalistic Bajan students don't consider it so, hence, neither do the staff. So we all got Shandy Twists at Bubba's.

My first drink (all 0.9% alcohol content of it)

So anyway, that's that. I'll post some more words and pictures at a later date. Maybe some of the University of the West Indies (UWI) where we're spending much of our time. Oh, and if you were wondering, we've seen more than ten students pray to receive Christ in the last five days on campus! It's amazing, I know.

Basking in the Sun

Hey, don't have much time. I'm in Barbados in an internet cafe, and I'm running out of time, so yeah. Got here last night, it's hot, very hot, but there's a breeze, so it's ok. Um, if you want to get in touch with me, e-mail me. I'll probably start sending out mass e-mails with updates before too long, so let me know if you want to get them (laura.copenhaver@gmail.com).

I have yet to get burned, but I haven't actually been on the beach yet, so yeah, I'm sure it will happen soon.

I'll compose a post on my lappy and bring it to the cafe some time. Pictures to come soon..hopefully.

I love you all.

News from the Home Front

So it's been a while folks. There are a couple of reasons for this. The first is I've been working for the past week at Donation Services at Lake Hart, and the time I am at home is spent doing reading, sleeping, eating (no carbs...boo) and watching tv. Oh, and harassing the brother, but that's more of a hobby than anything else. My room has is currently in a state of disarray, having been packed with my belongings which were already in the room and my belongings which were in my room in Tallahassee. So basically, I have two rooms worth of stuff and no where to put it. It sucks really. You might not think it to look at me, but I like having a fairly neat room (fairly neat, not spick and span, cause that's just way too time consuming...and I hate dusting). Access to my desk is really limited, as it is blocked by two crates, a back pack, a suitcase, and random articles of clothing depending on the time of week. Somehow the rocking chair migrated into my room, so now the already limited floor space is limited even further. So basically, I don't have anywhere to put my stuff. I have yet to unpack my suitcase entirely because my drawers already have stuff in them which I will have to dispose of in some way before putting the clothes I really wear into it.

On a totally different note, I've lost weight, can you tell? More than 30 pounds since December. I've been on the South Beach Diet since I got home, and I really am missing the carbs, but I'm not missing the pounds, so I will persevere (until Barbados, then all bets are off). I'm at work right now, by the way. We ran out of things to do. Hurray. So back to the weight thing, I've gone down a pants size, so that makes me happy.

This whole post is really just kind of blah, so I'm gonna stop, because I'm getting bored writing it, and if it's boring me, dang, it must be boring you. Sorry. Get over it.

End of an Era

There comes a point in every professor's life and career when they get fed up with repeating the same material to students every new semester and finally throw in the towel and retire. My favorite professor has reached that point and will turn in the keys to her office at the end of the summer semester. Several of my classmates and I have been trying to convince her to hang around for just one more year and spread some more knowledge our way. Sadly we started our campaign to get her to stay shortly after she turned in her paperwork. Good job us.

You're probably wondering what makes her my favorite professor. Well, it's a number of things really, but mostly it's because she likes us and is willing to joke around with us. That, and she's just so darn cute when she giggles about the less than scandalous material in the 19th Century literature we've been reading (less than scandalous by today's standards that is). Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just so cute when she talks about "flaming passion" and thinks we need an explanation. It helps a lot that she loves my class. She said we were among her favorites in her 30 years of teaching. Go us.

So anyway, Dr. B- is retiring and we've been getting our fair share of the things she would like to do before she retires. Among those things:

1. giving away her office furniture to various students
2. passing on her two favorite jokes to the class lover of jokes (who just happens to be me, gosh, you tell one pirate joke...)
3. calling her class (pardon the phrases, it's a direct quote) "sons of bitches" at some point in time.

She has given away much of the office furniture, and has actually used "the phrase" in addressing the class; prompted by yours truly. So staple your pants to the chair, children, because I must relate this story.

It was last Wednesday that she first revealed that she wanted to say "the phrase" to her class because an old retired professor from FSU had once said that to her class; she was also giving away the chair that she had gotten from that professor of legendary status. She discussed with us how she would use it, and we decided that it should be in a quick reprimand for the next tardy person through the door. Well, someone was tardy, but she couldn't get it out. Class progressed uneventfully. We were all disappointed at not getting to hear "the phrase" put into use, but we knew our day would come. Friday's class rolled around and I was running a bit late, maybe a minute or two. When I walked in, Dr. B- was answering someone's question and did not have the chance to say anything about my tardiness. I stood next to my desk and waited for her to finish answering the question then said graciously, "Dr. B-, I was late. Don't you have anything to say to me?" Then Dr. B- said, "Why you [the phrase] need to be on time to my class!" She smiled broadly and laughed as her last few words were lost in the laughter from my classmates behind me. Several people theorized that I had waited outside until I was late in order to obtain the desired effect, but no, I was actually late and had only thought of saying something as I walked through the door. Dr. B- made sure there was no offense taken by the comment and I of course said there was and that I would be taking a rather lengthy swim out into the ocean after class if anyone wanted to join me (the mode of suicide chosen by Edna Pontillier, the main character from Kate Chopin's The Awakening).

The whole episode was great fun and it makes me all the more sad that she is retiring after the summer semester. So here's to you, Dr. B-. We'll always love you and your quirky sense of humor.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

Well, a week and a half left of school, then finals week then FREEDOM!!!!! Before freedom: 1.5 weeks of studying, writing, reading, more writing, more reading, more writing, and some table building. If you don't see me, I'll be in my room typing furiously while getting my Vitamin D from artificial sun lamps. Due Monday: Anthropology paper. Due Wednesday: Women in Lit paper. Also Due Wednesday: Acting 1 paper. Women in Lit can be postponed, I just have to do a little more work, but I would really like to go into finals week with nothing to do but study for my one and only test on Friday. All that free time could be used to hunt down whoever schedules final exams and beating them down for scheduling my only exam on the last day of finals!!! AGGGGGHHHHH!!! Second semester in a row! Anyway, I'm done with my little hissy fit now.

Anyway, today was quite a bit stressful and had nothing to do with the mountain of homework facing me in the next week. I began my day with the knowledge that it was going to be hectic. You see, aside from being my long day anyway, Wednesdays are my day to cook, and furthermore, we were having guests for dinner. Not for dinner, but well you get the point, and isn't that an over worn joke? So instead of the regular 17 people that I have to make dinner for, it was upped to 21. Hurrah. The extra five people meant an extra bag of chicken that had to be cut up when two would have been more than sufficient. I made Chicken Linguini in a garlic basil (and whatever other spices I felt like throwing in there) sauce. Thankfully, we got a garlic press, so the past misfortunes with garlic chopping were not repeated. I did however, have to chop some onions, and let me tell you, the tears were flowing. Anyway, dinner was a relative success and would have occurred on time had it not been for us forgetting to put the garlic bread in the oven until 6 o'clock. Astonishing isn't it, me of all people forgetting to do something.

I had planned to go see Romeo and Juliet tonight at the Fallon Theatre, but I was so tired after dinner that I didn't want to fall asleep during the show, cause that's rude, and I have some sense of theatre etiquette...unlike some of my roommates, but that's a different story for a different time.

So I spent my evening doing homework instead. I didn't get to watch Lost or Alias, which saddened me deeply, but I did get some work done, so it's okay I guess. I'll watch them over the summer. Or maybe I won't cause I'll be in Barbados. I worked on homework and reading the my Barbados information notebook (which I should have done AGES ago) until around 12:20 (and played some guitar too) at which point I realized that it's Wednesday, which is bathroom cleaning day, which means I forgot to check bathrooms at 10 o'clock. So I'm fining myself for not doing my work job. Yippie.

But surprisingly enough, the day wasn't that bad. There have definitely been worse days as well as better days, but you have to roll with the punches, and I think I rolled pretty well all considering. Anyway, back to work, or sleep, whichever comes first.

If you need me, I will be unreachable for a while, I'll have dropped off the face of the planet.

[And if you're wondering why I didn't post for a while, it's cause I was working on something else.]

Tornado Green Skies and a Walk Home in the Rain

This afternoon several of my roommates and I sat on the living room couches watching random television programs about various things. Suddenly someone looked out the window, noticing that the sky no longer wore the dismal shade of gray it had all day, but a rather ominous shade of green. Tornado green. One would think that collectively we would have enough sense to stay indoors where the threat of being blown away in a Wizard of Oz-like tornado and inevitably smashing a wicked witch of the east with our house did not exist. Alas, we were not so fortunate and adjourned to the patio to watch the green sky move above our heads, the wind visibly move towards us and the numerous students scurry for cover from the wind and rain. You are no doubt expecting something bad to happen. Sadly, the story of life is not nearly as interesting as Techni-color movies, and no one was swept over the rainbow by a fierce tornado. The conversation reached its high point when it turned to the unshaven status of my legs and everyone else's (hey, Spring Break is long over, and shaving is pointless when you only ever wear jeans anyway) and the monster bruise I got on my knee from Aerobic Conditioning ("gym" as I like to call it). Okay, so the bruise really isn't that big, but haven't I warned you that I'm prone to exaggeration? As you read this, you're probably hoping that I don't tell you the story of the bruise. Don't worry, I won't. It's not that interesting.

After dinner I went to go see Metamorphosis at the Lab Theatre. It was amazingly good, go see it. It ended around nine o'clock, and not wanting to get stuck in the post show rush for the door, I left quickly. I bounced down the stairs (I'm bouncy, what can I say?) and quickly realized that it was beginning to rain, or perhaps just finishing. Oh well, I thought, I've been wet before, and a little water never hurt anyone, except for that kid I saw on Oprah who was allergic to water. I had, in fact, been wet in the same rainwater fashion less then a week before after an ill timed stroll to M.'s apartment in a mild deluge bearing poker chips; by the time I arrived at M.'s, I looked like something out of a bad romance movie of the Lifetime style, but man, I felt romantic. My train of thought continued: It's not raining too hard, I should be home before the heavy stuff gets here. Having lived in Florida for quite some time I am familiar with the rain patterns of the area, however on this occasion, I forgot my years of training and was promptly soaked with the torrential downpour which inevitably follows the "I'll be home before it really starts raining" thought. Since I was only at the corner of Pensacola and Copeland (or in non-FSU terms, a long way from home) by the time my underwear was starting to dampen [from the rain], I decided that the best way to finish my walk home would be by taking my time and enjoying the lights shining on the wet pavement; so that's what I did. My super high quality Target flip-flops quit being effective in the traction department somewhere around the faculty parking lot across from the Williams building. I took them off, not wanting to suffer a dangerous, and no doubt funny, slip as I walked. As I rambled on, I would occasionally see a fellow student caught in the rain hurrying along the sidewalk, trying to get their belongings under the tiny umbrellas which most people carry in their backpacks. You know the type: cute, fun colored, resilient to most weather that doesn't involve anything worse than a light breeze or sprinkle. It was a truly pleasant walk. I arrived at my house, still thinking of Gene Kelly dancing in a deep puddle, to the sound of C.'s voice saying, "Oh Laura, you're wet!" The silent dialogue in my head replied, "Why, yes, I am. How could you tell? Was it the water dripping from every follicle of hair on my body, or the rain drops on my glasses, or the water soaked bottoms of my pants, or perhaps the shivering figure standing on the doorstep?"

That was basically the end of my evening. It was a good evening, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. To top it off, I also found out that my favorite TA is back in town and may very well be teaching my European Theatre History class next semester. Yay!! On a different note, I was hoping to return to my light-hearted self this post...have I succeeded?

Is This What We Are to Strive For?

This post is in response to a comment from a dear friend of mine on the previous post.

My post was not to imply that Dr. Thompson wasn't an intelligent man, nor to be a knock on his character. On the contrary, I was fascinated by the stories that his friends could tell about him and the obvious respect they had for him. Having never really read any of his writing, I don't feel that I have a right to have an opinion about it, and I apologize if it seemed that I was making a statement on his writing; that was not my intention.

What I was trying to get at with that post was the hopelessness of life as portrayed and promoted by Rolling Stone, even a life as celebrated and successful as Dr. Thompson's. For him, it came down to a pistol and a whole lot of despair in the end. My point is best articulated in the form of a question: is this what we are to strive for?

It being Holy Week I've been thinking about who I am in Christ and the hope for the future that I have because of what He did for me on the cross 2000 years ago. While reading the various articles about Dr. Thompson, the memorial service for Dr. Bill Bright came to mind. For anyone not familiar with the name, he was the Founder and President of Campus Crusade for Christ for 50 years. Like Dr. Thompson, the last few years of his life were spent in a wheelchair; it was expected that the pulmonary fibrosis that bound him to that chair would take his life slowly, leaving him gasping for breath at the end, and as I understand it (and I’'m not a doctor, so my understanding is limited), eventually killing him by asphyxiation. By the grace of God, Dr. Bright died peacefully in his sleep. At his memorial service in Orlando, his sons wore black, but his daughter-in-law wore white in celebration of his arrival in heaven, his “"coronation day"” as a child of the King. There was of course sadness at the service, but beneath it there was hope and joy; the hope and joy that can only be found in the saving grace of Jesus Christ. The memorial service was a celebration that his life is not over, that even though his earthly body is dead, his heavenly body, a perfect body not plagued by pulmonary fibrosis, is dancing for joy on streets paved with gold.

As I read, the hope that was so prevalent at Dr. Bright’s memorial service contrasted in my mind with the epitaphs and articles written about Dr. Thompson. There was no hope, no joy; only relief that he suffers no more, and sadness that he is gone.

So I will leave you for now with a question: what are you striving for? The cover of Rolling Stone, or a walk on streets of gold?

I'll go back to being funny soon, I promise. Happy Easter.

Heroes, Idols and Mentors

One of my roommates subscribes to Rolling Stone Magazine and leaves it in the bathroom for everyone's toilet reading. Garbage in, garbage out as they say. On the cover of the March issue is not a scantily clad songstress with bleached blond hair and an eating disorder; nor is it a platinum record selling band with a political agenda and a sour expression (question: why isn't anyone ever smiling on the cover of Rolling Stone?). No, this month the cover is graced by a dirty, faded old picture of a bald man smoking a cigarette (kind of like the back cover, although that picture features a funky looking camel too). This peaked my interest. What would cause a magazine so consumed by physical appearance and sex appeal (did you see the Lindsey Lohan cover?) to put a photograph of a crotchety old man on the cover? Written across the bottom: "Dr. Hunter S. Thompson: 1937-2005". I realized that Hunter must have been a pretty amazing man to get a posthumous Rolling Stone cover, not to mention the majority of articles contained therein dedicated to his life and times, putting him in the same class as Bob Marley, who was on the cover a couple of months ago. The editors must have loved him a lot to do that. After cracking open the magazine and slowly flipping through the clothing advertisements featuring insanely good looking people, I came across the first few articles about Hunter S. Thompson. I've really only skimmed through the magazine thus far, but in doing so I have absorbed a few things.

The first was that Hunter was the author of and inspiration for the character from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas played by a skull cap wearing, perpetually high Johnny Depp. I saw Fear and Loathing last semester at the Student Life Building. It did not really tickle my fancy, seeing as I am not particularly interested in two weird men running around "sin city" stoned out of their minds making bad decisions. Sure, it was funny, in the way watching your drunk friends is funny. There really wasn't a plot, and as I've said before, I'm not a huge fan of plotless films, plays, or books.

The second thing I picked up from reading the magazine in many five to ten minute stretches was that Hunter wrote for Rolling Stone. What articles he wrote and of what nature, I don't know; I only know that he wrote, and apparently pretty well, as long as there was a constant supply of drugs and alcohol.

The last thing I realized was that Hunter killed himself on a cold Colorado day in February with his .45-caliber revolver. This I learned from a caption on a photograph; the actual articles were so busy singing the man's praises that they barely mentioned the fact that despite his apparent successes (yes, writing for Rolling Stone is a success), the man was so depressed and full of despair that he took his own life. Euthanasia, some people might call it; he was old and in a wheel chair.

All of this brought me to realize that the powers-that-be at Rolling Stone magazine have a twisted view of life, death, addiction and success. From what I've read, the man was thoroughly addicted to drugs and alcohol, two things which are generally considered bad in popular society. And at the end of his life, he died alone in a cabin in Colorado. Is this what they consider success? They see this man as an icon to be emulated, a person worthy to have half an issue of Rolling Stone dedicated to his memory, thousands of words written about his genius and "righteous life". What about the other people who make the cover of their illustrious magazine?

(read the comments then click here to see my response)

I'm Feeling...Discouraged

Why, you might ask, am I feeling discouraged? I'll tell you, but only once, so pay attention! This whole car thing, it sucks. That's why I'm discouraged. It seems like every time there is a car that looks like a possibility, it doesn't have something I want, or it's been in a fender bender, or it's too expensive. I'm tired of the emotional ups and downs of thinking I might have a car by the end of the week, and then not.

Furthermore, I've got plenty of homework to do. Not that it is anyone's fault but my own, the deep hole of boredom in which I now reside is of my own making, mostly because I slept all of yesterday afternoon. Ugh. This is really whiny.

I just don't want to be in school anymore, I'm getting antsy. I just want to put my fist through a wall or something. B. closed the kitchen, that makes me very very angry, especially when it's for something as ridiculously stupid as THREE PICKLES ON THE SINK. No offense to B., but please, before anyone makes a house decision, she should pull the large stick out of her butt and relax. Three pickles=NOT A BIG DEAL. If she doesn't want to mess with them herself, tell me and I'll throw them away. Ugh. Now we get PB & J for the next 48 hours. What the crap.

Okay, I'm going now. Homework...die.

My Spring Break

So we're back. Spring break was good. I went to South Beach with a bunch of people from school, got into this ultra exclusive club, ran into P-Diddy, Lindsey Lohan, one half of the Olsen twins and Usher all in the same night, got a record deal and am flying out to California next week to begin work in the studio.

Okay, everything I just said was a lie. I'm sorrry. I know you wanted to know if I got their autographs. Here's what I really did over spring break.

Upon arriving at home Friday evening, I was whisked away to University High School where they were having a benefit to raise money for States. We got there late. The house manager, who happens to be...well, let's just say he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, decided that people shouldn't be let in late. So we didn't get in. I was quite a bit irritated. Who does that? My parents, brother, brother's better half, and I went to Marble Slab and partook of the Lord's Goodness. I had butter pecan.

I didn't stay up really late, I had pulled an all-nighter the night before. Yay.

Saturday passed like any other Saturday around my house, except that we began moving furniture to take up the carpet so they could install wood floors. It wasn't that bad really.

With Sunday came further deconstruction of order around the house. Various pieces of furniture moved into the parlor/living room (whatever you want to call it), and I began preparing myself for my oral surgery Monday morning.

My alarm went off at 6:45AM Monday, and I rolled out of bed, very conscious of my parched throat and my restriction drinking and eating. I got dressed and stumbled out to the van, at which point Dad drove me to the oral surgeon's office. I don't really remember much from that morning. It flew past pretty quickly, mostly because I was sedated. I don't remember walking out to the car, although I do remember buckling my seatbelt and various turns on the way home. I went to sleep in the couch with ice packs around my head, doing my best Vincent Van Gogh impression. I took a pain pill some time in the early afternoon. I slept the rest of the afternoon, the pain medication really knocked me out. That evening I had a satisfying dinner of Cottage Cheese and Apple Sauce...mm..mm..good. Seriously, I don't know what people have against cottage cheese, it's really wonderful stuff, especially when you can't feel your lips. I stayed up late that night, I couldn't sleep after spending all day sleeping...go figure.

The rest of the week I did a lot of sleeping, playing Nintendo, a little bit of reading, nothing productive. The surgery did not really knock me out too bad, I was up and about the day after. I had a slight case of lopsided chipmunk cheeks, but that's to be expected.

The house is still in a state of upheaval. As it turns out, most of the furniture on the first floor had to be moved, so it was all packed into the kitchen, foyer and garage. It's really quite impressive.

Saturday was my mom's birthday. My brother and I forgot. He snuck out and got a card while I was cooking dinner. It was awesome. I burned the pecan pie, and it was still soupy. The filet-mignon, however, was awesome. So was the pillar of smoke I had coming out of the grill. Equally awesome.

Anyway, it's getting late. I'm going to do some reading now. Jane Eyre, it's a good book, you should read it.

Paper....Dang

Sitting here on the couch in the stairwell I am realizing several things:

1. It's really early in the morning
2. My paper isn't even half finished
3. I've been dodging this paper for many hours now
4. Modern Marvels on the History Channel is an amazing show, you should watch it
5. You should not watch Modern Marvels while trying to write an anthropology paper, since anthropology has nothing to do with modern or marvels in any way
6. A stuffy nose and a bit of a cough is not enough of an excuse to not write a paper
7. But it is a good excuse to sit on the couch for hours watching reality shows on MTV and VH1, eventually drifting off to sleep and drooling all over the throw pillows
8. On cold Tallahassee nights, laptops and sweatshirts are a great way to stay warm
9. I like working at night
10. I'm reverting to my high school self by writing in my blog instead of doing my homework (if you go back to the very beginning that's exactly what I was doing...but please for my sake, don't read them, they're really really bad, not even funny...kind of like this post come to think of it)
11. Laptops get hot after a while
12. Apple Cinnamon flavored tea is wonderful
13. It also makes you pee
14. I need to sneeze
15. Laptops don't help your toes with the whole heat thing

Okay, that's enough listing of things for the moment.

Oh, I've been accepted for the Barbados Summer Project with Crusade. Yay for me. Now I get to raise $4000. Hurray for support raising. I need to write that letter over spring break and get them out before I get back to school so I can start raking in the mula (A cow holds up a bank and says to the clerk, "Hand over to moo-la before someone gets hurt!...Bad joke, I know, I'm sorry. You know you laughed, or maybe shook your head in disgust). Well, time for me to get back to work.

Not that I want to get back to work. I do however want to get back to sleep sometime in the near future.

Excuses

Sorry I haven't posted in a couple of weeks [notice: generic excuse imminent], but well, I've been busy. I've been in one of those homework slumps, or perhaps more accurately, one of those everything slumps where you know you have things to do, but you just don't get around to doing them, setting them aside in favor of important things like changing all of the records held on Minesweeper from "Anonymous" to "Laura," or if we're talking about pinball, making the change from "Anonymous" to "High Queen of the Pinball Machine" [oh look, I made a rhyme]. Due to this, I haven't really touched my homework, my diet, my household duties (well, I mean, I've done them, just not very well). The saddest thing about this week of rest and relaxation: I don't feel guilty at all, not even a smidge. It's mostly just a little, "Dang, I should have done my homework...oh well." I promise that being a slacker is not usually in my nature, but this week I've grown to love my temporary self-appointed slacker status. I just have to snap out of it before the end of the week when I have to write that stinking paper for Anthropology.

On a totally different subject, the boys next door have recently discovered the endless amount of entertainment found in practical jokes played on innocent passersby who made the mistake of walking down the wrong stretch of Jefferson St. The first prank they pulled was quite a bit tasteless, and I will therefore not describe it. The second prank, however, was just flat out hilarious, and it involves a large box, someone with a lot of patience, a couple of cell phones, and a group of people keeping their eyes peeled. I hope you've gotten the idea by now. It's really funny seeing peoples reactions. This one girl was running by and one of the guys popped out of the box and she jumped sky high and continued her run at an accelerated pace. And there was the girl walking past talking on her cell phone who screamed super loud and assailed her assailant with a lengthy string of profanity. It was hilarious. Perhaps more hilarious was the group of eight college students sitting on their knees in front of the windows watching every moving soul progress down the street in suppressed anticipation. It's a good prank, I highly recommend it. Just don't do it too close to a busy street, 'cause when people jump you never know which direction they might go.

Well folks, as much as I love writing about stupid pranks and slackers, I've got to go, 'cause face it, this too is a distraction from the homework. Boo...homework.

Check this guy out, he leads praise and worship for FSU Crusade, he's awesome, hire him, buy his music, go to his concerts...he's opening up for Sonic Flood and KJ 52 later on this year.

Busy Day, Busy Week, Busy Life

"If we sacrifice our today for our tomorrow, than all our todays will be abysmal, and that tomorrow that we yearn for, will never come."
-The Squirt

Quote of the day, yay. So anyway, there hasn't really been a lot of substance to the past couple of days. Mostly just going to class, doing homework, eating far to much chocolate thanks to B.W. and the sponsor ladies...it's been pretty normal. I've been more tired than usual I think, but tired is part of being a college student I guess. The biggest thing since the last time I posted is probably me getting a new roommate. That's right, a new roommate. Still smarting from the loss of my previous (and awesome) roommate, I get another one who, although kind and considerate, is not M. There's nobody telling me to "shut the eff up cause it's two in the morning and I'm trying to sleep!" (and yes, she does say eff, instead of the actual 'f word'), and nobody going to bed at 10 pm driving me to do the same. I really kind of miss it...her...whatever, might as well be it. I think maybe that's why I'm so tired, cause I haven't been going to sleep at a descent hour. Anyway, I think it will just take some getting used to.

On a totally different note, I'm getting really frustrated by the car search. It's still not turning it up, and I'm getting discouraged. It just sucks. To bad I'm such a stubborn person. But seriously, who wants to drive automatic. Psh. If anyone wants to give away a car to a poor college student, give me their number and I'll go do some groveling.