And we lose to South Carolina, apparently.
This does pose an interesting little nugget of discussion, though. Should prostitution be illegal? Why are government officials only forced to resign amid allegations of sexual misconduct (homo or hetero, which happens to be the case for our fair Governor Spitzer), and allowed to walk free into the annals of history as heros for other crimes (want some examples? How about, oh, the Iran-Contra Affair or Whitewater and Vince Foster's death?!)?
Take into account that most prostitutes are unable to go to the police in cases of rape, assualt, stalking, murder because they're regarded as criminals and, at best, less than respectable citizens. Consider how many women are forced into prostitution because there are no federal restraints on the pimps / escort agencies. Consider The Netherlands, who have legalized prostitution.
I'm not saying that legal prostitution in America will solve all of our problems; in fact, it will probably create new ones. But, hey, at least we'll be getting the tax revenue, and the girls will be safer. I don't agree with or condone prostitution, but I also don't condone stripping or how 90% of the female actresses or pop artists earn a living. I just hate that we are completely fine with a woman engaging in sex on a prime-time television show, but scandalize women who engage in sex behind closed doors. They're both doing it for money, and not for love, and out of wedlock. The one difference is that we can see the vulgarities that are displayed in music videos and commercials. It's like prostitution, really, but without all of the pesky penetration.
Let them sell themselves. Just don't proclaim that men who buy their wares are any less moral than those who ignore the plights of hundreds of thousands of people in Africa so that they can dedicate money to finish their father's war.
from the BBC News Article...
"Mr Spitzer was elected governor in November 2006, promising ethical reform in New York.
As New York's attorney general, he had become known as the Sherriff of Wall Street for his relentless pursuit of financial wrong-doing.
He had also taken a firm line against prostitution in New York."
Ah, just another reason to vote for Barack. All high-level politicians are equally corrupt, but let's pick a good public speaker for the presidency this time around, huh? At least he'll be nice to listen to when he's in office.
- Mood:
cynical - Music:I'm Gonna Find Another You - John Mayer
I have felt, however, completely adrift. I have lost motivation academically, relationally, internally... in almost every way I have become unmotivated (except, of course, grammatically. I could never be grammatically unmotivated.). It's strange to watch your life dissolve and slide through your fingers as you try to reclaim it, but that's what's happening to me.
I don't fit in anywhere. If I had stayed at Gordon, I might have fit in there. But I didn't want to fit in there, not with the people outside of my floor. I didn't want to be the way that they were, so far removed from the realities of the world and so caught up in their own twentysomething existences and dreams and ideologies.
I never wanted that. It disgusted me. Maybe if I would have stayed, it would have slowly overtaken me, and I would have assimilated. Maybe I wouldn't even view it as narrowminded and supremely self-absorbed.
On the other hand, I'm being pretty self-absorbed now, aren't I? Maybe I should just stop worrying about myself and focus on other people, like Kofi Annan or Hillary Clinton?
Well, that ship has sailed. I'm selfish, and I know it. I could explain it to you, in psychological and sociological terms that would give a firm etiology for my self-centeredness, but I don't have the time. And, really, you don't have the interest, so I'll just move along (hint: this sentence right here is a perfect example of my problems!).
I suppose I'll talk about something else besides the paralyzing state of anomie that I'm feeling. Something that makes me happy, something that doesn't make my stomach turn into a hunk of granola inside a food processor.
I've been watching more movies lately. I saw several amazing ones recently, and a few not-so-amazing ones. Allow me, please, to recap them for you!
The Apartment (1960)
Directed and written by Billy Wilder. ( who is made of awesome)
Starring Jack Lemmon. Shirley MacLaine also appears as a suicidal adulterress, and Fred MacMurray as a stoic adulterer, but the main thing is that JACK IS STARRING.
Rating (the critics): Won Academy Award for Best Picture, as well as the Best Picture BAFTA. Jack was nominated for an Academy Award for this one, but took home a BAFTA and Golden Globe for Best Actor. Shirley won the same number of awards, too, but was considerably less adorable and wonderful while doing so. Also, Robert Osborne (and a nameless woman named Rose McGowan who is a big fake and should not be hosting this season of The Essentials with such an amazingly wonderful film historian as Robert Osborne) has featured this as one of The Essentials on Turner Classic Movies. And, as we all know, Robert Osborne knows just about everything.
Rating (the Natalie): 7 out of 7; one of my favorite films of all time.
Jack on The Apartment...
"I always felt that Billy Wilder grew a rose in a garbage pail with this one. [...] He was throwing cold water right in our faces about the terrible false premises with which most of our society lives. He challenged our priorities and the way we rationalize our behavior on the grounds of getting ahead in America - at a time when it wasn't fashionable to challenge these things. He gave us a pretty good jolt, and it hasn't been done a hell of a lot better since then."
Ah, what can I say about this movie? It was amazing, so much better than I'd expected (and I expected a lot). Billy Wilder has yet to disappoint me with one of his movies, and I'm absolutely certain that you can find no greater leading man than Jack Lemmon. I haven't seen his intense melodramatic style yet (as in The Days of Wine and Roses), but the man is a genius in comedy, as well as in appearing to be the most genuine actor in each of his parts. I watched a fair bit of The Odd Couple before watching this film, and I was so blown away by Jack as the obsessive-compulsive 'wife' to Walter Matthau's lazy, sloppy 'husband.' Some of the greatest scenes in that film had no dialogue at all... Dan Dailey just let Jack and Walt move around the apartment as their characters. Oh, it was brilliant.
Now, on to the movie in question. This is by far my favorite romantic comedy (if you can call it a romantic comedy, which I certainly do). I have a great dislike for typical romantic comedies, mostly because they end sappily and unrealistically and I HATE being left alone when the two characters go off and be happily wonderful together. It irks me.
But, on the other hand, this film ended without a sappy kiss or the insinuation that Jack and Shirley's characters ended up TOGETHER FOREVER. Instead, it showed a sweet coversation that was a continuation of their relationship. The film ended with them playing rummy. I apologize if I've spoiled the movie for you, but I still recommend that you go and watch it.
Also, this cannot go unsaid: I want to marry circa 1959 Jack Lemmon. Watch this movie, and see the character that he plays. I defy you to find a better match for me. Just thinking about C.C. Baxter is making me smile, even as I type! I cannot explain everything that draws me to him, but... Jack's got this amazing energy. He's so hilarious, but in a wonderfully understated way. He's not ridiculously handsome (in fact, at times he is unattractive from certain angles, if you squint), but his personality and intensity make him irresistible. I love that he is so passionate, so randomly exhuberant, and I love that his frustration / unease / befuddledness shows clearly on his face and in his gestures. Perhaps that's what I love so much about him... that he is honest and open and real, just as I am (or, as I feel that I am), in any and all circumstances. I dislike people who keep everything bottled in, who never get excited or angry or show any emotion. I dislike people who look down on me because I talk quickly or go on tangents, and, conversely, I adore people who speak quicker than I do and will pick up my tangents where I leave them off. I feel that Jack could do that.
Plus, he has wonderful hands. And the white shirt / black tie combination is just killer. No one ever wears that anymore... we have no crisp white shirts and skinny black ties. I miss that.
Obviously, I was born in the wrong era. Please send me back to 1958, with Jack Lemmon and phonographs and black and white movies. Please never take me back, and send me along with an adapter for my laptop so that I can still update my blog from my new address, 134 Wherever-Jack-Is, California, United States, The Anti-Commie West.
Again, I am feeling a strange distance from anyone I know. No one else likes Jack Lemmon, or Billy Wilder movies... and if they do, would they want to sit and pick them apart with me?! No.
I have always loved the fact that I'm unique, that I have interests that no one else shares, or has heard of(Bollywood, criminal profiling, 19th Century Russian Jewry, ancient bloodletting practices [JOKING ON THIS LAST ONE!]...). But, and only rarely, I feel a profound sense of aloneness, and just wish that someone would indulge me and actually care about how vital it is that I create a realistic totalitarian government for my next book idea.
Or, say, entertain the crazy notion that I should marry Jack Lemmon because of that excited, high pitch that his voice takes when he's being sarcastic.
So, stay tuned for more film reviews!
- Mood:
disappointed - Music:Android Lust - Stained
I could hear the church bells ringing
they pealed aloud Your praise
the member's faces were smiling
with their hands outstretched to shake
it's true they did not move me
my heart was hard and tired
their perfect fire annoyed me
I could not find You anywhere
could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
I still have never seen You, and somedays
I don't love You at all
the devoted were wearing bracelets
to remind them why they came
some concrete motivation
when the abstract could not do the same
but if all that's left is duty, I'm falling on my sword
at least then, I would not serve an unseen distant Lord
could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
I still have never seen You, and somedays
I don't love You at all
if this only a test
I hope that I'm passing, 'cause I'm losing steam
but I still want to trust you
Now, I know that after being AWOL for over a month it's sort of innane for me to ask you to read a mass of complicated lyrics right off the bat, but please give it a try.
Don't worry. I'll wait.
Have you done it? Good. Now, what did you think of them? If you're a Christian, you were probably angered by them, or at least frustrated that someone could write such a thing. Perhaps you compared this to your own church, to the blue-green carpet that you tread on every Sunday, or perhaps you matched certain smiling, hand-shaking members' faces with those of people in your own congregation. I know that I did all of these things, except I pictured the church much whiter and with a giant pair of bells that clanged from an imaginary tower, a la 7th Heaven (yes, I watched it... ages ago).
Anyway, the point of this was that those lyrics were written by a Christian. And not a former Christian, or a Christian in the vein of Britney Spears (who claims the label but does not live the lifestyle), but a real, honest-to-goodness follower of Christ.
His band is called Pedro the Lion, although from what I've gathered, the band is (was; it's now defunct) mostly a platform for David Bazan to write and sing his own songs. David is the Christian, and the author of these lyrics that really captivate me. They make me wonder if he's writing from his point of view, as a Christian who's disillusioned with Christianity and having trouble finding God at all (I have certainly felt, even in my new relationship with Him, as though He is "unseen and distant" (while knowing, still, that He's not)). The other alternative would be that Bazan's lyrics are a sort of fiction about some other person who doesn't yet 'know God' and is searching, but coming up empty.
I happen to believe that it is the first interpretation, but I can easily be swayed. The point, for me, is that it could be that a Christian wrote this song about his own feelings, that a Christian can honestly say to God, "could someone please tell me the story of sinners ransomed from the fall? I still have never seen You, and somedays I don't love You at all."
Is that sacrelige, or is it something that we fear more; honesty?
Why are our praise anthems so cheery and upbeat? Why is it that we always sing about our unfailing love for God, about our 'til-my-dying-breath' devotion to Him? Can't we see that even as we sing, our promises are being broken?
We will never be devoted to God, never in the way that we claim, until the earth is devoid of Satan and sin's power. Actually, I retract that statement; we will never be eternally devoted to God until we are dead.
This is why I don't like Christian music. Ignoring the fact that most of the music is lifeless and not unique, a parody of chords that we've heard a thousand times before, mainstream music that bears a 'Christian' label does not fit my life. I am all too aware of my shortcomings, of my tendency to whore myself out to any god that gives me a buzz, be it jealousy or greed or television or food, to ever believe that I could dedicate my every breath and action to God. I would love to dedicate my every breath and action to God, but I cannot. So I'm a bit reluctant to sing about it (especially when He's right there, and even more aware of my shoddy track record of promise-keeping than I am).
I much prefer non-Christian writers for my worship music. Excepting bands like Jars of Clay, and those old standard hymns that never fail to break my heart, I find my favorite worship choruses to be written by people who never knew Christ.
I love to sing lines like this to God, things that I can really get behind and feel honest about.
three years, brokenhearted
now her ghost is finally gone
I'm done with broken people
this is me I'm working on
good love is on the way
I'll be lonely but I know I'll be okay
good love is on the way
To dissect this for you... the first two lines mean, to me, that I've been walking around like a ghost for most of my life, brokenhearted, and that finally all traces of my former self have left me alone (the 'her' is me). The next two lines are saying that I'm done putting my trust in people that are just as broken, if not more so, than I was. They say that I am thinking for myself, and of myself, when I put God at the forefront of my life, and focus on Him instead of external supplies of love and comfort. The last lines, the chorus, are pretty self explanitory. Good love comes only from our YHWH, who is Love itself. And, even though He is with me always, I know that I will be plagued by loneliness for chosing this road, and I know that there are times when I will feel completely in the dark and without a companion. But I know that, wherever I may be, I will always be 'okay,' always at least know that God is for me, even if I may feel that He's hovering above the ozone layer, out of reach.
Those are from a John Mayer song (obviously). I think that this guy is so close to God, at least some of the time... some of his songs talk about aching for something that's missing from his life, and I can see exactly that it's a God-shaped hole that he's staring at. I pray for him... he gives me such comfort and amazing lyrics that I hope that he finds the same Love I've found.
Now, I am not saying that I dislike worship at my dear church... because I love it. I am so blessed to be able to praise God with a pair of sticks in my fists, and to sing to Him as well. Some of the lyrics to the songs that we sing on Sunday really resonate with me, and most of them just cause me to meditate on their meaning, even if it isn't something I entirely agree with. Regardless of how I do it, Sunday morning is always a time of great worship for me.
I just like to throw existentialist questions at you late at night.
David Bazan is a pretty cool guy. It makes me sad that most people will never hear his take on Christian rock while bands like Stryper will leave an indelible mark on America.
This is a quote from an article on / interview of Pedro the Lion (David Bazan). The entire piece can be found here.
In addition to their music being limitlessly cheesy, Bazan believes Christian rock bands are wasting their time preaching from beneath a hot spotlight when "the basic act of being creative glorifies God."
Goodnight.
- Mood:
chipper - Music:To Hell With The Devil - Stryper
I had 6 papers to write for Monday. 2 have been written, and 4 have not. I was supposed to have 7 papers, but I decided somewhere around Saturday that I wasn't going to have enough time to do any extra credit. And my ninth grade teacher's voice is ringing in my ear... I know I should write out those numbers because they're less than ten. It's just proper grammar, really.
I miss ninth grade English. My teacher was a beast (or, at least, we all thought that she was because of the homework she assigned us... and her grading standards are like tender cupcakes compared to the year-old-fruit-cake of Gordon professors' expectations), but I really liked her. Granted, I had the highest average in the class, but I could always write things and get good grades on them by the skin of my teeth. We had 10 vocabulary words every week, and I still remember some of them. I remember learning about the historical prologue to Animal Farm, and hearing her sing 'Beasts of England' as she understood it. I remember reading Romeo and Juliet aloud, acting it, really, and having her stop us every five minutes to explain what we'd just said. I remember the days when she was off at a hospital, those days when we had a substitute who knew nothing about Shakespeare; those days we would read pages upon pages, act them out, and have no idea what we'd just read.
I remember her being disturbed by my short story; it was about the beginnings of a serial killer, who was always being pushed around by thugs because he was slight and listened to The Smiths. In the story, he killed one of his tormentors by locking him inside a warehouse and setting it on fire. I told, as vividly as I could imagine, how the victim felt, and apparently it freaked her out. That's one of the greatest compliments I've ever gotten... that my words had touched someone so deeply that it had affected them, it had scared them.
I remember how the short story was supposed to be seven pages long, at most, and I remember the feeling in my stomach when I saw that mine was 10 pages. I remember how I edited it, whittled it down even though I knew that not a single piece could really be removed. When I finally couldn't take anything else away, I moved the margins out. They were... .5 inches? It was pathetic, but she never specified about the margins. I fit the whole thing on 7 pages, and she accepted it. I got a very good grade, and that compliment, but with a note: margins??
I miss loving to learn. Granted, the rest of high school was pure hell that would make Dante shiver, but Ms. Adams' class was amazing.
Gordon has sort of sucked my love of learning out of me. I just want to finish, get a cheap degree, and start living a life free of classrooms and midterms and a, b, c, or d questions.
I hate that this has happened, but I'm staring down the barrel of a loaded Western Civilization final, and I just do not care at all. I cannot pick up a book to study, and I can barely eke out these papers for it. I know that I will be miserable tomorrow, stressing and having no clue where to put any of those old, dead people's names.
But, at the same time, this is freeing. For so long I have been bound inside the invisible walls of academia... I have cared so much about getting into a good college and having good grades and being a respected (fill in the blank) that I have probably developed an anxiety problem. When I used to have nightmares as a kid, the most frightening ones would be about showing up to school and not turning a paper in. When I misplaced my homework, I would break down and cry. I have never gotten below an A in any class.
Here I have lost any joy in learning that I had. I used to LOVE going to Sociology at JCC, sitting and learning and acing the tests because I was SMART and I paid attention in class and I read the required reading and memorized a few terms. Here, I have to break my back; the catch is, I know that I'm smart. I know that this should be easy for me, or at least it shouldn't be this hard. I want to go back to loving class, and telling my parents about what I've learned, and singing songs to Vitarelli babies about different theories and concepts that I've mastered (Landon will have much knowledge of Marx and Durkhiem by the time he's in kindergarten).
I am so excited to be going home. I am excited to have a life again, to be helping people and driving my car and reaching out to the world around me. I cannot wait to worship properly, to sit behind my kit and just let go, to do something that's always come easily to me, and to do it well, and to praise the LORD with it.
There has been one class here that I've really loved, and that's Old Testament. I have completely been enthralled by it since the first day, and it's the only class I've got a secure A in (I also did the Honors Option, and don't have to take the final exam!). I know that this problem I'm having here isn't about a lack within myself... this is a problem with teachers and staff and textbooks and cirriculum. Gordon is trying to hard to be an academically rigorous institution (their words, not mine) that they are missing the ENTIRE point of academia in the first place; that is, to set a person's mind on fire.
I really love Old Testament God, possibly more than I love the New Testament One I've known all my life. Old Testament God seems so much more mysterious, awe-inspiring, and passionate. I love that He gets angry, I love that He laments, I love that He rebukes, and I love that He puts His heart out there for Israel when He knows they'll just step on it again.
When He knows I'll just step on it again.
If people really knew YHWH, they would be madly in love with Him. You can see glimpses of His love, His person, in movies and books... He is in all of those epic love stories, all of those things that you admire about selfless, romantic, lifelong love.
I wish someone would write a book about Him. Maybe then you could understand what I mean.
(by the way, SONG OF SOLOMON IS ABOUT HIM AND US.)
Now, to write a paper and hopefully start my 10 page one for tomorrow.
- Mood: loved
- Music:Waiting On The World To Change (acoustic, feat. Ben Harper) - John Mayer
BUT, I wanted to let you all know why I'm changing my major, coming home in January, and basically turning my world on it's face.
Unfortunately, becuase I decided to share this information with you at around 1:20AM, this means that I will wake up tomorrow looking and feeling somewhat like this guy (minus the brewsky in my hand, of course!).
I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, a Morning Person.
This is a post I lifted from a forum entitled 'Creative Writers' and subtitled: 'what were you dreams? when did you know you wanted to be a creative writing major?'. It can be found in one of my favorite Facebook groups, I Picked a Major I Liked, and One Day I Will Probably Be Living in a Box!!!
I've been writing since I was around eight years old, and coming up with stories before that.
Stories have always been a part of my life, and I've always lived in worlds apart from this one, but for most of my life I was ashamed of this and NEVER thought I could make a career out of it. I now realize, after a semester at an expensive private college as a sociology major, that I was being KEPT DOWN BY THE MAN.
I'm transfering to a community college in January to get all of my requirements done, and then I'm going to find a random school to get a Creative Writing degree. Something tells me that if I just write a lot during this time, and happen to have a good teacher here or there, I will be moderately successful and hopefully graduate without a perscription for Zoloft. I'm on the cusp of Creative Writing major-ness, and it is quite amazing.
My dreams, for the moment, consist of getting that degree, plopping down a novel or two, living in a large city like Kiev or London or New York for a few years, finding and marrying a wildly passionate yet levelheaded musician whose moderate success and boundless intelligence will support us and our two daughters while I crank out my prose that will go unsold to the masses as they watch film adaptations of my stories by the millions. We will then settle in the countryside, possibly in England or Ukraine, but more than likely in the area that I was born and raised in Upstate New York, and I will become a kind and ridiculously intelligent-yet-accessible old woman who teaches the occassional class at a small, unrespected community college and spends her summers traveling around the world and talking to people about Jesus. I will die at an old age, but not too old, and some day a socially awkward kid will pick up one of my books and say 'maybe I could write something like this.'
And, if possible, I'd like to get a job writing English subtitles for Bollywood movies (while Shah Rukh Khan is still making movies, and dancing in them).
And, because I cannot resist, a video of SHAH RUKH KHAN DANCING (in various films, to one of my absolute favorite songs by a Turkish (or possibly Iranian?) artist named Arash). ENJOY IT, MY FRIENDS!
ATTENTION: Most of these clips are from the 1997 SMASH HIT OF AMAZINGNESS that is 'Dil To Pagal Hai'; while it was the first film that I ever saw SRK in, I must warn you that the fashions are a BIT BEHIND THE TIMES, and so those 'workout clothes' that you might see our dear King Khan in are a little bit laughable. Go ahead and laugh, but don't think that this is still the way things are done in Hindustan (India). I tell you truly, they wear the hottest styles nowadays, and I can safely tell you that I haven't seen Shah Rukh's knees since that horrible Kuch Kuch Hota Hai outfit in 2001.
And, regardless of the wardrobe, this video succeeds in proving one vital fact: BROTHER KHAN CAN DANCE, FOR REALZ!
- Mood: calm
- Music:Bombay Dreams - Arash feat. Aneela
1) The Bucket List looks like an amazing, if somewhat cheesy, film, and could prove to be the first thing that could ever make me like Jack Nicholson except for the fact that he sort of reminds me of my Papa as he gets older.
2) I never actually asked that 'question' that I mentioned in the beginning of the sentence. It was...
"Which presidential candidate has the most potential to be an actual PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?"
And the answer is still...
RON PAUL!
*This endorsement not paid for by anyone who ever met Ron Paul (although it totally should be, as this banner is SCHWEET!).
- Mood: cold
- Music:Wheel - John Mayer, THE BRAVE
But, I have a question for you all. As a college student, I have very little money. I buy overpriced juice like it's going out of style because I cannot drink water / milk / soda and have no way of getting to the store to buy big, cheap juices. Also, my refrigerator is the size of a 4-year-old child, and 4-year-old children are not known for their ability to hold large amounts of big, cheap juices.
Two hands, two cupcakes, and no potential for adequate juice storage.
So, I have no money. This doesn't seem to be a problem until we consider... that I need music. I am a human being, of the genus 'audious', and as such require constant stimulation of an audible variety. I have actually, at times, feigned blindness to improve the reception of my ears (I've closed my eyes to concentrate on stuff). Blindness would be a problem for me, but deafness would be an excuse for mass homicide. You get the idea. I would rather be Oedipus (from an eye-gouging standpoint; I do not envy his familial issues) than Marlee Matlin (the first deaf Academy-Award-winning actress). The fact that the word 'deaf' is one letter away from 'dead' is especially close to my heart.
Okay, I'm really finished now.
So, I need music. Music that inspires me, music that moves me, music that gets stuck in my head for days, music that makes me cry and sway like a Pentecostal.
This is me when I listen to this cover of Bob Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower" by Eddie Vedder and The Million Dollar Bashers. You can listen for it at my funeral, as it is totally going on the playlist.
One man who often produces music that makes me jump, jive and wail is John Mayer. I've spoken of him earlier, so you should know by now that he is not a teen idol / worthless pop star / embarassment to the art of music making.
He is, in fact, a demigod of sounds. The music that he makes, the sounds that he puts together in a planned, sequential order, are so profoundly beautiful that they make the Sistine Chapel look like a Sam's Club warehouse in comparison (even though that wasn't a very good comparison... I just like to mock the Renaissance).
Now, this John Mayer character releases music only so often, because if he unleashed his perfect musical genius too much, the entire world would dissolve and become the consistency of cream cheese frosting.
Because he CARES FOR THE STATE OF THE PLANET, his music is limited to 3 albums and several E.P.s and live shows, along with one amazing live recording of a concert given by the John Mayer Trio. And, to be honest, that first album is kind of crap, so there are really only two albums and handful of songs from that first album that, when re-arranged and performed acoustically, make up his overall offering of musical goodness to the world.
I, as a college student, have done the math. At the average cost of song downloads (which are useless when it comes to John Mayer, as he has openly encouraged the 'illegal' circulation of his albums on the internet) and, most importantly, CD prices, I can afford to buy .4 album each year, not counting last year when I could buy Continuum because Mom gave me the money.
And none of these numbers would be possible without my trusty abacus.
This is not an option, as I cannot buy .4 albums; they only come in the units of '1 [one]' for whatever reason (perhaps that Corporate America wishes to drive me to a slow death via stress eating?). In fact, I do blame America, and Western Civilization in general, for my current predicament; if only I lived in Afghanistan, I could buy 1 John Mayer album a DAY!
So, I was just looking at the NEWS portion of John Mayer's official website, and I found this blurbit:
This new, limited edition deluxe package contains the Continuum album plus an added disc with 6 live songs from the 2007 Summer Tour. A new 20-page photo booklet is also included. This package also contains a digital code to download the new single, "Say", which is featured in the upcoming film The Bucket List. The movie stars Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman and opens in theaters in December 2007.
I nearly blew my lid. I nearly took my roommate, who was gently sleeping in the bed across the room, and THREW HER OUT THE WINDOW in a fit of undirected, nonsensical rage.
This 'special edition' contains SPECIAL SONGS and a 'digital download code' for Say, an amazing new song that I will link you to later in this entry. The only problem is, I spent $20 on 'Continuum' LAST YEAR. I bought it right after it came out, and am now being PUNISHED for loving and supporting John Mayer's music TWELVE MONTHS BEFORE SOME OTHER KNUCKLEHEAD; the KNUCKLEHEAD buys 'Continuum' now and gets 7 extra songs AND PICTURES of Shiva-knows-what AMAZING John Mayer-related things; I bought it earlier and got SQUAT (except an amazing listening experience that I will treasure for the rest of my natural life).
I AM BEING SO ABUSED BY THE SYSTEM RIGHT NOW IT IS INSANE.
I am the woman in that car, the car of a poor college student, and I'm being 'directed to park in the the LOSER section of LIFE' by that man, or as I like to call him, THE BOURGEOISIE CORPORATE AMERICA. And let me tell you, it hurts.
So, this is probably the longest entry I've ever written in this little journal. It's 4:38AM now... I should probably go to sleep.
But, before I go, you should mosey on over to John Mayer's website and take a listen to that new song. "Say" is really beautiful (of course, as if you expected anything else from our boy!), and I think that it will appeal to anyone, from the newborn to the recently dead, from the sports athelete to the comatose scientist... anyone will LOVE this song.
Or, at least, anyone that I'd ever want to talk to when I come home on Tuesday.
I'll see you all then. ♥ Here's the song link: PRESS THE SIDEWARDS ISOSCELES TRIANGLE ON THE 'SAY' BANNER TO BEGIN THE MUSIC.
Oh, and I wanted to leave you all with some amazing lyrics that I thought really paint a beautiful, accurate picture of depression. You know, because... I'm really random. But I thought of this yesterday when I was listening to this song (Something's Missing from his sophomore album, 'Heavier Things'), and I wanted to share it with you.
When autumn comes, it doesnt ask.
It just walks in, where it left you last.
And you never know, when it starts,
Until there's fog inside the glass around your summer heart.
- Music:Say - John Mayer, the INCOMPARABLE
( And, this really hasn't got much to do with anything, but I'm proud of it... )
Oh, and apparently we are getting a Nor'easter tomorrow (the rainy kind, not the snowy kind). If it does happen, I will DEFINITELY get pictures and post them.
I'm really hoping for one of me, holding onto a tree and being completely suspended in the air, parallel to the ground, by the sheer force of those Nor'easterly winds.
CHECK BACK SOON!
- Mood: chipper
- Music:Let It Happen - Jimmy Eat World
Things here are going well. I love being alone, and it happens so infrequently that when I catch a few moments here by myself I stop working and attempt to be artistic; the results are really quite catastrophic to my GPA. I miss having my own space and my own freedom and I am protesting it by letting my room get messier than anyone else's. My bedsheets have a distinct odor that reminds me of my childhood days when I would go days without showering in the summer. I think that I'm successfully getting to sleep, though, because the smell knocks me out before I can become existential in the wee hours of the morning.
Stir fry day was today, and I discovered that I like brown rice better than white rice. This was quite a discovery for me, mostly because I hate 94% of the food that they serve here, so finding something HEALTHY that I ENJOY is akin to the feeling that George W. Bush gets when he writes a grammatically correct sentence.
Speaking of that, Ron Paul. Of all of the presidential candidates I've seen (and this includes Barack 'Oh-Mama' Obama and Mitt 'Jesus Chilled Wit Da Indians' Romney), he is the best. However, he looks rather old, so get your votes in before he croaks.
He is anti-war, anti-foreign-aid, anti-abortion, and PRO HOMESCHOOL.
Yeah, baby, and he's a Baptist. Basically, we should elect him Ruler of the World.
His stance, as it seems to me, is that we should pull out of foreign relations and stop spending from the deficit and become nationaly focused (that is, stop putting our hands in any conflict that we want to just becuase we are the SUPER COOL AWESOME RICH UNITED STATES and focus inwardly on national issues and getting our entire country out of debt and back on its feet).
Plus, JOHN MAYER supports him. Yes, John Mayer. THE JOHN MAYER WHO WROTE CONTINUUM, THE GREATEST ALBUM SINCE... I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHEN.
"Aw, shucks... I am the greatest guitarist in popular music since Eric Clapton himself. Vote RP in 08!"
And is anyone else reminded of 'RuPaul' when they look at Ron Paul's name?
Anyone?
- Mood: complacent
- Music:don't talk - 10,000 Maniacs LIVE!
It was actually kind of freeing to walk out of that room.
So, I came home and sat down to read the Bible (no, really...). I was about a chapter into Joshua when I closed my eyes for a minute, and that would prove to be my demise. I slept for two hours, right through chapel, which means that I will have to get up for one more chapel at the end of the semester. But the sleep was good (I dreamt I was a spy of some sort, and that David McCallum was living on campus (that is, his current 60-something self) and that I was planning to go on a jog with him. I wanted to ask him about filming "The Great Escape". Then I was in the church, although it was (as it always is in my dreams) completely different and warped and sinister; there were way too many children, but we solved that problem by stuffing them all into the closet in the gym, and I think I saw Robert DuVall as "The Apostle" wandering around.
Naptime dreams are always interesting.
Other than that, there is nothing new to report, save my 94% grade on my first Old Testament exam (which means that I can do the honors option and not take the final, AND it also means that I owned my class, as the average score was 75%). I am going to miss Old Testament... exposition of the Scriptures is by far the coolest thing about being a Christian.
Oh, I am such a Baptist. ;)
Well, I'm off to drop a class, because it's not a real school year until I've dropped at least 3. Hopefully when I get back I can expound upon the virtues of speed reading (I have a 200 page book to read tonight, and that lovely Joshua to tackle before Thursday, which is tomorrow) and a scary, angry God.
I am always confused when people have trouble rectifying God's anger with His love. Whenever I read about Him destroying sinners in the Old Testament, I am just too excited for words. It's cool, you know? We could have been that way too, but we're not. And we can just see what God is going to do to Satan in the future. And it's also really cool to see the love of your life get angry... really angry, angry enough to beat stuff. Just imagine Sonny in The Godfather when he's learned that Carlo has been cheating on his sister, and then abusing her.
God's like that, sort of, in the Old Testament, except without the trash can lid and the biting. :)
God's just... really cool.
My vocabulary is shrinking with each meal I eat on campus. :(
- Music:Kill - Jimmy Eat World
the prodigal son (or daughter) returns!
I am so glad that I'm coming home. I need a little break, need a little release from the Gordon bubble as they affectionally call it here (or as I say, with my teeth firmly pressed into a shotgun shell). I am sad that I'm going to be missing study time, but I figure that I'll certainly get enough of that in the airport and on the plane. I'm also going to study speed reading during Christmas break so that I can keep up with all of the reading they give out at this crazy institution (PUN!).
November is going to be wicked (to use a Mass. adverb) tough month. I can only hope that my comittment to write a 50,000 novel won't be interrupted by any of those pesky studies (although I am dropping a course because it's only 1/2 a semester long, so once I fail the final this Thursday I will have less reading to do!). I'm still not sure what I want to write about, but I had better decide soon. The hardest thing for me is picking a plot and sticking with it... usually I just let my inspiration go crazy and write whatever I feel like, but November changes all that.
I keep wanting to start the novel early, just to get a head start for those days when I have papers and tests and real work to do. Thing is, they really poo-poo that in NaNoWriMo land, and I can't bring myself to write a concrete word before midnight on October 31st. I keep feeling like the NaNoWriMo police will send a spell to curse my writing mojo for as many words as I write pre-November, and I hate it when people mess with my mojo (or is it pronounced moh-ho?).
I didn't go to Catacombs tonight. It's the first night I haven't gone, and I feel a little guilty. I came back from a brownie sundae meet-and-greet at my Resident Director's apartment and decided not to go because I had too much work to do. I haven't done any work all day... I woke up at 2PM and sort of lazed around until I called my mom at 4ish. Or was it 3ish? I think we spoke for over three hours, which was great fun.
Still, I did no work. I have essays due, ancient guys' work to read, and lots of big thoughts to think before I get to go home and be amongst all of the
I miss New York. I really don't like Massachusetts... most everyone is arrogant and proud, as though simply by living in the area with the most universities they have gleaned some insane amount of knowlege. I miss humility and kindness and normal.
I get the feeling of normal in Ukraine, but not here. I get that feeling of normal 6,000 miles away, but not 500.
I really miss them. I'm just starting to think about Christmas presents now, and I really want to send them enough money to get a trampoline for the boys. I'll definitely send some peanut butter, dense as the stuff is, and some water balloons for them to use in the spring. Oh, maybe laser tag? I think the boys would have so much fun with that, and so would Pastor Sergei.
I miss them so much. There are so many days when I wish I could see Lessia's smiling face and give her a hug, or play puppets with Sasha or watch Happy Feat dubbed in Russian with Bogdan or just listen to Pastor Sergei preach.
I can almost feel the slippery wood of their floors on my feet. I can almost feel the warmth, and feel the small dishes in my hands as I wash them in the hot water. I miss them so much. What am I doing in this place that will always put a lump in my stomach when I could be home in YKPAIHA?
Even though I know I need to be here, it's times like these that I wish I had the strength to just throw everything down and go home.
If they come back here... if we bring Big Sasha and Pastor Sergei and Pastor Vitale here in the winter, I am flying home. I am leaving classes, I am camping out in the church... I don't care what happens, I'm going to spend every second with them that I can.
I'm tempted to study geography and plate tectonics to see if I can move Ukraine directly next to campus.
Well, I'm not going to get much studying done tonight (especially if I keep listening to sentimental music and thinking about the former Soviet Union).
Oh, and just to give you a smile after all of this angst... two commercials featuring my favorite Bollywood star, Shah Rukh Khan (he has the long hair and killer personality... he's also much shorter than the guy in white, John Abraham).
- Mood: cold
- Music:Shah Rukh Khan interview on youtube
First Draft Grade: A
There was one note of objection from the grader, who said that some of my argument didn't sound like it was from my own knowledge (I just learned it from Western Civ., and applied it, but I was wondering if I'd have to cite it and expected some remark about it).
OWN!
I am so happy. I've got a Western Civ. paper due soon, and I really need to get cranking on that. But I feel like I'm going to do alright, if I can only get it started.
I also have a paper for my Christian Muslim Relations class that will constitute half of my grade. It's a 300 level course, so that kind of scares me, but I think that I can write well enough to get a decent grade.
Honestly, how much more can I learn about writing papers?
Is that a stupid question?
Also...
- Mood:
anxious - Music:Eat for Two - 10,000 Maniacs (live!)
NOT.
I went to bed with the hopes of going to sleep last night at midnight, but found that people were shouting and laughing right outside my window (honestly, why must they congregate RIGHT OUTSIDE MY WINDOW?) until about 2AM. :) After two hours of tossing and turning, I got out of bed, grabbed Herodotus and went into the hall to read. I was going to chill in the study room, but someone else was using it, so I sat in the narrow walkway and began to read about ancient Greece. Not more than three minutes into my reading, a girl that was definitely NOT a member of my floor came walking down the hall and past me, in cowboy boots and a mini skirt and so much makeup that I knew instantly that we'd never be BFF. She walked around the corner, and I heard the door to the bathroom open (nevermind that she'd just walked past a bathroom door... I was sitting right in front of the other one. So, she uses the toilet, exits through the other door, and proceeds to walk BACK around the corner and past me and out the door.
It amused me, but I was still frustrated. I walked over to the study room about twenty minutes later and it was free, so I read until threeish. Then I came back to bed and fell asleep quickly, until ten, when I was woken by my alarm clock AND about thirty laughing, screaming girls and one guy (the ratio of all social groups on this campus... finding a husband is more like an entire defensive line rushing a quarterback here.
I tried to go back to sleep for an hour, but ended up sitting in bed wishing that a giant hammer would descend from the clouds and obliterate these kids who must have been SITTING ON MY WINDOWSILL. By the time they went away, I wasn't sleepy anymore.
Now there are people shouting, a stupid football game going on, and I am counting the months until I can go to Lynn. I would much rather be woken by gunshots and drug deals than upper-middle class flirtatious giggling. ANYTHING BUT THAT.
And, I'm just kidding... they don't shoot people in Lynn, at least not in the morning.
Well, I have to get up soon. I have to shower, and hope that no one sees me exiting / entering the bathroom in my robe, like that poor maintenence man yesterday. But, honestly, WHO WORKS AT 11:30 IN THE MORNING? Some people are just obsessive... that's way too early.
I think I might watch some Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge... I'm going to try to motor through Herodotus (there are nine books and I just completed the first) and write my outline for the Philosophy paper that's due at midnight on Monday. Something tells me that, despite my best intentions, I will be submitting it at about 11:30 that night.
OH MY GOODNESS WILL YOU STOP YELLING!
- Music:Something's Missing - John Mayer
But I do not miss watching hours of mindless television and commercials that rot your mind.
I'm actually going to have my parents bring up my guitar because I might, actually, have time to just sit and play. I would much rather be creating than taking in something that's been created for me.
Speaking of playing... I am absolutely tickled for the month of October. It starts with my amazing family coming up in the first week, followed by a paper that I'm dreading (but, once it's over, it's over!), and the leaves will be changing just as I step onto my plane and fly home. I get to see Vitarellis in just under a month! I get to hug Pastor Dan and Mary Kay in a month (I saw a picture of them from my Bollywood Bash and I've missed them so much!). I GET TO SEE EVERYONE, BYARDS INCLUDED, IN A MONTH!
Praise God. I am so happy here, but I am so happy to able to go home. I'll always be able to go home, eventually, and that just makes me... bah. I'm so happy. :) Even though my fridge has smelled strange since my first week in the dorm, and even though I still need to shower before chapel, I am SO HAPPY!
Even though I miss my Ukrainians and am looking at the possibility of not seeing them until later in the year, like January of next year... I am so happy. I miss Big Sasha and Sveta, and Pastor Sergei and Lessya and I bet that Bogdan and Sasha are growing more every day. I bet they're having a great time, and I just miss them. Whatever God's decision for Ukraine this year, for any missions trip at all, I will see them, even if it's on my own time, and even if it's in the middle of winter. I have to see them... it's not just a day camp for me. These people are as close to me as the family I've known my entire life.
I am so happy with my life right now. So happy.
And now for the pictures of my amazing G-crew. We roll deep, my Evans 1 East chicas and I.
( Oh, I am so happy... )
- Mood: happy
- Music:Hold On - Jonas Brothers (yes, Kris... yes)
Does this frighten you?
It should. :)
I cannot wait for November.
And, don't worry... it's not (entirely) what you expect.
And I can always (read: probably will) change my mind 234.5 times before 1/11/07.
I MIGHT AUDIT A COURSE ON MODERN JEWISH CULTURE!! The professor that teaches it is retiring next year, and there's a really good chance that I won't be able to take it after he leaves because the class is only offered in the fall (for reasons see Yom Kippur, Rosh Hoshanna, etc.)... and...
NO! I just checked the schedule... it's during my job!! 9:45AM Tuesday / Thursday... oh slightly illiterate children in Lynn, you are the BAIN OF MY EXISTENCE!
Not really, but... WHY MUST MARV LEAVE ME NOW?! You translated the NIV, can't you hang on for ONE MORE FALL SEMESTER!?
Okay, I'm going to bed NOW!
- Mood: wronged
- Music:Volcano (live from the Union Chapel) - Damien Rice
Then the guitarist began to strum a few chords, and the words for "God Of Wonders" came up. I was excited; my church had worshipped with this song just hours before. My mom had screwed up the first chord on this very song just hours before. I started to sing, and a strange sensation filled me; I was connected, by this song, to my church, worshipping a God that connected us both in several other ways. I felt tears in my eyes, and suddenly I noticed that my hand was raised above my head (I was packed in tightly with girls from my floor, so I didn't have a lot of room to flail about). In the darkness I sang, and focused on the words and the mangitude of God's love for me, that He would comfort me with this song and the knowledge that it was used at LBC that same day. I started to cry, and raised my other hand, careful not to whack my dear friend Emme.
I don't usually raise hands, ever. But tonight, before the first chorus was sung, both of my hands were up and facing the ceiling which seemed to become transparent as I stared up at it. I closed my eyes and just sang, because, for once, I knew the words. For once, I felt like I was home. I cried like a baby.
The Catacombs music group did something a little different, though... they sang another chorus towards the end of the song. It was different... it caused me to open my eyes and look at the words projected onto the screen, illuminated against the stark black of the room.
At that moment I noticed my hands, my arms which were starting to feel heavy and tired. I noticed the position that they were in... it was rather strange for the circumstances... they were held straight up into the air, hands open... as though I was two years old again, looking up at my dad and wanting him to pick me up in his arms and give me a hug, to make me tall like he was, to just hold me. I was in that exact position, an eighteen-year-old girl... my body language spoke clearly: "hold me."
These are the lyrics that were new to me, the ones that we don't sing at church, the lyrics that were being sung in the dark chapel by hundreds of faceless students lifting their voices to God.
precious Lord,
reveal Your heart to me
Father hold me, hold me
The song ended soon after that, and I was sobbing. Tears are blurring my vision as I write this... it was possibly the most beautiful experience of my life, certainly the most amazing experience of my walk with God.
He orchestrated this, every detail. I pondered that amazing thought over and over again in simple language that broke my heart with each repetition. When the last chords were played, I knelt down on the floor when everyone else sat to pray. I was crying, not sobbing but shaking with sadness and happiness and unworthiness. My nose ran, and I kept thinking about God's promise to annoint His children with oil on their heads, as a shepherd does with his flock. I felt my tears roll down my forehead and over my scalp, dampening my hair and becoming my own strange oil of protection. I have never felt like this in a crowd of people... so alone and so close to my Abba. I never thought that I would experience this with a crowd of people, but I did. I felt Him right there, His arms around me, the firmness of His neck between my arms. I felt my tears melt into His hair. I could smell Him.
I kept rocking back and forth on the ground and thinking... Daddy, I'm so sorry. Daddy, I've let You down.
Abba means Daddy in Hebrew. So often we treat God with formalities... we call Him Yahweh or Father or Lord, and even Abba, but never Dad or Daddy or Pop, when the people of the Bible were saying "Daddy" when they spoke His name. Abba, Father is kind of redudant, but it sounds beautiful to me... Daddy, Father... it holds a closeness that we're often afraid of. If we treat God as our Daddy, as our Father, than we have to deal with Him in every aspect of our lives, in every trial and struggle and area that we could hide from an orthodox policeman-of-the-universe God.
I don't think that we are afraid of showing our sins to God. I think we are afraid of the changes that He will make in us if we give our lives to Him... we are not afraid of confessing sins, but we are terrified of giving Him those areas that harbor sin, those comfortable places that we go to hide in. If God is our Daddy, our Father, our Papa... He is everywhere and casual and cares not that we don't sin, but that we live a different life, a life apart from sin, a life that has no relation to sin. And that is frightening when our lives are built on sins, our happinesses hinge on sins, our wordly knowledge is only of sin and other gods.
I don't usually raise hands. I don't usually write these things down. But tonight was different, amazing, and such a reassurance to me. I hope this is to you, too.
- Mood: ecstatic
I just cannot imagine ever finding a church like mine, with the leadership that I'm in awe of and the people that feel like home. I wish that everyone back home could know what we have in Lakewood Baptist Church and realize that nothing is more important than preserving it and bringing God's presence and glory back to it... making Him more evident in everything we do. We have problems there, and some of them are even large ones... but we overlook the simple blessing that we have in fellowship. All of our personal problems should be stripped away when we consider how blessed we are to have grown up in this family. This joy should then be transmutated to sympathy when we see newcomers who haven't been in this church as long as we have. That sympathy should be a catalyst for change, a motivator that brings us to draw them in to this family and give them this feeling as quickly as possible.
For people that never plan on leaving LBC it may seem mundane, as if it will go on forever and that there is nothing special about it. We may see people leaving, big people who leave a void, but we need to look around and see all of the people that are still here... we need to see these opportunities to know new people, to know people that we've seen for years and years but never really talked to.
There is no excuse for bitterness, hatred, gossipping or clan-formation. We have all of this now.
Our church can crumble if we let it. It can die, and you can all be sitting in the same place that I am now... drifting and worthless and wishing for home. Our church is home, and God is trying to get our attention because our home needs to be repaired. We need to wake up and drop everything and be flexible and realize that even the lowest person in our congregation is worth more than we are, and treat them that way.
Your ideas have a purpose, but they do not warrant the breaking of peace and the hushed whispers and the cliques that seem to thrive in our church. I think that God abhors cliques more than most things... that is what Jesus died to prevent... He preached love and acceptance and lived it, even to the people that hated Him. How are we living? How am I living? I need to ask myself that... maybe that's why I'm finding it hard to find a good church. Huh... from reflecting to rebuking to refining.
Open your eyes. See what you have. And live like you could lose it tomorrow.
- Mood:
blah - Music:Glory - Hillsong
It's strange how I move, back and forth. I'm doing well now, though, by the grace of God.
I'm working on Saturday, for ten hours... and making a stipend of $100. I am excited for this, to just work and (hopefully) not think. Amity's coming too, so this is actually extremely exciting.
I also learned last night that I have a quickish break coming up, and I'm going to try to come home then. Even if it's just for a day or two... it'll cost about $200 to fly, which I can cover with my weekend stipend and some of the money that's going to be garnered from my guitar.
I pray that I can come home soon. It would really help. It would... really, really help to be home with my family, even just for those few days.
But, as it stands, I have my RA's birthday bash to decorate for (I'm still unsure of how I became in charge of that?), an Old Testament Quiz to CRAM for (it's at 1:15PM tomorrow and I am going back to those wonderful Theology With The Reverend days... I'm so thankful for that, because I'm actually remembering a TON of stuff from those classes), and my lovely Asher Lev paper to write. It's shaping up nicely, though. I've missed writing papers.
I miss you all.
- Music:Signals Over The Air - Thursday
Jacob Kahn's words haunted me: "This is the only way to justify what you are doing to everyone's life." I did not understand what he meant. I did not feel I had to justify anything. I had not willfully hurt anyone. What did I have to justify? I did not want to paint in order to justify anything; I wanted to paint because I wanted to paint. I wanted to paint the same way my father wanted to travel and work for the Rebbe. My father worked for Torah. I worked for -- what? How could I explain it? For beauty? No. Many of the pictures I painted were not beautiful. For what, then? For a truth I did not know how to put into words. For a truth I could only bring to life by means of color and line and texture and form.
page 278, My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
I do not want to study ancient civilizations. I do not want to read scholarly journals. I do not want to study under the rules of proper research or write pages upon pages of dry, unaffected text. I do not want to read pages upon pages of dry, unaffected text. I do not want so many rules and regulations that my very being and my only thoughts are rules and regulations. I do not want to please, to bend and sway and fit into a mold that will earn me a number or a letter that will become arbitrary by the next season.
I just want to write like that.
My Name Is Asher Lev is one of the most beautiful things I've read in a long time. From beginning to end, I loved it, I drank from it and came alive in its pages. I think that Chaim's style of writing is the perfect balance between the beautiful, sweeping narrative of Thrity Umrigar and the minimalistic, severely stark frankness of Moshin Hamid. I really wish he hadn't died before I could talk to him. I really hope that Jews, at least some of them, get into heaven so that I can talk to him.
Normally I wouldn't write this kind of stuff, but I'm five hundred miles away and no one can be bored by this discussion. If you are bored, please don't let me know, because I'm enthralled and blissfully happy about it.
I missed talking to my family tonight. I feel guilty, torn between to extremes: not talking to them at all or talking to them for too long, not willing to cut our time short because I hate to do that. It's easier to not talk to them than to talk to them for a moment and wish I'd spoken to them more.
This reading is IMMENSE. I am praying that I get through it all and don't fail some of the tests I have. I love leaving the room and going to sit alone and not speak for hours. I hate speaking again and having the silence broken. Everyone else is at Snave, some sort of hall-wide thing in my dorm, and I'm just sitting here poring over this delicious book and smiling at the hilarity of the situation. I could be doing this at home with a car and $16,000 in my parents' pockets.
And the food would've been better too. :)
But I'm glad I'm here, I think. I don't think I would be... becoming what I am if I was at home. I don't know what I'm becoming, but I'm hoping that it's good and aligned with God's will. That's the difference between Asher and me... he's been brought up in his faith, but never experienced it, never chosen it. I have experienced it, and chosen it, and that comforts me. Even if I screw up beyond all repair, I still have my Yoh Ribbon Olom to pick things up and get me straightened out.
Still, I hope I won't screw up. I don't think I am.
- Mood:artistic
- Music:Lonelily - Damien Rice
Natalie, you must understand me.
Anyway... most of the songs were new to me, which was okay, but there was one song towards the end that was really quite boring to listen to but had these amazing words that really called me on all of my crap.
To you I give my life, not just the parts I want to
To you I sacrifice these dreams that I hold on to...
Your thoughts are higher than mine
Your words are deeper than mine
Your love is stronger than mine...
To you I give my future
As long as it may last
To you I give my present
To you I give my past
While, yes, the chord structure was not that of, well... any secular artist (do praise chorus writers get together and decide, at a conference or something, that they can only use these five chords to write songs in the following calendar year?)... the lyrics spoke to me. They said, and I quote...
"Natalie, shut up. You think that you have to decide right now whether you'll be a Sociology major or an English major or, at this rate, a WHINING major. God knows, and has always known, how He wants to use you, and thusfar His plan has far exceeded your expectations. Now, because you're at a new school and, for the first time, are questioning these plans that you made and your need to live in Ukraine, you think that His plan is suddenly going to suck? You think that you need to get involved now, and worry about things that won't even matter until next semester, and probably not until next YEAR? Yes, those graduation school applications are scary, but don't worry about them. Don't let that be a reason to rule out Sociology, either. Just shut up, stop trying to rule your life, and let God do what He's done so well these past few years."
The song, thankfully, went on awhile, and the music wasn't inspiring me, so I could listen to all of the words that the lyrics were saying.
Catacombs is really amazing. It was true worship, and I wish so badly that LBC could experience it, the darkness and the lack of microphones and nice starched clothes and the fear of standing out by singing too loud.
That's how worship is going to be in Heaven, folks. I just wish you could all experience it here.
Oh, and I have my first Christian / Muslim Relations class today! I am so excited! I have 50 pages left to read of this book by 6PM tonight, but I am still SO EXCITED! I hope I can learn some Hebrew while I'm here, and possibly some Arabic or Persian or Hindi. Urdu? Ugh, there are just too many languages. Am I the only one that was happy about the tower of Babel incident?
I love you all (especially my favorites... you know who you are).
- Mood: anxious
- Music:Jezebel - 10,000 Maniacs
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
