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| Dear Friends,
I can no longer afford the time of updating two journals.
For those few of who still Xanga, I'm sorry.
My meager offerings of blogging can be found at http://mockmyemotion.livejournal.com.
Thanks for reading.
Tim
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ACT I
A month ago I was in Chic-fil-a with two of my friends. They both work for the college our office is at, so we often have lunch together. On this particular day we went to Chic-fil-a, and shortly after getting my food, I went to use the restroom. While in the restroom, I heard something that was both strange and familiar.
Usually, when you enter the restroom of a dining establishment you hear some kind of music, either Muzak or satellite radio of a sort. On this day, though, there wasn't music playing in the restroom, but something else. It was confusing at first, but I quickly figured out what it was: the sound of people ordering food. The drive-thru was being broadcasted over the restroom speakers. I sat there for a second listening to people order. I could hear orders, and I could hear the attendant's response. This is when a strange feeling crept over me.
Here was something completely mundane. It happens several times every hour of every day throughout the entire world. It is something I've done countless times. Yet, here I was listening to the conversation in a way for the very first time. Usually when you go through this scenario, but aren't ordering, you are with someone. Someone you know. And being that it is someone you know, you don't feel like you are intruding when you hear the ordering. But here I was listening to a stranger, a stranger who didn't know I was listening. And you really don't think about people hearing your fast food order. As I stood there listening, I felt as though I was sharing in something intimate, even though I knew it was something completely ordinary. It was familiar, yet so strange.
ACT II
On February 16th, a little after midnight (technically making it Feb 17th), I was taking one of my students home after the first night of a conference we were attending. As we pulled up to the light at Marsh and Trinity Mills, we pulled up behind an ambulance. Coming to a stop we both looked up and the small talk faded to quiet. It was the lights that drew our attention, though not the ones you would expect. The ambulance didn't have its lights on, save the light inside the back. There we saw a woman strapped to the gurney with the paramedics attending to her. She was old and had tubes hooked up to her. She moved slightly and slowly. The medics went about in a quiet calm, providing her care. We both made the left turn, and I followed behind, our car still silent. We just drove and watched.
It was a few moments before I noticed the man in the corner. He was standing to the upper left corner looking down on the whole scene. He too was in a quiet calm. I imagined him to be the husband or son of the woman currently being taken to medical care. It was strange. It was subduing. I felt as though I was sharing something completely intimate with this family.
Sure, you hear about, you see on TV people needing an ambulance ride. Usually it's very dramatic or completely disconnected. You have no link to the situation. It's just an ambulance speeding pass, sirens blazing, or parked at an accident site. Or, conversely, the dramatized scene of a TV show. All the same, not a real experience. And you don't ever think about what's going on other than "I need to get out of the way" or "I wonder if it is going to break to commercial."
But that night, I shared an ambulance ride, for just a little bit, with this family. I shared, with complete strangers, this intimate moment. I watched their emergency with a hushed silence, and they were none the wiser. I was the silent participant of their lives.
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About a month ago, one of my nightmares came true; I over slept for church.
Now, for your average church goer, this isn't that big of a deal. The crisis for them lies only in trying to make the decision between staying in bed or showing up late. However, for a minister, there is nothing but panic. This is my job. I've got responsibilities. There are places I need to be. There are classes I have to teach. So, I forwent a shower, tried to get my hair in some kind of order, and desperately called my students, hoping I could get a hold of one of them, whilst I broke land-speed records on the way to church.
The problem that morning, and subsequent mornings that week, was that I had started using a new alarm clock. I got one of those iPod/Radio/Alarm Clock docks for Christmas. It is, as far as iPod/Radio abilities go, simply wonderful. But, the alarm clock function is lacking. Lacking so much so, that is was not waking me up. The alarm was too quiet and, after a half hour of not waking me up, it would turn itself off, ensuring that the soft alarm would never penetrate my sleep.
After being horrendously late that Sunday morning, as well as oversleeping for work the next week, I resolved to buy a new alarm clock. I needed something loud. I needed something powerful. Something with authority. A sound the equivalent of a slap in the face, but in a manner that wouldn't cause me to be angry when I awoke. A slap in the face with a velvet glove, I suppose.
While shopping for alarm clocks, I saw several models that somehow set themselves. This was perfect. Not only would I get a clock that would wake me with the force of a bucket of cold water, but it would also be smart enough to adjust for daylight savings and if the power were to go off in the night. Ne'er would I be late again.
I took the clock home, plugged it in, and set the switch to the central time zone. Sure enough, it set the time automatically! It turns out that the way this works is it receives signals from some kind of station in Colorado, which is the time standard bearer for the United States. This knowledge got me thinking.
There is all kinds of information just soaring through our air, penetrating our walls, and cascading all over us. My clock is grabbing time information just broadcasted willy-nilly all over the U.S. My cell phone is constantly sending out and receiving information, connecting up to the nearest cell tower. Satellite T.V. is mine to have if I were to possess the right receptor. Radio waves ebb and flow from ocean to ocean and beyond. A little transmitter in my closet tosses out the internet all over everything that gets close enough to my apartment. And I'm positive that there is all kinds of information I don't even know about blanketing me as I sleep at night.
It's something I'm not sure I'm comfortable with.
Just in thinking about this, I can feel the tumors they've caused pulsating on my brain.
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| Yesterday I went indoor rock climbing with one of the kids in my youth group. It was pretty much an awesome time, except that I get afraid when I get near the top. I think it is the idea that I have nowhere to go but down at that point, and I don't like it. Plus, I probably weighed twice as much as the girl I was climbing with, and, although she was bolted to the ground, I still kept imagining me falling and her not being able to stop me. I dunno. It is a fantastic workout, though. Yikes I was tired and sore.
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| I live near a very ritzy retirement home called The Corinthians. When I first saw it, so many months ago, I was joking with friend Rocky, telling him he should move there. I've even said the same about myself a few times. It really does look like a lovely place and oh so very fancy.
However, now that I've lived there for nearly 4 months, I can't tell you the number of times I've seen an ambulance or heard one pull into that place. And as the weather has become colder, the sirens have become more frequent. It's weird, in a way, to have the sound of death be so prevalent and so regular. It's like the constant ticking of a clock, letting me know that all life eventually draws to an end, even life that previously lived in a very fancy retirement home.
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