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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| The death of Xanga.Dear friends,
Since Xanga has become outdated, and outdatedness has become uncool, I have decided to make what I hope will be a tactical move to an even more outdated site in hopes that someday it might become cool and fascinating gaining a second wind similar to (inevitably) Compact Discs. I encourage you to do the same thing. In fact, you might try an even more dated formula which involves pen and paper, stamps and envelopes. You can post videos and audio on xanga sure, but you can't pick out your own cool stamp to go with each entry.
My more regularly updated websites is the following:
http://dudemanflab.diaryland.com
Thank you for reading. Stop by sometime. | | |
| "Welcome to First Assembly: Vintage Christianity"Apparently my church caught on fire today. By the second song, Pastor Fred was repeatedly slicing his neck with his finger toward his wife, who was warbling out a tune, doubtlessly, about revival. Most--allegedly 17--believed the fire to have been ignited, in/directly, by their son, Ryan, who was in town for the weekend. Ryan was his own number 17.
An electrical fire, or any fire for that matter, in the middle of a church service is just what a pentecostal church needs for a few side-jabbing jokes about their religion. The electrical short that blew three feet of flames out the backside of the building is just what my dad needs to feel like he has religion. If the good Lord hadn't made our bodies with hands, my dad would be an atheist. He's worked as long as I can remember, wiring and circuiting one old woman's house after another. So, while some members of my congregation may have been disappointed at the cut-short experience (although happy to either nap or eat earlier in the day), my dad could not have found a truer way to worship.
Even this morning, I awoke to see him lugging a plank of wood into my room. | | |
| the etc. of the day.We returned from Cornerstone several days ago. I'm still catching up on sleep, but that nebulous grey no-matter that squeezes into the vacuum spots of my body, and that some call the soul, is well-rested. It was a combination of things, really: the drum-beat dances, golf-cart antics, lectures on Lost, sleeping in a tent, preparing food, and the myriad of "cultures," as Sam said, all around.
Last night, at the Pasta Cafe, we did not have computers, so we wrote all our orders for the cooks and for the customers, figuring the tax and total with a calculator. It was a little awkward. I'm not sure how long we'll stay open, but I'm open to a change of work.
Regarding the desire of greatness and writing, brought up by a friend. It seems as though not desiring to be a great writer would be the thing that freed one to actually write soul-materials that do, strangely, compose that which we call great writing. Most people would excuse the gravity that novice writers take to their work as something like young ambition, but should it ever be excused? Note to self: stop trying so hard, have fun, and live for now, reflect later. | | |
| Flag Day“We are bringing the enemies to Justice and, when necessary, bringing Justice to the enemies”
–Condoleeza Rice, in Baghdad, to cheers. (this strikes me as bad)
“Don’t look into the darkness when you have the chance because it will look back. I know because of where I’ve been”
–Tallen’s warning to me. He later asked what my greatest fear was, asked if I believed in other’s ability to enter my dreams, asserted he could do so, then said it was good that I didn’t want him to.
“I’m a Dao…. I was Napolean in a previous life.”
–Tallen, in one of the several conversations we had tonight regarding beliefs and supernatural events.
“She was just showing me pictures of her boyfriend’s penis” –Kelly, emerging from the bar freezer with Amy
Cool Flag Day Occurrences
--Ariel Hopkins’ middle-aged parents came and ate Surf and Turf at the Pasta Café for the wife’s birthday. They “just wanted to dine,” so I fed them slowly. They ended the night with a bowl of crème brulee and two cups of coffee with “loads of cream.” On their table, I found two ticket stubs for X-Men 3. The sheer romance caused me to smile.
--I trimmed a tree today. There is nothing like trimming a tree. You get to climb in precarious angles and kick, cut, saw, chop, and pull until something gives. I wondered at all the dead parts of my cousin’s tree. It looked fine from the outside, but the inner branches were chapped and brittle. If you promise to not allow your life to be so, then I’ll do the same.
--Today is Jorge Luis Borges’ deathday, according to NPR. (I lied to the Mrs. Hopkins, telling her it was his birthday. The other two things that she and I discussed happening today were the opening of Auschwitz and the death of Lincoln [though I wasn’t sure of the latter]. One more bad thing on her birthday would not have procured me a good tip, so I lied).
Borges is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. He writes tales. Try him out soon. | | |
| Creative Writing Challenge Pick a person out of this list, based on the menu items they have ordered, and explain who they are, what they like, etc. on your own blog. Invent your own if you like.
1. Ross Torraine
2 Glasses of House Cabernet Sauvignon
Caesar Salad
Chicken Marsala
Tiramisu
2. Miranda Velum
22 oz. Coors Light
Extra complimentary bread
Spaghetti w/meatballs
3. Carolyn Stakes
Frozen (Strawberry) Margarita
Crab Cakes
Chicken Alfredo
Spumoni
4. Carl Scotch
3 Jack and Coke
Calamari
16 oz. Ribeye (Medium Rare)
5. Willow Ricecombe
1 Glass of Chianti
Gorgonzola Salad
Chocolate Torte
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