Living, or, My Re-Introduction to Writing

     You know that I used to live in a different country. Every two years I left that country and travelled around America to different churches. With each church came a new city, new scenery, and new people. Many times I left with new friends. Sometimes I didn't. Yet always I left with a little bit of anticipation for the road, and a little bit of regret for the people I left behind. Now I can look through my Facebook chat list and see people from all over America and the world. Different time zones, different continents, different cultures. Most I see every Sunday, many are a few plane flight away, and some I may not see again in this world. Some of them read old books, some of them read graphic design tutorials. Some of them play mandolin, some play piano, some of them play Diablo III. Some of them only drink their own home-made coffee without any sugar and some of them only eat strawberry poptarts. With all of them I connected with and then broke or will have to one day break connection. Breaking things hurts. I am not here to say that I wish all of the people who have ever been my friends could live together forever, because I recognize well the bitter-sweetness of parting and reuniting. I am here to say that I am thankful for the experiences, both good and bad, that left me with the ability to connect and interact with individuals. Not based on their religion, their race, or their skills, but based on the fact that in our heart of hearts, whether or not we accept or reject it, we feel God stirring.

The Salutations of Mankind

I was planning on writing about something meaningful and deep, but I never got around to that. If you're a guy, you have probably performed all of these, and if you're a girl, you've seen guys perform these. I present to you The Salutations of Mankind, or, 4 Ways Guys Greet.



4. The 'Sup. (Most commonly used and most i don't really know you but i'm saying hi to you because i might know you in the future)

Performed most often by guys who know each-other's name but aren't close, freshmen who want rides from seniors, or guys who are cool with eachother, this greeting is most often performed by sticking the hands in the pockets, squinting or widening the eyes, and then enunciating a casual "...suuuuuuup" (vowels vary from individual to individual).

3. The BroHug


Usually used by those who feel the need to be extremely friendly to everybody and those who aren't afraid to make body contact with people, this maneuver is performed by extending a handshake, rotating the handshake 180-degrees, and pulling towards each-other, kind of like the way you pull a fishing rod when you catch a fish that turns out to be a plastic bag caught on a log caught in the mud. aaanywayy...the BroHug is terminated by hugging with one arm. In the ideal circumstance, this lasts for about 2 seconds. Any longer is reserved for people you haven't seen in three or more months, or coupled with several back-slaps by both parties.

2. The Fatherly Pat


The Fatherly Pat is a method of greeting reserved specifically for those with an age gap of 13+ years and no desire to have a conversation longer than 4 words. Simpler than the other two methods we've discussed previously, this maneuver is swift in execution, yet can go dangerously awry. Once again, the ideal circumstance is this: Bro and Fatherly Figure walk towards each other and make eye contact. Bro mumbles a few words while Fatherly Figure smiles, claps Bro on the shoulder gently, and our two characters part ways.

BUT WAIT.

There are two variations of this scenario: Promotion and Utter Disaster.

Picture Bro and Fatherly Figure again, fast-forward our previous scenario. Play at the Fatherly Figure smile. Bro and Fatherly Figure, by some alignment of the stars or divine gust of wind, happen to extend their hands for a handshake at the same time. A handshake and clap on the shoulder is performed, Bro is elated at his success, and our characters are hereby PROMOTED to the BroHug.

Second variation: An unlucky Bro applies for a potential PROMOTION. His demise is short and swift: He goes for a handshake, Fatherly Figure does not see it, and is left with his hand sticking out as a marker of his hasty youthfulness and naïvety. At this point, he has only two options left: the Stomach Rub (also known as the fixing the middle shirt buttons) or the Utter Desolation (retract hand, looking slightly abashed).

Let us flee from such dismal circumstances to our final, glorious description:

1. The Firmly Shaken Hand


The mountain climber's summit, the victorious conquer pausing and looking around the battlefield, and the successful guitar solo of all manly handshakes and salutation. All men strive to master this famed but rarely accomplished act of greeting, yet not merely any man succeeds. A feat truly beyond any tutorial, it suffices to say that a firmly shaken hand, one without any finger fumbles, crushers, or slides, should be the goal of every man, and should be a skill passed down from generation to generation. Gentlemen give real handshakes.

Of Life and Living

Happy New Year. 

I should blog more this year.

Of Rain And His Brothers

and the rain falls because it loves, it loves the plummeting through the air and the dizzy spinning of the clouds and the joining with its thousands and millions and thousands of millions of brothers all flying, all falling without fear toward the great blue sphere. and the wind blows because it loves, it loves the way it can spiral and gustle and whirr through the air, but wind is air, and air is wind, and they are one and they are neither. and then the ocean waves, not waves of the sort that crash and fall, breaking and reforming, shards of spume and fragments of spoam, waves of the sort that skid and skip over the surface of the great deep, the mingling of the wind and the rain and the heavy earthbound water that longs to fall again, that longs to be caught up in the gusts and whipped up and let fall again. but the wind has no power over the will of the waves - it can only rumple the bedsheets and tussle the hair, and the ocean is sad, but the raindrops fall and fall on, and the waves feel the love of the rain  in the shooting stars that are the drops, and the waves rise up with tender fury to meet the rain, and the wind wraps them both, like the brothers they are, and for an instant and another they are united and the world is love.

The City

He loved to argue. He didn’t call it arguing, because for him arguing was a petty, whining, pointless texture of noise, like the boy upstairs who never wanted to go to bed and ran back and forth across the hall until he grew weary, lay down, and fell asleep., He loved to argue because it was easy for him, because he was good at it, and because he noticed things. That is why he was so good at arguing. It could be said that his entire life was spent arguing, because his entire life was spent noticing things, like the way the desk he kept his writings on was stained and smattered, but it was always covered in beautiful white and black sheets of paper. He said that this desk was like our town: smudged and frayed, but beautifully black and white, the rolling whorls of inked wood only adding a firmness and solidity to it. Maybe that was why he loved this town –because he could see those things.

He would tell me what he saw in our town. “Lads,” he would say (he always addressed us as a plurality) “Lads, do you like this town? Shall we move on, say?” We would never say yes, one part because we were frightened of him, three parts because he always had a different reason as to why we remain. “This city is our spouse. Yea, we have families, and wives. But we, the company are gifted with what even our Queen the famous Elizabeth is gifted with, and they say she has married the kingdom. We, in this room, are sowing in secret the seeds of arguers. Even as we speak, the gentlemen in their coifs and caps, their camerick and linen shirts, their jeweled codpieces, hang their brocaded cloaks upon the mantels of hosts around our city, and argue us! They argue whether we wear silk or satin, whether we should perform better in the theater of the round or on a flat stage, they argue rhyme, meter, and measure. This, dear lads, is the whisper of our city, the whisper of our streets of cobblestone, of our high building whitewashed, This is the beggars and the carts and the bread, butter, and beer of our taverns.  
Our argument draws over these differences. Our argument is Romeo’s sweet words to his lover dear, Macbeth’s horror, Shylock’s thievery. The winds of our words blow through the foul alleyways of our city; they blow up through the chaos of our courts and nobles and overturn the Armada of the ruining Spaniards. Turning the heads of all as they wisp through, they are closing the wounds of brothers and bringing together gentlemen and beggars. All hear our words, all see our actions, and all retain a part of it in their hearts. This is our gift to London. London will forever argue of the beating of the bells in our hearts, and the whisper of the words on our lips, and the waving of the flag above the Globe.”

I see now that though he was poor and his coat, as well as his heart, was frayed, his soul gave to his city what not many can give: the gift of arguing peace. I loved his writing all the more for having had part in the acting of it. I sit alone, rubbing the darkened swirls of this wooden table, remembering and listen to the arguing of gentlemen around the fire as they ponder the meaning of this line or that, the friendly chaffing as they agree it is altogether beyond their depth, but I do not say anything. They need not my comments. Shakespeare gave them this gift, and I, the last of his troupe, who am I to spoil it with the truth?

Of Beaches, Coffee Mugs, and Thankfulness

Today I woke up and didn't know what day it was. Thursday? Friday? Mom can my friend come spend the night tonight? Oh wait wrong day, never mind mom.

Because I've been in a different time zone for the past 5 weeks.
And before that life was crazy.

So since my last blog post, in May, I have had so much to be thankful for.


That's because opening an art gallery is hard, but not impossible, if you have friends who can help you paint display boards at 12:30 at night.

And because sleeping on boxes, a photography background board, and a mattress pad is uncomfy, but going to bed at 1am and waking up at 7 with friends from a completely different state is worth it.

Because shooting a wedding, shopping at WalMart at midnight, losing pictures, and being called at 2am and being told in an ecstatic voice that they've been found, is lovely.

Because having friends with whom you can sit on a couch and drink coffee in silence, who will drive you places, who owl in San Francisco, who make you toast for breakfast, and who will stay up until 3 in the morning packing with you, is beautiful.

I had a crazy summer in California, and I'm so thankful for all of the friends I got to see, both old and new. I'm thankful for our spontaneous trips to Starbucks, for jam parties on the beach, and for being able to see the love that they have for each other. I love you guys, and I'll be back soon.

Things That Are Different

so it's been a long time since i've written and i'm so sorry and all that and -

I am not dead. (just wanted to clear that up before we start anything else) I am alive and well, metaphorically wading through a dank misty swamp under the shadow of curling, twisted tree trunks that drip moss onto my head as I secure my blaster in one hand and my lightsaber in the other....wait what? Excuse me, that was leftover from May 4th.

Enter Chief Blog Topic:

Here's a list of things that most people don't usually think about, like/dislike, or even take the time to pay attention to. I particularly happen to dislike them, ranging on a scale of Han Solo - Leia Episode 5 dislike to a Anakin - Obi Wan Kenobi End Of Episode Three Epic Final Battle Where Anakin Turns Evil dislike.

1. Open doors
     I just really dislike the feeling that there's a passageway out of my space into another space...it makes me feel like there's too much open space.( It's worse if I can see the space and see out the door)

2. Things that float around in your drink and bump into your lip
     Like really? Does pulp in orange juice serve any purpose besides nutrition? Imagine treading water in the middle of the ocean while unseen sharks and the ocasional leviathen swim below you and de-magnified by 90x. That's me when there are minuscule objects in my drink.

3. Things made to dip in coffee
    You know those cookies that are extremely hard and flavorless, but are sold as "coffee dippers"? Well they're really the outcast cookies that fell in the fire and were baked solid and then scraped clean in the bakery. All they do is provide useless coffee-flavored texture to your palete until they fall to pieces and then...see above number.

4. People who talk like you over the internet
   People who pick up your internet mannerisms, emoticons, and expressions and use them. WHILE TALKING TO YOU. Really? Come on, get your own language.

That's all for right now, tune in next time for more Pictures and Stuff! Thanks! :D

[EDIT: there were no pictures in this post. fail on my part, it's too dark to take pictures right now anyway. sorry. kbye.]