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Thursday, 29 September 2011
Archives May 17, 2008
“At least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like my last travel day”
Milan actually reminded me of Istanbul, which was not expected! Milan is old, and it looks like its been abandoned for years and only recently was re-inhabited. The grass is totally overgrown, trees hang down and everything looks unkempt and spilling over.
My arrival was prefaced by a breath-taking over-exposed view (due to radiant morning sunlight) of the Swiss Alps jutting above the clouds just outside my plane window. As if descending from a dream, I was harshly awakened and filed obediently into a tiny dirty Italian airport baggage claim area with everyone talking too loudly on their cell phones and invading personal space, cutting in front and standing in the way.
On the flight before this one to Milan, I had one to Amsterdam from Toronto, and was cursed with a person in the seat next to me who lacked the sort of body awareness that would usually prevent a person from bumping me, leaning across me, using the full arm rest and more, and generally taking up way to much room. And arm to arm contact was a game of chicken, I always pulled away first, in defeat, suppressing my anger that he now ‘won’ the right to the arm rest, cuz I happened to have more social graces.
This trip so far has been one bad thing followed by a good thing, and then another bad one. Once I found myself deposited in downtown Milan, needing to kill 12 hours, I dragged my bags on a subway in search of a gothic cathedral I remember studying at Augustine. Emerging from the mouth of the subway station to ground level just outside the cathedral I think I peed in my pants just a little bit. I snapped photos and walked around in awe inside, tripping everyone with my two rolling bags of stupid luggage.
As I was meandering probably with a geeky grin, I was hoodwinked into giving away some of my euros. Two guys from Africa, forced these colorful bracelets on my wrist. I instinctively refused, but they said “free” “free” so I obliged, only to find the small talk ending up with their pressuring for money, five euros EACH!! I gave them two each, which was more than I had resolved, and as I left them I shook my head visibly for their scheming dishonesty that really pissed me off.
Then, as the humidity rose, so did a sense of preventative concern about getting to the next airport, even though I had ten hours still before I had to leave. So I parked my butt on a comfortable big bus, and felt so relieved to be in air conditioning and peace, but it seems I counted my eggs too early! There I sat the whole trip, passively enduring a gaggle of boisterous Italian women who occupied the seats all around me, as they smattered on in Italian about things that they all too obviously found exciting and worthy of high-pitched loudness and guttural guffaws that were off putting and drove me more and more within myself. I concluded in my ethnic profile I was creating of Italians right there on the spot that the women in particular were loud, aggressive, and ignorant of social composure and common respect. And I’m not judgmental at all eh?
Upon arrival at Bergamo airport, what I hoped would be an average-at-worst airport, I again had to radically scale back my generous preconceptions. This happened in part, when I realized the entire nation of Italy was flying out that day, and in the terminal was absolute chaos, lines that looked like mobs, no air-conditioning, and NO SEATS to wait or rest in!! So it was two in the afternoon, I had eight more hours, and the recommended waiting place was the mall “nearby”. “Nearby” was a quaint description, and nice to hear at the time, if only it had been true. With my luggage, I trekked what felt like miles with no clear direction, sometimes on the shoulder of a freeway and finally through an underground pedestrian tunnel.
Wandering the mall while tired felt like being in a trippy music video because my legs felt warm and non-existent except for the lovely chaffing on the inner thighs that always comes with too much travel and no shower. My heels ached from too much sandal walking, and I hadn’t yet found any sort of place to sit without being in the main traffic zones of the mall. In a moment of giving up hope I settled for a spot on a busy bench in the main hallway of this mall. Without trying, I fell asleep, only to wake moments later to pokes from a bland looking security guard who waved a disapproving finger.
I reasoned that if I could only locate a solarium or tanning bed, I could get some needed rest, at least for ten minutes or so, and I’d be horizontal! I found a fitness club, and bought 16 mins of solar rest, only to find myself STANDING in their ONLY tanning booth, one of the rare ‘stand up ‘ beds. I got a gentle workout on the machines to limber up my atrophied muscles from all the sitting and suppression of the emotions of annoyance and impatience. It was still twenty-four hours at least until I could see myself being able to rest my weary bones.
After a shower and change of clothes, I felt better, new socks, washed feet, a surprising upturn on this trip already riddled with unpredictability, stress and aggravation. I shopped a bit, got a sales-pitch on face creams (just to get free moisturizer on my dry face), and then decided I could head back to the airport. To my self-muted disdain it was pouring rain.
I decided to brave the trip in the rain, twenty minutes or so with luggage. When I reached the underground tunnel access, it was completely flooded with overflow from drains, and sewer water, and I was utterly obstructed. I paused in disbelief, and criticism of Italian infrastructure and disregard for the needs of tourists flitted through my consciousness, but was quickly followed by the curiousness of the situation, who would ever expect that in a given day, you’d have to put your brain to the task of how to cross a tunnel of sewer water.
I returned to the tunnel a while later, wet, sweating and gross, but with shopping bags up to my knees, and waded through the swamp, and handed them off to a woman who wanted to cross the opposite way, and thought my idea was brilliant!
Back at the airport now, in a cramped bathroom stall, I performed a second full wardrobe change, using a variety of necessary but ridiculous positions and rearrangements of luggage bags and my naked self in the disgusting airport toilet stall.
At check-in I was told my luggage was too heavy, (odd that it was ok for the first two flights, and not the third). I became hot, tired, flushed, and flustered in a flash, and muttered to the agent how RYANAIR is a sub-par company and ridiculous for their imposition of a different weight standard. She said “well, you paid a lot less for the RYANAIR tickets than the KLM tickets right?” and I said that she shouldn’t use that as an excuse for bad service. With that said I walked away, unfortunately looking like a moron, arms loaded with all the junk I just pulled from my check-in baggage that made it overweight. I had hoped the days of being made a fool in an airport rearranging luggage in the middle of the floor might have been over, but the stakes were too high for this one, fifteen euros PER KG overweight!
At least I could recline and wait in peace and quiet as soon as I got through security and to my gate, or so I thought. The gate area featured fifteen gates in a space where you would normally find seating for one gate. It was packed tight with children whining, parents blankly staring in to the distance, perhaps at the same inescapable prison we knew all too well. Hours passed as we stared each other down like prisoners waiting for the first one to die. With each passing minute numbers were being added to the already overflowing room.
RYANAIR somehow thought it was smart to assign no particular seat to any passenger, so instead it was “first come first serve”, which only reinforced the already surfacing primal instincts for survival in every one of us. I had visions of missing the flight all together, because it was so late and there was no plane outside our gate. That would mean I would have to stay at my expense for a week in a city that had done its very best to ruin my day. As that scenario played in my head to the sounds of Sigur Ros through my ipod, we finally boarded, and now I’m writing this feeling very relieved, and trying to stay awake here in London airport, it’s two am. I have several hours to wait, before getting on a bus to Southampton and then on to the cruise ship. Thus far is the account of one crazy travel day. And, heck, at least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like last time!
Milan actually reminded me of Istanbul, which was not expected! Milan is old, and it looks like its been abandoned for years and only recently was re-inhabited. The grass is totally overgrown, trees hang down and everything looks unkempt and spilling over.
My arrival was prefaced by a breath-taking over-exposed view (due to radiant morning sunlight) of the Swiss Alps jutting above the clouds just outside my plane window. As if descending from a dream, I was harshly awakened and filed obediently into a tiny dirty Italian airport baggage claim area with everyone talking too loudly on their cell phones and invading personal space, cutting in front and standing in the way.
On the flight before this one to Milan, I had one to Amsterdam from Toronto, and was cursed with a person in the seat next to me who lacked the sort of body awareness that would usually prevent a person from bumping me, leaning across me, using the full arm rest and more, and generally taking up way to much room. And arm to arm contact was a game of chicken, I always pulled away first, in defeat, suppressing my anger that he now ‘won’ the right to the arm rest, cuz I happened to have more social graces.
This trip so far has been one bad thing followed by a good thing, and then another bad one. Once I found myself deposited in downtown Milan, needing to kill 12 hours, I dragged my bags on a subway in search of a gothic cathedral I remember studying at Augustine. Emerging from the mouth of the subway station to ground level just outside the cathedral I think I peed in my pants just a little bit. I snapped photos and walked around in awe inside, tripping everyone with my two rolling bags of stupid luggage.
As I was meandering probably with a geeky grin, I was hoodwinked into giving away some of my euros. Two guys from Africa, forced these colorful bracelets on my wrist. I instinctively refused, but they said “free” “free” so I obliged, only to find the small talk ending up with their pressuring for money, five euros EACH!! I gave them two each, which was more than I had resolved, and as I left them I shook my head visibly for their scheming dishonesty that really pissed me off.
Then, as the humidity rose, so did a sense of preventative concern about getting to the next airport, even though I had ten hours still before I had to leave. So I parked my butt on a comfortable big bus, and felt so relieved to be in air conditioning and peace, but it seems I counted my eggs too early! There I sat the whole trip, passively enduring a gaggle of boisterous Italian women who occupied the seats all around me, as they smattered on in Italian about things that they all too obviously found exciting and worthy of high-pitched loudness and guttural guffaws that were off putting and drove me more and more within myself. I concluded in my ethnic profile I was creating of Italians right there on the spot that the women in particular were loud, aggressive, and ignorant of social composure and common respect. And I’m not judgmental at all eh?
Upon arrival at Bergamo airport, what I hoped would be an average-at-worst airport, I again had to radically scale back my generous preconceptions. This happened in part, when I realized the entire nation of Italy was flying out that day, and in the terminal was absolute chaos, lines that looked like mobs, no air-conditioning, and NO SEATS to wait or rest in!! So it was two in the afternoon, I had eight more hours, and the recommended waiting place was the mall “nearby”. “Nearby” was a quaint description, and nice to hear at the time, if only it had been true. With my luggage, I trekked what felt like miles with no clear direction, sometimes on the shoulder of a freeway and finally through an underground pedestrian tunnel.
Wandering the mall while tired felt like being in a trippy music video because my legs felt warm and non-existent except for the lovely chaffing on the inner thighs that always comes with too much travel and no shower. My heels ached from too much sandal walking, and I hadn’t yet found any sort of place to sit without being in the main traffic zones of the mall. In a moment of giving up hope I settled for a spot on a busy bench in the main hallway of this mall. Without trying, I fell asleep, only to wake moments later to pokes from a bland looking security guard who waved a disapproving finger.
I reasoned that if I could only locate a solarium or tanning bed, I could get some needed rest, at least for ten minutes or so, and I’d be horizontal! I found a fitness club, and bought 16 mins of solar rest, only to find myself STANDING in their ONLY tanning booth, one of the rare ‘stand up ‘ beds. I got a gentle workout on the machines to limber up my atrophied muscles from all the sitting and suppression of the emotions of annoyance and impatience. It was still twenty-four hours at least until I could see myself being able to rest my weary bones.
After a shower and change of clothes, I felt better, new socks, washed feet, a surprising upturn on this trip already riddled with unpredictability, stress and aggravation. I shopped a bit, got a sales-pitch on face creams (just to get free moisturizer on my dry face), and then decided I could head back to the airport. To my self-muted disdain it was pouring rain.
I decided to brave the trip in the rain, twenty minutes or so with luggage. When I reached the underground tunnel access, it was completely flooded with overflow from drains, and sewer water, and I was utterly obstructed. I paused in disbelief, and criticism of Italian infrastructure and disregard for the needs of tourists flitted through my consciousness, but was quickly followed by the curiousness of the situation, who would ever expect that in a given day, you’d have to put your brain to the task of how to cross a tunnel of sewer water.
I returned to the tunnel a while later, wet, sweating and gross, but with shopping bags up to my knees, and waded through the swamp, and handed them off to a woman who wanted to cross the opposite way, and thought my idea was brilliant!
Back at the airport now, in a cramped bathroom stall, I performed a second full wardrobe change, using a variety of necessary but ridiculous positions and rearrangements of luggage bags and my naked self in the disgusting airport toilet stall.
At check-in I was told my luggage was too heavy, (odd that it was ok for the first two flights, and not the third). I became hot, tired, flushed, and flustered in a flash, and muttered to the agent how RYANAIR is a sub-par company and ridiculous for their imposition of a different weight standard. She said “well, you paid a lot less for the RYANAIR tickets than the KLM tickets right?” and I said that she shouldn’t use that as an excuse for bad service. With that said I walked away, unfortunately looking like a moron, arms loaded with all the junk I just pulled from my check-in baggage that made it overweight. I had hoped the days of being made a fool in an airport rearranging luggage in the middle of the floor might have been over, but the stakes were too high for this one, fifteen euros PER KG overweight!
At least I could recline and wait in peace and quiet as soon as I got through security and to my gate, or so I thought. The gate area featured fifteen gates in a space where you would normally find seating for one gate. It was packed tight with children whining, parents blankly staring in to the distance, perhaps at the same inescapable prison we knew all too well. Hours passed as we stared each other down like prisoners waiting for the first one to die. With each passing minute numbers were being added to the already overflowing room.
RYANAIR somehow thought it was smart to assign no particular seat to any passenger, so instead it was “first come first serve”, which only reinforced the already surfacing primal instincts for survival in every one of us. I had visions of missing the flight all together, because it was so late and there was no plane outside our gate. That would mean I would have to stay at my expense for a week in a city that had done its very best to ruin my day. As that scenario played in my head to the sounds of Sigur Ros through my ipod, we finally boarded, and now I’m writing this feeling very relieved, and trying to stay awake here in London airport, it’s two am. I have several hours to wait, before getting on a bus to Southampton and then on to the cruise ship. Thus far is the account of one crazy travel day. And, heck, at least I didn’t flush my keys down the toilet like last time!
Archives October 27, 2006
Long Lost Friends
I'm on the back deck of the ship
open night air.
darkness. rush of waves.
my longing for transcendence will not be blanketed or subdued
my voice cannot stand idle
the passion that coarsed through
neck veins and fingers on the fretboard
is welling up in me
just as it used to.
Like a familiar memory
I morph back into an out-of-use identity
One that's been a shell for eight months.
faces of friends flicker in my memory
days and nights long ago
when we sang passionately and unselfconciously
around fires, in cars, on stoops, in fields, and on stages.
Sincere liberating worship is what my dry soul wheezes for tonight.
For freedom from a self-obsessed world with out Love.
The well of one's own wants has no bottom you know.
My long lost friends, my guitar, my voice, and my spirit...
welcome back.
open night air.
darkness. rush of waves.
my longing for transcendence will not be blanketed or subdued
my voice cannot stand idle
the passion that coarsed through
neck veins and fingers on the fretboard
is welling up in me
just as it used to.
Like a familiar memory
I morph back into an out-of-use identity
One that's been a shell for eight months.
faces of friends flicker in my memory
days and nights long ago
when we sang passionately and unselfconciously
around fires, in cars, on stoops, in fields, and on stages.
Sincere liberating worship is what my dry soul wheezes for tonight.
For freedom from a self-obsessed world with out Love.
The well of one's own wants has no bottom you know.
My long lost friends, my guitar, my voice, and my spirit...
welcome back.
Archives October 4, 2006
Berried Treasure Internet Cafe and Smoothie Bar
I'm sitting at "Berried Treasure" an internet cafe and smoothie bar in GeorgeTown Grand Cayman.
The weather hints at autumn though I'm in the heart of the Caribbean.
There are five short weeks until I fly home to the fall colours and smell of wood burning in fireplaces on frosty November mornings.
Some of my family are coming on Sunday (Mom, Bart, Rachel, and Andrea)... and I can hardly imagine them actually being here. I will show off during the skating shows as best I can, and I will try hard to land my triple toe each time. I've been having some problems with that jump on the small ice, occasionally falling or coming way too close to the boards.
I will love the groundedness of family and chatting incessantly over coffee. We will laugh uproariously about all kinds of anecdotes I will share about the past 8 months of life that they have not witnessed... we will hold our tummies and our faces will ache. I will cuddle Andrea and give tours of the ship, to the ooohs and aws of Mom and Rachel, while Bart will smugly nod his head, hands in pockets, and chuckle at the grandeur of what he will see. I will feel an odd sense of pride about the ship and coolness about myself for having such an interesting life.
The weather hints at autumn though I'm in the heart of the Caribbean.
There are five short weeks until I fly home to the fall colours and smell of wood burning in fireplaces on frosty November mornings.
Some of my family are coming on Sunday (Mom, Bart, Rachel, and Andrea)... and I can hardly imagine them actually being here. I will show off during the skating shows as best I can, and I will try hard to land my triple toe each time. I've been having some problems with that jump on the small ice, occasionally falling or coming way too close to the boards.
I will love the groundedness of family and chatting incessantly over coffee. We will laugh uproariously about all kinds of anecdotes I will share about the past 8 months of life that they have not witnessed... we will hold our tummies and our faces will ache. I will cuddle Andrea and give tours of the ship, to the ooohs and aws of Mom and Rachel, while Bart will smugly nod his head, hands in pockets, and chuckle at the grandeur of what he will see. I will feel an odd sense of pride about the ship and coolness about myself for having such an interesting life.
Archives July, 2006
A Rare Moment On Board
Waltz in A flat...
Fur Elise...
Moonlight Sonata...
....tossed upon cloudy seas.
From an eagle's perspective I can gaze in almost all directions
...ivory keys at my tips, fresh pressed pants on my hips.
a rare moment for me on the ship
amidst carousing and dancing and such...
the notes sing my unbirthed thoughts
wrapped still in flesh, muffled and vague.
I don't want to analyze, dissect, or pronounce...
so I imagine new progressions for chords
melodies of tragedy and delight,
truth, beauty and pain
the song tells its story...
and so it drips from my fingers
...simply because mine is the same.
Archives June 2, 2006
Miami Morning
i've awoken before it's time to.
the air is cool and dark.
goosebumps spread as I shiver
in enjoyed discomfort
of early morning coziness.
the hum of the ship
eases my being
as gently we rock to and fro
my fingers lit up by the monitor
of a borrowed laptop...
a day in Miami to rest and recoup
it's been ten days straight
of working, we're pooped.
nothing in mind for the day ahead
I think I'll simply go back to bed.
the air is cool and dark.
goosebumps spread as I shiver
in enjoyed discomfort
of early morning coziness.
the hum of the ship
eases my being
as gently we rock to and fro
my fingers lit up by the monitor
of a borrowed laptop...
a day in Miami to rest and recoup
it's been ten days straight
of working, we're pooped.
nothing in mind for the day ahead
I think I'll simply go back to bed.
Archives May 18, 2006
A Day Of Life on The Freedom Of The Seas as a Crew-member:
08:30 am: Alarm goes off.
08:31 am: Fumble around in the dark looking for the stupid cell phone that is ringing the alarm.
08:35 am: Put "Royal Caribbean" track-suit on and stumble down the long corridor to the "Staff Mess" for breakfast.
08:45 am: Choose some hard-boiled eggs, coffee, and bacon and sit in the carpeted room at a round table with red cushioned pull-out chairs.
08:55 am: Try reading "The Closing of the American Mind" as I eat breakfast in an effort to stimulate my mind on board.
09:20 am: "BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO" is sounded on the ship alarm system notifying us that there is a "crew boat drill" and we are to proceed to our stations to muster guests into lifeboats.
09:30 am: Friendly chatter is made at the muster stations whilst waiting for the drill to be over.
09:50 am: Friendly chatter becomes bitter complaining as the drill carries on far too long.
10:30 am: After just returning from the drill, we are informed there is a Circus Parade to commence in an hour and we have a few minutes to spare before we have to strap on ridiculously heavy costumes in the upstairs of the theatre for the parade.
11:00 am: Lie on the floor half-dressed in my gorilla legs staring at the ceiling waiting for "places" to be called for the parade. General hubbub is heard all around.
11:15 am: March like a gorilla up and down the Promenade for thousands of photo snapping and gasping guests. I try to figure out how to be as animated as possible while expending the least amount of effort.
11:25 am: I quickly rid my sweating body of its gorilla suit, and run down many flights of stairs to my cabin to catch my breath.
11:30 am: Check myself in the mirror before leaving for lunch in the "Staff Mess". To my growing annoyance, nothing can be done about my wiry frizzy hair and pale complexion.
12:00 pm: Gobble lunch down in a busy cafeteria.
12:40 pm: Embark down hallways and tunnels from one end of the ship to the other, stiff and bloated from a rushed oversized lunch. There are no food or drinks allowed outside of the mess area, so I pack too much in for fear of not being able to eat later on.
1:00 pm: After spending a few minutes in the cabin, I get ready to leave yet again taking another discouraging look in the mirror before exiting.
1:20 pm: I begin my duty supervising a skating session for guests in Studio B where the ice rink is. I ensure that guests sign a waiver form and provide them with the proper fitting rental skates.
1:21 pm: Get really bored.
3:00 pm: Legs feel extremely heavy and mind is foggy. Time to stiffly walk back to the cabin for a few minutes of robotic wall-staring.
4:00 pm: Check email.
4:05 pm: Since wireless signal doesn't work again today, go back to the cabin and sit on the toilet for lack of anything more productive to accomplish.
4:30pm: Wonder aloud to my roommate why I'm so tired and lazy and how I don't feel I'll be able to perform in the shows tonight because of that fact.
5:00 pm: Languor down the I-95 crew hallway back to the mess to ingest more calories and mystery meat mixed with rice.
5:25 pm: I experience mild indigestion from wolfing down the food so quickly, and decide it's time to head to the dressing room to get dressed, stretch, and lace up for my skating practice which is beginning in five minutes.
5:35 pm: I grace the ice with my bloated stiffness and tool around the edges of the rink feeling like actual skating is a momentary impossibility. I do my best to look as though I'm fully warm, prepared, and simply taking great consideration in the task at hand. In actuality I'm merely trying not to fall down and break my neck.
5:40 pm: I do a double axel and wonder how I suddenly am warmed up and feel awake.
5:50 pm: I realize I'm enjoying the skating, I land a few triples, and confidence rises.
6:00 pm: Practice ends, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and take my skates off. As I leave I notice myself in the mirror yet again: red-faced, in black tight leggings, and with matted sweaty grossness for hair.
6:10 pm: Sit in cabin and feel my body collapse into a sedentary disposition in front of my cabin TV which plays old re-runs of once-current news stories.
6:20 pm: Learn from the TV that Princess Diana died in a car accident.
6:30 pm: Leave cabin sporting an uncomfortable dance belt under my clothes, a layer of self-tanner, and straightened hair, ready for the ice show.
6:45 pm: Pre-set all of my costumes in various dressing rooms at the four corners of the ice so that during the show I can run in a panic off the ice and rip the old costume off and frantically slap the new one on in thirty seconds or less.
7:00 pm: "Call-Time" for the show, backstage meeting, and show notes are to be given by the ice captain: "Joel, you're in the wrong spot here, wrong leg, wrong arm, and stop kicking Angie in the knee with your toe-pick here."
7:30-8:30 pm: SHOWTIME: mass hysteria backstage, ripped costumes, missing props and icing bruises, intersperssed with gliding out past the curtain with a pasted-on smile and a crooked costume half-undone and falling off as I skate.
8:30-9:30 pm: Show ends, I retreat back to my cabin to sit and hear more stories about how truly shocking it is about Diana's passing. I sit mouth open transfixed in a catatonic posture, my brain activity reaches its lowest point so far today.
9:30 pm: "Call-Time" for second show. Pre-set wet sweaty costumes from the show an hour before.
10-11 pm: SHOW #2 (see SHOW #1)
11:00 pm: Show is over, legs are weak, food is available for us to eat, and I eat it but only because I hate to see it wasted. I feel the excess calories smothering my system. The Ice Cast discusses the shows and while laughter and teasing ensue, all I choose to add to the dialogue are comical re-enactments of my falls and mishaps.
11:30 pm: I rush back to my cabin, shower, dress in formal attire, and in a flash, I find myself seated in the theatre watching the musical production show for an hour.
12:30 pm: Much partying and dancing happens in the various venues on board. I opt out of said activities for multiple reasons.
1:00 am: I drag myself all the way up to the Staff Mess once again for a nightcap of decaf coffee and perhaps some meaningful conversation if I can find a lonely pensive person to engage.
1:02 am: I guzzle the coffee down realizing that it really is bedtime and I'm probably the only lonely pensive person in a thousand mile radius, and I'm likely too tired to talk anyway.
1:15 am: Bleary-eyed and sore, I amble down the 1-95 crew corridor one last time towards my cabin, dodging clusters of chatting housekeepers and maintenance crew.
1:30 am: I climb into my top bunk, mount some headphones on my frizzy dried out hair, and choose one of three favourite songs on my iPod: "Take All of Me" (Hillsongs), "Collide" (Pilate), or "track 8 of the new cd" (Sigur Ros).
1:31 am: I read some of the Bible, then imagine where I am in the ocean at that very moment, how many miles of water are beneath me, and whales, and shipwrecks. I imagine that I could just as well be in the bunk-bed of my trailer in Kitchener a few years ago. My mind floods with memories, emotions, questions about life, it overwhelms me, and so I utter a simplistic prayer and fall asleep.
08:30 am: Alarm goes off.
08:31 am: Fumble around in the dark looking for the stupid cell phone that is ringing the alarm.
08:35 am: Put "Royal Caribbean" track-suit on and stumble down the long corridor to the "Staff Mess" for breakfast.
08:45 am: Choose some hard-boiled eggs, coffee, and bacon and sit in the carpeted room at a round table with red cushioned pull-out chairs.
08:55 am: Try reading "The Closing of the American Mind" as I eat breakfast in an effort to stimulate my mind on board.
09:20 am: "BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO" is sounded on the ship alarm system notifying us that there is a "crew boat drill" and we are to proceed to our stations to muster guests into lifeboats.
09:30 am: Friendly chatter is made at the muster stations whilst waiting for the drill to be over.
09:50 am: Friendly chatter becomes bitter complaining as the drill carries on far too long.
10:30 am: After just returning from the drill, we are informed there is a Circus Parade to commence in an hour and we have a few minutes to spare before we have to strap on ridiculously heavy costumes in the upstairs of the theatre for the parade.
11:00 am: Lie on the floor half-dressed in my gorilla legs staring at the ceiling waiting for "places" to be called for the parade. General hubbub is heard all around.
11:15 am: March like a gorilla up and down the Promenade for thousands of photo snapping and gasping guests. I try to figure out how to be as animated as possible while expending the least amount of effort.
11:25 am: I quickly rid my sweating body of its gorilla suit, and run down many flights of stairs to my cabin to catch my breath.
11:30 am: Check myself in the mirror before leaving for lunch in the "Staff Mess". To my growing annoyance, nothing can be done about my wiry frizzy hair and pale complexion.
12:00 pm: Gobble lunch down in a busy cafeteria.
12:40 pm: Embark down hallways and tunnels from one end of the ship to the other, stiff and bloated from a rushed oversized lunch. There are no food or drinks allowed outside of the mess area, so I pack too much in for fear of not being able to eat later on.
1:00 pm: After spending a few minutes in the cabin, I get ready to leave yet again taking another discouraging look in the mirror before exiting.
1:20 pm: I begin my duty supervising a skating session for guests in Studio B where the ice rink is. I ensure that guests sign a waiver form and provide them with the proper fitting rental skates.
1:21 pm: Get really bored.
3:00 pm: Legs feel extremely heavy and mind is foggy. Time to stiffly walk back to the cabin for a few minutes of robotic wall-staring.
4:00 pm: Check email.
4:05 pm: Since wireless signal doesn't work again today, go back to the cabin and sit on the toilet for lack of anything more productive to accomplish.
4:30pm: Wonder aloud to my roommate why I'm so tired and lazy and how I don't feel I'll be able to perform in the shows tonight because of that fact.
5:00 pm: Languor down the I-95 crew hallway back to the mess to ingest more calories and mystery meat mixed with rice.
5:25 pm: I experience mild indigestion from wolfing down the food so quickly, and decide it's time to head to the dressing room to get dressed, stretch, and lace up for my skating practice which is beginning in five minutes.
5:35 pm: I grace the ice with my bloated stiffness and tool around the edges of the rink feeling like actual skating is a momentary impossibility. I do my best to look as though I'm fully warm, prepared, and simply taking great consideration in the task at hand. In actuality I'm merely trying not to fall down and break my neck.
5:40 pm: I do a double axel and wonder how I suddenly am warmed up and feel awake.
5:50 pm: I realize I'm enjoying the skating, I land a few triples, and confidence rises.
6:00 pm: Practice ends, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and take my skates off. As I leave I notice myself in the mirror yet again: red-faced, in black tight leggings, and with matted sweaty grossness for hair.
6:10 pm: Sit in cabin and feel my body collapse into a sedentary disposition in front of my cabin TV which plays old re-runs of once-current news stories.
6:20 pm: Learn from the TV that Princess Diana died in a car accident.
6:30 pm: Leave cabin sporting an uncomfortable dance belt under my clothes, a layer of self-tanner, and straightened hair, ready for the ice show.
6:45 pm: Pre-set all of my costumes in various dressing rooms at the four corners of the ice so that during the show I can run in a panic off the ice and rip the old costume off and frantically slap the new one on in thirty seconds or less.
7:00 pm: "Call-Time" for the show, backstage meeting, and show notes are to be given by the ice captain: "Joel, you're in the wrong spot here, wrong leg, wrong arm, and stop kicking Angie in the knee with your toe-pick here."
7:30-8:30 pm: SHOWTIME: mass hysteria backstage, ripped costumes, missing props and icing bruises, intersperssed with gliding out past the curtain with a pasted-on smile and a crooked costume half-undone and falling off as I skate.
8:30-9:30 pm: Show ends, I retreat back to my cabin to sit and hear more stories about how truly shocking it is about Diana's passing. I sit mouth open transfixed in a catatonic posture, my brain activity reaches its lowest point so far today.
9:30 pm: "Call-Time" for second show. Pre-set wet sweaty costumes from the show an hour before.
10-11 pm: SHOW #2 (see SHOW #1)
11:00 pm: Show is over, legs are weak, food is available for us to eat, and I eat it but only because I hate to see it wasted. I feel the excess calories smothering my system. The Ice Cast discusses the shows and while laughter and teasing ensue, all I choose to add to the dialogue are comical re-enactments of my falls and mishaps.
11:30 pm: I rush back to my cabin, shower, dress in formal attire, and in a flash, I find myself seated in the theatre watching the musical production show for an hour.
12:30 pm: Much partying and dancing happens in the various venues on board. I opt out of said activities for multiple reasons.
1:00 am: I drag myself all the way up to the Staff Mess once again for a nightcap of decaf coffee and perhaps some meaningful conversation if I can find a lonely pensive person to engage.
1:02 am: I guzzle the coffee down realizing that it really is bedtime and I'm probably the only lonely pensive person in a thousand mile radius, and I'm likely too tired to talk anyway.
1:15 am: Bleary-eyed and sore, I amble down the 1-95 crew corridor one last time towards my cabin, dodging clusters of chatting housekeepers and maintenance crew.
1:30 am: I climb into my top bunk, mount some headphones on my frizzy dried out hair, and choose one of three favourite songs on my iPod: "Take All of Me" (Hillsongs), "Collide" (Pilate), or "track 8 of the new cd" (Sigur Ros).
1:31 am: I read some of the Bible, then imagine where I am in the ocean at that very moment, how many miles of water are beneath me, and whales, and shipwrecks. I imagine that I could just as well be in the bunk-bed of my trailer in Kitchener a few years ago. My mind floods with memories, emotions, questions about life, it overwhelms me, and so I utter a simplistic prayer and fall asleep.
Archives May 4, 2006
Up The Elevator
It was an evening like any other on board the Freedom of the Seas. I had a few minutes to spare and was wandering the halls and stairs of the ship, slightly lost. My feet and legs were sore from all the walking and skating I had been doing over the last eight weeks so I decided to take the elevator to one of the top decks. 'Just for kicks' as they say. As I was ascending from deck eight to deck nine and so on, I occupied myself with tilting my neck to my shoulder a few times. Quiet jazz music spiraled out of the overhead speakers. Jazz music is a sure trademark of opulence I thought to myself.
Before I knew it, the soft bell chimed and an automated voice said 'Deck Twelve', we stopped moving, and the elevator doors silently slid open. I saw pools on the deck with underwater white lights with classy people sipping wine clustered around the edges.
I made my way through a glass sliding door. Suddenly my ears were met with the celestial sounds of a woman singing an operatic vibrato while at the very same moment an explosion of fireworks filled the sky with light and color. The wine drinkers now stood still and gazed up, each of them hushed by the wonder of the moment. Couples stood arm in arm, happy families posed in lines from shortest to tallest with smiles all around.
I slowed my steps but wanted to get a better vantage point. As inconspicuously as I could, I positioned myself next to a whirlpool and craned my head up. The music throbbed with regal victorious ness and cataclysmic undulations as the thunderous bangs from the fireworks burst open in circles and streaks across the sky.
The cool dark night air filled my nostrils, and I noticed that I had been enraptured for a period of time, completely unselfconscious, wide-eyed, stopped in my tracks.
The muscles in my neck and upper back were more relaxed, and I felt a new sense of calm at this unexpected display of beauty.
Then the dramatic elegant and plaintive song ended.
The next one was raunchy, so I left.
'If you've seen one firework, you've seen 'em all', I reasoned to myself as I re-entered the elevator.
Before I knew it, the soft bell chimed and an automated voice said 'Deck Twelve', we stopped moving, and the elevator doors silently slid open. I saw pools on the deck with underwater white lights with classy people sipping wine clustered around the edges.
I made my way through a glass sliding door. Suddenly my ears were met with the celestial sounds of a woman singing an operatic vibrato while at the very same moment an explosion of fireworks filled the sky with light and color. The wine drinkers now stood still and gazed up, each of them hushed by the wonder of the moment. Couples stood arm in arm, happy families posed in lines from shortest to tallest with smiles all around.
I slowed my steps but wanted to get a better vantage point. As inconspicuously as I could, I positioned myself next to a whirlpool and craned my head up. The music throbbed with regal victorious ness and cataclysmic undulations as the thunderous bangs from the fireworks burst open in circles and streaks across the sky.
The cool dark night air filled my nostrils, and I noticed that I had been enraptured for a period of time, completely unselfconscious, wide-eyed, stopped in my tracks.
The muscles in my neck and upper back were more relaxed, and I felt a new sense of calm at this unexpected display of beauty.
Then the dramatic elegant and plaintive song ended.
The next one was raunchy, so I left.
'If you've seen one firework, you've seen 'em all', I reasoned to myself as I re-entered the elevator.
Archives May 2, 2006
Daydreaming During The Parade
Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead and the small of my back.
I'm on a ship. It's the rehearsal for the parade and I am a gorilla.
Giddy circus music swirls around a cacophony of movement and a chaos of colour.
Surrounding me from within my costume, all I can see are gargantuan clowns with waists the size of hoola hoops. Oversized yellow Styrofoam hands stick out the sides of the clown body. Hyper clowns on stilts with spazz hair march through the mass of ornate and ridiculous costumes aiming and shooting their oversized cameras that spray water.
I begin to have a mild out of body experience as my core body temperature is reaching close to that of the Sun. Watching myself in the midst of this event, I puzzle at how I am involved in something so strange yet again. How exactly did I end up in the middle of the English Channel on a ship in this FURNACE of a gorilla costume with all of these colorful unselfconscious bohemians?
My moment of reflection ends abruptly as I have to switch into character and march like Bigfoot down the Promenade for ten minutes. Still as I am moving, one eye sees the humor in all of this, but my expression must betray my inner mirth. Being a gorilla is a serious matter and is not a role to be taken casually. Past my field of vision passes the bearded lady, an acrobat in pink tights, a bird, cheetah, and an inflated elephant manned by two people from inside wearing backpacks with air compressors.
This is normal everyday work for me on the ship... I find myself incessantly changing from one costume into another and producing the appropriate volume of sweat for what I'm wearing. I find it to be such a contrast to my life at home where I wear what I want when I want, and hardy ever break a sweat on my brow.
It strikes me as odd how there are jobs like this one where the main responsibility is wearing a plethora of elaborate costumes, day in day out. It's hard to take myself seriously. ....but then perhaps it's a good thing to be reminded of how in a way we're all somewhat silly creatures in the first place as human beings: whether the costume is a gorilla suit or a tuxedo for an office function. Many of our behaviors, when looked at out of context, or reduced to the perspective of an 'objective' eye, are seemingly ridiculous.
I'm on a ship. It's the rehearsal for the parade and I am a gorilla.
Giddy circus music swirls around a cacophony of movement and a chaos of colour.
Surrounding me from within my costume, all I can see are gargantuan clowns with waists the size of hoola hoops. Oversized yellow Styrofoam hands stick out the sides of the clown body. Hyper clowns on stilts with spazz hair march through the mass of ornate and ridiculous costumes aiming and shooting their oversized cameras that spray water.
I begin to have a mild out of body experience as my core body temperature is reaching close to that of the Sun. Watching myself in the midst of this event, I puzzle at how I am involved in something so strange yet again. How exactly did I end up in the middle of the English Channel on a ship in this FURNACE of a gorilla costume with all of these colorful unselfconscious bohemians?
My moment of reflection ends abruptly as I have to switch into character and march like Bigfoot down the Promenade for ten minutes. Still as I am moving, one eye sees the humor in all of this, but my expression must betray my inner mirth. Being a gorilla is a serious matter and is not a role to be taken casually. Past my field of vision passes the bearded lady, an acrobat in pink tights, a bird, cheetah, and an inflated elephant manned by two people from inside wearing backpacks with air compressors.
This is normal everyday work for me on the ship... I find myself incessantly changing from one costume into another and producing the appropriate volume of sweat for what I'm wearing. I find it to be such a contrast to my life at home where I wear what I want when I want, and hardy ever break a sweat on my brow.
It strikes me as odd how there are jobs like this one where the main responsibility is wearing a plethora of elaborate costumes, day in day out. It's hard to take myself seriously. ....but then perhaps it's a good thing to be reminded of how in a way we're all somewhat silly creatures in the first place as human beings: whether the costume is a gorilla suit or a tuxedo for an office function. Many of our behaviors, when looked at out of context, or reduced to the perspective of an 'objective' eye, are seemingly ridiculous.
Archives April 29, 2006
The Tunnel in Germany
I am told that tomorrow our ship will depart the dock for the first time, and head out through the dense murky archipelago between our present location (Turku Finland) and our first destination of the maiden voyage (Hamburg, Germany).
Hamburg first impressions:
We arrived in Hamburg Germany as the sun was first emerging behind the silhouetted cathedral spires on the Eastern horizon. On board the ship, the crew-members were still asleep in their pitch-dark cabins on the lower decks. Unbeknownst to us, thousands of Germans congregated on the river-banks, with media and helicopters swarming our water-borne city. The event made the front page of all the newspapers.
After a day of normal ship-life as an Ice Cast member, (rushed meals in the crew mess, swiftly dodging people as we worm our way down crowded hallways, and rehearsals continuously) it was time to step foot on German soil for the first time.
Images of war-times flickered in my imagination as I took in the architecture and small red-brick buildings with fleets of Volkswagens motoring about. On the 'gangway' (which is really a wooden plank with ridges on it) we filed off the ship to the wet pavement at the shipyard.
I took in the smells of spring dirt, and European rain, for the first time, the swish of wet tires on passing cars. The quiet bikers casually wheeling by on wet cobblestones, directed by obscure German signs. The signs looked very serious, direct, harsh even, as I ignorantly stereotype war-time Germany with its current state.
We were directed to an elevator in an old brick building next to the river, which separated us from the downtown of Hamburg. Cautious, tired, but excited, we clamored into the elevator, positively unsure of where it was taking us. The antique elevator lowered slowly through ropes and cables, down a dark shaft as we looked out the windows. We were descending into an underground space below the river. The huge dimly-lit room had old brickwork and an officious-looking clock between two large arches which were entrances to the tunnels.
The tunnels were long tile corridors that hadn't been renovated since old black cars with round headlights and spoked wheels rumbled through there. Well-dressed people swiftly brisked by on bikes or on foot. We followed the unfamiliar corridor to its end where we were met by yet another rickety elevator. This one took us up into a main downtown street of Hamburg Germany.
After walking a few blocks, we, (a couple of wide-eyed North Americans, and two silent and conscientious Japanese sidekicks) were dismayed at what we saw. The street was a red-light district of some kind and it was a never-ending row of sex stores and prostitutes and people freely offering drugs. This was not what we had hoped for.
After a few hours of searching about, our feet were sore, our bellies empty, and our hopes were dashed, it was time to accept the disappointment we all were feeling and head back to our mother ship.
[BTW: the next time we ventured into Hamburg, we went into a different district and it was wonderful, historic buildings, shops, restaurants, rivers, bridges, and our bellies were filled and our impressions of Germany were restored. (but it was more fun to write about our FIRST impressions)]
Hamburg first impressions:
We arrived in Hamburg Germany as the sun was first emerging behind the silhouetted cathedral spires on the Eastern horizon. On board the ship, the crew-members were still asleep in their pitch-dark cabins on the lower decks. Unbeknownst to us, thousands of Germans congregated on the river-banks, with media and helicopters swarming our water-borne city. The event made the front page of all the newspapers.
After a day of normal ship-life as an Ice Cast member, (rushed meals in the crew mess, swiftly dodging people as we worm our way down crowded hallways, and rehearsals continuously) it was time to step foot on German soil for the first time.
Images of war-times flickered in my imagination as I took in the architecture and small red-brick buildings with fleets of Volkswagens motoring about. On the 'gangway' (which is really a wooden plank with ridges on it) we filed off the ship to the wet pavement at the shipyard.
I took in the smells of spring dirt, and European rain, for the first time, the swish of wet tires on passing cars. The quiet bikers casually wheeling by on wet cobblestones, directed by obscure German signs. The signs looked very serious, direct, harsh even, as I ignorantly stereotype war-time Germany with its current state.
We were directed to an elevator in an old brick building next to the river, which separated us from the downtown of Hamburg. Cautious, tired, but excited, we clamored into the elevator, positively unsure of where it was taking us. The antique elevator lowered slowly through ropes and cables, down a dark shaft as we looked out the windows. We were descending into an underground space below the river. The huge dimly-lit room had old brickwork and an officious-looking clock between two large arches which were entrances to the tunnels.
The tunnels were long tile corridors that hadn't been renovated since old black cars with round headlights and spoked wheels rumbled through there. Well-dressed people swiftly brisked by on bikes or on foot. We followed the unfamiliar corridor to its end where we were met by yet another rickety elevator. This one took us up into a main downtown street of Hamburg Germany.
After walking a few blocks, we, (a couple of wide-eyed North Americans, and two silent and conscientious Japanese sidekicks) were dismayed at what we saw. The street was a red-light district of some kind and it was a never-ending row of sex stores and prostitutes and people freely offering drugs. This was not what we had hoped for.
After a few hours of searching about, our feet were sore, our bellies empty, and our hopes were dashed, it was time to accept the disappointment we all were feeling and head back to our mother ship.
[BTW: the next time we ventured into Hamburg, we went into a different district and it was wonderful, historic buildings, shops, restaurants, rivers, bridges, and our bellies were filled and our impressions of Germany were restored. (but it was more fun to write about our FIRST impressions)]
Archives April 8, 2006
Flight to Finland
As the 10 hour over night flight was in its tenth hour, we finally began to descend out of the bright sunrise towards the mass of cloud beneath us. Patches where there were no clouds that revealed arctic-looking mountains of ice below. The captain informed us on the intercom that we were seeing Norway.
My palms were getting sweaty and my bum was getting sore... I was veritably impatient to see Finland and anything other than North American soil for the first time in my life.
There was turbulence as we descended the seemingly never-ending atmosphere of cloud. The jet groaned and lurched as we circled Turku airport, the pilot having to fly the plane blind because of the fog. The air pressure was changing rapidly in the cabin and the sea of heads in front of me bobbed in unison with each lurch, bump, and shudder.
Suddenly as ears popped, and steamy clouds whisked by the window, evergreen trees and a slush-covered side road was visible and shockingly close. The plane dropped on the runway with a thunderous jolt and gasps from all the passengers. We careened and bounced and were jostled about in our seats as the reverse thrusters went on. We felt our speed decreasing, seatbelts tightening, and the gritty vibrations of the tires on the pavement runway underneath our feet.
Then it was over. We filed out of the plane onto a gray small airstrip with Volkswagen vans with European license plates and yellow rotating emergency lights on top. As we smelled the fresh cold air on the other side of the world, something felt remarkably familiar, the place looked just like Ontario geography. Jutting rocks like the Canadian shield, evergreens, crappy sapling deciduous brush, birch trees, slush, and long grass.
After walking towards the entrance of the airport, over my shoulder I could see the monstrous "World Airlines" plane, looming over the dwarfed people and cars milling around it. The silent gray plane, gargantuan in size, dominated the airstrip.
We were whisked onto a Finnish version of a Voyageur bus with the name JAKK on the side, and lugged with its diesel grumble and top-heavy turns around curves and up hills in the working class town of Turku. Wedged in my seat, with luggage on my lap, I felt like a kid on a school bus for the first day, same wide eyed wonder mixed with shear terror (though as an adult I conceal it much better).
As we entered the huge gate of the shipyards of Aker Finnyards, towering cranes loomed overhead. We were entering a restricted access zone with a nucleus of worker bees with yellow hard hats and blue overalls. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Finnish men, who rode their bikes to work and parked them at the gate of the shipyard, were shouting, backing beeping trucks up, pointing, smoking, directing cranes, and loading boxes. It was like the chaos I remember seeing in the shipyards in movies that depicted New York and London ports back in the 1800s.
The bus weaved its way through the schools of men, and I could sense we were moving closer to the epicenter of all the commotion. Against the darkened afternoon sky spanned a majestic and eerie structure covered with lights and draped with white sheets. Strips of green windows were layered with white decks and balconies. Narrow bridges lead workers over murky waters into small darkened man doors on the lower decks of the huge vessel. This is the soon-to-be finished Freedom of the Seas.
We are led in groups off the bus into noisy confusion, and onto the ship. Low ceilings and hanging wires and hard hats are all that can be seen down corridors lined with anxious faces and languages from sixty countries.
Over the intercom repeatedly blasts an eerie test signal, a man counting in Finnish. Tunnels and staircases comprise mazes upon mazes in the bowels of this ship. We are directed to our crew cabins, where I exhaustedly clutch my pillow and curl up in my cozy top bunk behind a green curtain, and collapse from being overwhelmed and tired. Excited to be in another world within another world.
My palms were getting sweaty and my bum was getting sore... I was veritably impatient to see Finland and anything other than North American soil for the first time in my life.
There was turbulence as we descended the seemingly never-ending atmosphere of cloud. The jet groaned and lurched as we circled Turku airport, the pilot having to fly the plane blind because of the fog. The air pressure was changing rapidly in the cabin and the sea of heads in front of me bobbed in unison with each lurch, bump, and shudder.
Suddenly as ears popped, and steamy clouds whisked by the window, evergreen trees and a slush-covered side road was visible and shockingly close. The plane dropped on the runway with a thunderous jolt and gasps from all the passengers. We careened and bounced and were jostled about in our seats as the reverse thrusters went on. We felt our speed decreasing, seatbelts tightening, and the gritty vibrations of the tires on the pavement runway underneath our feet.
Then it was over. We filed out of the plane onto a gray small airstrip with Volkswagen vans with European license plates and yellow rotating emergency lights on top. As we smelled the fresh cold air on the other side of the world, something felt remarkably familiar, the place looked just like Ontario geography. Jutting rocks like the Canadian shield, evergreens, crappy sapling deciduous brush, birch trees, slush, and long grass.
After walking towards the entrance of the airport, over my shoulder I could see the monstrous "World Airlines" plane, looming over the dwarfed people and cars milling around it. The silent gray plane, gargantuan in size, dominated the airstrip.
We were whisked onto a Finnish version of a Voyageur bus with the name JAKK on the side, and lugged with its diesel grumble and top-heavy turns around curves and up hills in the working class town of Turku. Wedged in my seat, with luggage on my lap, I felt like a kid on a school bus for the first day, same wide eyed wonder mixed with shear terror (though as an adult I conceal it much better).
As we entered the huge gate of the shipyards of Aker Finnyards, towering cranes loomed overhead. We were entering a restricted access zone with a nucleus of worker bees with yellow hard hats and blue overalls. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Finnish men, who rode their bikes to work and parked them at the gate of the shipyard, were shouting, backing beeping trucks up, pointing, smoking, directing cranes, and loading boxes. It was like the chaos I remember seeing in the shipyards in movies that depicted New York and London ports back in the 1800s.
The bus weaved its way through the schools of men, and I could sense we were moving closer to the epicenter of all the commotion. Against the darkened afternoon sky spanned a majestic and eerie structure covered with lights and draped with white sheets. Strips of green windows were layered with white decks and balconies. Narrow bridges lead workers over murky waters into small darkened man doors on the lower decks of the huge vessel. This is the soon-to-be finished Freedom of the Seas.
We are led in groups off the bus into noisy confusion, and onto the ship. Low ceilings and hanging wires and hard hats are all that can be seen down corridors lined with anxious faces and languages from sixty countries.
Over the intercom repeatedly blasts an eerie test signal, a man counting in Finnish. Tunnels and staircases comprise mazes upon mazes in the bowels of this ship. We are directed to our crew cabins, where I exhaustedly clutch my pillow and curl up in my cozy top bunk behind a green curtain, and collapse from being overwhelmed and tired. Excited to be in another world within another world.
Archives April 3, 2006
Miami Bound
The California rehearsal period is complete!
In the early morning that's fast approaching
we board a plane to Dallas, then Miami.
Armed with food, books, and a new ipod (yes I'm a sinner)
I anticipate seemingly endless miles of travel.
time to ruminate...
to puzzle over fresh flashes in my memorybanks
to wonder and then wonder more
what will Finland bring?
The cast of our show begins to feel like comrades,
even siblings. We know we're trapped together,
so no time for fickle factions.
I went to church today, my first time in California.
I half expected heresy, or a Baywatch-looking praise team.
But familial it was, and a welcome homespun hug.
The sermon was about Truth and Love
How they are really inseparable
and you can't know Love outside of the context of Truth,
or Truth apart from Love.
My Japanese speaking roomate was hauled along by me
It was his first church experience ever, and as we walked home
he said "though did not understand, I very much enjoy"
so the chapter in California ended with worship.
and it's time to tear some tarmack
but not forget these seeds now planted
being involved with airports make me feel important
as my shoes tap the marble floors in my professional rush
and taxis with concerned looking travellers whisk all around.
It's a far cry from washing transport trucks as I once did
and picking strawberries on dewy mornings in Mountain.
just another step today, along this unpredictable voyage.
In the early morning that's fast approaching
we board a plane to Dallas, then Miami.
Armed with food, books, and a new ipod (yes I'm a sinner)
I anticipate seemingly endless miles of travel.
time to ruminate...
to puzzle over fresh flashes in my memorybanks
to wonder and then wonder more
what will Finland bring?
The cast of our show begins to feel like comrades,
even siblings. We know we're trapped together,
so no time for fickle factions.
I went to church today, my first time in California.
I half expected heresy, or a Baywatch-looking praise team.
But familial it was, and a welcome homespun hug.
The sermon was about Truth and Love
How they are really inseparable
and you can't know Love outside of the context of Truth,
or Truth apart from Love.
My Japanese speaking roomate was hauled along by me
It was his first church experience ever, and as we walked home
he said "though did not understand, I very much enjoy"
so the chapter in California ended with worship.
and it's time to tear some tarmack
but not forget these seeds now planted
being involved with airports make me feel important
as my shoes tap the marble floors in my professional rush
and taxis with concerned looking travellers whisk all around.
It's a far cry from washing transport trucks as I once did
and picking strawberries on dewy mornings in Mountain.
just another step today, along this unpredictable voyage.
Archives March 22, 2006
Hillsongs
A metal cylinder has catapulted me into another world.
A world like the one from whence I came, yet distinctly different.
The language here is the same,
but Russian, Japanese, Michigan, and figure skater have been added to the daily mix.
Track pants and runners grace my frame most workdays.
Stretching by the heater with a banana waiting to get on
Ice that's so small you could fit it in your freezer.
Chalktows, Mowhawks, Twizzles, Stradles, and Arabesques abound.
A rental minivan whisks us up every morning from the Days Inn
Backpacks and bagels in hand, shades to block Bernardino brightness.
Hours pass, backs ache, toes are raw in moistened skates.
Sweet refuge in the big bed on the hill by Taco Bell awaits.
A cute Mac laptop purrs on the table.
I fire up Hillsongs United Live (More Than Life) to awaken the spirit.
It drips with transcendence and hope...
echoes from the celestial city...
Evidence of things hoped for but not seen
in our secular spectacle.
The conservative Californians
apparently live up the mountains in these parts.
They fled there to preserve old fashioned values
and they literally live in clouds.
...majestic snow-caps encased by cotton steam.
I want to visit that summit
where the heart-throb of harmonies,
that faintly overheard
pulses forth from between the peaks.
A world like the one from whence I came, yet distinctly different.
The language here is the same,
but Russian, Japanese, Michigan, and figure skater have been added to the daily mix.
Track pants and runners grace my frame most workdays.
Stretching by the heater with a banana waiting to get on
Ice that's so small you could fit it in your freezer.
Chalktows, Mowhawks, Twizzles, Stradles, and Arabesques abound.
A rental minivan whisks us up every morning from the Days Inn
Backpacks and bagels in hand, shades to block Bernardino brightness.
Hours pass, backs ache, toes are raw in moistened skates.
Sweet refuge in the big bed on the hill by Taco Bell awaits.
A cute Mac laptop purrs on the table.
I fire up Hillsongs United Live (More Than Life) to awaken the spirit.
It drips with transcendence and hope...
echoes from the celestial city...
Evidence of things hoped for but not seen
in our secular spectacle.
The conservative Californians
apparently live up the mountains in these parts.
They fled there to preserve old fashioned values
and they literally live in clouds.
...majestic snow-caps encased by cotton steam.
I want to visit that summit
where the heart-throb of harmonies,
that faintly overheard
pulses forth from between the peaks.
Archives March 6, 2006
58 Alma Street, Good-Bye...
the time space continum is warping
I can feel it.
this is the precipice of something pivitol.
the boulders are groaning
the fault lines bemoaning
beneath the surface of my life.
the change has gained momentum
i drive it no longer
rather it takes me on its way
away from my home
from kitty and coffee
and laughter with loved ones
security, belonging, and wholesomeness.
the pillars are shifting
and parts of my ceiling are crashing down
forever a memory, a picture, history.
58 alma street... good-bye.
the laughter now has gone
cluttered shoes of guests have too
the creaky table sits silent in the kitchen
as the furnace hums its ignorant rumble
I'm alone at the start of a journey
all by myself, and there is no turning back.
alone I stare and take in my enclosure.
soft carpet and white cupboards I'll miss you,
o fare railing and dowelled curtain rods,
I'll remember you with fondness
rounded arches, and my stoop,
the driveway of grass, the widespread branches
and the tiled floor meeting the ivory pedestal sink...
this palace has seen its end
the benevolent ruler is gone.
heart breaks for days gone by
the tears, the pain, the joy
that these four walls retain.
now they'll be left
for nothing is left
of this lifestyle I have made.
dear friends loom in my mind
fading out of sight and out of reach
I feel them slip away
into the curtains of my mind
to live on in memory
and with sincerest sense of loss.
yet all things will be made new
through pain and death and loss
so renewal can spring its lovely head
in places you'd never suppose
I'll not forget those daring ones
who've loved me back to life,
nor the cozy homes like this
oft protecting me.
into the great unknown I must hurtle forth
with a pocket full of stones.
I can feel it.
this is the precipice of something pivitol.
the boulders are groaning
the fault lines bemoaning
beneath the surface of my life.
the change has gained momentum
i drive it no longer
rather it takes me on its way
away from my home
from kitty and coffee
and laughter with loved ones
security, belonging, and wholesomeness.
the pillars are shifting
and parts of my ceiling are crashing down
forever a memory, a picture, history.
58 alma street... good-bye.
the laughter now has gone
cluttered shoes of guests have too
the creaky table sits silent in the kitchen
as the furnace hums its ignorant rumble
I'm alone at the start of a journey
all by myself, and there is no turning back.
alone I stare and take in my enclosure.
soft carpet and white cupboards I'll miss you,
o fare railing and dowelled curtain rods,
I'll remember you with fondness
rounded arches, and my stoop,
the driveway of grass, the widespread branches
and the tiled floor meeting the ivory pedestal sink...
this palace has seen its end
the benevolent ruler is gone.
heart breaks for days gone by
the tears, the pain, the joy
that these four walls retain.
now they'll be left
for nothing is left
of this lifestyle I have made.
dear friends loom in my mind
fading out of sight and out of reach
I feel them slip away
into the curtains of my mind
to live on in memory
and with sincerest sense of loss.
yet all things will be made new
through pain and death and loss
so renewal can spring its lovely head
in places you'd never suppose
I'll not forget those daring ones
who've loved me back to life,
nor the cozy homes like this
oft protecting me.
into the great unknown I must hurtle forth
with a pocket full of stones.
Archives February 19, 2004
O Mephitic Pride
how strange,
I didn't notice you till now
...how you're actually there.
and want affirmation.
you're so fragile.
so utterly dependent on others to define you.
you're so happy when your ego is stroked
for that's all you are,
my ego.
fragile, desperate, single-minded.
so easily offended and ever self-preserving
you boss me around all day
orchestrating my words, choices, behaviour.
all to get your fill.
to feast on the kill.
being liked, accepted, by the right person.
you resist all teaching
all authority.
at every obstacle,
you shout "rebel"!
from whence got you your power?
O Mephitic Pride!
yet you will not usurp His Will
this time...
for I see you nourish the root of all bad choices
with their foul consequences.
my fingers are around your neck,
slow and steady your throat closes off.
I do not mind. this is my intent.
and part of me is dying with you.
so be it.
I didn't notice you till now
...how you're actually there.
and want affirmation.
you're so fragile.
so utterly dependent on others to define you.
you're so happy when your ego is stroked
for that's all you are,
my ego.
fragile, desperate, single-minded.
so easily offended and ever self-preserving
you boss me around all day
orchestrating my words, choices, behaviour.
all to get your fill.
to feast on the kill.
being liked, accepted, by the right person.
you resist all teaching
all authority.
at every obstacle,
you shout "rebel"!
from whence got you your power?
O Mephitic Pride!
yet you will not usurp His Will
this time...
for I see you nourish the root of all bad choices
with their foul consequences.
my fingers are around your neck,
slow and steady your throat closes off.
I do not mind. this is my intent.
and part of me is dying with you.
so be it.
Archives February 10, 2006
Coffee and Benadryl
Five times already I went to bed so far this night. I just laid there each time until invariably my eyelids would pop open after what seemed like a long while. There was no deceiving myself, I was indeed more awake than I had been all day. My mind had only sped up since I turned in the first time. Thoughts are racing about the future, should I move out of my house now or later? Brooding about finances, adding figures in my head on my pillow. What other jobs are there for the next three months? Weighing so many many options, with varying consequences and sacrifices.
I had little to no sleep last night and I have been tired all day, desperately looking forward to being able to finally sleep tonight. Now that it is the allotted and awaited time for sleep, it is impossible. I rather want to wake the whole world and start making phone calls, to see chimney smoke rising from busy houses, and I want to be busy myself. Implementing all the plans I am setting as I toss in the dark.
This is ridiculous, I think to myself. I am hardly ever THIS alert! How odd. I am puzzled. And just before I turned in, I was getting that warm euphoric tiredness, where did it go? It does not make sense to me, here I am, practically ready to run a marathon, my heart is pounding, and everything in my mind is so crystal clear to me. It could not have anything to do with my two cups of decaf coffee I had just before bed, could it? Aaaaaah, my delicious and comforting nightcap: decaf instant coffee. (readers may all gag here)
As I am writing this it is 6:26 am. I went to bed at 12 am. I have already planned my life five times over and I am still not tired in the least! This is absolutely insane, am I becoming an insomniac? Because I am sooo bored at this point, I have resorted to giving myself a haircut in the bathroom. It amazes me how careless my eyes and hands can be with a scissors when I have not slept all night. All caution and discretion is gone and I boldly and courageously snip- snip- snip. Oops, there is hair everywhere, including all over my shirt, heck, why not do a load of laundry??
On my way to the washing machine, I remember the decaf coffee, and have a sneaking itch to visit the jar in the cupboard, just to make sure I did not accidentally ingest Pinesol instead or something. AH HA!!! Turns out that my so-called decaf coffee, was in fact a dark roast, full bodied, fully CAFFEINATED beverage. So it is my own fault!!! Since I work tomorrow (today) I know I need my sleep to stay healthy. So I swallowed a blue Benadryl pill. My very last one. One sleep inducing drug to smother the other sleep-depriving drug. It is insane, and completely wrong I know, but I did have a good chuckle in the bathroom as I was finally taking my Benadryl and caught a glimpse of a shaggy uneven new haircut in the mirror.
Now, gratfulyee, I am starting to beeee gettng abit mor
d------oozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzyyyyy…………………
Archives February 8, 2006
Shadrach, Meshac, and Abednego
Someone wants to destroy all humanity.
The result of his schemes are found not only in the spread of hatred and violence; but in the distortion of our fragile delicate sexuality, and thereby our essential human identity as persons.
He worms his perversion within so cunningly that we in fact become the agents of our own destruction. The seminal lies he sewed, we believed, and from inside of us oozes a thick black syrupy venom.
He stands back and watches us mutilate and destroy our very selves, our dignities, our bodies; it is as though we are blind to the consequences of our very actions. But it is too late. It has scalded our souls as does a corrosive chemical, as it disoriented our sense of goodness, love, hope, of God, clarity, and security.
In the shadows we retreat in shame, individually, isolated by guilt and fear. We sense we are wiser than this, and intuit in our pith that somehow we have been hoodwinked by our own appetites. What is it our consciences tell us?
With every televised, computerized, fantasized sacrifice to the god of the inordinate elevation of sex, we bind one more chain around our already imprisoned bodies to the altar of falsehood, surrounded by the fires of our own exacerbated perpetually unmet lusts.
Courage to change lies in radical admission that nothing other than the transcendence of Jesus alone can be the sole means of redeeming the soiled adulterous unpaid prostitutes we are.
So no longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from!*
To trust God in the furnace of my own desperation, I must become like Shadrach Meshac and Abednego.
At the epicenter of our most fragile targets, the devil aims his arrows. So our most intimate sensitivity for love from others and from God the Father has become resistant, calloused from the inside.
Unable to feel aright in our very persons, how do we go about setting the world aright? And so we lumber on, eyes downcast, feeling like failures to our King, impotent, fickle, and useless. And the plan of the enemy prevails...
Lord have mercy, Father have mercy on us. May a sincere, transparent humility, brokenness, and vulnerable repentance, individually and communally, by the power of the grace of Christ, be as potent a retaliation on the evil one and his legions as the coming together of the Red Sea was on the Egyptians.
* borrowed words from Jewel Kichler
The result of his schemes are found not only in the spread of hatred and violence; but in the distortion of our fragile delicate sexuality, and thereby our essential human identity as persons.
He worms his perversion within so cunningly that we in fact become the agents of our own destruction. The seminal lies he sewed, we believed, and from inside of us oozes a thick black syrupy venom.
He stands back and watches us mutilate and destroy our very selves, our dignities, our bodies; it is as though we are blind to the consequences of our very actions. But it is too late. It has scalded our souls as does a corrosive chemical, as it disoriented our sense of goodness, love, hope, of God, clarity, and security.
In the shadows we retreat in shame, individually, isolated by guilt and fear. We sense we are wiser than this, and intuit in our pith that somehow we have been hoodwinked by our own appetites. What is it our consciences tell us?
With every televised, computerized, fantasized sacrifice to the god of the inordinate elevation of sex, we bind one more chain around our already imprisoned bodies to the altar of falsehood, surrounded by the fires of our own exacerbated perpetually unmet lusts.
Courage to change lies in radical admission that nothing other than the transcendence of Jesus alone can be the sole means of redeeming the soiled adulterous unpaid prostitutes we are.
So no longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from!*
To trust God in the furnace of my own desperation, I must become like Shadrach Meshac and Abednego.
At the epicenter of our most fragile targets, the devil aims his arrows. So our most intimate sensitivity for love from others and from God the Father has become resistant, calloused from the inside.
Unable to feel aright in our very persons, how do we go about setting the world aright? And so we lumber on, eyes downcast, feeling like failures to our King, impotent, fickle, and useless. And the plan of the enemy prevails...
Lord have mercy, Father have mercy on us. May a sincere, transparent humility, brokenness, and vulnerable repentance, individually and communally, by the power of the grace of Christ, be as potent a retaliation on the evil one and his legions as the coming together of the Red Sea was on the Egyptians.
* borrowed words from Jewel Kichler
Archives January 30, 2006
the dream i woke up with today
A vulture aloft shrieks overhead
Echoes on red rock clay and cliff
black road winds in the basin
Surrounded by stone
Majestic and jagged jutting monsters
Waves of heat, sun, perspiration
Blur the vision distort the path
Indeed there are paths you know
up the aged towers of sun baked Arizona.
two-sided tips sharp at the tops
there is a camera crew from Fox
and an eleven year old boy
loves walking on his hands
they are featuring acrobatic children
calisthenics at the peak
Echoes on red rock clay and cliff
black road winds in the basin
Surrounded by stone
Majestic and jagged jutting monsters
Waves of heat, sun, perspiration
Blur the vision distort the path
Indeed there are paths you know
up the aged towers of sun baked Arizona.
two-sided tips sharp at the tops
there is a camera crew from Fox
and an eleven year old boy
loves walking on his hands
they are featuring acrobatic children
calisthenics at the peak
Archives January 24, 2006
a poem
Short dead grass meets frozen sidewalk
Gusts of wind
Howl. swirling up dirt around houses.
white empty shopping bag tosses
airborne.
shrugged shoulders with chin down
shoes scrape the cement squares
a car swishes by
my grimaced face
and squinted eye
wind whistles through
denim blue
how long til I get there
a few more steps
just a few more steps
Gusts of wind
Howl. swirling up dirt around houses.
white empty shopping bag tosses
airborne.
shrugged shoulders with chin down
shoes scrape the cement squares
a car swishes by
my grimaced face
and squinted eye
wind whistles through
denim blue
how long til I get there
a few more steps
just a few more steps
Archives January 23, 2006
I Feared This Ill Would Come...
[this is an email to a friend that has made it into this blog]
The fear has hit its climax.
I am backed into a corner and its come down to this.
a wide-eyed animal in the fixed gaze of the predator
there is no way out,
no last minute rescue, or knight in shining armour.
I have diverted this crisis year after year, but finally
my unrelenting foe will make its legal kill.
pressures mount in this eerie silence before the attack
pangs of panic are suppressed.
I cannot lose control.
I cannot give up.
Just give it what it wants.
-my hands-my feet-my thoughts-
It just keeps moving in, the dark wall of doom,
lusting my lifeblood, as it fills the room
I feared this ill would come,
though its hour, its moment, was always unknown.
bravely tenaciously I resisted
and with cunning earned respite.
but the time for that is over
this is the final fight.
my will is almost frozen,
I cannot bring myself to do it!
I must stop being such a snob
and just go get that factory job.
The fear has hit its climax.
I am backed into a corner and its come down to this.
a wide-eyed animal in the fixed gaze of the predator
there is no way out,
no last minute rescue, or knight in shining armour.
I have diverted this crisis year after year, but finally
my unrelenting foe will make its legal kill.
pressures mount in this eerie silence before the attack
pangs of panic are suppressed.
I cannot lose control.
I cannot give up.
Just give it what it wants.
-my hands-my feet-my thoughts-
It just keeps moving in, the dark wall of doom,
lusting my lifeblood, as it fills the room
I feared this ill would come,
though its hour, its moment, was always unknown.
bravely tenaciously I resisted
and with cunning earned respite.
but the time for that is over
this is the final fight.
my will is almost frozen,
I cannot bring myself to do it!
I must stop being such a snob
and just go get that factory job.
Archives January 22, 2006
On Being Bohemian Idealists and Christians Simultaneously. Is this a recipe for dichotomy of soul?
The term Bohemian often refers to a group of poor artists in the nineteenth century Europe, who were akin to gypsies. They were known for their vagabond lifestyle, their merry poverty, their disregard of money, for their pursuit of music, color, and relationships. The 1932 Dictionnaire de l'Academie Francaise defines a Bohemian as 'One who lives a vagabond, unregimented life without assured resources, who does not worry about tomorrow'. This perspective and set of values has characterized my own ideals and the ones held by some of my friends from year 2000 to the present time.
My reasoning is as follows: is it not true that all human beings are essentially mere vagabonds and travelers through this temporal world? Who among us is actually assured of their time or resources? In Matthew 6: 32 we read: 'Do not worry saying what shall we eat, what shall we drink, what shall we wear?' Jesus warned his listeners about our propensity to worship money, and told his disciples to sell their possessions and give to the poor. Jesus commended Mary, Martha's sister for choosing to spend her time with him rather than being 'worried and upset about many things....[because] only one thing is needed' (Luke 10:41 NIV).
A life riddled with worry and anxiety about the next day, about storing up earthly possessions, and an elevation of labour to the detriment of art, music, literature, drama, poetry, dance, freedom and relationships has seemed hardly worthwhile to a Bohemian, or to myself and several friends for that matter.
There once lived an expert on Bohemian living by the name of Murger and he said in his
introduction to 'Scenes de la Vie de Boheme' that 'Bohemia is a stage in artistic life; it is the preface to the Academy, the Hotel Dieu, or the Morgue . . . Today, as of old, every man who enters on an artistic career, without any other means of livelihood than his art itself, will be forced to walk in the paths of Bohemia' (xxxvi).
And alas aye there is the rub it is the predicament that presents itself today. As persons endowed with a passion for art in many forms, without other means of livelihood, we are forced to walk the paths of Bohemia as I have thus far my entire life.
The questions remain:
-Do Bohemian ways of life conflict with what God wants of us?
-What does God require of us?
(A) 'To act justly, love mercy and to walk humbly with your God'
Micah 6:8 and to 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all
your strength....Love your neighbour as yourself' Mark 12:30
-Is the Author of all creativity, art, beauty, and the architect of all relationships dis-pleased with a Bohemain mindset?
-Is it socially responsible to live a Bohemian lifestyle?
-Can people who live a Bohemian lifestlye responsibly have families?
-Do Bohemians impact the surrounding culture or simply create their own?
-How does one develop consistency in relationships as a Bohemian if one is always on the move?
-Does espousing Bohemain ideals conflict with or enhance the 'Great Commission'?
To these questions and plethora more, I currently seek to find answers.
Archives December 2005
Some things I have learned in 25 years of life on planet earth:
-If life is thought upon inordinately, taken far too seriously, soon the moments and ideas fretted about have been lived and lost forever, for time un-forgivingly does not slow down.
-I yearn for more than what this world will ever offer.
-Love and compassion are the most powerful agents for personal change.
-Turmoil, grief, depression, parking tickets and unjustified hidden cell phone charges are part of life period.
-God may never audibly, tangibly speak with you, but to conclude that it negates His existence is an unspeakable loss of hope purpose and sanity.
-Youth, beauty, health, talent, style will all shrivel and burn up- so do not marry or make friends for reasons that will fade as time passes. Ultimately you will gravitate towards eternal realities in all things.
-Genuine laughter is rare, it can neither be manufactured nor preserved, so do not ever stifle it in yourself or others.
-Your perspective of the world as a child is extremely skewed, and there may be great hardship, disappointment, and confusion as the transition from a childlike to adult-like perspective is forced to take place.
-Structure is a blessing, for we cannot govern ourselves well as autonomous individuals no matter how good our intentions may be.
-Most people will never understand what it is like to be in your shoes.
-Unrequited interest, unrequited friendship, unrequited love, rejection and betrayal are some of the most painful and debilitating realities, for they aggravate and ridicule our deepest longings for love, purpose, and belonging.
-You might spend most of your life learning the same lessons over and over again. More often than not, it will be the lessons that reaffirm our inadequacy and utter dependence on God for anything redemptive whatsoever about ourselves and this world.
-Death is ultimately not a big deal, for it is the one certain thing in all of our lives. It is the deliberate consideration of death and recognition of it as the sole destination where God in perfect peace awaits, that debunks the stigma and inordinate fear surrounding it. Our human bodies really are glorified mud, let us not get too attached to them.
-God seems to show up most tangibly when you let go of absolutely everything you are clinging to.
-Intelligence is truly found in many forms other than solely in scholastic pursuits, and that is not just something dumb people say to feel better about themselves.
-Some people will reject your deeply felt emotion, your intensity, creativity, artistry, intuitive sense, friendship, persistence, and passion as overwhelming, and you need to find a way to not resent that.
-If life is thought upon inordinately, taken far too seriously, soon the moments and ideas fretted about have been lived and lost forever, for time un-forgivingly does not slow down.
-I yearn for more than what this world will ever offer.
-Love and compassion are the most powerful agents for personal change.
-Turmoil, grief, depression, parking tickets and unjustified hidden cell phone charges are part of life period.
-God may never audibly, tangibly speak with you, but to conclude that it negates His existence is an unspeakable loss of hope purpose and sanity.
-Youth, beauty, health, talent, style will all shrivel and burn up- so do not marry or make friends for reasons that will fade as time passes. Ultimately you will gravitate towards eternal realities in all things.
-Genuine laughter is rare, it can neither be manufactured nor preserved, so do not ever stifle it in yourself or others.
-Your perspective of the world as a child is extremely skewed, and there may be great hardship, disappointment, and confusion as the transition from a childlike to adult-like perspective is forced to take place.
-Structure is a blessing, for we cannot govern ourselves well as autonomous individuals no matter how good our intentions may be.
-Most people will never understand what it is like to be in your shoes.
-Unrequited interest, unrequited friendship, unrequited love, rejection and betrayal are some of the most painful and debilitating realities, for they aggravate and ridicule our deepest longings for love, purpose, and belonging.
-You might spend most of your life learning the same lessons over and over again. More often than not, it will be the lessons that reaffirm our inadequacy and utter dependence on God for anything redemptive whatsoever about ourselves and this world.
-Death is ultimately not a big deal, for it is the one certain thing in all of our lives. It is the deliberate consideration of death and recognition of it as the sole destination where God in perfect peace awaits, that debunks the stigma and inordinate fear surrounding it. Our human bodies really are glorified mud, let us not get too attached to them.
-God seems to show up most tangibly when you let go of absolutely everything you are clinging to.
-Intelligence is truly found in many forms other than solely in scholastic pursuits, and that is not just something dumb people say to feel better about themselves.
-Some people will reject your deeply felt emotion, your intensity, creativity, artistry, intuitive sense, friendship, persistence, and passion as overwhelming, and you need to find a way to not resent that.
Archives February, 2005
Gilbert Grape
ok, i'm not too ashamed to admit it. i cry at movies. not all the time. but tonight, did the tears well up. i watched "what's eating Gilbert Grape" for the first time. it has to be one of the saddest movies i've ever seen.
wow. I began to absorb the reality of the story half-way through or so, it was like i started to feel what it would be like to be Gilbert. everyone in the movie was desperately lonely and disconnected from eachother. It echoed a reality I think too many of us are far too familiar with.
wow. I began to absorb the reality of the story half-way through or so, it was like i started to feel what it would be like to be Gilbert. everyone in the movie was desperately lonely and disconnected from eachother. It echoed a reality I think too many of us are far too familiar with.
Archives January 24, 2005
Orlando...Nashville
in nashville now at even Isaac's house (www.evenisaac.com). been here two nights already, just spontaneously decided to stay here a few days on the way home from Orlando.
it is tidy. warm. spring-like. I'm groggy, but feeling good. last night we drove around the city windows rolled down, video camera out, just taping the skyline, the lights while moody music by rufus, stabilo, and collective soul saturated the air. as the rain came down on the black downtown streets we parked the car and got out. we walked to BB King's Blues Cafe where Greg Sczebel played a while ago. we were too cheap to pay the cover. we saved that money for some cottage cheese at Kroger.
i was at Dark Horse studios yesterday (google it) it is uber-insane. take your best studio you can imagine and cross-pollenate it with a ski chalet and a rustic barn. It was gorgeous. oh, and rocketown- what a place. this coffeeshop with three stages, a skate park, and pool tables, and free classes on dance, lighting, video editing, little mac computers with free internet.... just a great blend of art, good taste, and a grassroots down-to-earthyness.
though my heart yearns for the stoic white frozen fields of Ontario, this experience only 12 hours away is stealing my attention.
we walked into a store yesterday called Buckle in this mall with valet parking- met up with some of the staff just randomly and heard their stories, amazing. almost everyone down here turns out to be christian.
today we're heading to CCM magazine, the 100 oaks mall, Dave Bunker's house, Dark Horse Studios again, Walmart, and the BlueBird Cafe... among other things. there is also this concert tonight for the Tsunami with M.W. Smith, Kathy Mattea and a whole bunch of others. I might be helping out there with world vision, or play an acoustic set in a pizza place tonight.
Canada, we need to encourage more opportunities for musicians.
sonja bought a voice recorder for her ipod so that when we have good conversations that we should remember or reference back to we won't forget them. everytime so far the profound realization has occurred, and then it's like --- oh shoot, we should have recorded that!
it is tidy. warm. spring-like. I'm groggy, but feeling good. last night we drove around the city windows rolled down, video camera out, just taping the skyline, the lights while moody music by rufus, stabilo, and collective soul saturated the air. as the rain came down on the black downtown streets we parked the car and got out. we walked to BB King's Blues Cafe where Greg Sczebel played a while ago. we were too cheap to pay the cover. we saved that money for some cottage cheese at Kroger.
i was at Dark Horse studios yesterday (google it) it is uber-insane. take your best studio you can imagine and cross-pollenate it with a ski chalet and a rustic barn. It was gorgeous. oh, and rocketown- what a place. this coffeeshop with three stages, a skate park, and pool tables, and free classes on dance, lighting, video editing, little mac computers with free internet.... just a great blend of art, good taste, and a grassroots down-to-earthyness.
though my heart yearns for the stoic white frozen fields of Ontario, this experience only 12 hours away is stealing my attention.
we walked into a store yesterday called Buckle in this mall with valet parking- met up with some of the staff just randomly and heard their stories, amazing. almost everyone down here turns out to be christian.
today we're heading to CCM magazine, the 100 oaks mall, Dave Bunker's house, Dark Horse Studios again, Walmart, and the BlueBird Cafe... among other things. there is also this concert tonight for the Tsunami with M.W. Smith, Kathy Mattea and a whole bunch of others. I might be helping out there with world vision, or play an acoustic set in a pizza place tonight.
Canada, we need to encourage more opportunities for musicians.
sonja bought a voice recorder for her ipod so that when we have good conversations that we should remember or reference back to we won't forget them. everytime so far the profound realization has occurred, and then it's like --- oh shoot, we should have recorded that!
Archives January 22, 2004
trying to be a rationalist and an artist
aw it's my mom. she taught me for years while I was homeschooled. I try to keep up the schooling at home thing by myself by reading and being one of those 'students of life'. doesn't always work, I tend to find myself snoozing on the floor after I crack a book open, or even grab the guitar to play sometimes.
any way- I'm home! we drove through the night from nashville, and arrived in good condition and good spirits. since i've been home i have been editing a little video of the trip- trying just by trial and error to figure out final Cut express, the video program on my Mac. so much fun. I feel like such a recluse in this house, but being inside and having a weekend like this gives me the needed time to think over things and get down to finishing my song i started in orlando.
this morning after months and months of just waking up with questions about God and doubts and things just not making rational sense aggravated by Christians saying so many flaky things about jesus, towing the party line, explaining every complex struggle in simplistic Christianese... i realized again just how much a part mystery plays in faith.
there just comes a point where our human mind must stop, for it will inevitably short circut if a step of faith is not taken. faith is a choice. and never an easy one. though it is never a simplistic pat answer, to choose to believe the basic truth that there is a God and He loves me and He does have His purposes and is working them out in my life somehow, yeilds drastically different thoughts than the slippery slope of withholding faith of any sort and demanding empirical 'evidence'.... whatever that is.
I want God to radically intervene in my life to show He is there. I want Him to explain why I have to go through the things I do, and tell me what to do with my life, and who I am really in His eyes, and "how can I get from realising all of this, to having a peace within my soul?" as Chesterton said, it is the rationalists who in the end go insane, not the artists. as both, I want God to make sense to me intellectually, but I also want to experience Him regularly as I would any other creative reality (like music, movies, emotions). because of the fact that life neither makes sense to me a lot of times nor do I sense God's tangible presence (albeit because of my own sinfulness)- i wrestle and wrestle and get tired of it. it wears me down. or someONE is wearing me down.
that is a spiritual snapshot of where I'm at right now. as i read it I see the immaturity, i see how it may not be uplifting for all of you to read. but i do see that it truthfully expresses where i am right now. the truth will indeed set us free. i'm not afraid to say it. by voicing what is true to me right now, perhaps that will expose more and more of the ultimate Truth that we all long to be embraced by and know as real.
any way- I'm home! we drove through the night from nashville, and arrived in good condition and good spirits. since i've been home i have been editing a little video of the trip- trying just by trial and error to figure out final Cut express, the video program on my Mac. so much fun. I feel like such a recluse in this house, but being inside and having a weekend like this gives me the needed time to think over things and get down to finishing my song i started in orlando.
this morning after months and months of just waking up with questions about God and doubts and things just not making rational sense aggravated by Christians saying so many flaky things about jesus, towing the party line, explaining every complex struggle in simplistic Christianese... i realized again just how much a part mystery plays in faith.
there just comes a point where our human mind must stop, for it will inevitably short circut if a step of faith is not taken. faith is a choice. and never an easy one. though it is never a simplistic pat answer, to choose to believe the basic truth that there is a God and He loves me and He does have His purposes and is working them out in my life somehow, yeilds drastically different thoughts than the slippery slope of withholding faith of any sort and demanding empirical 'evidence'.... whatever that is.
I want God to radically intervene in my life to show He is there. I want Him to explain why I have to go through the things I do, and tell me what to do with my life, and who I am really in His eyes, and "how can I get from realising all of this, to having a peace within my soul?" as Chesterton said, it is the rationalists who in the end go insane, not the artists. as both, I want God to make sense to me intellectually, but I also want to experience Him regularly as I would any other creative reality (like music, movies, emotions). because of the fact that life neither makes sense to me a lot of times nor do I sense God's tangible presence (albeit because of my own sinfulness)- i wrestle and wrestle and get tired of it. it wears me down. or someONE is wearing me down.
that is a spiritual snapshot of where I'm at right now. as i read it I see the immaturity, i see how it may not be uplifting for all of you to read. but i do see that it truthfully expresses where i am right now. the truth will indeed set us free. i'm not afraid to say it. by voicing what is true to me right now, perhaps that will expose more and more of the ultimate Truth that we all long to be embraced by and know as real.
Archives January 17, 2005
lieing awake
my neck and shoulders are extremely sore and tight. it is late and I should be sleeping, but instead i'm making some chicken noodle soup. soothing to my body, and coaxing me to sleep.
this weekend was really enjoyable being in the Muskokas, met some cool youth, and got to sleep in a double bed!! paul and jody opted to not share with me, both of them taking single bunk beds! it left me with the wonderful double bed. ahhhh. it was nice.
on our trip home we stopped at a candy store where they had suckers with grasshoppers inside them and chocolate covered ants. we got such a charge out of it. the van was warm and cozy on the ride back, and we all had just a great conversation... i love driving and talking. passing fields and suburbs zooming smoothly by... not idle or hyper talk, or ramble... but just thoughtful, insightful, profound stuff. times like those make life so awesome.
now paul is asleep upstairs. it sometimes happens like this, we end up going to bed around the same time, and then I'm not tired anymore as I lie there blinking at the ceiling in the dark... i wait it out for a while until i am forced to admit to myself that i'm actually wide awake. so I quietly arise, and try to steal down the stairs so paul doesn't wake.
tomorrow Canadians starts. the national figure skating championships, for those of you not familiar with what i might be talking about. please watch them! I 'll be in florida for a week, so I can't see it, fat chance of a canadian competition being shown in america! but anyway I just wish I could be there this year, and i won't even get to see all my old buddies... but next year if it is willed by God, I'd like to be competing... actually can someone tape the men's competion this year for me???
this weekend was really enjoyable being in the Muskokas, met some cool youth, and got to sleep in a double bed!! paul and jody opted to not share with me, both of them taking single bunk beds! it left me with the wonderful double bed. ahhhh. it was nice.
on our trip home we stopped at a candy store where they had suckers with grasshoppers inside them and chocolate covered ants. we got such a charge out of it. the van was warm and cozy on the ride back, and we all had just a great conversation... i love driving and talking. passing fields and suburbs zooming smoothly by... not idle or hyper talk, or ramble... but just thoughtful, insightful, profound stuff. times like those make life so awesome.
now paul is asleep upstairs. it sometimes happens like this, we end up going to bed around the same time, and then I'm not tired anymore as I lie there blinking at the ceiling in the dark... i wait it out for a while until i am forced to admit to myself that i'm actually wide awake. so I quietly arise, and try to steal down the stairs so paul doesn't wake.
tomorrow Canadians starts. the national figure skating championships, for those of you not familiar with what i might be talking about. please watch them! I 'll be in florida for a week, so I can't see it, fat chance of a canadian competition being shown in america! but anyway I just wish I could be there this year, and i won't even get to see all my old buddies... but next year if it is willed by God, I'd like to be competing... actually can someone tape the men's competion this year for me???
Archives January 23, 2005
kid in a snowsuit
if there were no chance of rejection i bet we'd all act very differently than we do. if there were no chance of rejection we'd be uninhibited about the way we feel, think, act, and how we'd like others to feel about us. though living behind a wall of self preservation is more predictable and less risky, it is slowly deteriorating my essence... emaciating my soul... frustrating and pestering my deepest needs... or do i imagine such things. is the need muliplying behind this self-protective shell? is this the effect of the starvation setting in already- just like i thought it might...
not much to do really to medicate it behind the fortress of my snowfort though. even the color of my snowsuit betrays my true feelings. the suit is bold and unrelenting about its color, and i am neither, with a snotty nose, icy mitts, frozen toes, and vacuous hollow heart. i'll sit on the floor and feel the snow encircle me, it has no choice but to conform to my body shape. to accept and receive my frame unconditionally. it does not ask questions of me. it does not tell lame jokes. it does not interrupt me or take me for granted. this relationship with a heap of snow is so easy! it acquiesces my every whim and unuttered need... acutally it doesn't really. it would probably treat anyone this way, it has no choice BUT to be silent and conforming afterall. if it had a will of its own, it might not be that unlike relating to an actual human person.
maybe this is what adam felt like when God said that in all the created things there was no suitable match for him... that was until God made eve.
so i'll lay here in the snow a while. not desperate enough yet i guess. maybe someone will come by and call me out of here. they will see my bright snowsuit and seek friendship with me, they'll rescue me and discover me like a precious gem to be cherished and embraced.
but nobody's even close to this fort. i hear the muffles of the snowball fight in the distance. they are too busy to know what it feels like to be captive to a different drama, a different reality. if i am found, i'll just get a facewash in all likelihood.
if there were no chance of rejection i bet we'd all act very differently than we do. if there were no chance of rejection we'd be uninhibited about the way we feel, think, act, and how we'd like others to feel about us.
not much to do really to medicate it behind the fortress of my snowfort though. even the color of my snowsuit betrays my true feelings. the suit is bold and unrelenting about its color, and i am neither, with a snotty nose, icy mitts, frozen toes, and vacuous hollow heart. i'll sit on the floor and feel the snow encircle me, it has no choice but to conform to my body shape. to accept and receive my frame unconditionally. it does not ask questions of me. it does not tell lame jokes. it does not interrupt me or take me for granted. this relationship with a heap of snow is so easy! it acquiesces my every whim and unuttered need... acutally it doesn't really. it would probably treat anyone this way, it has no choice BUT to be silent and conforming afterall. if it had a will of its own, it might not be that unlike relating to an actual human person.
maybe this is what adam felt like when God said that in all the created things there was no suitable match for him... that was until God made eve.
so i'll lay here in the snow a while. not desperate enough yet i guess. maybe someone will come by and call me out of here. they will see my bright snowsuit and seek friendship with me, they'll rescue me and discover me like a precious gem to be cherished and embraced.
but nobody's even close to this fort. i hear the muffles of the snowball fight in the distance. they are too busy to know what it feels like to be captive to a different drama, a different reality. if i am found, i'll just get a facewash in all likelihood.
if there were no chance of rejection i bet we'd all act very differently than we do. if there were no chance of rejection we'd be uninhibited about the way we feel, think, act, and how we'd like others to feel about us.
Archives January 10, 2005
Sunday afternoon....
today was a great sunday. misty grey weather. late for church. but enjoyed scampering up the steps and slipping in a back pew on the balcony.
good coffee in the gym afterwards.
great people.
visited an old friend who is now at a bible college in kentucky. it is a tiny college. on a big mountain. i hope they don't believe in making people's minds tiny. they should take an example from their mountain.
i love having a cute little white macintosh computer. i am able to do so much on it. i have a lot to learn of course. having been raised on a farm, and until recently have been living in a trailer in a field. but i believe if you can train a rat to push a button for its food, you can train me to host websites and book concerts and design promo materials. just give me time!
watched whale rider the other night with friends on the floor in the front room. candles on. spilled wax on the carpet. so I poured boiling water from the kettle and wiped it up with paper towels right away and it worked! whale rider was the kind of movie that you could interject your own made up dialogue before the character would even say their line. i love those kinds of movies. i have so much fun with them. it annoys other people who are watching the movie to no end though. i just think my added sub-plots are so much more interesting. although they usually have shallow themes or are merely making the character state something really obvious about themselves in a funny woman voice, like " i know i have absolutely no fashion sense and am a terrible actress, but that doesn't mean we can't get married!" - this narrated over a scene with a man and a woman in a room, and squeazed in one of those pauses when one of them just looks at the other, like in those poorly edited movies where every take is just a bit too long, cuz they couldn't get enough footage to last 2 hours.
try it at home!
must go to bed now.
good coffee in the gym afterwards.
great people.
visited an old friend who is now at a bible college in kentucky. it is a tiny college. on a big mountain. i hope they don't believe in making people's minds tiny. they should take an example from their mountain.
i love having a cute little white macintosh computer. i am able to do so much on it. i have a lot to learn of course. having been raised on a farm, and until recently have been living in a trailer in a field. but i believe if you can train a rat to push a button for its food, you can train me to host websites and book concerts and design promo materials. just give me time!
watched whale rider the other night with friends on the floor in the front room. candles on. spilled wax on the carpet. so I poured boiling water from the kettle and wiped it up with paper towels right away and it worked! whale rider was the kind of movie that you could interject your own made up dialogue before the character would even say their line. i love those kinds of movies. i have so much fun with them. it annoys other people who are watching the movie to no end though. i just think my added sub-plots are so much more interesting. although they usually have shallow themes or are merely making the character state something really obvious about themselves in a funny woman voice, like " i know i have absolutely no fashion sense and am a terrible actress, but that doesn't mean we can't get married!" - this narrated over a scene with a man and a woman in a room, and squeazed in one of those pauses when one of them just looks at the other, like in those poorly edited movies where every take is just a bit too long, cuz they couldn't get enough footage to last 2 hours.
try it at home!
must go to bed now.
Archives January 6, 2005
new years thoughts
where to pick up from whence last it was that I poured out my guts?
I'll just describe where I am in the moment. I always like that. thinking too far in the past or too far ahead can give me a headache. So much easier to just focus on what is in front of me right at that time. I will not defend it as a healthy way to be though.
this winter i'm far from the chills of last year in the trailer! I rented a house in guelph with paul- serendipitously enough, just as things were getting colder, a house with two bedrooms, warm furnace, and a tire swing!! room for the trailer i lived in, plus the band trailer!
it has only been a few weeks, but I can tell it is a major shift after 16 months in a camper. it is a welcome shift.
over the christmas break i went to ottawa to be with family and friends. brittle squeaky sounding ice on the canal i skated on. with tristan. as i did a split jump, my jeans acutally split also! the people watching must have found it odd that my enthusiasm for skating just dwindled so suddenly, if they did not see the rip. the huge rip down my butt. oh it was a joyous occasion.
three times i skated on outdoor rinks while there. my bro Luke has a pondish rink behind his house that we (nephews and niece and i) skated on and shovelled off. and then there is reuben's rink. one he put so much work into. he was so proud of it. and i'd never want to discourage him at all by telling all of you all the things that were lacking about his rink. like i'd never want to say just how crooked it was, or bumpy, or small. so i'll just keep that stuff to myself. it keeps the peace in the family, and that is what is important.
thanks to dear sweet emily and derrick and family, we now have an eMac computer on which i am typing right now! it is unbelievable!!!
oh suddenly Russ and Joel have just arrived....
I'll just describe where I am in the moment. I always like that. thinking too far in the past or too far ahead can give me a headache. So much easier to just focus on what is in front of me right at that time. I will not defend it as a healthy way to be though.
this winter i'm far from the chills of last year in the trailer! I rented a house in guelph with paul- serendipitously enough, just as things were getting colder, a house with two bedrooms, warm furnace, and a tire swing!! room for the trailer i lived in, plus the band trailer!
it has only been a few weeks, but I can tell it is a major shift after 16 months in a camper. it is a welcome shift.
over the christmas break i went to ottawa to be with family and friends. brittle squeaky sounding ice on the canal i skated on. with tristan. as i did a split jump, my jeans acutally split also! the people watching must have found it odd that my enthusiasm for skating just dwindled so suddenly, if they did not see the rip. the huge rip down my butt. oh it was a joyous occasion.
three times i skated on outdoor rinks while there. my bro Luke has a pondish rink behind his house that we (nephews and niece and i) skated on and shovelled off. and then there is reuben's rink. one he put so much work into. he was so proud of it. and i'd never want to discourage him at all by telling all of you all the things that were lacking about his rink. like i'd never want to say just how crooked it was, or bumpy, or small. so i'll just keep that stuff to myself. it keeps the peace in the family, and that is what is important.
thanks to dear sweet emily and derrick and family, we now have an eMac computer on which i am typing right now! it is unbelievable!!!
oh suddenly Russ and Joel have just arrived....
Archives December 22, 2004
on tour
it's been 3 years and it's the first time i've been to my dad's house. we just pulled in the driveway about an hour ago from a show in Winona Minnesota, and now we're in Madison. I'm on sonja's laptop, the whole house is asleep and i'm in bed already. trevor is snoring just a little bit a few feet away. we're happy with the tour, it's been a great ride. I have mixed emotions about coming home. i have no place to live when I get there. the trailer is parked on a spot intended for storage and not living purposes.
it is so weird driving for many days in a foreign land and then finding a house and it being my dad's place. in madison. never been here before, but it's his. he's mowed the lawns for a long time here now, and decorated for christmas. so familiar and so foreign. conflicting experiences.
the shows have been great the last few nights. really getting tighter with the band musically and just as people too. cathy and sonja are great to travel with, lots of fun, and Jody and Trevor just miss their fiancee and girlfriend. Paul is having a great time too.
i need sleep right now, it is almost 5 am.
love to you all. pray for my up-in-the-air-ed-ness going back to life after tour OK??
it is so weird driving for many days in a foreign land and then finding a house and it being my dad's place. in madison. never been here before, but it's his. he's mowed the lawns for a long time here now, and decorated for christmas. so familiar and so foreign. conflicting experiences.
the shows have been great the last few nights. really getting tighter with the band musically and just as people too. cathy and sonja are great to travel with, lots of fun, and Jody and Trevor just miss their fiancee and girlfriend. Paul is having a great time too.
i need sleep right now, it is almost 5 am.
love to you all. pray for my up-in-the-air-ed-ness going back to life after tour OK??
Archives November 29, 2004
leaving for the US
5 hours or 36?
FIRST SNOWSTORM of the year. first day of tour to the US. eager anticipation in the air. muffled by heaters blowing and backpacks piled against windows. goofing off bandmembers in the back of the van. Fog everywhere. Flurries darting at the windshield. the borrowed trailer begins to fishtail dangerously pulling the van's rear end around. Pulse rises. tires on the loaned trailer bubble at the bottoms on the wet snow-covered 401. eyes glued to rearview mirrors.
Sonja and Jody still waiting to be picked up. last minute decision is made to abort trip with said trailer. Last minute panic phone calls are made to purchase another trailer from brantford we had been looking at earlier. Time passes quickly. Van plods slowly through city traffic. First day of tour- how much fun we're having! long story short, we arrived at the US border about 5 hours later than planned. after much passionate conversation about getting across the US border- who should drive, who should speak, what do we do with our nerves and fears of being emotionally abused, we BREEZED through the border with all the right paperwork! snow really sets in, but nothing could dampen the mood this time! with a new trailer in tow with clearance lights to boot, the morale was sky high. endorphins pulse through our brains. THE SNOW SETS IN EVEN MORE. happy chatter peters out into sporadic comments on the weather... "wow that snow sure is thick!" efforts are made to put an optimistic twist to it.
a pronounced crack from behind catches the ear of some of the band. we conclude it's only chains dragging in the snow after pulling over for an eyeball inpsection- shoulders shrugged and shivering in the wind as transports blast past.
we're nearing Flint Michigan. cars are ditching themselves everywhere. money is the only reason we hesitate to stay in a hotel for the night- we had planned on being in Grand Rapids by 7 or 8 pm. it was close to midnight.
Our hotel was really interesting. no locks on the doors, we tried to ignore- the dirt on the floors. but no complaints! we were in AMERICA! on a work visa! nothing could dampen us~
this morning in the pristine morning sun and thick covering of wet heavy snow that layered the trees and cars and rooftops, we coasted out of Flint, eyes set on Grand Rapids and a Golden Griddle! ...but the trailer was towing a little bit crooked. sitting just a hair uneven maybe. after another exam, the broken leaf spring on the one side was hard to miss. the crooked axel and tire rubbing on the fender also caught our eyes. hmmmm it is thanksgiving day in the US. we're stranded in the parking lot of a Kroger. we had many helpful Americans offer assistance, some who drove away with new joelgeleynse cds!
after about 600 trips to Meijers and back, we realised just how desperate we were. so we decided to buy two chains and jimmy the trailer back together, holding the axel in place with some trusty chains! and alas! the 15 minute repair held good all the way to Grand Rapids where we now are!!! we have been ON TOUR for two full days, and we've made it 5 hours from home, have spent quite a bit of money, and have played no shows so far! so much fun!!!! if anyone asks us how long it takes to get to Grand Rapids we're now going to have to say, "it used to be 5 hours, but now I think it's about 36!"
FIRST SNOWSTORM of the year. first day of tour to the US. eager anticipation in the air. muffled by heaters blowing and backpacks piled against windows. goofing off bandmembers in the back of the van. Fog everywhere. Flurries darting at the windshield. the borrowed trailer begins to fishtail dangerously pulling the van's rear end around. Pulse rises. tires on the loaned trailer bubble at the bottoms on the wet snow-covered 401. eyes glued to rearview mirrors.
Sonja and Jody still waiting to be picked up. last minute decision is made to abort trip with said trailer. Last minute panic phone calls are made to purchase another trailer from brantford we had been looking at earlier. Time passes quickly. Van plods slowly through city traffic. First day of tour- how much fun we're having! long story short, we arrived at the US border about 5 hours later than planned. after much passionate conversation about getting across the US border- who should drive, who should speak, what do we do with our nerves and fears of being emotionally abused, we BREEZED through the border with all the right paperwork! snow really sets in, but nothing could dampen the mood this time! with a new trailer in tow with clearance lights to boot, the morale was sky high. endorphins pulse through our brains. THE SNOW SETS IN EVEN MORE. happy chatter peters out into sporadic comments on the weather... "wow that snow sure is thick!" efforts are made to put an optimistic twist to it.
a pronounced crack from behind catches the ear of some of the band. we conclude it's only chains dragging in the snow after pulling over for an eyeball inpsection- shoulders shrugged and shivering in the wind as transports blast past.
we're nearing Flint Michigan. cars are ditching themselves everywhere. money is the only reason we hesitate to stay in a hotel for the night- we had planned on being in Grand Rapids by 7 or 8 pm. it was close to midnight.
Our hotel was really interesting. no locks on the doors, we tried to ignore- the dirt on the floors. but no complaints! we were in AMERICA! on a work visa! nothing could dampen us~
this morning in the pristine morning sun and thick covering of wet heavy snow that layered the trees and cars and rooftops, we coasted out of Flint, eyes set on Grand Rapids and a Golden Griddle! ...but the trailer was towing a little bit crooked. sitting just a hair uneven maybe. after another exam, the broken leaf spring on the one side was hard to miss. the crooked axel and tire rubbing on the fender also caught our eyes. hmmmm it is thanksgiving day in the US. we're stranded in the parking lot of a Kroger. we had many helpful Americans offer assistance, some who drove away with new joelgeleynse cds!
after about 600 trips to Meijers and back, we realised just how desperate we were. so we decided to buy two chains and jimmy the trailer back together, holding the axel in place with some trusty chains! and alas! the 15 minute repair held good all the way to Grand Rapids where we now are!!! we have been ON TOUR for two full days, and we've made it 5 hours from home, have spent quite a bit of money, and have played no shows so far! so much fun!!!! if anyone asks us how long it takes to get to Grand Rapids we're now going to have to say, "it used to be 5 hours, but now I think it's about 36!"
Archives November 15, 2004
yesterday in the life of joel geleynse
the clatter of dishes. pulsing. throbbing. piercing headache. waves of people bustling laughing shouting eating gulping coffee. pointing. gesturing. scraping chairs on wooden floors. door slams again and again. bell dings from the kitchen. plates upon plates of food. steaming. waiting to be hungrily eyed then gobbled up and wiped clean with a napkin around the mouth. hours pass. the place only fills more.
fridge doors constantly sliding open for waiters' hands to grab more beers by the neck like chickens on slaughter day. and POP the cap comes off like the head. "there you go sir, here's your bottle of chicken blood. enjoy" an old woman scowls from across the bar. her soup is not quite in front of her yet and she is ready to phone the cops. I'm ready to dump the soup all over her happy floral dress. how dare she wear a happy dress and behave so miserably.
cash register beeping in a panic, spewing receipts and numbers and totals with taxes. feet are aching after 8 hours of this. personality vanishes. patience disentigrates. can you people just hold on for one more second? will the world really end if your soda doesn't have ice? if your heaping plate of hot food comes later than expected? if you don't get what you want for Christmas? I've always thought people who act like infants deserve to be treated as infants. imagine that. me holding a kleenex for a customer to blow their nose in! and disciplining them when they misbehave. I can just see it! "now mr Jensen, that is enough of that! be nice or you'll have to stand in the corner for 10 minutes! and no dessert!!"
sometimes I think that really would be the best way to deal with people. no matter what age we get to, fundamentally we're all a bunch of whining, needy, insecure, poor-mannered toddlers. so where is Jesus in this room? how he loves us like his bride mystifies me. maybe it's like that feeling of being hugged. the intangible connection felt - the spark inside that feels like a homecoming when you hug someone you love. the unconditional embrace that says "I accept you so close to me no matter what you've done or how immature you act." I bet that feeling of loving someone so unconditionally is the most amazing thing ever. Jesus must feel that way when we let him 'hug' us. how much better though to be hugged back in return! to feel that you are clinged to clench-fisted. people think they are so wise and mature and sophisticated and evolved. it is exactly that notion that prevents us from the very thing that gives us what we are in desperate need of. to hug a wayward child who thinks they are not wayward and who will not admit their need of love is like hugging a cold rock. sometimes i wonder if all my 'christian competency' or plain competency in any area makes me more like that child who doesn't miss the security and peace of a parental embrace. i only become more like the demanding scowling impatient infants i squirm to admit are a reflection of me.so, that was my day yesterday. yay!
fridge doors constantly sliding open for waiters' hands to grab more beers by the neck like chickens on slaughter day. and POP the cap comes off like the head. "there you go sir, here's your bottle of chicken blood. enjoy" an old woman scowls from across the bar. her soup is not quite in front of her yet and she is ready to phone the cops. I'm ready to dump the soup all over her happy floral dress. how dare she wear a happy dress and behave so miserably.
cash register beeping in a panic, spewing receipts and numbers and totals with taxes. feet are aching after 8 hours of this. personality vanishes. patience disentigrates. can you people just hold on for one more second? will the world really end if your soda doesn't have ice? if your heaping plate of hot food comes later than expected? if you don't get what you want for Christmas? I've always thought people who act like infants deserve to be treated as infants. imagine that. me holding a kleenex for a customer to blow their nose in! and disciplining them when they misbehave. I can just see it! "now mr Jensen, that is enough of that! be nice or you'll have to stand in the corner for 10 minutes! and no dessert!!"
sometimes I think that really would be the best way to deal with people. no matter what age we get to, fundamentally we're all a bunch of whining, needy, insecure, poor-mannered toddlers. so where is Jesus in this room? how he loves us like his bride mystifies me. maybe it's like that feeling of being hugged. the intangible connection felt - the spark inside that feels like a homecoming when you hug someone you love. the unconditional embrace that says "I accept you so close to me no matter what you've done or how immature you act." I bet that feeling of loving someone so unconditionally is the most amazing thing ever. Jesus must feel that way when we let him 'hug' us. how much better though to be hugged back in return! to feel that you are clinged to clench-fisted. people think they are so wise and mature and sophisticated and evolved. it is exactly that notion that prevents us from the very thing that gives us what we are in desperate need of. to hug a wayward child who thinks they are not wayward and who will not admit their need of love is like hugging a cold rock. sometimes i wonder if all my 'christian competency' or plain competency in any area makes me more like that child who doesn't miss the security and peace of a parental embrace. i only become more like the demanding scowling impatient infants i squirm to admit are a reflection of me.so, that was my day yesterday. yay!
Archives September, 2004
ready for this?
sept 27....
in paul's basement, had a whirlwind weekend. so much hysterical laughter. played powerfest and north park church in london. so much enjoyment.
have been grappleing with whether or not to compete nationally in skating this year. i'm deciding not to for a few good reasons. i'll just do it NEXT year. i have a few injuries with my feet, and bottom line, i have no money... no home... no bathtub... that sums it up briefly. I feel really good about this decision. it is now an objective to become MORE intentional with the music/writing -whole thinkrock movement....
i've had a spiritual dry spell for the last few months... since i wrote 'for this moment' i know God is there, it is like having a brand new car in your driveway, but you don't get out and drive in it for a variety of reasons, and you live in the comfort of just knowing it's there anytime you really want to use it. in a way that is how i've treated God these last few months. He's there, but i'm too lazy, too afraid to really commit to the next level of relationship with Him. so i procrastinate. i neglect Him. and i arrogantly know He will forgive me for this. it is my immaturity manifesting itself.
i half expect i'd like to just happen upon God, like a surprise event, like oh, wow, without seeking it out, there God just showed up in my life. His initiation, not mine. as though naturally my path and God's would somehow just converge. spiritual life is so ordinary sometimes. maybe it is supposed to be for us, otherwise we'd lose all relevance to the ordinary human beings on this planet. but right out of the blue the normality and ordinaryness of life can get pierced with a sobering awareness of my own selfishness, my lack of character because of some pride, jealousy, envy, or lust that somehow bloated up in me. bloated big enough that i couldn't ignore it anymore. those are good times. those times are too rare.
how freeing it is to call a spade a spade. i am a sinner. a broken mess in need and want of everything. a disgusting stench. but yay! i don't have to pretend otherwise. and anything other than that kind of state is clearly a sign of healing in me, of new life, of new grass sprouting where old dry stalks once stood in my heart.
my dad visited last night. i had a $170 sleep. thats how much the room was! but he was on business, and bartered the manager down- so it was permissable I suppose. i did sleep like a baby. this took place after a passionate discussion in true GELEYNSE style at a Kelsey's. we talked about Bush, his vices, why my dad won't support him. this led to a deeper topic about do we show grace to our leaders when they mess up or do they not deserve grace because of their position as the most powerful people in the world. we had to talk about absolute truth as always, and multi-religionism, pluralism and political ways of governing devout believers of opposing ideologies.
how does one really engage in objective non-threatening discourse about the nature of truth? people in general that I talk to are so quick to deny language of absolute truth because they fear intolerance and the throat stuffing down kind of christianity. and so because of the historical abuse of power by the church and moralism, it is no longer appropo to publicly defend, exegete, or demonstrate a belief system that espouses rationality or adherence to universal unilateral absolute truth. (like that table in the dining room does in fact exist- though you MIGHT just be fooled by your senses that it's really there)
there is one exception to the fear of unilateral truth. everyone draws their own subjective lines for themselves, and it's usually at "as long as a belief does not negatively affect others, it is permissable" my plea with my dad, was that that statement presupposes the meaning and circumstances that could be described as negative... who can dictate rationally what may or may not be negative- or even the definition of negativity? if we are supposed to accomodate the beliefs of everyone to the extent where we've lost any public and social accountability or agreed upon standard of goodness, who can then defend to any degree the negative or positive effects of any behaviour or lifechoice whatsoever? what about the certain cultures who don't value the sanctity of human life? how do we start a proof or defence even that a human life need be preserved? on what grounds? if we divorce ourselves from our historical bedrock of agreed upon universal truth- the house of cards comes crashing down. our society is that house of cards- and we have to be so careful to not throw the baby out with the bathwater when we speak of tolerance, embracing all creeds as equally true, becuse in so doing we are contradicting ourselves. For any one thing to be true, it necessitates the existence of a falsehood. not everyone can be right. just cause you say something doesn't make it TRUE! the atheist and the muslim can't both be right. and it's so popular to challenge that statement these days on our 'enlightened tolerant university campuses'... is it not clear to anyone else how far we've slid intellectually in our disdain for our history, fear of morality, and pursuit of 'liberation'? is it worth the cost? no wonder we get stress and neurosis and anxiety so commonly these days... I don't know that there has ever yet been a society that thought itself so advanced, competent, and enlightened but who makes self contradictory statements about all gods being true and real, as well as there being no gods at all.... and how both are true simultaneously and yet this is considered to be perfectly sane.
dear diary... it's so so so late at night.... my mind has raced enough for one sitting. dear dramatic readers... if nothing else you accomplish in life, find truth.
in paul's basement, had a whirlwind weekend. so much hysterical laughter. played powerfest and north park church in london. so much enjoyment.
have been grappleing with whether or not to compete nationally in skating this year. i'm deciding not to for a few good reasons. i'll just do it NEXT year. i have a few injuries with my feet, and bottom line, i have no money... no home... no bathtub... that sums it up briefly. I feel really good about this decision. it is now an objective to become MORE intentional with the music/writing -whole thinkrock movement....
i've had a spiritual dry spell for the last few months... since i wrote 'for this moment' i know God is there, it is like having a brand new car in your driveway, but you don't get out and drive in it for a variety of reasons, and you live in the comfort of just knowing it's there anytime you really want to use it. in a way that is how i've treated God these last few months. He's there, but i'm too lazy, too afraid to really commit to the next level of relationship with Him. so i procrastinate. i neglect Him. and i arrogantly know He will forgive me for this. it is my immaturity manifesting itself.
i half expect i'd like to just happen upon God, like a surprise event, like oh, wow, without seeking it out, there God just showed up in my life. His initiation, not mine. as though naturally my path and God's would somehow just converge. spiritual life is so ordinary sometimes. maybe it is supposed to be for us, otherwise we'd lose all relevance to the ordinary human beings on this planet. but right out of the blue the normality and ordinaryness of life can get pierced with a sobering awareness of my own selfishness, my lack of character because of some pride, jealousy, envy, or lust that somehow bloated up in me. bloated big enough that i couldn't ignore it anymore. those are good times. those times are too rare.
how freeing it is to call a spade a spade. i am a sinner. a broken mess in need and want of everything. a disgusting stench. but yay! i don't have to pretend otherwise. and anything other than that kind of state is clearly a sign of healing in me, of new life, of new grass sprouting where old dry stalks once stood in my heart.
my dad visited last night. i had a $170 sleep. thats how much the room was! but he was on business, and bartered the manager down- so it was permissable I suppose. i did sleep like a baby. this took place after a passionate discussion in true GELEYNSE style at a Kelsey's. we talked about Bush, his vices, why my dad won't support him. this led to a deeper topic about do we show grace to our leaders when they mess up or do they not deserve grace because of their position as the most powerful people in the world. we had to talk about absolute truth as always, and multi-religionism, pluralism and political ways of governing devout believers of opposing ideologies.
how does one really engage in objective non-threatening discourse about the nature of truth? people in general that I talk to are so quick to deny language of absolute truth because they fear intolerance and the throat stuffing down kind of christianity. and so because of the historical abuse of power by the church and moralism, it is no longer appropo to publicly defend, exegete, or demonstrate a belief system that espouses rationality or adherence to universal unilateral absolute truth. (like that table in the dining room does in fact exist- though you MIGHT just be fooled by your senses that it's really there)
there is one exception to the fear of unilateral truth. everyone draws their own subjective lines for themselves, and it's usually at "as long as a belief does not negatively affect others, it is permissable" my plea with my dad, was that that statement presupposes the meaning and circumstances that could be described as negative... who can dictate rationally what may or may not be negative- or even the definition of negativity? if we are supposed to accomodate the beliefs of everyone to the extent where we've lost any public and social accountability or agreed upon standard of goodness, who can then defend to any degree the negative or positive effects of any behaviour or lifechoice whatsoever? what about the certain cultures who don't value the sanctity of human life? how do we start a proof or defence even that a human life need be preserved? on what grounds? if we divorce ourselves from our historical bedrock of agreed upon universal truth- the house of cards comes crashing down. our society is that house of cards- and we have to be so careful to not throw the baby out with the bathwater when we speak of tolerance, embracing all creeds as equally true, becuse in so doing we are contradicting ourselves. For any one thing to be true, it necessitates the existence of a falsehood. not everyone can be right. just cause you say something doesn't make it TRUE! the atheist and the muslim can't both be right. and it's so popular to challenge that statement these days on our 'enlightened tolerant university campuses'... is it not clear to anyone else how far we've slid intellectually in our disdain for our history, fear of morality, and pursuit of 'liberation'? is it worth the cost? no wonder we get stress and neurosis and anxiety so commonly these days... I don't know that there has ever yet been a society that thought itself so advanced, competent, and enlightened but who makes self contradictory statements about all gods being true and real, as well as there being no gods at all.... and how both are true simultaneously and yet this is considered to be perfectly sane.
dear diary... it's so so so late at night.... my mind has raced enough for one sitting. dear dramatic readers... if nothing else you accomplish in life, find truth.
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