Yes, I Admit It... I Miss Project Runway!

I snagged this from
these guys... I hope they don't mind.

I'll miss Project Runway. I've watched it every season. I'm really not sure why, but for some reason I find the show fascinating. I wish I could explain it. I don't usually get sucked into reality television shows, but for some reason PR gets me. Though, I'm afraid they may have jumped the shark a couple times this season. The show as a bit "gimmicky" this season, but at the same time I understand why... they have to be "fresh" to keep the audience.

I'm not sure how I got so involved with Project runway, I know that I started watching because of Heidi Klum, however, I seem to have gotten sucked in.

I'm bummed that Jeffery won. I was rooting for either Michael, or Uli. Actually, let me rephrase that. I was indeed rooting for Uli and Michael, in that order. Uli just made me laugh. Michael seemed to have "it" together. Uli, though, was kind of the "earth mother" to me. She just had a vibe that I could dig on. As strange as that might sound.

I'll freely admit this: I rooted against Laura. I couldn't stand her! She was the Amarosa (I know I spelled that wrong, but I'm sure you know who I mean) of the show. Her red headed, big toothed, square jawed, irksome self... grrr!

An admission: I didn't actually watch the final show. Well, I did, but I didn't. I had to make a decision. My Mets were trying to beat the St. Louis Cardinals (who, by the way, I'm sort of rooting for in the Series-- I have my reasons). So, I had PR in the pictureinpicture function of my tv. I saw it, but I didn't watch it, per se.

Sadly,my Mets lost and Jeffery won.

Oh, as for the Cardinals: I feel like I should root for them for the following reasons: 1. I am a member of the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod 2. The National League hasn't won a Series since 2001, I think. However, I am sort of rooting for Tigers because I am a Jim Leyland fan. He's an amazing manager. Its because he and Tony Larussa are managing against each other that this Series has turned into more than a baseball game and into a intellectual chess game.

Wait, how did I get from Project Runway to the World Series? Ah, who cares. Let's call it stream of consciousness and leave it be.

A few pics

The Disgruntled World Citizen


DWC pt 2



The DWC's mum


DWC's fadda


The Barron von Woodster


flag w/ Joker

Tripping Over the Stones of Mind

In a fit of literary mania the other day, I got a bee in my proverbial bonnet and submitted a poem to the New Yorker. I don't know why. I just did. I've been threatening to submit poetry to magazines for awhile now and I decided I might as well at least take a shot at the biggest name there is. I have every expectation that I will get a nice little email saying "Thankssomuchsosooryneversendagain." Which would be about right. I also submitted five poems to IUPUI's literary magazine. That one, I am hoping for better things. I shall see about that, too, I suppose.

I should probably try and keep this mania going by sending to the Columbia Poetry Review and the Borderlands Poetry Review (the former is from Chicago and the latter is located in Texas).

I realized today that I am, in the great scheme of things, almost done with my masters degree. I have four classes left. I'm amazed at this. Shocked, actually. I was talking with a classmate (or is collegue at this level?) about this and it really sank in: four more classes... four more...

then what?

Good question, that. I'm not really sure. Lately, I've thought about looking into continuing on... but I need to get a real job, eventually, right? I don't know. I guess we'll see where the Good Lord leads me.

I wish was more verbose here, but alas, I'm not. I start to type and suddenly words I might have lined up scurry to the bleak, dark, recesses of my brain and I don't feel like taking the time necessary to round them all up again. That takes too much time and my brain is awfully dusty and cluttered.

Well, then. I suppose I should shove off.

Barron

You know, its almost too easy to write about the foibles of one's cat. For some reason, cats just lend themselves to writing. If for no other reason that sheer comedy of their actions and the being. Cats are funny critters.

Most cats like clean. Mine, not so much. He cleans cleans himself incessantly, but he doesn't like it when I change the litter in his boxes... yes, he has two boxes. Long story, but it is an experiment that seems to be working at least some of the time. I clean it regularly, but not the litter. Just what he leaves behind.

My cat, who I call the Barron von Woodster, or Woody, for short, sleeps on his back all the time. His four feet stick straight up in the air his white belly fur is points this way and that. He is a medium haired cat, he looks like he has some persian in his past somewhere. His face is a bit flat, he has very large eyes, as can be seen by his picture above.

He is a funny critter. We know when He's used his box because he when he uses his box he runs like his ass is on fire. He sounds like he has concret boots on his feet. Any one or thing in his way will be run over.

I find myself in the basement of the library, again. It just as bright as it was the last time I was here and that's a good thing. Really, it is. This is Tuesday, I think, today is my day off from work. So, I came to campus to get some school work done. I am in the basement because it is quiet here, its a nice big study room, there are ten other here, that I can see (two more just strolled in and sat down, both were knit ski caps).

I have Miles Davis on my Ipod. I listen to Miles alot. He seems to make things okay. A nice rythm to life. In this case it is Kind of Blue that is blowin into my ears via my earbuds.

Last night I had an IM conversation with Brandon. I should always brace myself when his salutation is "Hey man" instead of "Hey karl," or "Hey Pnut." The "Hey man" is usually a harbinger of bad news. This was no exception. It is my opinion that Brandon has the most incredible tests in his early ministry. God has certain given him some big things to tackle. He lives in a suburb of Nawlins. His church was severely damaged in Katrina. Last night he told me one of his elders had commited suicide that weekend.

I have homework that needs to be finished.

*sigh*

bluch.

Don't Edit Me I'm Ranting

I am having one of those "why am I doing this" moments. I don't mean "why am I blogging, right now" moments, but one something a bit more, dare I say, existential. Its more a "why am I doing this" life moments. This semester for me has been a drag. My two classes haven't been all the thrilling and I've just kind of plateaued in the care-department. Why am I doing this? Why am I working 35-40 hours a week, taking two grad classes, working in a law library (four hours a week, on Friday night)? Why am I burning my candle, such that it is, at both ends. Maybe not both ends, but at close to it. I'm lucky I'm able to keep myself as focused as I am. I'm ready for a break. I seriously thought about just taking a semester off, or just quitting my job and running away and becoming, like Jules said in Pulp Fiction "like Kane in Kung Fu and just wander the Earth." To which Vincent replies, "You mean be a bum..." Okay, I don't want to be a bum. I just need some time to think and clean out my head. I've been doing this whole school thing for a year straight. In that time, I've moved stores, helped open a new one. Work hard to make powers that be think that I'm worthy of moving up in the company, but I'm not sure they see that, care, or even look at me as being a potential candidate for such a thing. I'm tired, can you tell? Today, I got a short paper back from a professor with this written in green on the bottom: "Please go to the Writing Center and get help. You need to improve this important skill." I looked at her and said "Huh, that's the first time anyone has ever told me that." Okay, I'll admit, I threw it together, I cobbled something together, put my name on it and handed it in. Actually, I even put the wrong professor's name on the paper. Either she didn't notice or just didn't care. See, right there is my problem. I'm finding it harder and harder to really care and give a damn. I'm itching to throw in the towel and say to hell with it all, I'm taking a powder, be back next year sometime, probably May. Today, as I sat in class and listened to my professor drone on about something dealing with research I kept repeating the words "make me care. make me care." It didn't work. I didn't. I kept looking at the clock. The hands moved, slowly. I looked at my watch, slower, still. Is a Master's Degree really worth this? I'm not even sure I want to be a librarian, but I'm half-way through so I might as continue on, fighting the good fight, as they say-- whoever they might be. Maybe its this room I'm in that is causing me rant like a friggin lunatic. I'm sitting in the basement of the library. Its over lit, with too many florescent lights. Thre are two Coke Machines, a vending machine that spits out chips if you give correct change, and another small vending machine that has pain killers: Tylenol and such. There are long brown table with six brown chairs with green cushions. The carpet is the color of that old '70's beig. There is a small clock on the wall that says five til four and a rectangular sign that reads Food and drinks are not to be removed from this room-- signed the Gestapo (okay, I made that last part up, my attempt at humor, black though it may be). So here I sit, all broken hearted... oh, wait, that' somthing for the bathroom wall in a seedy establishment. No, I sit here somewhat bemused at it all. I write and rant about this, but yet, I have chosen this. In fact I love everything that's going on in my life. On my fifteen minute break yesterday, I read a couple Psalms from my little leather covered Bible I carry with me in my blue bag. I read Psalm 13 and the last verse, which I think was the nexus for this rant, really stuck with me: "I will sing to the Lord for he has been good to me." Indeed, he has. I have been blessed in many ways. I'm just tired and I'm ready for a break. I need to turn off for a while and maybe just rest.

FAiTH from FATHer

My church designates October to be "Pastor Appreciation Month." That's cool. They usually do something nice for the pastors there. This year, though, they have made a big deal about all the pastors that are in their midst. There are three or four. These include at least two retired pastors, of which my father is one of those. My father was in the active ministry from 1962-2002. He was in the parish ministry for 34 of those 40 years. He retired from Bethesda Homes and Services. He had been a chaplin for six years to mentally handicapped adults. It was an amazing ministry. You can read a little about what I wrote about him at the time of his retirement here. I wrote this about his residents and his retirement service.

What brings this up? This stuff about my father. Well, about two weeks ago they had this little presentation at church for the pastors. One of the pastors of my church is, at present, down in Antartica conducting services, he is an Air Force chaplin.

Well, anyway, my dad was called up to the front of the church. And let me tell you, my dad doesn't like that kind of thing to happen, he doesn't like it at all. Then Pastor A's son came up and did a little presentation celebrating his father's ministry, etc. My dad was included in this, too. He got a "small gift" of appreciation. I could see the expression on his face: "I don't want to be doing this," he was afraid they were going to ask him to say something and he doesn't do very well off-the-cuff, sometimes.

I was worried they were going to drag me up there, too. They saw me, I know they did. I was sitting next to my dad when they called him. I was sitting in the pew thinking about what I might say if I got called up there.

The last few weeks they have been doing a sermon series on James (which is fantastic, because I love the book of James). The text for that evening service came from James 2 where James wrote about faith and deeds, etc.

As I sat there, sweating a bit, worried, I started to think about that. Faith. And then I thought about something that I have written about here a few times: "FA TH." What's missing? The "i," one can't have faith with out a personal involvement. Then I thought about this "FATH" what's missing there? "ER."

I am a christian today and Lutheran because of the FAiTH because of my FATHER (my mom, too) but in this case because of my dad. He has been my pastor and my father. Because of his FAiTH I have FAiTH. A direct example of James 2.

I told him that if I had been called up there I was going to say something a like that and he seemed quite pleased about that. Luckily, or maybe sadly, they didn't so my little schpeal was all for naught. But it has been something that has been on my mind for the last few weeks and I just needed to get it out. You know, to air it out and let it fly.

FAiTH from FATHer.

untitled as yet, perhaps irony

a girl tries to draw me
into a deep metahysical
conversation about john dunne &
paradox

my thoughs are elsehere--

contemplating the broken
plasic clock that has
been thrown into the
black rubber garbage can
at me feet the hands stopped
at an angle

she was heavy into
deep thought
& i was contemplating
the end of time--

in this case:
quarter to ten

an old poem for your consideration

hoppeR comes to life on a weD. night
(written on the back of a used book of checks
while waiting in my car for a pizza)

i

conviencE laundry

a fish bowl of
civilization

the pilgrims come
together for the ritual cleaning

the lights blinding
the room

less than sterile
the machines

spin & hum
to themselves

(like monks
at prayer)

as for those in the
fish bowl they

try their best
not to make

eye contact with
their fellow communicants

it is better
that way

ii

a dirty man
walks up to

my car after
a moment’s hesitation


& asks for some change

.75 cents
is all

i have
i hand

it over

he puts
the change

in his pocket
&moves on

iii

in the fish
bowl a student

reads a paper
covered book

his back towards
me & his

head down
concentrating

looking for
truth

grasping for it
& not knowing

if he has found it
or not