back to my japanese roots

so i am back at the dub-dub-cee. it's really empty. in case you were wondering. i have been here since monday. i am the only one on my hall. did i happen to mention the emptiness of this place?

so far, i have watched a season and a half of ncis. subconsciously, i am trying to squeeze in as much tv as i can before the potential 2007 tv ban goes into effect. i really am considering it. i don't think that it will be that hard. besides, i am tired of laughing out loud with my laptop as company.

which brings me to the haiku, and subsequently, my nonexistent japanese roots. by the way, this doesn't betray any sort of emotional angst. i think it's just my brain protesting the high dosage of idiot box drivel. (it's still a cool show) (stupid brain)
[grin]

laughter alone--what
bittersweet grapefruit enjoyed
an acquired taste

two double-oh-seven, you cannot arrive quick enough.
peas.

the bedtime story. no, the bedtime epic struggle against injustice

allow me to vent for a few lines. this is a familiar scene when i am on break. its late at night. i pass sleeping mother. after wrinkling the air current currents that move past her (i have no other idea how she always wakes up), our conversation goes like this:

mom: who's that?
me: it's me
mom: is something wrong?
me: no
mom: why are you still up?
me: (desired response: no particular reason. i suppose i am enjoying my exhilarating lack of commitments and responsibilities) [what comes out of my mouth] i dunno
mom: (twinge of annoyance) go to bed; no wonder you wake up so late
me: (internal dialogue: aaarrggghhh, gosh, i have nothing to do tommorrow. i'm 20, which means i think i am capable of choosing my bedtime and the consequences that follow. i mean, honestly; jealous much?)

i love and respect the woman, but i think that we are on vastly different wavelengths. i could probably talk to her about it, but it is way more fun to silently fume and mock her treatment of me.

*creak* [steps down from soapbox]

i have decided, after watching a complete season of the amazing race (numbah 9, in case you wondered), that my goal is to find someone who would want to travel the world--randomly--with me, and after doing so, latch on to her forever. that and she can't be tone deaf. and she should probably know what the word vituperative means. i mean, easy, right?

but seriously, the amazing race is my all-time favorite TV show. i will do what they do on the show one day. minus all the meaningless bickering and butt-biting; it never ceases to amaze me that people on the show, traveling the world for free, are so besotted with winning the million dollars that they forget that they are living a dream. my dream. grrrrr.

question of the day:
could you ever forgive yourself for not following your dreams completely; when does a risk become an irrationality?

duke ellington, or the speed of growing grass

so instead of studying for my final final (ha), i am sitting here perusing the file cabinets of my brain, attempting to create order amidst the scattered thoughts covered in the dust of apathy.

last night, i had the privilege of attending another ww symphony concert; entitled winter scenes, the performance featured ellington's take on the nutcracker suite, three pieces by d. hymen, and, for the finale, gershwin's an american in paris. the short of it is, i really love jazz. this year, i decided to join the ww jazz ensemble, and it has managed to be the best and worst thing that has happened to me. i say best because it is really fun music, not to mention super difficult. it's the worst because it makes me realize how inadequate of a player i am. every wednesday night, i return to my room hummng the songs and feeling generally miserable; it's a pretty funny juxtaposition, not many people can be humming and miserable at the same time.

i am realizing that i am my own worst critic. and it's not limited to just my trombone playing. for someone like myself who is super laid-back, it seems pretty incongruent that i be so exigent with myself. but i am. and its tough. especially when you are trying to figure out who you are, as I am. in my spare time, i have been reading the book emerging adults and i stumbled across this statement from an interviewee:

every day that i wake up, i learn something new about myself. learning about yourself is a really emotional thing because its like you wake up one day and you think your living the way you want to live, and then the next day you get up and its like, "wait a minute, i'm doing everything wrong. i don't know who i am." and you have to be willing to take that step forward and say, ok, i'm going to get to know myself no matter if its painful or if its going to make me happy. i have to dig deep within myself and figure out who i am. (arnett 197)

this resonates with me deeply. i find myself often in the daily struggle to figure out what makes me tick and figure out how to fix what i don't like. except, i expect the change to be nearly instantaneous. what i heard in a sermon recently--which i believe has more applications than just the christian life--is the idea that God works at the "speed of the farm"; that is to say that change takes time. no one becomes anything meaningful (christian, musician, writer, or otherwise) overnight. it takes patience and intentional care to grow as a person.

i need to accept the speed of the growing grass, as change rarely follows any other timetable; which does not preclude, however, the occasional lawn-mowing or weeding session.


sorry for the book of an entry.

the telephone and arabic verbs

damn. i hate the telephone.

well, actually i hate the fact that i am super awkward on said device. i think we should all go back to using dixie cups and string. [deep breath to expel frustration]

well, back to arabic verbs.

arabic sentence of the day:

أَنَا عَدَقْتُ عَقْلِي كَذَا أَكْرِبُ حِمَارِي وَأَخْرَجُ وَأَوْجَدُهُ

pronounced: anaa adáktu áklee katha ákribu (h)imáaree wa-ákhraju wa-áwjaduhu
translation: i have lost my mind, so i will hop on my donkey and I will go out and find it.

the busie-body, or tussling in the snow

i just returned from seeing a play. granted, i have not seen very many plays, but i thought this one was fairly amazing. especially seeing as it was put on by students. the busie-body (s. centlivre), is very similar to the first play i saw, the merry wives of windsor; the two plays center on liberty and self-determination of women and contain a fair amount of satire, to say nothing of good, quality humor. it was one of those experiences that--after all is said and done--becomes a bright spot of joy and memory amidst the monotony of life. i guess it just makes you feel good inside.

i had another one of those moments earlier today. i preface the following with this: i have not had a "winter" in the last 18 months, what with going abroad and all. (ushuaia, although cold, doesn't count)

so i woke up this morning and college place looked like this.



my roomate asks me, "hey, do you want to go sledding?" my first inclination was to say no (accursed introvert that i am), but i said yes. so we drove, along with a bunch of other people, into the blue mountains of oregon. after half an hour, this is what our little piece of the world looked like.





i spent the day (actually, all of two hours) just hanging out in the snow. it made me happy. 'nuff said.




question of the day: why do we say half an hour, as opposed to saying a half hour?

epilogue (or addendum, not sure which)

i apologize for the last post--removed to save face. comma splices are harder to see at 2 am. even if there are about a million of them. that's what i get for trying to serve leftovers instead of cookin' up some new blog sustenance. oh the shame, oh the shame.