F in 6th

2011-12-21T21:53:00.004-05:00

Ghost

I guess I'd forgotten the feeling. Maybe I'd never recognized it.

I was sitting in a coffee shop. I was in a town that was basically foreign. There was little chance- an infinitesimally small chance- that I'd seen anyone I knew, or who knew me. It's the feeling you get when traveling alone. A solitude amidst strangers, an odd quiet.

It's a feeling that's like ... freedom. No one knows you. There are no expectations when you're out in the world like that. You can react to anything however you want. You can make friends, ignore everyone, hunker down in a book. You can't do the same thing in the coffee shop in your town. Maybe the barista knows you. Maybe someone you know walks in, tosses a glance in your direction. Then it's ruined. You're back in the persona you've crafted. There are platitudes that must be maintained, general acknowledgement of whatever person recognizes you from a previous dealing.

In transit, in far away space, the rules are thrown out. You're reset. There's no audience, and hence no performance.

It's the same reason I relish time alone in my home.

I'm thinking this feeling is a problem.

I'm thinking this feeling is based on a basic disconnection from others. More importantly, a need to disconnect from others.

Do I always perform?

Why?

2011-12-12T21:03:00.002-05:00

First, Best Destiny

"If I may be so bold, it was a mistake for you to accept promotion. Commanding a starship is your first, best destiny; anything else is a waste of material."
-Spock

I knew this would happen. I arrived home at the end of my two year sojourn. At first I was overjoyed. Then I felt lost, discovering the fallacy of hoping it would all be the same. Then I felt sad ... alone.

Now it's been half a year. My usual patterns have emerged. I've grown comfortable in my work. I've tried dating. I've made several serious mistakes. I've developed a new circle of friends.

They were all far from halcyon, but looking back, my best times were when I was logistically (although not emotionally) overwrought. When the work was pouring in. When my time was in demand. When I was dating a girl and had really fallen for her. When I was teaching someone something- anything. When I couldn't sleep because there was simply too much to do, not too much to think about.

Maybe I wasn't at my best, when I think about those times. Maybe I was just too busy to let myself wander. Idle hands.

Maybe I have no best? I suppose that'd be determined by others. I wouldn't dare ask.

Ahab and Kirk felt stagnant when deprived of their great passions. They fell into depression, isolation. In the absence of their pursuits, they were not themselves. They missed their first, best destiny.

Have I already missed it?

Am I still waiting for it?

Is it a job? A role? A family?

Whither shall I go? ... what am I waiting for?

2011-11-12T20:31:00.002-05:00

Leader of Men

I spent the day with my grandparents today. It was a good day. We shared experiences, time, and conversation. We conversed about recent events and noteworthy issues of family interest. It was, in a few words, innocuous, extremely polite.

At his peak, my grandfather managed well over a hundred people. He helped lead the development of a multi-billion dollar radar defense project that is still the best system in the world today. He tells tales of his early career, spending weeks on-board naval ships and working to prove the validity of their design. He stood on deck countless times, watching his work play out before him in either a triumphant ball of flame (target destroyed) or an anticlimactic, damning splash of foam (target lost).

Tonight I looked at him and realized that the man who did that work may be gone. Of course, all of us wane and change in time. I am not who I was 5 years ago, or 1 year ago. But towards the end, as in the beginning, perhaps the acceleration is heightened. The change is more apparent.

I sought to discuss cogent issues tonight, if only one or two. Maybe it was because my grandmother was there. Maybe it's because he doesn't see me as an adult, or my opinions as valid. Maybe there are reasons I don't know about. But he sat still, quiet, unreactive through most of dinner. His only comments were dismissive, absolutist, unwavering. There was no discussion. There was no admission that maybe there were other ways things could be seen.

Most impactfully, his comments stood in stark opposition to my own. His faith sat far from mine, as did his beliefs. He saw no light where I do, and I did not understand where he thought light was coming from.

In a cliche wish, would that I could sit and talk with my grandfather at various points in his life. I want to hand a beer to a 25-year-old David, with two kids at home and an unproven design sitting in the hull of a battlecruiser in the Pacific. I want to stand at the oak desk of a 35-year-old Mr. Herman, his three kids underway and an empire of influence expanding outward from his successful design. I want to beg the time of 50-year-old Senior Manager Herman, learn from him how to lead 100 people in a purposeful manner to a final, important goal.

Maybe we'd find no common ground. Maybe we would. But right now, all I know is that when I watched my grandfather walk away tonight, I felt an intense, undeniable emptiness inside me. There's a disconnect between myself and this man, a man whom I am connected to in so many incontrovertible ways.

I want to mend that disconnection. I want to pick his brain, tell him my own tales, seek his wisdom and knowledge. I am finally, after a quarter of a century, capable of relating to him in some small, real way. Of understanding his work, his sacrifice, his choices, his life.

I am here, now, where he was, then ... look! Can't you see? I'm here now, I'm ready! I can understand! I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry I was so focused on such petty things this whole time. Girls, music, school, drinking. I'm finally beginning to gain a broader perspective. I'm finally putting that all behind me. I can see now that I must find purposeful work. I must find love. I must raise a family, and do so in a fashion that my children can find these things as well.

Please ... don't be gone. Don't let your mind be clouded. Don't stand behind intransigence. Don't tout outdated beliefs and refuse to hear others. Please just listen to me.

I need you now more than I ever have. I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry ... I did the best I could and I need you now.

Please just listen to me.

2011-10-31T12:59:00.004-04:00

Frayed

The discovery and excitement are the positive points. There's always something new to see and to do. Somewhere to go, someone to meet. Whole cadres and masses of people to be exposed to. Some you pass dutifully, some you greet, some become friends, a rare few become real, deep connections.

So there's that. That's been a high point, something to be understood as a benefit and a blessing. Not everyone gets the chance to move around and have so many adventures. I've taken in and done more new things in that last two years than perhaps the last ten. I've met hundreds of people, heard hundreds of perspectives on life and love and living. The amount I've learned can't be quantified.

And yet, I can't seem to shake this feeling of becoming ... unhinged. Like the constant transience has worn away any sense of stability. To borrow a phrase, it almost feels I've become "Sort of stretched, like ... butter scraped over too much bread." A ghost.

I am in eternal flux; I think that's the root cause of my stretched feeling. It isn't so much the alteration of location, or the amount of travel, but the frequent loss of people. Every time I've developed a base of friends, people on whom I feel I can rely and talk to and even trust, I'm out the door and down the road. Then it's back to square one with an ever longer roster of distant confidantes, far away comrades, and (sometimes) former lovers.

It's as though someone keeps setting off a bomb, and the ensuing blasts rescatter my best friends to the four corners of the globe.

I've grown to abhor saying goodbye. A goodbye is always followed by long hours of solitude in motion, filled with nostalgia and longing. It often comes with a promise of return, but the return can never be soon. There are simply too many other places to go, too much else to do, too much cost. And maybe the promise of return is empty, at its core ... maybe the connection we share is already almost severed from excessive strain. Maybe this is the last time I'll see you, because the next few phone calls will be truncated, abrupt, lacking a commonality of experience that we can share and use to stay close.

I know that change is a part of life. Friends, places, jobs, love will all come and go. Everything in life is only for now.

But ... I think it's the intensity and frequency of the recent changes in my life that are affecting me. Every year has involved a complete change in vocation and focus. Every year has involved a tearful goodbye to a woman, and to friends, I've loved. Every year has ended in a solo trip over the horizon. And the general chaos, hecticity, and self-destruction between the transitions haven't helped.

In short, I feel worn. The physical strain has lessened since my return to PA, but I'm finding that the emotional strain has not. The goodbyes are harder than they ever were. Living alone, while more palatable than it was in KY, still sometimes leaves me with a feeling of intense isolation.

Worse, I can feel the looming gloom of my next move already. I can feel the sadness of having to schedule a farewell night. I can feel the weight of the boxes I'll be loading into the car, the weight of my foot on the gas pedal. I can feel what the hugs and high fives and well wishes will be like, the warmth followed by the sudden coldness.

Maybe I won't move? Maybe I will?

In the meantime, I need to find a way to feel more comfortable with these feelings. Saying goodbye is a part of life- things have fallen as they are, and we can't go backwards. I should value the fact that I have so many things from my past to miss. So many hundreds of memories and people have left me with a smile on my face and a good, if bittersweet, feeling. I must have lived a good life so far. I must be pretty lucky.

Maybe I'm putting too much emphasis on the goodbyes. Frequent loss probably instills this focus in you, to the point that you can't see beyond the things you wish you still had. But ... I'd hate to miss out on an important hello for want of a goodbye that's already past. And if I've learned one thing, it's that you never know when those important hellos will happen.

2011-10-31T12:18:00.002-04:00

Years Ago Today II

One year ago today, I was working the Westlake outage in Louisiana and preparing for final inspections of the main process-side outlet vessels.

Two years ago today, I was in Kentucky learning how to use an IR thermal imaging gun to determine the health of impedance heater connections.

Three years ago today, I was learning the code logic to "Heatrate", a program designed to determine the efficiency of a coal-fired power plant.

Four years ago today, I was learning how to integrate the bending moment about a curved specimen for a given applied force.

2011-10-14T21:00:00.004-04:00

Important Things

"Good morning, Cadets."

"Don't bring me back what I WANT. Bring me what I NEED. Bring me news about stuff I don't even KNOW about. The best solution isn't what I SAY, it's just the BEST. BRING ME THE BEST."

"Are you going to be legendary?"

"Greet all people with humility and sincerity. You'd be astonished who will help you if you're humble and sincere."

"A lot of men think with their dicks. Some men think with their heads. Only a very few men think with their hearts."

"I seen a lot. I ain't never seen a man who won't come to your back if you've helped him before. It takes a lot for a man to forget you that way."

"All people are people. They're just that. There's no one you can't talk to."

"Be live. Be in person. An e-mail can be ignored, as can a phone call. Be a problem, right in front of someone. Be a big, fat, live, smiling problem. Make it someone's best option just to deal with you. Make it their own best interest to help you. Cause once they help you- you'll leave them alone, won't you?"

"No one's perfect. But excellence- my god, isn't that real? Can't you be that? An excellent mom, an excellent son, an excellent person ... can't you be any one of those?"

[smelling of grease, sweat] ... "I'm home."

"Nine-nine-point-one-five."

2011-10-05T21:40:00.002-04:00

Megaman

There. I did it. I made it back. My sole mission of the last two years- a mission I lauded, elevated to newfound heights!- was to get right back to where I am right now. Everything between then and now was temporary. A sacrifice. Something I had to do because ... I had to do it.

Yes.

And since everything was some temporary sacrifice, some transient happenstance that was never to be my final destiny, why worry? Why settle? Why focus on any of it, at all?

Of course.

The isolation. My humor a shipwreck on the rocks of a foreign vernacular, the mast of my most dependable sail snapping. When she called and told me it was over, another snap. Watching the sun set, ten horizons away from my nearest friend, leaning against the back of my car after running like something was chasing me. Taking in desperately powerful doses of loved ones to tide me over until I could get my next fix.

The hecticity. The unending travel, long days, longer nights. The feeling of ultimately hollow importance, purpose, drive. I-10. I-10. I-10. Night after night. The nights of a job, talking about nothing but the job, sleep with the job in your head, wake up and put the job back together in the shower, over eggs. The nights in the city, mindless, dissociative banter if the music isn't too loud, feigned fervor and excitement if the music is too loud. A bright spot ... a connection, but at a distance. An immeasurable, impossible distance.

And finally, here. Look, I made it.

How could I have possibly thought anything would be the same when I got back? That I'd be the same when I got back? That coming back to a location was the same as coming back to a time?

I was counting on returning to a life that was gone the moment everyone else left. The moment they left, that iteration of myself disappeared too. Months later, when I finally did leave, I was already changed. Different. And- foolishly- eagerly awaiting my own triumphant return.

I haven't processed anything since then. Not any of it. It was all just temporary. A silly story for later, about that time I went and did all those things, lived all those days. It was an interlude, tiding me over until the great grand hope of here could be realized.

It all came in anyway, filled me up. Charged my mind, weighed on my heart. I didn't want to admit it. Acceptance of those days and nights and feelings would be acceptance that return was impossible, that the period of my life I'd so treasured was truly gone. I did my best to ignore it, distract it, confuse it, dilute it, drown it.

I've spent two years waiting on an impossibility.

The only way forward is forward. Right now, forward means turning around, looking at these years, and facing all that's happened.

And I'm deathly, hysterically afraid of what I'm going to find.

2011-01-15T20:18:00.003-05:00

Time

There shall be choices, now. Choices of consequence. The demands on your time will be unrelenting. They will not acquiesce to your requests that they let you go. You will need to choose how you would spend your hours. Hours which are distinctly finite but seemingly never ending (now).

You must choose how you would be. Whither would you devote your energies? What would you build? Whom would you impress?

"Today I choose this."

And so it shall be. Tomorrow? I cannot say. I hope I choose right.

2010-12-18T21:01:00.003-05:00

Footsteps

My dad is the hardest working man I know. For two thirds of my life, his work was what defined him. He would work 14 hours a day, write a schedule at the kitchen table, sleep 5 hours, and head back to the restaurant. I witnessed him in awe, exhibiting reverence and developing a sense of hero worship. He was my definition of manhood. He was Superman.

Then ... Dad broke. His body finally crashed, long before his will or his mind showed even the faintest of cracks. His physicality destroyed, he struggled in pain for a few more years before he finally had to accept his fate. He had to abandon that which consumed so many of his waking hours.

That's when I learned who my dad was.

Dad was sad, to say the least. Crestfallen, struck down, might be better. Trapped in a neck brace, probably wrapping his head around the stark and unforgiving paradigm shift that had become his life. He was condemned to 60% mobility above the neck, nearly 100% immobility beyond the couch. Beginning high school, I was embroiled in a myriad of inconsequential teenage concerns that left me wholly insensitive to his thoughts. I saw him in passing. I regret this.

Then Dad did a miraculous thing. He became, instead of 100% confined to the couch, 100% Dad. No longer beholden to his bosses, his budgets, his restaurant, his work, he grew into something more. A man who probably would have had to work appeared at my marching band competitions. A man who probably grit his teeth at my own practicing appeared at my jazz band shows. Hell, he was home every day when school ended, no matter what.

I didn't realize the portent of this until it happened. Quite simply ... Dad came home.

I don't pretend to know how it was for him, or Mom. We don't necessarily talk like that as a family. In the Irish tradition, silent actions scream where words are not spoken. But I know who I saw, and how often I saw him, and the change was a good one. A great one.

So here I am at almost 25, and an opportunity sits in front of me. An opportunity for possible greatness, and it's my favorite kind. It's difficult, unrelenting, punishing, and most would turn it down in a heartbeat. It will drive me to my edge and demand more of me than anything I've done before. It will require of me that which anyone would be wont to give. It will require sacrifice.

Like Dad's restaurant.

A part of me wants to take this opportunity, specifically for these reasons. To build that which others would not- bear the burden as an indefatigable Atlas. To strive and cry and whine and be a martyr for having made the choice I wanted to.

And I'm happy to say ... I probably won't take it. Dad's example got me to this point. Dad showed me what work ethic was all about. Dad showed me that to stand out, you had to be exceptional. That, perhaps lacking great talent, one must place unmitigated determination in its place.

Then, a few years ago, Dad showed me what it really was to be great.

There will be more opportunities. I work hard, I strive for excellence, and fortune has been kind to me. But this time, I have a chance to be something more than a good worker. I can be a good son, a good grandson, a good brother.

I have the chance to come home.

I wonder- what would I miss more, 50 years from now, on my deathbed? The endless hours sitting in a boiler that I could choose ... or the dozen more talks with Poppop? The extra visits home? The trips to the city to see my brother and uncle?

Good thing someone showed me the answer already.

2010-06-24T20:44:00.002-04:00

Salve

"If I had a son that I never screwed up at all, he'd be you. You've got a head on your shoulders and a heart in your chest. Go all the way, and come on back when you can. We'll be here."

-Dale Harrell, Waste Water Treatment Crew Foreman

2010-06-21T22:58:00.002-04:00

Garden, Keystone, Bluegrass, Lone Star

For the first time in my life, I stand on the precipice of moving beyond the horizon- but without some willing tie to that which I leave behind. My family is not here, my friends are scattered, and my coworkers are just that, if good ones. I have never encountered a situation such as this, where I journey onward without some heavy sense of mourning and loss.

Off to college, I left behind my first love (and didn't come back).

Off to work, I left behind my second love (and she moved on, too).

And now I sit before some intermediate but altogether major step. Will the work be good? What adventures are to be found? Whom will I meet? What good- and bad- will befall me in the coming twelve months, which I can scant but imagine right now?

In the past, I always found this type of change to be announced by some happenstance or distinct change in mood. A sudden urge to sleep outdoors as the wind changes. A chance meeting in a laundromat. A walk with a friend down an old hallway. This time there has been no vanguard to herald the arrival of another life transition. One day I will be here, the next I will be somewhere else.

So it is. Part of me misses the heavy feeling. And part of me ... feels elated. Bewildered.

Free.

2010-06-17T02:22:00.004-04:00

"Having tried my hand and attempted my mind at a variety of pursuits in my youth, I always found myself lacking in some capacity, either particular or generalized. Whether such deficit lay in the skill of my digits, the coordination of my muscles, the strain of my thought, the pitch of my ear, or the selection of my mind, this has ever been the case.

Initially, I reacted to these discoveries with a sense of determinism. Others could perform such acts and maneuver such invention- why couldn't I? Wasn't I, too, born with intrinsic abilities to match those of my peers? As the years passed, however, I came to understand that I would never match others in most of my endeavors. Training and practice could only take me so far.

My eyes and arms would never cooperate efficiently enough to perform with the skill of other athletes. My musical ears and breath would never react and adjust as naturally as those of other musicians. I would never be able to look at a logical problem and form a logical solution with the adeptness and speed of other intellectuals.

My thoughts and feelings eventually turned to sadness and a pointed sense of loss, then jealousy. My body and mind were a betrayal of the promise of my existence, condemning me to a life of mediocrity and struggle. To be continually outclassed and unable to retort to the powers and claims of others- what living is that?

It is consolation to know that nature abhors a vacuum; entropy and uniformity are its continual pursuit. That is to say, potential inherently desires to dissipate and flow, to bring up that which is down and vice versa. So it was in my soul. I found myself wanting, serving as a vacuum in a sea of talent and ability. Finding little to match those around me, my only recourse was to fill the gap with the means available.

What I found was an unflinching determination, an uncompromising desire to match them however I might do so. So it was: if I could not rival others in sheer skill, I should rival and surpass them in developing what skill I had. They were the masters of raw skill. I should be the master apprentice. The master student. The master of learning, training, and tutelage.

So I stand today. My skill in any given facet or craft is as minimal as ever, easily outdone by most all I encounter. What success I have found must be atrributed to the devotion with which I have confronted all that I have undertaken. Whether to run, to play music, to work, to love ... I have ever sought to fill the vacuum I sense around and within me. My nature drives me to learn and overcome those deficiencies of body and mind which may be overcome.

Let this be said of me: a patron to the art of learning, a devout parishioner at the altar of human will. Such is my nature, and I find myself happy for it."

2010-05-16T10:16:00.002-04:00

Protection

"The reason I am wary of others protecting me is that they most commonly do so by lying to me, to spare me some hardship they think I cannot or should not handle. So often, though, they are protecting me from themselves, from some unintentional misery they would create for me through their actions. The worst part is that they, being human, usually cannot withstand the misery of the lie, the action, and the ensuing guilt that accompany both, and so they eventually confess their protection of me all the same. Now I have lost two things- my happiness, and my trust in my would-be protector.

No, I do not need your protection. I need your courage. I need your trust. I need your faith in me and your faith in yourself. I need you to speak to me as a friend would- with earnest, passionate honesty. I need to know that there are those who would speak to me and tell me what I must hear from a source I would trust to say it. Otherwise the whole of my life is a lonely illusion, listening to false praise and empty banter.

Objective reasoning is the greatest of humankind's skills. Do not deprive me of mine- and therefore my ability to understand and interpret this world as I may- by withholding truth for the sake of well-meaning but ultimately dangerous intentions."

I have tried to protect others and have had others try to protect me. Both led to ruin.

I don't think of the above quote in the context of protection of innocence. There is no sense springing graphic or disturbing facts upon children, for example, who lack the understanding and experience to comprehend them intelligently. Between two adults, though ...

Maybe I will change my views on this when I have met the woman I'll marry. For right now, though, it's something to think about. As ever, the data speaks for itself. I have never come across a situation where this type of protection has improved a relationship or friendship. Most often it has been a precursor and direct contributor to some brutal and violent end, when a confession leads to long hidden truths, tears, and heartache.

2010-04-24T18:46:00.003-04:00

Profile of the Louisville Mini

Mile 0 - Noticeable increase in heartrate and pulse. I begin to grow anxious as I stand alone in the B corral waiting for the signal to start. I wonder if I'll be able to finish this thing without stopping. A cursory check of my systems says that my legs, lungs, and stomach all seem to be in good shape. Time to go.

Mile 0.25 - A sudden betrayal by my digestive tract. Where there was once peace and understanding now sits a churning whirlpool of hate and fire. An urgent, desperate calling from my lower half promises quick violence with release and prolonged agony without. I scan the roadside- there is no respite to be offered. Teeth clenched, I chug on.

Mile 0.75 - Grateful leap into line for the first grouping of port-o-johns. I wait impatiently. What is that woman doing, knitting a goddam sweater in there? She leaves; the violence is quicker than promised. I make do with the available resources and exit the facility. Free of its extra strain, my body reacts with unforeseen energy. I bound forward effortlessly, held to the earth only by my inescapable mass and mercilessly low coefficient of lift.

What a great shit.

Mile 2.00 - What was once a fun frolic amidst 15,000 companions has turned ugly once more. Whoever invented hills, especially hills in parks, can suck my dick.

Mile 2.75 - I find inspiration when I stumble upon "The Elvises." A bunch of dudes are dressed up as Elvis and push a stroller containing a boombox. The crowd sings along to "In the Ghetto," unperturbed by their predominantly Caucasian, white-collar, middle class+ standing. The irony and music push me forward.

Mile 3.5 - The top hill is crested. As others fly past me, I try to exercise the restraint advised by those who have run before. "Don't blow your load early."

Would that I could store such wisdom in jars.

Mile 5.0 - The flat section is comparatively easy, but I grow restless. The infinite line of homes and street lights on this unwavering road proves surprisingly successful in undermining my sense of distance. Only the mile markers are indicative of progress. Without them, I should not know whither I moved forward or back amidst a sea of grunting humanity.

Mile 5.5 - Orange slices! Yay!

Mile 7.0 - We enter Churchill Downs. Expecting grandiose bearings and a sense of undue wealth and propriety, I find a horse track that smells every bit as shitty as the Lancaster County farm fair. This quick visit has not enlightened me to the wonder of the Kentucky Derby. Also, the Budweiser stand is closed.

Miles 8.0 to 10.0 - Panic. As the race meanders through narrower streets and less affluent neighborhoods, it is difficult to find mile markers. Missing markers 8 and 9 consecutively, my eyes grow wild. I rely on the only information to be had to measure my progress- rumors from those about me.

"This is mile 10!"

"This is mile 8!"

Worse- "This is mile 7!"

But, but ... but ... it said that when we left Churchill Downs ... surely that must have been a half hour ago? 10 minutes ago? That could not be now? How could it be now, when it was then? What was THEN cannot be NOW.

And who are you to decry my claim that this must be mile 9? Who are you to deny my exhaustion, with your own subjective "feel" for your pace and your stupidly large plastic watch with which to quantify it?

You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you and that bitch you're running with! I will not be denied that this is mile 9 ... it, it just must be. It is. It must be. It must be because I have decided it is. You're no one and I am myself, and I WILL CLAIM THIS TO BE MILE 9 IF I HAVE TO CLUB YOU TO DEATH WITH OWN MY SNEAKER TO MAKE IT SO.

Mile 10.0 - I pass mile marker 10 and decide to call off the murder of "Big Watch Guy." He and his girlfriend actually seem pretty nice. My bad.

Mile 11.0 - The massive cramp in my left side decides to go on vacation and hops a train to my right side. Honestly, I would have missed him if he'd decided to go abroad. Good thing he stuck around.

Mile 12.0 - We enter the city district, with much taller buildings (and therefore shade) but distinctly less airflow. I find my legs offering loud warnings of impending pain. In an interesting reversal, the pain will apparently manifest when (if?) I stop running. Until then, all evidence of such pain is restricted to a clear and growing tautness in my calves and hamstrings.

I reflect on the nature of my legs. Right now they are simply parts in a moving machine. As with those of any machine, any construct of man, or any natural construct, these parts abhor change. Once brought to speed at a desirable level of functionality, their "best" future lay in the unending continuance of that speed, serving that functionality. Yes, an end lay in their future regardless ... energy and mass must inherently disperse as they are moved and exchanged over time. Entropy must increase. Maintenance must be required.

Applied to my current situation, the change will be me bringing their speed to zero. The outcome will be painful chemical buildup and cellular strain that reach critical mass due to this change. I do not look forward to it.

Mile 13.0 - The struggle has become intolerable as exhaustion takes its toll. The straight road of miles 6 through 11 has given way to a series of labrynthine twists and turns in the city district. Every new direction that fails to present a finish line elicits an angry groan from the running crowd. One turn in particular drops us in front of a steep incline not entirely unlike the hills from the park. Who the hell was in charge of that call?

Mile 13.1 - I don't realize I'm adding speed until I'm halfway between the last turn and the finish line. I'm sprinting as fast as I can. My last conscious decision is to not look at the finish line. As I run under something, it's over. I slow down to a walk.

The immediate stabs in my legs and locking of my neck muscles threaten to paralyze me. I guess I had been running with a hunched back for the last few miles? I stagger forward. A smiling man hands me a medal. I put it around my neck. I stagger further. Water is everywhere. I see someone filling the cups with a hose from an indeterminable source- I do not care. I down several cups, stagger more, and take 4 mini bottles of Powerade. I swallow two of them and finally begin to feel distention of my stomach.

The distention brings on my first smile after the race. It reminds me of San Antonio in 2005, when I guzzled a Gatorade between brass block and ensemble and then threw it up behind the stands minutes later. I recall the whole incident with no small level of fondness. Funny how that works.

All in all, it was a good race, I'm proud of my time, I'm proud of the fact I never stopped (except for that awesome, awesome shit), and I'm glad I did it. I might even do another one.

As for right now, I'm going to go drink water and fall asleep on my couch at 7 PM. Happy Saturday night.

2010-04-12T16:27:00.002-04:00

Belly of the Whale

The more I think about it, the more I don't actually want to go back to the east coast yet.

As much as I complain about the differences in culture and struggle with the loneliness of it all, it feels like it's too soon to go back. It feels like going back now would be premature- almost as though I would be retreating to the safety and comfort of home. I would have come out here and learned for only nine months. I would have grown some but not enough. There just wouldn't be any real cause for celebration, no sense of glory for having accomplished something in the wilds. I would be flying, not fighting.

Houston, on the other hand, is a whole new challenge yet again. A foreign city with a brand new job and paltry contacts to speak of. The closest thing I will have experienced to Houston is St Louis. Even then, every city is different and the two are separated by 1,000 miles of distance. The brand new job will probably be the most technically difficult role I've ever attempted. The lack of contacts will be similar to what I found here but with significantly more potential to develop and flourish.

What's more, I don't think home has changed enough to my liking yet. There are still too many old acquaintances floating around the area. The roads are too similar. The shops and restaurants haven't had a chance to undergo significant changes yet. My return in July would feel like this whole excursion was some kind of extended field trip, nothing more.

No ... it is important to push on. It is important to go west, seeking my fortune on a new horizon. And it is so very important to choose the new road, the difficult road, the road that will lead to somewhere I can't see at all.

"The idea that the passage of the magical threshold is a transit into a sphere of rebirth is symbolized in the worldwide womb image of the belly of the whale. The hero, instead of conquering or conciliating the power of the threshold, is swallowed into the unknown and would appear to have died. This popular motif gives emphasis to the lesson that the passage of the threshold is a form of self-annihilation. Instead of passing outward, beyond the confines of the visible world, the hero goes inward, to be born again. ... allegorically, then, the passage into a temple and the hero-dive through the jaws of the whale are identical adventures, both denoting in picture language, the life-centering, life-renewing act."

-J. Campbell

2010-03-23T08:27:00.002-04:00

Quotes from Atlas

"Love is our response to our highest values."

"Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong."

Sometimes it's difficult to accept the truth if it's not something you want to know. But there's no comparison between the fallacy of joy experienced in fiction and the sincerity of joy experienced in truth. The difference is that joy stemming from truth is devoid of the paranoia, anxiety, and fear that accompany joy stemming from fiction- especially self-induced fiction.

It's right to hope for things, and it's requisite for happiness that we strive to achieve our hopes. As in any endeavor, though, one must frequently take a look at the known truths of a situation and determine the feasibility of continuing. An infinite number of conflicts will always be present, standing between yourself and the hope you seek to fulfill. It takes an objective perspective to be able to look at those conflicts and determine the best course of action to take. If the best course of action from your perspective is indeed to end an endeavor, and seek to fulfill your hopes elsewhere ... that takes ever more maturity, courage, and self-understanding.

The most successful among us will always be those who can reconcile objective understanding with passionate faith in achieving their hopes.

2010-03-21T13:03:00.003-04:00

Worth

It only took five years, but I think I'm beginning to understand.

There is nothing wrong with basing your worth on achievement. As a matter of fact, it's the only way to build worth for most people. The key is to work to achieve those things which most align with your values.

I understand myself enough to know that my greatest happiness is derived from achievement, and the recognition of that achievement by others whom I respect or love. In the past I may have derided this quality, and viewed it as a weakness. But truly- where else should I have turned to find a source of self-worth?

I believe now that my mistake was not in the assignment of my source of worth, but in how narrowly I defined its terms. I felt as though something was missing because I included only academic or professional accomplishment in my definition of achievement. And while those two fields do comprise much of the achievement I've gained in my lifetime, it was immature to look only to them. I suppose they were easiest because they were the most simply quantifiable, and were the goals to which I devoted most of my time.

The last six months, though, have brought enough change to my life that I have begun to see more. I always remembered the lessons of the Cadets, but until now I don't think my perspective was broad enough to really appreciate the most important one. What Hop was always trying to say was that achievement means delivering value through excellent performance- and that's all there is to the definition. Achievement need not be restricted to how well I complete engineering calculations or how well I play my trombone. It need not and should not be restricted at all.

As seemingly obvious as this revelation may have been to everyone else, it feels like a new dawn to me. The unveiling of a truth that I have trusted enough to act upon, yet never addressed consciously. It is as though a whole new manner of thinking, previously just beyond my reasonable reach, may now be used day to day. Most importantly, the understanding I am just now chasing and trying to develop brings me to a state of the most serene confidence and joy.

There will be times in my life, right now included, where I will be sad, lonely, hurt, and nervous about the future. I am and will be scared of things. But what I can carry with me is the knowledge of who I am, and what I do.

I strive to achieve- to deliver value, excellently. Doing so brings me the greatest happiness I have known. That knowledge about myself means that, so long as I act with the broadest possible definition of achievement, I never really need fear for my future.

I will continue to work to be an excellent engineer and businessman. I will continue to learn as an excellent student, in whatever fields I may learn, for the rest of my life. More importantly than those two, I will continue to strive for excellence as a son, brother, and friend. Someday, I will work to be an excellent husband, and an excellent father. Because I know that doing well in all these roles is what will bring me happiness, I have no real need to be afraid of what the future will bring.

Whatever happens- and bad things will happen- I will fight to achieve. I will be me ... and I'm lucky to know that.

2010-03-13T21:58:00.002-05:00

Formative

"Good morning, Cadets. Today you're in ... I don't know. It doesn't matter. Food truck is outside the main door, practice fields behind it. We're going to work. Doesn't matter where we are."

"Are you going to be legendary?"

"You gotta be broken down before you can be built into what you're supposed to be. The body wasn't made for this- so they make it for you."

"Wake up, and go to work."

"This isn't drum corps. You need to remember whom you're speaking to, and when, and what they're after. You can't address people as you would be- you need to address them as they want to be."

"Those are men out there. Men with jobs, and families, and who have worked here for 30 years. They're proud, and they know their shit, and they're scared. The front line is always scared- and you gotta remember that."

"You're not a manager until you've fired someone. Looked them in the face and said, 'No. Not you. Thank you.' And not for anything they did- for something beyond your power and theirs. I've cried with people. I've found new jobs for people. But you're not a manager until you've told someone they have to go home to their family, and have no job."

"I'm not worried about dying. I can't do anything about that. I just don't want to leave you guys behind. I've got a lot left to do."

"I got enough cream-filled donuts for both of you. Be nice and wake me at 12! Love, Mom."

"You gotta let those guys know that what they're doing is valuable. Maybe not to them ... maybe they're a contractor. What do they care? What they might care about is doing a good job if you walk away and say, 'Those were some good guys who did some good work. I'll call them next time.' That means work to them, money to them, food to them. That's value."

"If it were up to me, I'd take all that cancer out of her body. I'd eat it like candy and die tomorrow, if I knew that that meant she could watch our grandson grow up. I don't know a lot, but I know that."

"See, there were guys at school who would spend 8, 10 hours a day in the practice room. I always beat them, and I only spent 2-3 hours there per day. The trick isn't how many hours you spend doing something ... it's how many hours did you spend effectively doing something?"

"It depends on your definition of achievement. I base mine on many things. There are always kids like you- but would you say I've let you squander your drive, or your time? There's a balance, between all of you. All I hope is I've done enough for them ... and for you."

"Integrity is the key to your success."

"Learning is painful. If you think you're learning and it's not painful, then it must be your passion, or you must not be learning. And I doubt very many of you think of cost-benefit analysis as your passion."

"I wish I could have been home more. I wish I had been home more."

"Is this what you bring to me? A week of time, and you bring reasons why you didn't do what you were supposed to do? I have no time for this, or for you, now. I don't want this. I want people who bring me what I ask for. Even better- I want people who question what I ask for and make it better. But you haven't brought me anything. So what would you have me do?"

"You started out so shy, so quiet ... and you've become a showman. If I didn't know how hard you worked, I would be concerned for the decency of our institution. As it is, I'm only concerned for you."

"You're brilliant. At least I think you are. But you need to grow up."

"I love you."

2010-03-11T13:30:00.003-05:00

Cruelty

It seems like people, when acted against, respond in one of two ways. They will either become staunch opponents against such action, or apathetic proponents of such action.

As an example, I think of team meetings back in college. I did the best I could to be on time for those meetings, because people were often late and wasted my time. Others took the opposite view. If others were going to be late, why the hell shouldn't they be late, too? After all, the meeting wouldn't be starting on time anyway. Punctuality would, in their minds, have cost them time.

I stand by the notion that being acted against- intentionally or unintentionally- generates reactionary emotional response in most people. If the action is severe or frequent enough, those acted against may form new behavioral habits. They may begin to make choices that reveal their views on the action itself.

Conversely, if people are not acted against, their perspective may lack an understanding and appreciation of what it is to be acted against. They may continue acting against others without heed, simply for having never experienced the consequences of similar actions themselves. Without an emotional link to connect themselves to the action's outcome, they can remain aloof and objective enough to continue acting in the same way.

The most important thing we can do when bad things happen is to learn. "Learn why the world wags and what wags it." I myself have acted poorly- terribly- to others in the past, with guilt but without much hesitance to continue to do so as the years continued. I was selfish beyond measure, and my perspective lacked the crucial experiences that would have transformed my pity for the victims to abhorrence of the original act itself.

Well ... right now, I'm learning. I will continue to learn. And I will use this pain to push myself to being kinder. More conscientious. Less selfish. More understanding and considerate. Smarter ... and, ultimately, less cruel.

Because if I can't or won't do this, then nothing will have changed, and all of this pain would have been spent on self-pity and sadness.

What a deplorable waste that would be.

2010-03-08T21:39:00.002-05:00

Destiny Manifest

Some nights are easier than others. So are some days.

It feels like it's been a series of rough nights and distracted days since last Wednesday. The acceptance for Houston felt spur of the moment, uncontrolled, wild ... at least, as wild as I've ever been making that kind of decision.

That acceptance also felt like the final hammerfall. I had worked hard to ensure that I would leave all paths open. Come hell or high water, I would have a viable path to go in any direction or in pursuit of any priority. I would earn what I always strive for- opportunity and choice.

In the most basic sense, at least, I succeeded. My hedging worked and I could go as I would. As of last Wednesday at 11 AM, I could have chosen east or west. Familiar or foreign. Possibly big or definitely home.

I still can't articulate what draws me to Houston. I chose Lehigh six years ago because I knew it was the best choice for my future. I choose Houston now from some indefinable sense of need. Of course part of the decision is because a door closed in the east. I could go there and succeed professionally, see old friends and family, drive roads and eat food and live a life known from having lived it. What I can't explain is my desire to ... not. And it's not a slight against those I'd be seeing, not in the least. I miss so many of them so dearly. It's just that that isn't my strongest want right now.

As an aside, part of me would still give almost anything to reopen that door. Part of me always will. It was special, and it made me so unimaginably happy that it still surprises me sometimes. Maybe it's a little worse now, because all of it is strictly in the past. From my own admission I can tell you that my memories of the past are immortalized in the most pleasing ways possible. Almost without exception, I remember the good. I remember the fun, the smiles, and the joy.

Right now I am ponderous, hurt, and lonely ... but the hard decision has been made. The next few steps of my path are set, waiting for me. And you know what? The good news is that there is never any need to wait in life. Not really. There is always progress to be made. There are miles to run, thoughts to ponder, music to play, friends to make, and loved ones to visit.

Another day, another segue.

2010-02-19T10:55:00.000-05:00

Night 1

I wonder who this woman is. I wonder who any of these people are? All I had wanted was a couple drinks, then bed. Why am I down here in a hotel bar (and it’s not even my hotel) talking to these people? Am I getting any joy out of this?

She’s talking about what she does. Insurance. She just passed her cancer insurance exam, so she can sell cancer insurance. This woman sells the ability to pay for your eventual death early. Same as with all medical insurance sales, I guess. Maybe I’m just weirded out by the juxtaposition of their right to sell short on death and their celebration of that right. Maybe I’m drunk.

She’s still talking, now about … how her best friend was shot and died in high school. Jesus Christ, who talks about that with a stranger? She must be pretty drunk, or I guess very forthcoming. Yes, I’d like another, especially if we’re going to keep talking about how our friends got goddam shot in goddam high school.

I’m talking now, explaining what I do, where I’m going, why I’m in this exact location at this exact time. She seems oddly interested in my explanation of how I work as an engineer in what is essentially a glue factory. Ever feel yourself get bored by a story, when you’re the one telling it? You know it’s not interesting, and worse yet you know it’s not going to be interesting?

Ever get bored describing what you do every day?

I finish up, having depressed myself merely by talking about what I’m paid for. She continues talking … her friends talk … I sip … she talks.

Eventually things are quieting down, people are staggering out of the bar. She glances around, then back at me.

“Want to come up, watch some TV or something?”

No, thank you. I’ve got a flight in the morning (lie). I better get to sleep so I can make it and maybe get a little work done during my travels (lie). I’m pretty tired (misdirection).

I’m in a very bad place emotionally and would really just like to get home (truth). I’m sad and lonely and hurt and betrayed and angry and I have this sickening feeling that I’ve lost something very important (truth). Going upstairs with you would bring me no pleasure (truth). And even with all that, I still feel emasculated and embarrassed that I’m turning you down, and I’m sorry (truth).

“No, thanks- I better get to bed. Congrats, again.”

Night 2

Yup, she’s definitely asleep on the other couch. There’s something comforting in seeing a friend, or really anyone you care about, safely at home, tucked in and asleep. Not to say you were worrying about them, but now you know they’re okay. It’s a good feeling.

I didn’t like driving through the city tonight. Forget the fact there was snow on the ground, or I was in an unfamiliar car, or the GPS couldn’t get a signal. There were too many memories. I even passed the street where she dropped off her bones. Very clear images from that day splattered across the inside of my head. Paintballs exploding.

The road and street signs made me hate them because I could remember them. The distance between the feelings I had then and the ones I have now is too far. It was a bittersweet but content happiness, peppered with hope and faith. The bittersweetness was from having to leave. The happiness was from having been there. The faith was from what I thought I had read in her eyes.

None of that was left.

I woke up to my friend turning the TV off.

“Have a good night- looks like neither of us made it through the movie. I’m going to bed.”

I rolled over. There’s something comforting about a friend’s couch, too.

Night 3

I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up from drinking at a bar.

Staring down at a toilet, spitting, feeling your organs being compressed upward by the muscles in your abdomen … they’re all very distinct physical sensations. When was the last time I threw up, anyway?

I staggered back out a few minutes later when the nausea had subsided a little. I was drunk, more drunk than the two previous nights combined, and I was starting to realize I was piecing together chunks of time to form memories.

Another drink? Okay. Not a shot though.

[break]

Walking outside the bar. Cold air. Someone yelling. “Get in the car.”

[break]

Walking up to my house. Kitchen. Snacks. Txt. Txet. Tetx. Extt. Text.

[break]

The room is spinning. I have good friends. I have really good friends. I’m not even sad right now. I’m nauseous and content. I have good friends. I’m not sad at all. How could I be? I have good friends.

…

I’m alone.

2010-01-24T23:19:00.004-05:00

12/31/95

Things have happened. Myriads of things. There's no time to cover all that has happened now, there's been simply too much. I wouldn't want to shortchange any individual thing by leaving it out, or describing it in less detail than the thing has decidedly come to deserve. No. The things themselves shall come to reflection in time. The most important or influential of them might even pass through this long-ignored tomb of preponderance.

For now ... holy shit, what to say?

Noting that I have no children to my name and my dear family is still intact [knock on wood], the worst of my immediate fears have all played out in the last six months' time. I have been shipped to the country in the name of career advancement, a place usually reserved for good dogs to run when children are too young to understand death. I have witnessed bad things committed unto myself, vaguely similar but different from bad things I have committed unto others. I have gazed off into the distance and known that by the curvature of the earth, I had not one friend within 10 viewable distances across 10 earth curvatures.

In high school, I was afraid of college. In college, I was afraid of the working world. In relationships, I was afraid of failing and being failed. In friendships, I was again afraid of failing or losing touch. Even in music, I was afraid of missing notes, missing pitch, missing entrances, missing releases. In everything, I was afraid.

If I have learned one thing in this time, it's that facing your fears frees you. Of course there are some fears that will and should remain eternally inexorable. Losing a family member stands out for me, as an example. Parent, child, brother, grandparent- there really shouldn't be anything that can prepare you for that, or help you conjure a rationality behind it.

What I'm talking about are those recountable fears- fears that may lead to loss, to hurt, to suffering, and (most importantly) to change, but not to life-ending events. The only things that cannot be taken back in this world are death and the creation of new life (e.g. babies). Everything else is truly just a transition from one point of falsely static positioning to the next. I say "falsely static" because there is no time in your life when you're not moving, developing, or shaping yourself in some way. Even when stagnant and disheartened, we move, albeit in directions we may not have desired to move to at the start of our progress. Becoming jaded is movement, technically speaking. Becoming cynical and uncaring is movement. Learning to feign to care about yourself, or others, is indeed movement.

The reason facing your fears frees you is that, once the fears are known, there is often much less reason to fear them. What's the worst part of a roller coaster ride? The bottom of the drop? The double-helix? No. The worst part is every moment until the top of the first drop, when your momentum swings just that infinitesimal amount and you realize your fears are immediately and unmistakably going to come true. The worst part is standing in line, sitting in the car, riding the incline up ever so slowly until finally you stand at the top of the sky, look down and come to appreciate- what else?- being alive.

The working world is fine. Just like everything else, there are good days and bad. There are excellent people, and not-so-excellent people. There are an infinite number of ways of doing everything. There are opportunities that suck, and opportunities that might not suck, and opinions contrary to both on all points. To turn a Louisiana phrase, I guess you could say simply "it is what it is." And you know what? Like so many things- that's all it's ever really been, and all it's probably ever going to be.

As for everything else ... well, there's always a chance bad things might just happen. They might happen for the reasons you anticipate, or they might happen for the reasons you can't even begin to fathom. Either way, they're gonna happen. And I have to say, they did hurt. They really did. But interestingly, I haven't found myself losing faith. Not in anyone or anything. There's just too much stuff still out there for these types of fears and losses to drag anyone down forever. I'll be sad for a while- I'll be angry for a while- I'll be absolutely destroyed for a while. But you know what?

It's a magical world ... [so] let's go exploring.

2009-09-08T22:51:00.002-04:00

From Mr. P. Opus

Goodbye, Thursday bagels in Rauch.

Goodbye, lectures with Costa.

Goodbye, WE rehearsals with Barthol, complete with happy hour.

Goodbye, Jueves in all its glory and majestic wonder.

Goodbye, 4th floor lab of Packard.

Goodbye, Aspen Plus models and report for Levy.

Goodbye, John Dalmas and Team Ximax.

Goodbye, 305 1/2 Van Buren St.

Goodbye, Robby, JT, Dwayne, and the other boarders of Casa de Shithole.

Goodbye, walks from Summit Street.

Goodbye, community service and apologies to Residential Life.

Goodbye, Gryphon training and lip sync victories.

Goodbye, pimp-daddies J.R. Aronson and R. Weisman.

Goodbye, big bad Bobby Storer and Stevie Buell, the artful dodger.

Goodbye, dinners in Rathbone with Tabin, Tom, and Michelle.

Goodbye, rounds in Brodhead with friends to stave away the ghosts.

Goodbye, Tits the Cat.

Goodbye, Olimar, Mario, Link, and Barefoot.

Goodbye, s'mores, woodchuck, and 4-6-7.

Goodbye, man training.

Goodbye, 305 1/2 Van Buren Street.

Goodbye, MacGrady's.

Goodbye, bears leaping down the steps of Mohler Labs.

Goodbye, drives to drum corps with Dad.

Goodbye, Gang.

Goodbye, sunrise over campus.

Goodbye, sunrise over Bethlehem.

Goodbye, those of you I've wronged.

Goodbye, those of you who were my heroes.

Goodbye, those of you who helped me so much.

Goodbye, those of you I love.

Goodbye, place where I first learned I couldn't help but love you.

Goodbye, place where I learned what I was made of.

Goodbye, Maura, Shelly, Josh, Graham, Barthol, Jim, Rob, Robby, JT, Dwayne, Amanda, Mark, John, Nick, Rich, Suenee, Bridget, Anthony, Mandy, Chris, Tom, Michelle, Tabin, Bruner, Sarah, Brittany, Leo, Trent, Erik, Christy, Gary, Dan, Rachel, Kirstin, Ali, Christine, Liz, Tanya, Eileen, Emily, Jamie, Grant, Sherman, Jen, Libby, Melissa, Pam ...

Goodbye, me.

And goodbye, Lehigh ... you were wonderful.

2009-09-07T22:00:00.003-04:00

Monomyth

"For those who have not refused the call, the first encounter of the herojourney is with a protective figure ... who provides the adventurer with amulets against the dragon forces he is about to pass. What such a figure represents is the benign, protecting power of destiny. The fantasy is a reassurance ... [that] protective power is always and ever present within or just behind the unfamiliar features of the world. One has only to know and trust, and the ageless guardians will appear. Having responded to his own call, and continuing to follow courageously as the consequences unfold, the hero finds all the forces of the unconscious at his side."
-Joseph Campbell

I handed in my thesis to the department chair, thanked him, and walked out of his office. I passed through the halls of Packard Lab as I had countless times before. Descending a staircase, I turned left, which was the opposite direction from where I wanted to go. I never could figure out which way I was facing when I was inside that building. Ironically, time and space had always seemed to take on a different meaning in the building devoted to developing human mastery over them.

As I realized my mistake in direction, I turned around to find Professor Hart. A former jet pilot and astronaut, Hart was easily one of the most genuine, humble, and helpful faculty members at Lehigh. Taken together, those qualities and experiences made him seem nothing less than supernatural to us. Even without the space flight, though, I imagine we would have at least thought of him as one of the few "cool" professors to be found in our field.

"How goes it, Jeremy?"

"Pretty good ... just turned in my thesis, now I'm making preparations to go to Kentucky to start work."

"Air Products? They're lucky to have you. You're a great student, and you're going to be a great engineer very soon. Just do what you're best at."

"Thanks ... but what's that?"

"Work hard."

We said goodbye and I turned to head outside again. The feelings I had initially experienced after handing in my thesis- relief and exultation- were replaced with something less instinctual. In retrospect, the conclusion I came to reach was obvious, but it was something that simply I hadn't thought of before.

There are a lot more people who believe in me than I'd ever realized.

I sincerely doubt I'll be a maintenance engineer for the next 40 years. I doubt I'll work at this company, or even be an engineer, for half that long. But what I will do in Kentucky is become the best new hire they've ever seen. I'll do what I do best. I'll work hard ... to make options to choose from for the future.

I cross the first threshold in a few days. Wish me luck.

2009-08-15T23:30:00.002-04:00

West

I look back at myself five years ago, entering college, and I kinda laugh.

Borderline neurotic. Desperate. Yearning to prove. And most importantly, most poignantly, most depressingly ... afraid. Absolutely scared to death. Of what?

The whole world.

What if I couldn't do it? What if I didn't make friends? What if I lost her? What if I let my parents down? What would I do with my life? What would I do day to day?

All I wanted was reassurance. If I could have found some way to stay in my comfort zone where I could control everything, I dare say I would have. But what would have been the point of that?

Fear has been the source of all my regrets and mistakes. Fear of disapproval, fear of failure, fear of new things. Fear of loss ... that's probably the worst one. I fear losing things that I'm not even all that attached to, let alone the things I actually love. Nothing gets solved by giving in to that fear, though. Usually acting out of that fear results in more heartache, more sadness, and more regret.

I leave Lehigh and go west in one month. I'm still afraid of some things, but it's very different now. Here, I think I actually learned things worth knowing. Acting out of fear leads to horrible results. I'm capable of overcoming extremely difficult obstacles. Life will continue regardless of what happens, so you better keep going. Most importantly ... optimism and hope count. You can't worry about what hasn't happened yet. All you can do is work for the things that are important to you and not stop.

For now, I'm working to kick off this career thing. I'm working to get out of here on time. I'm working to make it through the year with you far away. I'm working to make sure I stay in touch with family more. I'm working to make new friends and enjoy new experiences. I'm working to keep a sense of humor.

Kentucky, here I come.

2009-07-31T13:53:00.002-04:00

Years Ago Today

From 11:59 PM of Thursday, July 30th

One year ago today, I was at 226 Warren Square, enjoying a Jueves event.

Two years ago today, I was in Salisbury, Maryland working on a hydrogen plant for Air Products.

Three years ago today, I was sitting at home in Jersey after a day of not working at Lockheed Martin.

Four years ago today, I was rehearsing with the Cadets at West Chester University.

Five years ago today, I was working in the liquor department at Genuardi's.

2009-04-23T10:48:00.002-04:00

A Symphonious New World

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ENf4VEhI40&feature=related

I hear this piece and I think of change. All life is transition ... and it's okay to be afraid of it. It's okay to lament the passing of things you know and the farewells of friends you love. It's even okay to not want the change to happen at all. The most important thing is that you just keep going.

I'll write more on this later, but as I sit here in this engineering laboratory and look out over the campus, seeing the trees bloom, feeling the wind blow through the window, hearing Dvorak ...

Goodbye, Lehigh. You've been truly magnificent.

2009-03-23T21:55:00.002-04:00

Quote

"The best times of your life will almost invariably come as a result of the relationships you have with others and the time you devote to those relationships."

2009-03-19T11:08:00.002-04:00

By the Stars in the Sky

I'm sitting in class right now learning about metal deformation. As this lecture has gone on, I haven't been able to think about anything but how little I want to be in this lecture. It's astounding what a pittance of interest I have in anything being discussed or its application to my future career. Should I know about metal forging? Yeah, I'm about to be a real engineer. I should probably know something about the characteristics and issues inherent to metal forging, however boring they may be.

The thing is, I just don't want to. I just don't care. If my job someday is to determine how to optimize a metal forging process and stare at this all day, I might just freak out. Strike that- I will freak out.

Some aspects of engineering intrigue me, I guess. The transformation of energy from chemical bonds in coal to moving electrons in wire is fascinating. The way the body works astounds me every time I talk to a biology major (assuming the body does represent an engineering problem). The majority of it, though ... process engineering, manufacturing, design ... they're just so bland. So vanilla. So utterly pallid and unexciting in every respect.

Part of me thinks I should just man up and take advantage of the opportunities I've earned. The grass is always greener, right? Maybe if I were a finance major I'd wish I'd pursued engineering. Maybe I'd be lamenting my immediate future running wealth management and spreadsheets for the next few years. People work to live ... work isn't supposed to be fun. So few people really enjoy their jobs, they just DO their jobs. The job I have waiting for me pays well at a good company and offers me a stable jump-off point into my future. Is disinterest really enough for me to justify not wanting to be there?

The other part of me, though, says that there's too much time left in my life to settle now. In reality, I could quit this graduate program immediately, take the money I have, and head out anywhere in the world. I could be in New Zealand in three days, searching for some shitty job and a cheap place to live for a while. I'd meet new people and experience a new land. Who knows where I'd end up from there?

Am I just resisting the inexorable pull of the real world? The grind and endless tedium that everyone promises in the world of white collar work? Do I tremble at this point, on the very edge of the next part of my life, struggling atop a precipice upon which I cannot balance for much longer?

Everyone else seems so cool, calm, and collected about the future. Sometimes I wonder if you all look out upon the next time of your life and want to scream as loudly and desperately as I do. Am I (as usual) overthinking the whole of my prospects? It's natural to resist change. It's natural to doubt some choices you make for fear of their inherent opportunity cost. The cost of what you do includes the value of what you don't do. I'm probably just overthinking all of this, should relax and go with the flow.

Back to this lecture for now ... but Lord almighty, this shit is boring.

"Learning is painful. You can't learn unless you experience pain. If you remain entirely comfortable during the learning process, you haven't gained anything at all."
-Professor Stephen Snyder

Damn right when it comes to metal forging. Ugh.

Happy Jueves.

2009-03-17T09:27:00.003-04:00

End of the Universe

"You do this all the damn time."

"Yeah, I know."

"If you know, why do you do it? Why do you keep doing this, thinking this way?"

"It's my nature."

"You treat every fucking situation like it could result in the end of the universe. You finally broke that shit for your work ... do you know how annoying that was?"

"You've let me know repeatedly."

"I mean, you can't really be happy that way, can you? Putting all that stress on your shoulders for regular everyday events? Most people live life as a sequence of everyday events. You live it like a fucking soap opera."

"I've been working on it."

"Well work on it a little harder. What do you think, if you fuck something up people will stop loving you? Like your worth will be out the window? I've got bad news ... you're human, jackass. Humans screw up. Humans aren't good at everything. In fact, most humans would love to be really good at something, anything."

"I guess that's part of it. My self-worth is all tied up in what I do and how well I do it. It used to just be work. It's kinda spilling all over the place now. I thought I'd gotten better."

"You can't assume you've changed so much so quickly. You really can't. You stopped putting that pressure on yourself with your work because you realized you don't like your field and you're burned out. It's very easy for you to rationalize from there and be proud for not freaking out. At the end of the day, though, you haven't come so far yet."

"So it would seem."

"Could you do me a favor, then? Realize something. Realize it right now. The people in your life who love you- family, friends, everyone- they love you for who you are and what you mean to them. They don't love you for what you do. Right now you love yourself for what you do. What you should love yourself for is the love you make in this world through those family and friends who matter so much. You're not perfect, and you never will be, but you get so damn wrapped up in trying to be that you lose sight of what matters."

"What do I do?"

"Let go. Just fucking let go of all that angst, all that fear, all that pressure. I don't know how; it's different for everyone. Maybe talk about it. Be more open. Think happy thoughts. Write it all out. Tell yourself that it's okay. Do whatever you need to do to get down the road without thinking that the fate of your family, your lover, or your future is on the line all the time. Have a little faith in them and a little faith in yourself."

"I'll try."

"Good. And when you try, try without putting pressure on yourself to try. Just exist and go with the damn flow. I promise the people in your life will appreciate it."

2009-02-27T18:37:00.002-05:00

Thought

If spending these hours alone in a lab means a few more hours of time with you, then I don't mind being here at all.

2009-02-16T08:58:00.003-05:00

Beautiful Morning

The reality of things is that no one really knows anything except how they feel. How they feel about their work, how they feel about their life, how they feel about the people in it. All things are a matter of perception. All things are gray at best, or maybe an infinite amalgam of colors, different to each and every person who sees them.

My parents only ever had three rules when it came to growing up. In no order, these rules included being a good person, providing for your family, and being happy. If my brother and I could do those things, then my parents would have done a good job in their own minds. There was no required job we had to pursue, no salary we had to earn in order to show our worth. Happiness, integrity, and love were all we were ever supposed to achieve. The rest was superfluous at best.

Earlier in my life- up until very recently- I thought there had to be more. I thought that achievement was more than this short list of virtues. And of course it is ... but it isn't. Not really. What more could one achieve in life except for those things? Is there a greater calling out there than the love of your family? Is there a better way to achieve happiness than in the arms of someone you love? Is there anything more rewarding than seeing gratitude in someone's eyes?

There is no right or wrong answer to the question of life. If you believe in my parents' rules, there can't be. All we have are the people around us and the innate qualities that make us who we are. And if you can find in yourself the things you need- courage, perseverance, hope, faith, love- and you act on those things ... I need to believe that we'll all be okay. We'll all make it.

At the end of the day, I guess we can really want for nothing more than a warm home, someone to wake up beside and fall in love with every morning, and the excitement that comes from the truth of living. The truth that there is no truth. You can't predict who you'll meet or where you'll go anymore than you can predict which way the wind will blow. The best you can hope for is to rely on your own feelings, your own perception, and never stop striving for the things that matter.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise ... but what a beautiful morning we already have today.

2009-02-11T20:36:00.001-05:00

Faith

I hate disappointing people ... especially those I care about.

This has not been my favorite week.

2009-02-09T08:52:00.000-05:00

Check the Depth

"Life does not consist mainly, or even largely of facts and happenings. It consists mainly of the storm of thoughts that is forever flowing through one's head."

-Mark Twain

2009-02-05T22:30:00.006-05:00

Timing

Does it count as sacrifice if you choose the thing which would bring you the most happiness? At best, it must be a weighted scale, assuming you have wants that are comparable to each other in importance.

You value doing well at your work, and you value spending time with those you love. If you must choose one over the other, are you sacrificing? The answer is "yes" if your overall utility is not maximized. So says basic economics. What if, based on your extraordinarily single-minded thought process, your priorities become narrower as time goes on? What if your needs become focused entirely upon what you lack, and shift as you lack different things?

Sometimes I find myself a slave to my wants. Right now, these wants do not include the work I do, the classes I teach, or the music I play. My priorities have shifted ... and I can't help but think it is because timing has shifted, as well. That is the one constant we have, isn't it? That's what makes it so important, I guess. Work will always be there. Music is a kind mistress to which one can always return. But these other things ... these time dependent chances and hopes of mine ... they get to me. Engulf me. Drive me.

I have ever been an opportunist; I should like to think in the positive sense. I will jump to tackle something early so as to secure it. In academics and professional endeavors, this policy for action has always served me well. Now, as time marches on, it seems I watch as opportunities drift at the same speed. What is most painful is that I find myself powerless to act. To be told that what you want is not available, not yet ... that what you want lies just out of your grasp ... I'm not sure there is a worse condemnation for those who are as goal-oriented as I am. Those who would lay down everything they have for what they want ... to be told that everything they have is not enough, because that is not what is required? The only thing required is ... time? Something which I have ever been loathe to give? Which tortures me when I see it passing by and I do nothing?

It's the same reason I hate traveling sometimes. Confined to a vehicle, to sit still as the world moves by ... torture. Sacrifice.

I suppose it's time I learn patience. If only I did not find myself so ill-suited to the task. I'm one to rely on my resources, my faculties, my experience, and immediately turn what I would like to my desires. Again, in work this breeds success. With people- friendships, relationships, love?- there is so much more to it. Simple ability and desire are not enough. Timing ... it counts as much if not more.

The whole thing is frustrating, grueling, damn excruciating. It's a skill I was never forced to develop as time went on.

So for now ... I wait. I wait, and I hope. That's the worst part of this waiting, this sacrifice for time, I think. Something you can ensure and guarantee now, today, this hour- is there risk in that? If there is, it's minimal. You get back what you put in almost immediately. When you're forced to wait ... you have to invest yourself and hope for the return. The risk is exponentially, infinitely higher than it would be in the tangible planes of toil and exertion.

I know the importance of timing. Absolutely, I do. I also know the importance of patience, and the greater value something can have when one is forced to wait for it to happen.

So for now ... I bide my time. I do my work. I continue fulfilling the Faustian bargain to which I've signed my name. I plan for the tangible, definite sides of my future. Aside from that?

I wait. I burn.

I hope.

2009-02-01T12:40:00.002-05:00

Learning

"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn."

-T.H. White, The Once and Future King

2009-01-30T09:49:00.002-05:00

Different Take

I love the Christopher Nolan interpretation of the Batman canon, but in truth it only represents one of a myriad of different versions. The preview below shows what appears to be an entirely different but equally masterful take on the Dark Knight and his archenemy. The style is brighter, the mood more suited to a graphic novel, and the characters worked into different but similar personas ... but the heart of the Bat is still there.

Batman: Arkham Asylum

This is the type of game that makes me wonder about investing in a 360 or PS3. Mmm ...

Also- bonus points to anyone who can identify who does the Joker's voice in this game. He never fails to impress.

2009-01-20T22:05:00.003-05:00

Sondheim

Below are the lyrics to "Being Alive," the closing number of the Sondheim musical "Company." It's about a bachelor (Robert) turning 35 whose friends throw him a surprise birthday party. All ten of the friends in attendance are in couples in various stages of life and marriage. The show itself is a collection of scenes offered in no particular chronological order. They show the nature of Robert's love life, as well as his past loves and feelings on commitment. Through the scenes, each of the couples also shows the qualities of their marriage and their own feelings on love.

The bottom line of the show is that Robert is the consummate best friend to all of those in attendance, but has never pursued serious love. There's always something in his way- usually, his own feelings. The song below is his confession/realization of what he's never had. I've only included Robert's lyrics, not the side lyrics from the other characters. Also, notice the change in phrasing immediately following the first refrain.

It's pretty damn moving.

Robert: Stop!...What do you get?

Someone to hold you too close,
Someone to hurt you too deep,
Someone to sit in your chair,
To ruin your sleep.

Someone to need you too much,
Someone to know you too well,
Someone to pull you up short
And put you through hell.

Someone you have to let in,
Someone whose feelings you spare,
Someone who, like it or not,
Will want you to share
A little, a lot.

Someone to crowd you with love,
Someone to force you to care,
Someone to make you come through,
Who'll always be there,
As frightened as you
Of being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive.

Somebody, hold me too close,
Somebody, hurt me too deep,
Somebody, sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep
And make me aware
Of being alive,
Being alive.

Somebody, need me too much,
Somebody, know me too well,
Somebody, pull me up short
And put me through hell
And give me support
For being alive,
Make me alive.

Make me confused,
Mock me with praise,
Let me be used,
Vary my days.
But alone is alone, not alive.

Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive!

2009-01-14T20:10:00.005-05:00

Choose Your Own Adventure

"You find yourself standing between an Old Navy and a liquor store. You require pajama pants and jager. A cold breeze blows from the west, accenting the bleak and lonesome darkness around you. In the distance, a wolf howls.

You weigh your options carefully. What would be worse, more incriminating, more ridiculous? Walking through Old Navy with jager, or walking through the liquor store with pajama pants?

A screech from over the horizon reminds you that time is growing short. The raptors have picked up your scent, and you would rather not feel the sting of their javelins again.

What will you do?"

If you decide to go to the liquor store, turn to page 93.

If you decide to go to Old Navy, turn to page 135.

... my life is a farce sometimes.

2009-01-07T22:28:00.003-05:00

2008

I'll say this ... I learned a lot in 2008. Whether it was about myself, other people, or life in general, I think I can safely say I found out some shit. The bad news is that it hurt like hell to learn most of it; the good news is that the hurt means I won't easily forget any of it.

A plan has been set, lasting from now until September 2010. This coming September I'll be moving to Allentown in order to start my work at Air Products. I'll spend at least a year at HQ there before I get assigned to a new rotation, which could range from China to somewhere in the US to down the hall. The choice of where I go will be determined by a number of factors, some in my control and some not. Time will tell.

My education has worked itself out pretty nicely ... you could probably say I did what I do. Five years, three degrees, no debt. Two publications and a year of teaching. Dual programs. All of that combined into a skill I ended up not exploring in any capacity at all- namely, selling myself for a job. Odd, given my personality.

I'm not sure if the choice to go to Air Products was truly out of love for the company or a case of barely concealed pragmatism. It's a good company with a reputation for employee care, selectivity, and regular rotation. In the end, my real question is whether or not I'd be any happier at any other company than I would be there. If I'm paid well and moving only ten minutes down the road ... why strike a completely new path, you know? Who's to say that getting an engineering gig in DC, Norfolk, or Detroit would be any better than one in Allentown?

I think the bottom line about my professional future is that I haven't found a passion in it. Engineering work can be interesting and exciting, but at work I always find myself drawn to do anything else but my work. God bless those men and women who get off on running bending models and pressure specs all day ... because quite honestly, that's not going to be my deal. I know for a fact that I'll wither and die if I'm told to sit in a cubicle for a year and run calculations. Again, time will tell.

Aside from work, I learned a lot about my friends this year. They're marvelous people, one and all, and I'm truly thankful for them every day. They were my lifeline and one of the primary sources of my will throughout all of 2008. My only regret is that, so addicted to work and an overwrought schedule, I often let them go without seeing them often enough. And even when I see them, I don't tell them how much they mean to me nearly as much as I should. Maybe the brutal slashing and burning of my spring schedule will help. Lord knows, this semester could be the last time I'll be able to see many of them so easily.

My family got battered around this year, health-wise. With the help of the Counseling Center and my friends, I was able to come to terms with the mortality of my family members, namely my dad. Fortunately both he and my grandfather have come out of their various maladies pretty much unscathed [knock on wood]. It was difficult to realize that, someday, the only people left from the "original" crew will be myself and my brother. We'll probably have our wives and children and various other progeny running around by that point, surely, but for now ... I love my family and I'm glad they all decided to stick around a long while more.

As for everything else that happened this year ... not sure I need to elucidate on that any further. The most important thing is that I learned. My parents said it best, I think:

"You found commitment. You just didn't have connection. You were in a situation that you could have settled into and probably even made work, but it didn't have everything you needed. If the stories you tell us are true, you moved on and found connection, but then without commitment. You talked in ways we've never heard before; you sounded so happy about it. The problem there is that you fell into it headlong and got hurt badly when it didn't pan out. So do you understand better, now? You need both."

On a similar note, a friend of mine recently commented that if I try to date someone without feeling a real connection again, she'll smack me upside the head. "You whine too much and then bitch without doing what you have to do- and by that I mean get the hell out."

So I guess you could say I know now what I'm looking for, to some extent. Whether it was real or imagined, the fact is that this year I perceived a connection that was infinitely intoxicating. Distinctly overwhelming. Something that- at long, long last- truly moved me and made me think about how I did things and the way I lived my life. Someone fucking broke through, and the result was something I've never felt before.

Between this newly formed bias/standard/addiction of mine and the unrelentingly unfortunate draw of timing, it's probably no wonder why things have been a bit of a mess since then.

I'll end my thoughts on 2008 with a quote. It's significant, but I won't divulge where it's from. Let me know if you recognize it.

"No, I don't know what the future holds ... but, I'm optimistic."

Happy 2009.

2009-01-05T20:20:00.002-05:00

8-bit Remix

I've been working on an entry for 2008, but that's not ready and this is far more important. Insanely more important.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47Hp1wcDtdg

It's Jay-Z ... remixed with the soundtrack from Megaman 2.

Fuck yes.

2009-01-03T13:08:00.003-05:00

Entropy

Entropy: "a thermodynamic quantity representing the amount of energy in a system that is no longer available for doing mechanical work; entropy increases as matter and energy in the universe degrade to an ultimate state of inert uniformity."

http://www.multivax.com/last_question.html

Easily one of my favorite short stories from Isaac Asimov. The first time I read it, the ending shocked the hell out of me. If you haven't read it, definitely take 10 minutes and do so.

Happy 2009.

2008-12-22T21:09:00.003-05:00

Uncertainty

"Some men think with their dicks. Some men think with their heads. The most successful men, though, think with their hearts."

-David J. Herman, Sr.

You have to think with your heart and act out of love in as much as you can. Sure, by trusting and reaching out and responding all the time, you're going to get hurt a lot more than if you just turtled up. But ... isn't that how you hit it big, too? Isn't that how you live the happiest life you can?

So that's my rationale on this one. That'll be how I explain it.

2008-12-15T23:19:00.002-05:00

Fall

It's over. Thank the gods, it's finally over.

I'll admit that this was not my finest semester. Performance in all areas was sub-par at best. Without looking too closely, it's easy to see stuff all over the place that could have been improved upon. Interestingly and despite my most ridiculous doubts, though, the world kept on spinning. I guess that's the silver lining. Maybe in the future I'll remember the work of this semester and remind myself that stellar, top-notch performance is superfluous to function (read: happiness). Maybe.

I've spend the last week organizing the spring semester into a far more consolidated, efficient beast than the fall was. Music and teaching fell on the chopping block as usual, leaving class and research in the top spots. The goal was to find time to sleep and relax, enjoying my last semester with these lingering friends and loved ones. With that big ol' M.S. degree serving as my purpose for the next 9 months, I suppose the way things shook out was logical, if cold. I'll still have some music. I'll still have time to teach the class I really did want to teach. What's more, everyone who was supposed to be mad, disappointed, or upset has been incredibly supportive. Whether they knew me well or were just objectively compassionate, I am grateful for that much.

I feel myself pulling away from beloved Lehigh. It's just one of those things ... the natural course has been run. It's time to go. As is typical, a starting point for my adult life has been chosen, although it's important to note that it can be rescinded at any time. Where else would I go? Who knows? The adventurous part of me wants to save my pennies, board a plane, and find the world. The passionate part of me wants to petition to spend the summer traveling with some drum corps. The pragmatic part of me wants to get a job so I can begin to build a life that can support a family someday.

My winter break will mostly be spent here at school, getting research done. I'll hopefully spend the majority of my time running, practicing, and reading. If I can catch up on even a little of my reading list, I'll be quite thankful. The peace of the quiet, tranquil mountain will be a welcome respite from the hecticity of the last four (seven? twelve?) months. Also, I feel the time alone will be important.

So it goes ... as usual, my favorite saying from Opus the Penguin certainly applies here.

"Another day, another segue."

Happy Winter Break.

2008-12-06T13:37:00.003-05:00

On the Couch

The following is a summarized, paraphrased, internalized dialogue from some of the time I spent at the Counseling Center last Spring.

"You take certain people in your life and build them up into some sort of superhero status. It's always easy for us to tell who they are, because you rearrange your whole life around them. Back in high school, we knew for a fact that you would never have done anything to cross Mr. C. In fact, you were willing to overlook his flaws entirely, practice hours upon hours a day for him, defend him in any conversation, and I bet if he'd asked, you would have laid down in traffic for him. He was one of your superheroes.

So that's what you do. I'll bet at Lehigh you've got the same relationship with certain professors, don't you? How about over at- what's your company's name, Air Products? You haven't talked to any of the Cadets staff in years, but if Marc Sylvester called I have no doubt you'd fly over to J. Birney Crum or whatever midwest high school he named.

Now, all that's fine- to an extent. But what you do next is where the problems come in. You get your motivation from these people because they give you the praise that validates you. And whatever validates you is where your focus goes. Science. Like I said, you build everything you do around these heroic archetypes of people that you create. Academically and professionally, this has benefited you quite well. You build a hero, you kill yourself for them, they praise you, and you're beloved as the worker and achiever you are. I'm not saying this entirely out of derision, either- I'm saying this out of respect and admiration, too. Sure, you fuck up all the time, but you know that you've crafted quite a little resume for yourself in the last decade.

So why are you so unhappy, you ask? For exactly the reasons I've already described- you get your validation from being a wunderkind for your heroes. The thing is that that takes a toll on you. No one can sustain 20 hour workdays and a downright debilitating number of commitments. Where do you get release, then? Certainly not another hero, god no. That's where the stress came from in the first place. So you look to other aspects of your life, your friends and relationships. Your friends, being typically busy and motivated themselves, are often able to overlook or forgive your incessant cancellations, delays, and apologies. They know the score- if there's work, M. Jeremy's gonna do it. The fact that they love you anyway is what makes them so good to you.

Now your relationships ... you gotta know that's where you fuck up the most, right? You don't want more stress, especially if it's not where you get your validation, so you never regard the girls you date as the heroes you live for. Because of this, they never even stand a chance. If they no longer serve entirely as the escape you're looking for, you don't want to put in the time anymore. The moment they ask something back from you that you aren't immediately willing to give, they become superfluous to you. Cold, maybe, but mostly true.

Your hope lies, I think, in finding a way to get some sense of that accomplished validation from the women you love. You get your motivation from acknowledgment of accomplishment. Think about this- you come home from work, you tell her you did good that day. In a perfect world where you would be happy, her reaction would mean more to you than anyone else's that day. Her recognition of who you are would make the whole of your existence. She'd be your hero, the one you'd want to lay down in traffic for. That can never happen, though, if you don't open yourself up. You need to be willing to acknowledge the fact that someone else knows you're not perfect but they love you anyway.

I think that's where the disconnect comes from, really. There's always a barrier between you and your current heroes that keeps them out, keeps you shining. The women you loved wanted and needed that barrier to come down. In a lot of ways, they just wanted you. But you wouldn't let it- that notion frightened you- so you retreated back to your heroes, walked away, and let them be the escape hatch that became too stressful. Either that, or you tried to open up, and maybe things just didn't go your way.

Does any of this make sense? What do you think?"

2008-12-05T14:53:00.004-05:00

From XKCD

http://xkcd.com/513/

If the desired outcome on the male character's side is the same in all cases, does the nobility of his intentions matter?

What if his motivation isn't fear, but hope?

2008-11-28T17:56:00.003-05:00

Rooftops

The trick to Batman is that, to some extent, he can't help what he is. On the one hand, he wants to save his parents' city. He's doing it for the other families and citizens of Gotham who don't deserve the pain and anguish he's suffered through. He wants to make a difference for the sake of the city itself. It's a cause he believes in.

On the other hand, I don't think Batman could really stop what he's doing if given the choice. As they allude to in the various media of late, he is fueled by his rage. He wants it to stop, but he hasn't really found his peace, and so his crusade against crime is the way he lives. Bruce Wayne needs Batman as much as Gotham does- it's the outlet that gives him what he yearns for. He simply can't deal with everyday life on a normal basis. He's thus trying to save Gotham because he believes in it, but he's also trying to save Gotham because he needs to save Gotham. Even at great personal expense and sacrifice, the cost to him is inconsequential compared to the need he satiates within himself.

Sometimes we'll do anything to get what we need, or even a glimpse of what we need. You might believe in something and chase it for what it is. You might also chase something because, regardless of the personal cost, it gives you that glimpse. It satiates something within you. Maybe it's something you deserve whole-heartedly, or from a more reliable source, but you'll take it where you can get it. You become mercenary for it. So you stand on rooftops and run off anytime the signal hits the sky ... hoping against hope that maybe this time, this night, Gotham will be saved and you'll find that peace.

Odds are, though, that you're too eager. Too accepting. Too willing to respond to the call and take any semblance of something that fulfills that need within you. Will this be the time? Or will it just make things worse? Even if you know the answer, you'll probably head off as fast as you can into the darkness. To find the thing that you're looking for.

Who knows?

In the meantime, I'll be on the roof. Send up the signal if you need me. 'Cause let's be honest ... could I really stop myself if I tried?

2008-11-17T13:09:00.002-05:00

Burn Out

This is too much, even for my work style. What's more, both of my grad work positions are going to take up even more time next semester. Something is going to have to give ... and for the sake of sanity, I will not and cannot let it be the time I spend with friends.

For perspective, it's bad news when you can't wait to start working full time. It's not that I know I'll be doing less- knowing me, I'll still work 50-60 hour weeks- but it's the chance to reset my schedule that's really appealing. I had that chance for this year. The whole operation just kinda got botched. The biggest problem was that I entirely underestimated the effort and time that grad classes and research would take. As a result, I now find myself absolutely exhausted and strung out. It's not even like things are going poorly ... it's just that I'm not sure I can keep this up much longer.

For now, we push on into Thanksgiving break.

2008-11-09T18:33:00.004-05:00

Pilgrim

... and I am alone.

I turn North under a darkened, hazy sky. It feels late but the sun is just beginning to set on the edge of the cloud cover. Behind me lay a bustling city of travelers. With a last glance to the city center from whence I'd come, I tighten my grip on my bags and follow the curving road upward.

The train station is almost empty at this hour, holding little but an automatic ticket stamper and the abstract hum of the ceiling lights. Platform D. I stride outward past tired commuters, heading off into the falling night. My mind, unable to do more than detect and observe, instinctually reaches into my pocket and pulls out my music player. I sit on a scratched, half-broken bench for some time, scanning the tiny black box for something, anything, that would spark. Nothing. The night remains cold. I return the music player to my pocket and simply gaze at the concrete, made orange from the platform lights.

I lay back in the green train car, unable to see much of the countryside through which we travel. Normally I would be calmed, soothed by the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track. My body and mind would gradually shift into that gentle numbness of sleep; I would awake at our destination. There is no shifting tonight ... no movement, no natural tendency toward slumber. The clacking resonates throughout my chest as it would through a hollow drum, rebounding and echoing with each renewed shock from the wheels below.

Another station. My throat is dry ... I stumble into a half-darkened snackshop as the owner begins to lower the gate for the night. We do not speak the same language but I form my hands as though to beg or pray, then flash him one finger. I will be quick, in and out, I just need water. Please, sir. I say it out loud, knowing he will not comprehend, but I say it anyway. He understands, leaving the gate half-down to ward off other travelers but returning to the register. I hurriedly grab a bottle of water, toss him a coin. I reform my hands and bow my head, thanking him profusely. I hear the lights click off and the gate clang onto the concrete behind me. He must have seen my eyes, I think.

Another train, another countryside. There is only darkness still. The car is more full this time, a car of maybe a hundred sleeping souls. Some snore. A young woman behind me exhales softly; if I lean my head against the window I can feel her breath against the back of my right ear. A priest some rows up is the only illumination in the black cabin, poised under a yellow light and reading from a tiny tome. The heads of the sleeping souls bob in unison with the bobbing of the car, side-to-side against our motion. I imagine we dart through the night, cutting the woods and hills and grass with a cleave of swift steel and fire. Despite this outward serenity I do not sleep. I am out-of-body, I am not here. I am seat 68 on car 21.

The sun breaks over the horizon a nighttime later. As it rises we pull into our destination, another stone and gray city. My mind has now been oscillating between a nullified existence and a quiet but agonized screaming for some hours. I am exhausted by this but find my legs have already risen to take the aisle. They carry me out of the car; carry me to my bags; call to my arms, who generously lift my bags; carry me out of the station to a bus map; call to my eyes, who scan the map and identify a bus number; bring me to the correct stop with the correct number.

Out of the bus window I see a city passing by, alert and alive with noise amidst a the rising sun. Honking horns and traffic lights, people laughing with friends, the language I do not know. Again on instinct I check all my pockets, as I would before leaving for class or to fly across an ocean. I panic slightly, as I have all during my journey, when I don't feel my phone or keys in their respective left and right spots and instead find a passport and plane ticket in their place. The bus runs alongside the sea as I run these checks. When my habitual obsession is appeased, I take the time to view the sun reflecting over the water. Is my wallet in my bag?

The airport is as it was eleven (twelve?) days ago. I pass through security. I pass through the terminal. I pass through to my gate. I arrive just as the doors are opening. I hand over my ticket and passport silently. In broken English I hear, "You are going home?" "Yes." "Safe flight." "Yes." I walk down the jetway, find my seat. Place my bags. Sit down. The interminable screaming is now quite intense, almost deafening. I yearn for it to abate to the out-of-body numbness. Despite my exhaustion I cannot sit still. In my wallet (which was in my bag and not my pocket) I find $19 dollars. What can I use this for? I do not want to read my book or write or watch the movie or hear the woman with the crying baby or hear the business man type on his laptop or hear the incessant question of the stewardess or hear the clinking of the coke cans, so arrhythmic and unlike the deep guttural clinking of the train car wheels at 31,000 feet. I hit the button and show my money to the stewardess and form my hands as though to beg or pray. She brings back what I ask for and takes some of the money; I drink it and the screaming fades a little. Two more button hits and I live a little again. Still my body will not sleep so once again I sit still, now at 550 miles per hour and 31,000 feet, flying over an ocean. I am going home and want to be nowhere else. At this thought I am seat 26E on flight 47. It feels good.

Another bus outside the airport. No one is on it but me. The driver takes us through the streets of a bigger city, out of it, through the more amber countryside, to within a few miles of home. He will not take me further. No one can? I sit on the curb and wait for my friend to come find me and take me the last few miles home.

I sit on my bed. My bags are downstairs. I see the walls of my room. The blue of my sheets. The familiar shape of my horn. The smell of my laundry. The calls of the people outside. The heat of the summer.

I sit there, wishing I were back where the sun had set on the edge of the clouds.

2008-11-04T00:55:00.004-05:00

100th Post

No words on this one. I talk too much as it is.

If anything in this world has saved me, it's the beauty of brass.

Go to it:

Organ Symphony
C. Saint-Saëns
Performed by the Black Dyke Band

2008-10-13T16:51:00.003-04:00

Memory

I ran down the path and stopped under the bridge. After hopping down the slope, I emerged at the water. It was sunset in Bethlehem and the sun shown over the tops of the trees, the buildings, the river. There was some bustle of big noise in the distance, but it was overcome by the chattering of the bugs around me. I stood, my breath becoming more even, completely enveloped by the scene.

It was one of those rare moments when peace finds you. When you know things are going to be okay. When you're not afraid of the future or regretful of the past.

I knew things were going to be okay because that sunset showed me a thousands images at once.

The first time I kissed her. The picture of me sleeping on Dad's stomach. Me and my brother in Disney world with our Mickey and Donald hats. That night on the other side of the bridge. Dawn over the Rockies. The tunnel before Finals. The Pooh Bear that sat in my crib the day I got home from the hospital. The moon that one night. The French countryside from the top of the mountain. The city lights with Uncle Tim. The smell of my grandfather's trains in his basement. The clutter of my best friend's backseat. The onion haze of Uncle Didn's gravy. The quiet scratching of the stage curtain. The sound of six trombones on Here's That Rainy Day. Main Street as we turned the corner during the parade. Sunset over Amsterdam. The practice room at 6:30 AM with Mr. C. The scent of the breeze as we descended into the stadium. The brightness of her eyes. The hot pavement of the parking lot. The scent of Mom's wine.

The sound of Welcome Home.
The sound of I Love You.
The sound of Goodbye.

This river, this sun, this scene, right now.

I know everything's going to be okay because of all I have seen and heard and done in this life already. All at once, these things are unique to me and universal to everyone. Everyone has this collection of memories that makes them who they are. Because these memories are so unique and universal, I have to believe that people have felt all the same emotions that we have for thousands of years. Billions have lived and died with the same pictures we have, just with different faces and backgrounds.

Everything's going to be fine. Roll with life ... live it, learn from it, love it. Be with those whom you care about. Enjoy it all.

With one last fleeting look, I turned from the river and went back up the slope. When I reached the path again, I took off running.

That's all there is to it.

2008-10-06T21:04:00.004-04:00

Nerd Out

1998 was a good year for Christmas in our house. A fateful meeting with a legend of the DOS universe that summer had aided in my rapid ascension from a strictly console gamer to one of the joint console/PC variety. While this arrangement only further aggravated my already significant childhood obesity problem, it also opened an entire world of possibility to my pudgy little mouse-clicking fingers.

The DOS legend that unveiled these new and beautiful horizons to me was none other than the original Warcraft: Orcs and Humans. Although now an ancient tome of a previous age, it is a tome revered and heralded by all who have ever heard the heartwarming whistle of Orcish spears graze the air. Its influence since 1994 is perhaps only eclipsed by the halcyon memories of we who battled for the green fields of Azeroth. Even today, there are few sights in gaming that I find more terrifying than that of a Daemon sporting the impenetrable hell that is Unholy Armor. "Surely, the catapults will kill him!"

Fool.

Anyway, thus enraptured, my natural descent into the Blizzard Universe was as predictable as it was unstoppable. Christmas that year welcomed not only Warcraft II: Tides of Darkness into our home, but also the sweet nectar of the holiest gods that is Starcraft. I am not exaggerating when I say I logged more hours on Brood War than perhaps 98% of the other games I've played, combined. Months-long completion quests involving 120 stars and 230 missiles paled in comparison to the sacrifices I laid at the feet of the Overmind. Online matches, solo missions, map editing ... so many hours and days and weeks did I practice hydra-spamming and muta-ling builds.

I am simultaneously overjoyed and immensely saddened by the delay of Starcraft II to 2009. On the one hand, I eagerly await the chance to put the Juggernaught (my new quad processor PC) into action, once more driving through the Koprulu sector with the Fury of the Swarm at my back. On the other hand ... if the game were to be released before next summer, I almost guarantee I would be unable to finish my M.S. degree on my current timeline. The choice between interstellar conquest and stoichiometric mass balances is no choice at all, and money has little value to those who would call themselves Cerebrate.

In the meantime, I shall bide my time. There is little to be done but work to complete this degree so that I might enjoy the luxury of SCII in peace when it finally does arrive. That, and work on brainstorming my SCII call sign for online play. I was thinking perhaps "panamajackjose." It should be fitting, since rumor has it that the new Twilight Archon will have a mana-based attack known only as "Jueves." The command will drive all units in a certain radius into a chaotic bloodlust, satiable only through the grim death of their enemy.

In 2009, I submit my soul to the Will of the Khala. For now, back to work.

Happy Monday.

2008-09-28T23:51:00.004-04:00

Vice

"Choosing your virtue is easy ... you may select whatever is most suitable to your palette and you get points for 'doing your best.'

Your vice, though ... that's something to be cherished. It's rarely rewarded in any fathomable way, and yet we all have them. We all exercise them daily. We all make horrible, exquisite, ultimately damning use of them so that we may live day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute. But they are, indeed, damnable. Obscene. Best left alone. My god, could you imagine life without the vices that keep you from killing yourself? What horrors we may yet witness in the name of virtue, integrity, and unutilized vice.

For it is what we must not do- but do anyway- that in many ways defines who we are and how we are remembered. A good man is remembered by his family and may enjoy the honor of his house for all ages ... but the troubled man, anguished man, dangerous man, that is who we are. The man who will wrong others and be wronged. The man who will condemn others and be condemned. The man who will go to the grave with not just friends but half a society's worth of enemies. All of us, living in vice, damning ourselves and the day we were born with each swig of the bottle, thrust of pure lust, drag of some obnoxious chemical.

So I say, to all who will hear ... choose your vice with care. Choose your weakness such that you may live to the heights of damnation and the depths of immortal praise. Be who you are and do what gives you happiness from breath to breath ... for although I do not celebrate or endorse hedonism, I do say that its appeal and use, in ironic moderation, is what makes this existence in any way comprehensible. Remember- any hero may choose his strength ... but the wisest man knows that he spends far more time with his flaws."

2008-09-17T22:59:00.003-04:00

Deja Vu

11:01 PM

His light: The lamp above the kitchen table.
My light: A desklamp and a computer monitor.

His noise: The Phillies game.
My noise: The Daily Show.

His work: Scheduling and inventory.
My work: Turbine modeling.

His vice: Gin and tonic.
My vice: LionsHead.

His goodnight: Two sons and a wife.
My goodnight: Two roommates.

Try or not, you will emulate those whom you admire.

"As a family, our natural talent is work ethic."

2008-09-13T13:52:00.002-04:00

Your Element

Can't forget to send e-mails to the band director and the chapter. Also, my adviser. I never dropped off that contract ... I should do that this afternoon. Need to knock out both homework assignments this weekend. Is there an extra team meeting this week? I should check on both of them, but I was told not to. All right. Gotta switch the laundry over. Errands are done. Did I forget anything else I should have gotten? Shampoo. Sure, I'm free at that time. I can take care of that. I'm on it. Just hand it to me and it will be done tonight. Not due till next Friday. One more cup of coffee. I'm free to run tomorrow. No, I'm not. The next day? I'll let you know. We should hang out. I'll definitely be there. Can't promise I'll be there. We can't talk anymore. We just can't. It's unbearable. I'll make every effort. Hey, I have tickets to this thing- want to go? I need more shampoo. The homework is due Thursday, right? The homework is due on the 30th, right? When is the exam? Gotcha. The plant model will be submitted by Friday. Sure, we can do Tuesday and Thursday. Let me check my calendar. Let me run that by my to-do list. Let me see what else is in my e-mail box. We should do happy hour before rehearsal. I'm not playing the gig next week, but the one in October. Yeah, I picked up the dry cleaning. Yes, officer, I understand. Wait, when is the homework due? Hey, are you free to go out this weekend? I just posted the Jueves plans- let me know.

Yes, I can do that.

Give it to me.

I'll have it done by tomorrow.

Sometimes it just feels good to be in your element ... and I've always known this about myself. If I don't fill my to-do list and my calendar, I grow unhappy, pensive, and restless. If I can fill it week to week, day to day, always be producing, always be running, and fall asleep before I can read a whole paragraph ... I'm happiest.

It just feels like I'm a little more me again.

Happy September.

2008-08-27T22:30:00.004-04:00

Duplicator

"I think most of us would be horrified to meet ourselves and discover what everyone else already knows about us."
-B. Watterson

The point that I've been consistently returning to is that everything of the last six months has been done before ... by me. There's nothing new here. The difference is that this time I'm the one on the other end. Of all the actions, mistakes, sins, and choices made, I've just never had to face them this way.

The difficulty I'm thus having is reconciling recent events with the idea that I've done the same things in the past. It's forcing me to come to terms with something I've never anticipated- myself. I'm seeing myself and my own previous actions in a way I've never been able to articulate or understand before. This new knowledge has already been both impactful and, perhaps more importantly, painful.

I'm trying not to lament my past actions or choices as I sort things out. There's little sense in doing that aside from dealing with my own feelings. The most significant thing to take from this is the decisions I will make in the future.

For 22 years, my personality and character have been built on fear. Most of the other base facets of how I behave- the obsessiveness, the perfectionism, the need for acceptance- can be traced back to that original quality. Sometimes positive outcomes have resulted from it, not the least of which include my professional and academic achievements. But when it comes to people ... to love ...

You can never really understand your impact on others until someone else impacts you the same way. It's the reason why I love teaching music. I know what it is to be taught by a good teacher whom I respect and want to make proud. It's the reason why I hope to be a good father someday, because I know what it is to have the best one.

And, like everything else in the world, it goes both ways. You can't understand the hurt you cause someone else unless you've been hurt the same way.

Now, regardless of how you feel about the show, I'm going to end with a quote from South Park. Butters articulates my current feelings very well.

"Oh, I love life ... yeah, I'm sad, but at the same time, I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like... it makes me feel alive, you know. It makes me feel human. The only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt something really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I'm feeling is like a beautiful sadness."
-L. Stotch

Happy Jueves Eve.

2008-08-25T10:53:00.001-04:00

You Can't Give In

"I'm just sad for you."
"Why?"
"Cause I know it won't make you happy."

I have great friends, a strong family, and countless opportunities coming up this year. My graduate work will go well, the TA job should be fun, and I'll be doing more musical activities than I have since high school.

So for now ... I'll try to focus on that stuff.

Happy fall semester.

2008-08-07T07:18:00.001-04:00

Alfred

They'll hate you for it ... but you can be the outcast.
You can make the choice that no one else can make.

The right choice.

2008-08-05T14:38:00.004-04:00

Red Cross

As I begin to fade I can feel my body growing cold. My mouth is dry and rusty, my lips tingly with their slow loss of sensation. My hands begin to shake, and I find it ever more difficult to hold them where they are. I’m losing my grip. My feet are numbing ever so gradually. My toes will barely flex. The last sensation I begin to feel consciously is a dull but pervading thumping in the back of my head, just above my neck.

In the distance, I’m aware of the realization that this rhythm is my heartbeat. Almost. It’s slower than my heartbeat, more profound, more instinctive. The awareness spreads to all my organs, heightened by the deadening of my limbs. The vessels meant to keep me alive, usually forgotten, have come to occupy the whole of my being.

My mind wanders. Is this what it’s like to die?

Frigid ice lances through my arm and jolts me back to thought. This might be what it’s like to die. Two minutes to go. I can make it.

The last some-odd minutes my life has oscillated between red and clear. Red leaves, making me weary and numb and dropping me into the primeval of my organs. Clear returns, a freezing that numbs also but puts me back into a hazy mind. Every minute or so they switch. Numb and numb. Dying and sleeping. How did this start?

“Give me your hand,” she had said.

Red again. Black spots at the edge of my vision and I’m sinking. I can see the essence of my life moving away from me, taking with it energy and feeling and want. We’re waiting until enough is gone. Half a liter of me.

Clear again. I can see but I’m frozen. The clear isn’t what I need. It’s a replacement for the red, to keep my veins and arteries and capillaries from collapsing. But it won’t do what only the red can. The coldness makes me feel hollow.

“You’re going to feel this,” she had said.

Red again. The drop is a little higher each time. The red had begun with a burning and an excitement as I opened myself. Willing to give energy and feeling and want freely. Wishing I could give more, regardless of the fall.

Clear again. I’m dimly aware of the fact that the clear is mine as well, in some way. Despite this, our short time apart has made it cold, and the crystal coldness of it is alien to me. No one has ever cut themselves and seen emptiness come out.

“We’re done. You look pale,” she says.

She applies a thin band-aid that barely holds back what I continue to give.

I stand up. My limbs are weak and my vision unclear. The dull throbbing in the back of my head is deafening. I stagger away on unsure legs, full of my own cold nothing. Outside of my skin I tell myself to be patient. In time energy and feeling and want will flow back into my body from the deepest part of my bones, restoring the red of my life.

For now … I leave behind half a liter of me.

2008-07-31T08:24:00.015-04:00

East East East

It's drum corps weekend in the Lehigh Valley. This one might take the cake for the amount of time I'll be spending on the activity; it'll probably be the most since '05 when I actually marched. The best part is that I discovered where the Cadets are staying for the weekend through a friend of mine in the Allentown Band. We all know what that means ... rehearsal watching. Yes.

Here's the schedule. If anyone wants to be included in this celebration of music in motion, let me know.

Friday, August 1st
DCI East Championship (I)
Allentown, PA
J. Birney Crum Stadium
Step-off at 6:30 PM

Saturday, August 2nd
Cadet Rehearsal
Bethlehem, PA
Freedom High School
10/11 AM - Whenever

DCI East Championships (II)
Allentown, PA
J. Birney Crum Stadium
Step-off at 6:30 PM

Sunday, August 3rd
Music in Motion
Westminster, MD
Westminster High School
Step-off at 7:00 PM

For Holy Name Shall Always Be.

Amen.

2008-07-29T11:44:00.002-04:00

1005

I would not think to cut my heart from Wood
The cover of boys and birds.
Able to give and bend and age and groan,
Adaptable to the ravages of wind and rain,
But weak to fire-
To be swallowed in an instant
By the slightest kindling
Left only as dull ache and biting smoke
Losing form and soul alike-
And worse to be at once a ghost
Having lived but been consumed.

I would not think to carve my heart from Stone,
The seat of kings and queens.
Able to withstand but the hottest fire,
Stalwart long (but not forever)
Against the hardest rain,
Taken from the deep base of the mountain
or the summit that scratches the sky,
Either way sacrificing
Purpose for flawed form-
And worse to be broken, shattered
By the tiniest pebble tossed in the wind.

I would not think to cleave my heart from Iron,
The ribbing of cities and men.
Able to bear the weight of the mountain,
Tempered by the purging fire,
Bending in time with the wind
Ignorant of its attempts-
Weak however to rain
which may rust,
A corruption of form-
And worse to then collapse, tearing down
The rest of this delicate structure.

I would so think to cast my heart from Steel
The skin of soldiers and sky,
Being desirous as I am
Of strength in bending.
Unscorched by your eyes
Unmoved by your voice
Dry to your tears-
Thereby shirking your elements
Which burn and break and rust lesser earths.

But this being the worst
Because I could be safe for ages-
Strong
Cold
And wishing you would return
To somehow destroy my perfect form.

2008-07-28T07:44:00.007-04:00

My Worst Enemy

"Hello, this is Dwight Schrute calling from Dunder-Mifflin, and according to our records you appear to be low on office supplies."

My dad has a way of revitalizing and inspiring that few others do. Maybe it's the fact that he's normally so stoic, making his words that much more impactful when he does speak. Maybe it's because I love and respect him so much. Regardless, what he said this weekend hit home.

This morning I woke up, took a shower, threw on my work clothes, put up an away message, and then walked over to the dresser where I keep the day's effects. Today included:

-wallet
-glasses
-keys
-cell phone
-ID badge
-desk keys
-blistex
-iPod

... and there, sitting in the corner of the drawer, was a gray bracelet that said, "Support the Rabid." I put it on for the first time since the end of the schoolyear.

Of course my feelings haven't changed all that much, if at all. Of course I oscillate from day to day, hour to hour, often minute to minute. Of course writing this down is probably more for the purpose of convincing myself than for convincing anyone else. But there's a difference between living with those feelings and living while being trapped by those feelings. My dad helped me figure that out.

So for now?

Another day, another segue.

2008-07-27T13:05:00.003-04:00

Weakness

I have a significant weakness for certain aspects of an individual's personality. They take on the form of the same outlets I use for emotional release: music and writing. That isn't to say I'm not moved by the other interests, passions, and loves that help to comprise a person ... I'm just most easily swayed by those two.

As I've discussed before, there is something deeply personal for me about sharing the music that moves a person most intensely. It's a direct reflection of my own love of the art form and the effect it has on me. I'm usually pretty open about sharing my love of certain songs or artists. Like everything else I feel, my reactions are pinned directly to my sleeve for all to see. When someone else can do the same and offer me insight into their own musical loves, then, I begin to feel connected to them in a way I don't feel with others. I come to feel that I know them on a level below the surface, closer to where their emotions really lie.

Looking across my past, this theory is pretty easy to trace. The friends I've had the strongest relationships with have always been found through music, either as fellow players, marchers, or listeners. Among the romantic relationships and interests I've had, regardless of their length and intensity, the same pattern is clear. I've felt most strongly attached to those women with whom I was able to connect on a deeper musical level. Other factors obviously came into play, but in general this theory holds across the last 8 years without question.

Aside: have a really been dating people for 8 years? Holy crap.

More recently I've come to appreciate writing as a form of personal expression, probably within the last 3 years or so. Since then it's become a consistent outlet for me, even when I find myself unable to write in an articulate or thought-forming way. Being able to read the personal writings of others has since come to have a similar effect on the way I view and connect with an individual. From the most superficial blathering about a bad day to the most heartrending confession, all writing reveals something about the writer. And it's once again that revelation, that sharing, that lets me feel so much more in tune with someone.

I guess the most important thing I can take away from this line of thinking is that whomever I become involved with in the future, for now or forever, I would hope that music and writing could become an intrinsic part of the relationship we share. I know now how vastly influential and positive those connections are for me. I have no worries about artistic connections in friendship. I've always been drawn to fellow musicians as friends. It's just something to keep in mind romantically because musical or written connection seems to be the thing that transcends the usual machinations I throw up in self-defense. I can be very good at keeping others out, intentionally or otherwise; this might be a way to let them in on mutual terms.

And besides- is there anything more frightening, exciting, dangerous, or intimate than driving around listening to music in the darkness, or reading your most secret thoughts aloud to someone?

Perhaps ... but the list seems pretty short.

Happy Sunday.

2008-07-21T21:38:00.004-04:00

Compostela

I've tried writing almost 20 entries in the last two weeks that I haven't been able to finish. Some thought process will start, some notion of what I want to say, and something halting will come between the beginning and the end. As a result, 17 beguiling posts sit in my "Edit Posts" column; nearly all of them are stopped mid sentence, even, as opposed to mid entry or mid paragraph.

Sometimes I can't say what I want to say in a way that I like.

Sometimes I can't easily articulate my thoughts into a cohesive flow.

And sometimes ... many times ... I just can't figure out what I even want to say.

Of course the importance of writing isn't necessarily finishing, but the attempt. I know that. And insomuch as the attempt is being made, I suppose I should be content. It feels like I've lost my words, outside of posting those of others or quipping about workplace idiocy or mentioning some exterior event going on. Maybe that's best for now.

It's just sort of a shame ... I was thinking in the car today that I love summer for its inspiration. These three months are the season when I usually feel most invigorated and motivated to explore music, writing, and reading in ways that I can't during the year. In a little over a month, time will shrink back to its normal size, and the race will start anew.

I hope I can maybe sort through what's happening now and rediscover a way to communicate. It's not the lack of communication with others I fear most, really- that always comes in time- but it's my inability to communicate with myself. It's a lonely feeling in a way I've never experienced before.

On the plus side ... I just finished this post.

Goodnight.

2008-07-16T07:48:00.001-04:00

Hedging

Lessons in Love, by Way of Economics
By BEN STEIN

AS my fine professor of economics at Columbia, C. Lowell Harriss (who just celebrated his 96th birthday) used to tell us, economics is the study of the allocation of scarce goods and services. What could be scarcer or more precious than love? It is rare, hard to come by and often fragile.

My primary life study has been about love. Second comes economics, so here, in the form of a few rules, is a little amalgam of the two fields: the economics of love. (I last wrote about this subject 20 years or so ago, and it's time to update it.)

In general, and with rare exceptions, the returns in love situations are roughly proportional to the amount of time and devotion invested. The amount of love you get from an investment in love is correlated, if only roughly, to the amount of yourself you invest in the relationship.

If you invest caring, patience and unselfishness, you get those things back. (This assumes, of course, that you are having a relationship with someone who loves you, and not a one-sided love affair with someone who isn't interested.)

High-quality bonds consistently yield more return than junk, and so it is with high-quality love. As for the returns on bonds, I know that my comment will come as a surprise to people who have been brainwashed into thinking that junk bonds are free money. They aren't. The data from the maven of bond research, W. Braddock Hickman, shows that junk debt outperforms high quality only in rare situations, because of the default risk.

In love, the data is even clearer. Stay with high-quality human beings. And once you find that you are in a junk relationship, sell immediately. Junk situations can look appealing and seductive, but junk is junk. Be wary of it unless you control the market. (Or, as I like to tell college students, the absolutely surest way to ruin your life is to have a relationship with someone with many serious problems, and to think that you can change this person.)

Research pays off. The most appealing and seductive (that word again) exterior can hide the most danger and chance of loss. For most of us, diversification in love, at least beyond a very small number, is impossible, so it's necessary to do a lot of research on the choice you make. It is a rare man or woman who can resist the outward and the surface. But exteriors can hide far too much.

In every long-term romantic situation, returns are greater when there is a monopoly. If you have to share your love with others, if you have to compete even after a brief while with others, forget the whole thing. You want to have monopoly bonds with your long-term lover. At least most situations work out better this way. ( I am too old to consider short-term romantic events. Those were my life when Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon were in the White House.)

The returns on your investment should at least equal the cost of the investment. If you are getting less back than you put in over a considerable period of time, back off.

Long-term investment pays off. The impatient day player will fare poorly without inside information or market-controlling power. He or she will have a few good days but years of agony in the world of love.

To coin a phrase: Fall in love in haste, repent at leisure.

Realistic expectations are everything. If you have unrealistic expectations, they will rarely be met. If you think that you can go from nowhere to having someone wonderful in love with you, you are probably wrong.

You need expectations that match reality before you can make some progress. There may be exceptions, but they are rare. When you have a winner, stick with your winner. Whether in love or in the stock market, winners are to be prized.

Have a dog or many dogs or cats in your life. These are your anchors to windward and your unfailing source of love.

Ben Franklin summed it up well. In times of stress, the three best things to have are an old dog, an old wife and ready money. How right he was.

THERE is more that could be said about the economics of love, but these thoughts may divert you while you are thinking about your future.

And let me close with another thought. I am far from glib about the economy. It has a lot of pitfalls facing it. As workers and investors, we know that many dangers lurk in our paths. But so far, these things have always worked themselves out and this one will, too. In the meantime, they say that falling in love is wonderful, and that the best is falling in love with what you have.

2008-07-14T07:47:00.003-04:00

Not Even 8 AM Yet

This morning a bottle of cologne fell out of my medicine cabinet and smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor. Since I didn't have time to do more than a cursory wipe of the area before I had to leave for work, there are two fun new developments in that room:

1. A crapload of tiny glass shards is splayed across the room. Thank goodness we don't shower or get naked in there.

2. There is a large, powerful puddle of Calvin Klein's Eternity for Men still sitting on the floor. By the time I get home to fix that, I predict that the bathroom will be unlivable. And to think- I was hoping that I wouldn't have to pee in the rec yard until I was drunk.

To brighten my day and yours, though, here's a conversation that happened between Jeff, Chad, and Brian this morning. It's a winner.

Brian: "So until they figure out what caused that reaction, I'm going to have to get an allergy test."
Jeff: "Those suck. What a pain in the ass."
Brian: "Supposedly it's a little prick test all over your back."
Jeff: "Chad, you used to give your ex-wife a little prick test, didn't you?"
Chad: "Yeah, but that was only twice a year."

Happy Monday morning.

2008-07-08T07:36:00.005-04:00

Does It Depress You?

How alone you really are?

Final Dark Knight Trailer

I haven't said this in many a year, but this movie could very well be my favorite of all time if the trailers, reviews, and released footage are any indication. Christian Bale is returning to offer his expert portrayal of Bruce Wayne/Batman- a conflicted, tortured, lonely soul trying to do the best he can. We all know, though, that Heath Ledger's anarchist Joker is going to steal the show.

It's only ten days away. For anyone who wants to see me nerd out in the extreme, make sure you join me during one of the many, many viewings of The Dark Knight I'll be heading to in July and August. The best film ever made about my favorite hero and favorite villain of all time?

Let's put a smile on that face.

2008-06-23T21:23:00.002-04:00

Alchemy

I was standing in the Allentown Bus Station today trying to discern the incomprehensible schedule they had posted on the wall. I had to get to JFK ... and that was all I knew. The rest was a smudge on some yellowed paper that had been hanging since the bicentennial.

After a minute or two, a man came up and stood beside me. He was about four inches taller than me, bald, Hispanic, and had an impressive goatee. My eyes caught his tattoo, massive arm, and gold chain before I glanced up at his face.

"Where you going?"

Uh, JFK- trying to figure out when I have to be here to catch the bus on Wednesday.

"JFK Airport?"

Yeah.

"Hell, man, no problem. Wednesday? Check this out- match Allentown, Wednesday, JFK ... here you go, man. 9:15. You're here at 9:15, you're going to JFK."

Wow ... cool. Thanks a lot.

"No problem, man."

I thanked him, then walked over and bought my bus tickets. When I turned around, he was gone.

When you want something, all the world conspires in helping you to achieve it.

I think I met the King of Salem in Allentown today- and I think it's time to get on the road.

See you July 6th.

2008-06-13T14:10:00.002-04:00

The Road Goes Ever On and On

“What I think is that a good life is one hero journey after another. Over and over again, you are called to the realm of adventure, you are called to new horizons. Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulﬁllment or the ﬁasco. There's always the possibility of a ﬁasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss.”
-Joseph Campbell

Going to Lehigh was a hero journey, as was marching with the Cadets. Both times I was lucky enough to find the boon and return home safely. There were others, as well, of varying types and degrees … some were bliss, some were fiascos.

I think part of the reason I’ve been so listless lately is that I haven’t received a new call to adventure that I actually want to answer. Working full time as an engineer would be a hero journey of sorts, but I have little interest in pursuing it. The test in that adventure would not come from a desire to pursue excellence but from the endurance and patience I would need just to get up every day. With the options and years arrayed before me as they are right now, I will not go down a path that I know will be a struggle of the worst kind. At least, I won’t without some sense of absolute necessity attached to it.

That’s why, after grad school is over, I’m hoping to answer the call and stage a real, global hero journey. My quest will be to travel the world; my boons will be a greater understanding and awareness of this planet, a greater understanding of myself, and a new sense of purpose for where I should go next. With the money I make next year, it might be possible to live that way for six months or more, bouncing from continent to continent with a backpack, The Alchemist, and my trusty Chewbacca action figure. One always needs a copilot, right?

Fun fact: when you type in “chewbacca” in MS Word 2007 without capitalizing the first letter, the program autocorrects and capitalizes his name. How goddam cool is that?

So yeah … one more year of hiding on Old South Mountain, and then it’s time to make the decision. I say “hide” because that’s exactly what it is. I actually have very little desire to get a Master’s degree, but staying is so much easier than leaving and that MS is my ticket to do so. Some might consider it a cowardly decision- after all, I have the chance to take my current education and go earn a solid salary somewhere. I could have an apartment, fill it with things, have my friends at work that I share beers with on Friday, watch the Phillies on TV during the summer, and come home for holidays. It would be an existence that a lot of people would relish. But cowardly, selfish, lazy, or otherwise … the 9-5 office space gig just isn’t what I want to do, possibly ever.

This year, I guess that will be my real hero journey … to figure out what I can do with my life after the bubble finally pops. After all, you don’t have to join Obi-wan on some damned fool idealistic crusade in order to make a journey. You don’t need to spend ten years in the Mediterranean dodging whirlpools and snake monsters. Even dropping the One Ring back into the fires of Mount Doom seems like a huge pain in the ass. Some of the most important adventuring you can do happens while sitting on the roof of your shitty off campus house and watching the stars, journeying right there within yourself.

Happy Friday.

2008-06-06T07:38:00.001-04:00

Camera Mugging

Much to my chagrin, there aren’t too many similarities between where I work now and The Office. The show has a distinctly more dramatic and sitcom-esque style to it, and the characters there are much more exciting, intense, and full of life. Every so often, though, I do get one very Office-like experience: a classic mug-the-camera moment ala Jim Halpert. It’s not overly common for something ridiculous to happen around here, but when it does I just find myself instinctively searching for a camera crew with which to share my joy/mirth/sadness/scorn/general emotion.

And, fortunately for me on this wonderful Friday morning, I recently experienced one such moment.

So I walked into the bathroom at 7:30 AM and heard loud talking. As I rounded the corner I found no one standing there, leading me to believe that there must be two guys in stalls having a conversation. I made a quick check under the doors because now I was curious about who would engage in a loud, ongoing conversation while taking a shit. What this revealed, however, was that there was only one other guy in the bathroom. That’s when I realized … this dude was on his cell phone while dropping the kids off at the pool.

Undoubtedly, the best part of the event was when I heard the topic of his conversation. Here’s a rundown of his dialogue and my responsive thought process as I used the urinal on the opposite side of the room:

“Whatever you want, go ahead. Those details don’t matter that much to me.”

I can’t believe he’s talking on his phone while taking a dump.

“Honey, really, just pick out the ones you want and I’ll look at them when I get home.”

Is he on the phone with his wife? Does she know he’s in the bathroom?

“I do care. I really do. But I’m just saying that you don’t need to wait for me before you make this decision. Pick out the placecard design online and submit it.”

Placecard design? Wait a minute, he can’t be discussing-

“Yes, I care about this wedding!”

Jesus Christ.

“Fine- if you want we can wait until I come home from work and take care of it all this evening. Honey, really, that’s fine.”

She can’t possibly know he’s crapping during this conversation.

“Hang on one sec.”

…?

[light splash]

“Sorry, I’m back.”

… are you fucking kidding me?

And with that, I bid you all a very happy “Friday Morning Following Tequila Thursday.” If your morning was anything like mine, it’s already been tempered by a headache, intense lethargy from only getting 5 hours of sleep, and more than a little disgust at hearing a guy punch the toilet while making wedding plans.

As for the rest of the day, I think it’s time to take a page out of the book of Creed … which, in this case, means I’m going to spend the next 8 hours figuring out what the hell it is I actually do here.

Here’s to summer.

2008-05-30T02:16:00.003-04:00

Cliche Indie Movie Scene

I'm sitting on a train at one in the morning, cruising through a landscape of humming orange glow and traffic lights playing to empty streets. I can only see out the window if the train is in motion; otherwise, the fluorescent lights completely outshine the world. My car is empty except for myself, a dozing conductor, and a couple other passengers. A loudspeaker crackles out incoherent station names every ten minutes or so. There's considerable time before he'll vaguely pronounce a word that sounds like the name of my stop.

A businessman with loosened tie and tired eyes sits across the aisle, slowly scrolling through a blackberry. He occasionally types a few sentences. Once he answers a call and quietly talks. The only part of the conversation that is discernible is the end: a brief "I love you, too. I'll be home soon." After that he puts away the blackberry. His eyes seem less tired.

Two other men at the back of the car are wearing orange, blue, and black from head to toe. From their talk it's impossible to tell if their team won, but from them you can hear the comfortable platitudes of fervent baseball fans. The team needs a new coach. Their bullpen is killing their game. A couple more hitters coming alive could save the series. Damn the Phillies.

The remaining car passenger is a black woman with headphones on. She's been asleep since the train was set in motion back at the city. I've been wondering what she's listening to for about as long.

My coffee cup is about drained, as are the batteries on my own music player. My eyes have been sifting in and out of focus for a while, now. One moment they're seeing the outside, watching the cities and suburbs and fields pass in darkness; the next, as the train stops, they only see the reflection of the businessman and myself. My eyes look like his, if a little more lively due to the coffee.

The music I'm playing is a mix tape from a friend. In cliche fashion, all the songs seem to fit the scene. Any one of them could play as a camera started with a shot of me from outside the train, then panned away slowly. Eventually the camera would come to rest high above the train with the tracks in the center of its view; the train would continue traveling off into the darkness. The orange hum and oblivious red and green traffic lights would line the tracks on either side. The sad vocals on top of a guitar or piano would nicely accent the isolation of this shot.

The point of the scene would be just as cliche ... I see it as ending the movie. Travel usually symbolizes searching, or the journey of a character. A train is perfect for this, because it takes many travelers all at once, each with their own search, and it has the ability to move them far over the horizon. Even better, a train will usually run through the night. The traveler is thus forced to wait for the destination to arrive, whether it be their last stop or simply the next step. A traveler who cannot sleep is going forward but is still trapped to ironically watch the world go by, even as they move.

The only question left for the scene is: where am I going? Home? Finding family? Hiking distant travels to lands unknown? Meeting friends? Chasing love? Following an instinct?

Coming to find you?

2008-05-25T22:16:00.002-04:00

"Here at Last ...

... on the shores of the sea, comes the end of our fellowship. And I will not say: do not weep, for not all tears are evil."

Last night, I was walking through my old high school with one of my best friends from home. She and I marveled at the changes that had already taken place since we had left 4 and 5 years ago ... walls repainted, lockers rearranged, remodeling that had been done, even different smells. Pictures hung on the walls of athletes, musicians, and scholars whom we didn't even know. Some of the teachers who had influenced us so strongly were still around, but many had also retired or moved on to other work.

Most telling was the change that was evident in our old hangout, the band room. Neither of our band directors were still there. The only records of our time in that room, our glorious and wonderful and infinitely beloved time, were the dusty trophies that lined the walls with the years 2002 and 2003 on them. No one had cleaned them for ages, that we could see ... but we remembered the sweat, energy, and passion that had gone into earning them. Those trophies might just be gray, forgotten relics of plastic, but to us (or at least, to me) they represented the most expensive and worthwhile commodity in the world: friendship.

Walking through my high school a week after my college graduation caused a fairly significant emotional reaction in me. It hasn't really sunk in yet that those four years are over, I think because I'll be returning to Lehigh again in the fall. In the back of my mind, there's that comfort in knowing that the location and people will be almost entirely the same as they've been. Some very important and dear people will be leaving ... going to work, going to other schools, leaving the country ... but many others will also be staying. There will still be parties and nights at the bar, walks in the moonlight and talks until dawn, long evenings of sadness and joy and poor decisions.

I guess that, when I really think about it, the thing I'm clinging to most desperately at this point is not the people, or the place, or anything like that ... but to the past. Just like in high school, Lehigh is a place I've come to own and feel and live within. It has given me almost everything I've had in the last four years, and has affected every single thing I've done in that time. It's become safe, understood, reassuring. It's a place that has given me pride, accomplishment, and a sense of who I am. And yet, I know that returning this year will not be the same, and that in May 2009, it will all be over for good. Only one year from now. The only thing I can guarantee is that I'll be armed with 3 degrees, my personality, my confidence, and the friends I've made since I arrived. With those in my pocket I'll be turned loose on the world, just like everyone else, to make of it what I will.

I know very little for sure at this point. This month has become, as my brother put it, "a very weird sort of stasis." It's like my undergraduate education ended and left me at a train station with no ticket, money, or destination. Sure, things are lined up for the next 12 months of my life- an internship, graduate work, research, teaching, and music. The problem is that I don't think I want the life that I chose for myself four years ago. Having seen the working world, I could never give 40 hours a week to a cubicle, solving engineering design problems on a computer all day. I could never commute half an hour each way, take lunch with the same people, slowly build a suburban house into a truly American suburban castle. There's got to be more to life than that ... there's got to be more to living that that.

As I said, I don't know much of anything at this point. My father's illness reminded me that I need my family. The end of my last relationship reminded me that I need love. Saying goodbye to Lehigh reminds me now that I need friends, laughter, support, and a sense of belonging. So the question that everyone faces is ... where do we find those things? Where are they in our future? Where can we achieve them ... and also achieve work that fulfills us?

Before we left the high school last night, we found a display case full of the biggest trophies our high school band had ever earned. The tallest trophy in the case still belonged to the CHS band from my senior year, when we had won the state championships for the first time. Just seeing the trophy brought back memories from the whole season, and the night we won. Even four and a half years later, having come through so much, that memory still moved me so deeply ...

What I know for certain is that, in my life, I want to find a woman I know how to love. I want a family. I want to be able to provide for them. I want to see the world. I want to go on adventures without knowing how they're going to end. I want to devote some portion of my life to music. And, towards the end, I want to be the old man that people come to for advice, for laughter, and for stories.

It's a lot to ask, especially with no plan ... but I guess if I've learned one thing, in my four years as a Lehigh engineer, it's that you can usually get by with having absolutely no plan at all.

Happy Graduation, everyone. Good luck.

2008-04-29T00:54:00.001-04:00

The Curse

"i do have some bad news for you. if you hold to the standards that i believe you do (you were a cadet after all), you will never be happy with your level of success. you will always think you can do more. you will always be looking for the next big thing. sorry! there is only one time when the quest is over and that is when you are… well… dead. not sure that is all that much to look forward to?"
--- george hopkins

This quote is eerily, eerily accurate. Almost depressingly so.

2008-04-20T22:49:00.002-04:00

Grief

Grief is most often used as a term describing the effects of losing a loved one. Someone close to you passes, be it family, friend, or lover, and it is said you will work through the stages of grief. Different people experience and express grief in all different manners; in general, however, we all know the main stages of the process. We all know that people go from one stage to the next, ultimately seeking to find acceptance and the ability to push forward again. Despite the hole they might feel, the love that was lost, or the companionship they miss, most people eventually find a way to go on.

I guess what I'm realizing is that grief and the process behind it don't just apply to the loss of someone you love, specifically. They can apply to the loss of anything. At the moment, I feel what I'm working to overcome is the grief of losing this time in our lives. Never again will all of us be in this place, with each other, as who we are. Never again will you be the person you are right now ... for better, worse, or indifferent, you will never be the same.

Some of my high school friends and I stay in contact now. We mostly talk online, sending quick messages or thoughts every once in a blue moon. I'm even in the same situation with a lot of my Lehigh friends who have already graduated. Life rolls on, and even when we see one another again, even if it's in the same haunts and with the same group- it's just not the same. The thing that is different is us, individually and collectively. There's no way to go back and be the way we were.

As life passes like this, it also comes with mistakes, some with no chance for redemption. Each mistake, however, comes with the opportunity to move forward with that much knowledge at your disposal. In addition to the failure of time, I thus grieve for the fact that there is no way to retrieve time which has already passed. I grieve for those mistakes and the consequences they have brought about, as well as the minor missteps along the way. I grieve for the chances I never took and the opportunities I may have squandered or never realized.

The most important part of these revelations is that, as with all grief, I must also come to realize that these feelings are okay. Despite the pain, loss, regret, or other emotions that recent changes have spurred in me, I must know that they are a part of life. As my grandfather says, you have to live each day as if the best is still to come. Get up with a purpose. Wake each morning with the deliberate goal of working through the feelings you feel. Trust in the future, and in yourself.

It's okay to be sad. It's okay to miss the friends and loved ones who are leaving even before they're gone. It's also okay to look back on the last four years and wonder what you might have done differently, if given the chance. But you can't go around those feelings ... you have to go through them. There is no secret to escaping them. Not in the bottom of a bottle, or in giving in to temptation, or in forsaking those things which once gave you purpose. Trying to get out those ways is easy- but you'll ultimately never get anywhere.

Tonight I ponder and sleep. Tomorrow, I will watch the dawning of a new day ... and begin to push forward.

Live each day as if the best is yet to come.

2008-04-13T13:08:00.003-04:00

Hero

"I'm not afraid of dying, Jer. I just don't want to leave you guys behind."

My father said that to me on the phone about two months ago, when he was first diagnosed with cancer. I immediately told him not to think like that ... he had a very treatable form of cancer, he had caught it very early, and the doctors were on top of it. Nothing could go wrong. I said that I knew he was going through a really hard time, being trapped in the house alone all day with thoughts like that, but he didn't have to worry. He was going to be around a long while yet.

My dad seemed to calm down a little bit after that. The next week the doctors found that his cancer hadn't spread- by March they had scheduled his surgery. This Thursday they'll be removing it from his body, hopefully for good, during a routine operation being performed by one of the best surgeons in Philadelphia.

It was a cold, rainy night when I had that conversation with him. At first what he said took me aback. I didn't know how to respond. This was my father ... the man I've spent my entire life trying to be, trying to make proud of me. He would always be around, wouldn't he? He'd watch my brother and I graduate from college. He would help us move into our first houses, see us get our first jobs. He would be standing ten feet away when we both eventually married. He'd be in the waiting room or on the phone when our children were born, hanging on the news that he was a grandfather and probably wishing he hadn't quit smoking back in his 30's.

Later that night, laying in bed, I cried over the conversation we'd had. Until it actually comes to stare you in the face and the possibility becomes real, I suppose many of us don't think about the mortality of our parents. Most of us have already lost an older member of our family. Those of us who haven't can probably at least attest to watching someone grow into an older, frailer form of themselves as the years have gone by. But your parents ... well, they're your parents. At least to me. Where would they ever go?

I'm going home this Thursday to be with them when the surgery happens. It's a routine operation. The only possibility of complications comes from my dad's tendency to bleed fairly heavily (a fact which I told the doctor could probably be attributed to his intense gin drinking). My dad will be recovering by Thursday night and back to his regular self by mid May or so at the latest. He'll be sitting in the bleachers of Goodman Stadium as I graduate in a little over a month. I'll hug him when we take family pictures after the ceremony. And for now, there'll be no more need to think of when he won't be there.

Someday, nearly all of us will eventually see the passing of our families before our eyes. The parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and others you grew up with, and who had such an impact on your life, will be gone from this world. The most important thing you can do, in my mind, is make sure you let them know you love them even if they already know, in whatever way your family shows that kind of thing.

I love my dad. I'm who I am and where I am today because of everything he's done and sacrificed in the last 22 years. In my eyes, there is no greater man on this earth, and making him proud has been my foremost goal throughout the entirety of the last decade. I'm happy that he's going to be around for a long time yet ... and now, I think I'm starting to understand that it will be okay if a long time doesn't mean forever. I'll miss him-

the man who taught me how to play catch even though I was never any good at sports

the man who sat through too many high school football games so that he could see me conduct the marching band as many times as he could

the man who, despite not understanding jazz, could tell that our trombones were so much better than our trumpets year after year

the man who drove me to and from every Cadets audition, practice, and rehearsal the entire season

the man who worked 15 hours a day so that my family could live well

and now, the man who makes up cookies every single time we come home, and times it so that they're still warm when we walk in

I'll miss him when he's gone. We all will. But I'm sure he knows we love him, and that we'll take care of each other. If I had to pick one thing to tell him that maybe he didn't know, it'd be the same thing he's told me so many times. I want to make sure he knows that, someday, I hope my children can look at me the same way I look at him. That they can know the things I do are for them. That I'm proud of them. Quite simply, I want to make sure my dad knows he's done a great job ... and that if I could live up to be anyone in the world, it would be him.

Anyway, thanks for reading this one, if you did ... it means a lot to me.

Happy Sunday, everybody.

2008-04-06T12:14:00.003-04:00

24 Hours - The Night I

11:00 PM

We file into the church and it's already 1,000 degrees. The old sanctuary hasn't been retrofitted with a successful air conditioning system since its construction in 1495. As a result, the 200 old people and 400,000 candles that line the pews make for a fairly uncomfortable atmosphere, to say the least. Fortunately, the suit and tie I'm wearing will be able to absorb a copious amount of sweat before leaking through. At least that's some consolation.

My uncle, aunt, and grandparents are already there to greet my family. Poppop is wearing the same suit he does every year. It seems my brother won the bet over my grandmother's sweater- he bet red, I bet green. I always forget that she likes to match the flowers. For some reason the heat hasn't seemed to affect any of them. It makes you wonder, really. How do old people survive at such temperatures? It's like they're covered in titanium shelling.

We file in and jump into the same order we always do in the Herman-Walsh aisle. My uncle and aunt are at the far right end, followed to the left by Dad, Mom, my brother, me, my grandmother, and my grandfather. We've come to time our arrival so perfectly that we only wait about 90 seconds for the service to start. In our minds, there's no sense arriving too early and greeting the old people we can't remember. As interesting as Mrs. Rhimathy's stories about her cats are, well ... frankly, they're not that interesting.

The Pastor stands up and begins the welcome to the service. He's the same old Pastor with the same old greeting and same old parables about the holiday. His voice is far too soothing and well fitted to the warm sanctuary; even despite the coffee I chugged, I can feel myself going. I actually get excited when it's time to sing the first hymn- the standing will surely wake me out of this stupor. That's when I remember the same thing every year. The hymns are so slow that it's actually possible to fall asleep standing up. The only thing keeping me awake at this point are the cramps falling out of my back muscles. Who's idea was it to build pews out of hard wood, arched forward ... Jesus.

And so the service rolls on for a whole 55 minutes. My brother and I have exhausted our supply of scratch paper, and the excitement of tossing a dollar into the collection plate was lost a scant 18 years ago. I've mocked the trumpet player/organist duet about 15 times. My grandmother has asked me to quiet down. I'm also fairly certain that I've lost enough moisture from sweating that I'm moments away from hallucinating my way into a spiritual journey. Why the hell do we do this every year?

Suddenly the lights go down. Candles are passed around with an efficiency that once again belies the many years this church has held this service. The heat hasn't dissipated, but for some reason seems more appropriate and fitting in the darkness. I sit up to get a better view of what's about to happen. Even my brother and father, usually the two most stolid members of the family, take a newfound interest in the proceedings. My grandmother has noticeably taken a set of tissues out of her purse. Maybe this will be the year she doesn't cry, but I doubt it.

At a subtle and theatrical pace, a man stands up from the choir and reaches the altar. He pauses there for a moment, looking out past the congregation toward the back of the church. He is obviously intense. His eyes reveal a focus learned from many performances and songs having been sung in his lifetime. The opening notes- the same familiar arpeggios, played ever so softly- begin to rise and fall in the darkness around him. At the last moment before he begins, a smirk forms in the corner of his mouth.

I smile too, as my uncle takes his first breath into the song that will announce the beginning of Christmas. It's 11:56 ... right on time.

His strong tenor voice, well learned in the ways of stage projection, rebounds off the walls with a sudden excitement. The congregation experiences a visible jolt out of the comatose sobriety they had been falling into the last hour. Even the opening words, sung at a comparatively soft timbre and volume, have already entranced everyone watching. As always, it's easy to see that my uncle is good at what he does. Very good.

The song continues in its rolling, oscillating melodies from low to high, soft to loud, contemplative to joyful and back again. The underlying but consistent crescendo moves the hearts of those listening as their emotions follow the words of the hymn. My grandmother has begun to cry- looks like my brother won this bet, too. I thought she would at least make it to the second verse this year. Damn.

Finally the song reaches its peak. Tension builds- we all the know the melody, and despite my uncle's proficiency we always doubt whether or not that top note will come out. An octave jump to the top of your range requires a hell of a level of skill, even for the best performers. He sings closer to the note, ever louder, ever more passionate, ever more beautiful, until finally he goes for it-

And then my uncle is singing the final "Noel" as loud and high as he can. The raw power of his emotion and voice burst through the church and congregation around us. Both my mother and grandmother are crying now, and my own eyes are moist with the meaning of the moment. He holds the note, and holds, until suddenly he lets go. An infinitely long second of silence follows, his voice echoing through the arches above us. The organ comes back in, my uncle sings the final words, and then the song is over. He departs the altar without a word.

The Pastor rises slowly, stands before the congregation, and opens his arms. "It is 12:01 in the morning. A Merry Christmas to you all- may the love and guidance of our Lord embrace you and all whom you love on this day. Go in peace."

The cool night air outside the church is the most soothing sensation I've ever experienced. It always seems to be a clear night on Christmas Eve, and the stars shine against the night. We say goodnight to the family, congratulate my uncle, and jump back in the car for the ride home.

I'm not a very religious person, and for the most part I'm not moved by organized religion of any kind. Seeing my uncle sing on Christmas Eve, though, and watching my family come together for just those few minutes at the end of the service as his voice rises and falls ... well, hell. I guess we all believe in something, don't we?

12:10 AM

2008-03-29T02:09:00.002-04:00

Cadillac

http://play.rhapsody.com/johnwilliams3/
johnwilliamsgreatesthits19691999/
cadillacoftheskiesfromempireofthesun

If there's one thing I wish, it's that I could sit with you for the longest time and listen to music. We could do it anywhere ... on a cliff overlooking the sea. In the haze of a summer's dusk, rocking on a porch. Under the stars. There's no one perfect place- in an odd way, there are too many places that are perfect.

There'd be no need to restrict the type of music that we listened to. My only rule would be that each selection would have to mean something. It would have to hold a place in your heart, draw something out of you, require something of you. I would offer the same; nothing less than music that meant I had to share some piece of me with you.

As we listened, though, I would have the same regret I always do. As much as my words would try, I wouldn't be able to tell you how the music moved me. I could certainly tell you why it was special ... I could tell you the memories it invoked. I could try to tell you about the images it conjured. I could summon the courage and even tell you that it made me so happy, so afraid, so sad, so peaceful. But the actual how of what the music did- the swell of emotion within my chest, the involuntary wetness in my eyes, the silence of my chattering mind- I could never declare to you in a way that mattered.

The only solution would be for you to see it happen ... for you to hear the notes and see the tears running down my cheeks. To place your hand on my chest and feel my pulse quicken. To reach out and try to experience what I was feeling first-hand.

I'm not very good at expressing myself sometimes. I'll show you anger, joy, humor, frustration, and cynicism quite readily. But sadness, fear, hesitation, or any other sign of weakness ... I have the most difficult time letting them out. There's just a distinct inability in me to look at you and tell you I'm vulnerable. I can't bring myself to say that I need someone, or that I'm afraid what my life would be like without them.

The first step, for now, would be admitting the truth that I really do need the people in my life. To deny that would cheat them and myself.

In the meantime, while I work on that, I was wondering if you wanted to listen to some music. If you're up for it, we could start with the corps hymn and go from there ...

2008-03-12T18:19:00.003-04:00

Stuff I Should Be Doing Right Now

1. Planning out the airline tickets I need to get to France with the Allentown Band. Additionally, I should be plotting out anything else I want to do in Europe with my week off. It's only three months away ... but what's intercontinental travel without a little excitement?

2. Writing my Martindale thesis. It's a pile of dog crap right now.

3. Sleeping.

4. Taking care of the plethora of useless paperwork I've amassed from NSCS and Gryphoning over the last few weeks. It's amazing what a distinct sense of apathy can do for your motivation when you know the work is pointless.

5. Finishing the regular, worthwhile homework I've amassed over the last few weeks. It's equally amazing how doing almost zero work has only cost me about half a point of GPA for this semester so far. Makes you wonder what I've been doing with my life up till now.

And what am I doing instead of all that? Sitting on the couch, waiting to go to another meeting that, ultimately, will not matter in the end.

As much as Spring Break should have rejuvenated me, I think for right now it's taken the last of the wind out of my sails. Things will be okay again soon, just ... for right now they're not. And it's not like there's even anything I could be doing except getting up and taking care of the usual shit. There is simply nothing left to be done but wait for time to pass.

So for now ... I hang with friends, I do what work that I must, and I wait.

"I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.

I hope I can make it across the border.
I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand.
I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.
I hope."
-Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption

2008-02-29T21:20:00.003-05:00

24 Hours (the morning II)

7:02 AM

I'm downstairs a scant few minutes before my brother, but that's all I need. Dad has been out the door for two hours and at work for nearly that long. Mom isn't home from work yet ... she gets off at 6:30, though, so this bodes well in terms of her bringing home a breakfast treat. In a few minutes we'll probably hear the garage door go up, then see her walk through the kitchen with one arm carrying her work bag and the other arm carrying a box of fresh donuts. Back then I didn't understand how loving it was to stop on her way home from the night shift; fortunately, I do now.

I scratch my leg absentmindedly as I look out the sliding glass door into the backyard. Why do flannel pajama pants always itch so much after they bunch up around your knees the night before? There's a light dusting of snow on the ground and the sky is a stoney gray. The swings sway with derision at the wind that whips through the closely nestled homes of our neighborhood. I feel warmer for having seen the obviously freezing climate outside ... hopefully Mom will be home soon.

My brother's arrhythmic stair descent distracts me. There's no time to lose. I vault into the bean bag chair just as he comes into sight in the kitchen. I lean forward and click on the Nintendo moments before he can reach the switch himself. He whines as he realizes his defeat, but the rules are clear on the matter and there's little he can do. I smile and, in that effortlessly superior older sibling sort of way, tell him I'll try not to take too long. He harumphs, wraps his dinosaur blanket a little closer, and slumps on the couch next to Dale, his stuffed chipmunk.

It's another half hour and a chair rotation later (I'm on the couch now with my stuffed dinosaur, Tales) before Mom comes in. My brother is doing well in a tough Mario level, so I head over to greet her and say good morning. She walks through the garage door looking more than a little tired, but she smiles big as soon as she sees us. "Good morning, my boys." She drops off the donuts (to which we cheer triumphantly), then makes us promise to be good and get her if we need anything. We tell her we love her and that we'll see her at lunch. Mom takes one last look at us before slowly heading upstairs to catch up on a few hours' sleep. We're proud that our Mom trusts us so much ... we can take care of the house all morning so that she can sleep.

With Mom safely tucked into her warm bed and Dad not due home until dark, my brother and I are in our own little world. The only rules are to keep everything clean, to stay inside, and to not fight. We play video games, build vast spaceships with Legos, construct massive structures with K'nex, watch our favorite cartoons, and ensure that our stuffed animals pursue noble quests in the kitchen. Around noon we'll run in and wake up Mom, but for now, just these few hours each Saturday morning ... it's just us. Jer and Dan. Mom's angel boys.

And that's another perfect hour in the day.

8:00 AM

2008-01-31T09:27:00.000-05:00

22 Years

For the last 22 years of my life, I've been working towards something. But maybe what I've been working towards isn't the 9-5 job, and the decent salary, and the okay place to live. Maybe it isn't the new honda and the swingset in the backyard and the big screen TV. Maybe what I've been working towards is actually the ability, and the courage, to choose something other than that which is expected. Maybe it's the personal faith in myself to know that I can do anything in my life, and it will turn out okay. Maybe it's the understanding that there doesn't have to be understanding all the time. Or, most importantly, maybe it's the knowledge that there is no right answer, except for the happiness you feel inside yourself each day.

2008-01-25T22:41:00.000-05:00

Whew

So the week was capped off by my second car accident in the last two years. This one was definitely my fault, I'll definitely be paying the other guy's damage, and I got to watch my car get towed for the first time ever. The body damage was minimal on the Mach 5, but it wouldn't start after I moved it out of the intersection where the collision happened. My dad thinks it's the drive shaft or the alternator ... both of which could be bad news. For now, I cast the destiny of my vehicle to the Fates (at least until early next week).

The rest of the week was spent either forgetting about appointments, accidentally double scheduling myself, or losing my glasses. The glasses are missing for good this time, I think. I still can't sleep for more than a couple hours at a time without waking up, and usually then in a cold sweat. To top things off, for some reason I just can't seem to calm down anymore. I'm wired with this nameless dread or intense stress that I just can't shrug off. I've tried everything ... going to bed earlier, cutting coffee, working out, spending more time on music. I wonder if there's anything else to be done?

What's most frightening about this unusual behavior is the effect it's had on the nights I go out. When the option to drink presents itself, I immediately cast aside the idea of drinking moderately in favor of getting intensely drunk. A very large part of me just wants the stress and constant mind racing to abate, and a very practical way to do that is to drink into myself into thoughtlessness. I've actually gone out of my way to not drink at all this week after the events of last weekend. I don't trust myself to be safe ...

Hah, funny example of my current mindset- I just realized I haven't eaten anything today since 11 AM. I haven't been hungry at all. And I know if I go to bed soon because I'm tired, I'm going to lay awake and wait for the clock to tick beside me for a few hours.

Oh well ... time to go watch some Office and see if there's some wisdom to be garnered there. In times of crisis, always ask yourself: What Would Michael Do?

2008-01-22T12:55:00.000-05:00

Engineering

"Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent."
-Victor Hugo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kb-pobBiKkI&feature=related

The notes you hear and the emotion they generate will not be the same for any one of us. Regardless of this inherent dissimilarity, however, each of us is capable of feeling through music. We may be inspired, enlivened, or made to weep by those sounds which find a way to affect us. The only true downfall of music is when it rebounds upon deaf ears, or upon stone hearts which will not be moved.

So open yourself to music. Close your eyes and let the visions play in your head. Drown out the noise of the day and hear the melody that reaches your soul. And most importantly ... share what you hear. Denying what music makes you feel defeats the very purpose of that music in the first place.

Like your band director always said- play out. Right or wrong, good or bad ... play out for all to hear.

2008-01-16T10:20:00.000-05:00

Think Hard

Another 366 days around the sun.

Did you accomplish everything you wanted to? Did you meet everyone you wanted to meet? Experience everything you wanted to experience? Say what you wanted to say? Be who you wanted to be?

Partially. Sometimes. I wonder what I should have done differently in the last year.

What would you change about last year? That's the wrong question to ask ... it's the same as asking what you would change about the earth's orbit. The fact is that you can't change it.

So what's the real question?

What will you do this year? This month? This week? Tomorrow? And most importantly- today? It becomes a math problem, engineer. Today's choices x 365.25 x your life span in years = you. Most people aren't built in a day. Character is built in pieces, ever so small, and they can only be added over long spans of time.

What if I don't know what to do?

That's the other problem, engineer. No black and white, cut and dry, right and wrong. It's all a mix of colors. The only "correct" solution comes when you wake up in the morning, and you're happy with the piece of life you're creating.

Will my TI-89 Platinum do it? I downloaded the extra graphing package.

... just go to class already. And think hard on your choices. Think very, very hard.

2008-01-08T00:44:00.000-05:00

Play On

So unless I made a mistake somewhere, this blog now has audio capabilities. On the right side of the page should be a box labeled "Compositions." Each of the links in that box connects to a sound file that I uploaded to an online file storage website, Box.net. Follow the links and you can download those sound files, playable on itunes or any other audio program that can handle wav files.

The three items posted so far are what I've thrown together in Sibelius up to this point. They might suck, but hey ... everyone needs a creative outlet, right?

Happy composing.

2008-01-06T11:33:00.000-05:00

24 Hours (the morning)

5:55 AM

I always set my alarm to five minutes before I have to be awake. I roll over slowly onto my back, hazy as usual about where I am today and what I'm doing. A quick spasm in my left leg reminds me of exactly what I'm doing. Sun streams in from the open windows at the top of the gym, making the yellow walls burn with a warm glow. The air in the room is hot and heavy, dense from the lack of circulation and large number of bodies. I lay for some minutes in silence, enjoying the solitude of wakefulness surrounded by sleep.

At exactly 6:02 AM, another member of the corps taps me on the shoulder. "You're already up? Good- wake the others on that side, I'll get this side. Outside and ready to go in 8 minutes." I quickly roll my sleeping bag and place my belongings on the side of the bleachers, ready to be moved out at a moment's notice. I put on the day's attire- cotton shorts, an old t-shirt, fresh socks, sneakers, a faded cap- and then slip through the far side of the gym. I slowly find the crew, including Froggy, Elk, Red, Flamin' A, wait a minute to make sure they're all up, then head out the gym doors to the day.

I lean against the gym's outer brick wall for a moment, taking in our new surroundings. In a minute or two, I'm joined by others; we exchange bleary-eyed nods. The breeze is already warm on my face, even though the sun is just peaking over the mountains to the east. Directly below us is a turf field (seems like it's in beautiful condition) with other sport facilities spread around the complex we're in. In the distance we see the giant boulder that gives this town it's namesake, similarly glowing a vibrant tan and green in the summer sunlight. The sky is completely clear and an overwhelming blue. The scene makes me smile despite the soreness of my legs and the dried blood still on my face.

Eventually we're all there, and the guy who first woke me up arrives. "A mile that way, uphill. Only the main tower, then back for breakfast. Stretch and run begins in forty-five minutes. Let's go." We jog up the mountain at an easy gait, letting our lungs adjust to this new altitude. In about ten minutes we're at the tower, still not having said a word, and we erect it with a speed that belies the end of the season. We've put it up and taken it down too many times to count by now. Despite the pain of the early wake-up, the brisk jogs, and the monotony of our job, I know I picked the right crew to be on for the summer. I also know I'll miss it when it's over.

Once the tower is up, we realize we have a few extra minutes so a couple of us head to the top. The climb gives us another 30 feet of view at what is already the top of a mountain, and we can see for miles upon miles in every direction. The sun is rising quickly, illuminating more of the vast range of Rockies around us. There still isn't a cloud to be found in any direction.

Several moments pass ... faint bird calls. Warm breeze.

Blue sky.

Our vision is finally broken by the quick check of a watch. "All right ... breakfast time. Let's get back." We descend the tower carefully, regroup, and enjoy the easier jog downhill to breakfast. In another ten minutes I'm twenty people back in the chow line, thinking about eggs and wondering what we'll be working on in drill today. There's a peacefulness in my heart that I haven't felt in the longest time. Those mountains did more for me that morning than anything else I could have asked for. An unexpected dream come true.

And that is my perfect wake-up. What's yours?

7:00 AM

2008-01-01T17:39:00.000-05:00

Creation

I love the new Sibelius (music writing) software I got for Christmas. Maybe even more than Matlab, if such levels of intimacy are possible between a pile of code and a human being.

So far the only thing I've finished is a ten bar chord progression for tenor brass instruments. It's mostly just a combination of major chords and inversions, but I like how it sounds. Very drum-corps-warm-up-esque.

As for a longer piece ... such is a work in progress. I have the idea ... I have the inspiration ... I just have to hear it. As mathematically oriented as music is, there are some things you can't just sit there and plug through with brute force. You've gotta hear the melody before you can write it sometimes.

Happy 2008.

2007-12-28T13:23:00.000-05:00

Level Up

In a role-playing video game (RPG), there are usually a couple ways to go about completing the quest you're given to save the world. This type of genre focuses not on reaction speed or play mechanics so much as macro and micro-based strategies in and out of combat. "Macro" refers to how you set up your team of typically medieval-type wanderers. Do you take four wizards, two knights and two wizards, a couple of thieves, or some other arrangement? "Micro" refers to how you command your characters in combat. Do you go for all-out physical damage, lots of magic boosts for fighters, a magical apocalypse in every fight, or some other type of strategy?

The one aspect of RPG's that has survived over twenty years of game development, however, is the idea of leveling. Each character is granted a "level," usually a numerical representation of his or her strength and abilities. A character at level 1 has just started the game; a character at level 70 is usually a death machine. "Leveling" is the intentional development of character levels on behalf of the player. In many RPG's, this refers to spending time wandering around and fighting extra monsters, giving your characters extra experience and thus extra levels to make them stronger.

When it comes to leveling, I believe there are three basic strategies that many players try to follow. These are outlined below and are especially applicable to the "old school" game series, such as Dragon Warrior or Final Fantasy:

1. Speed Demon: Blow through the game like you don't have the time to even be playing it in the first place. Never spend time gaining experience points or gold, and avoid the best equipment at all costs. If you're not pushing forward in the plot, you're not having fun. Side quests are just that- optional side quests which should never distract you from the more important journey you're on to save the world.

Pros: This is easily one of the most challenging ways to take on these games, because many of them were designed to incorporate at least some degree of character building. If you get your highs off of being near death constantly and barely squeaking through even the easiest missions, though, this track is for you. As said before, you'll also be avoiding those painful hours of leveling and equipment searching.

Cons: Difficulty in this strategy can approach epic proportions to the point of impossibility. The risks you run, especially toward the end of the game if you haven't done any of the side quests, are sometimes suicidal. You are literally flying by the seat of your pants, casting first-grade fire spells against an ice juggernaut in the final dungeon. Godspeed.

2. Balanced Play: You spend some time leveling up, you get pretty good weapons and armor, you do a couple of side quests, and at the end of the game you find yourself in some danger but not huge amounts of it. This is how many game programmers originally designed their quests: to be played with an eye of character development but without having to spend hours between plot points making sure your characters were top notch warriors.

Pros: If done correctly, can offer an excellent balance of risk and reward. You don't sacrifice hours of your life, but at the same time you can push forward at a fairly good pace without dying every couple of fights.

Cons: Still requires leveling at some points in the game, and still results in you getting thrashed at least once or twice. You also have to spend more time than in the Speed Demon version, but less time than the last option.

3. Level Juggernaught: You live, eat, and breathe leveling. There's nothing you enjoy more than walking around outside each and every castle or fort, getting incrementally stronger and saving up for that sword that gives you a marginal +35 attack instead of +33 like the next cheapest version. Hours and hours of your time pass by as your wizard learns "Death Inferno" before you've even taken on the first dungeon. A side quest is not a side quest but a test of your manhood. You will leave no stone unturned in your hunt for the best weapons, armor, and magic. As a result of this behavior, any team you field in indomitable, and if you pick the optimal team (tank, brawler, healer, blaster)- guess what? The final boss of the game won't be able to scratch your shield. Even those "extra hard" Japanese-only bosses will be little more than a prolonged skirmish.

Pros: You run absolutely no risk. None. Your characters are so overly powerful and well equipped at each point in the game that, by the time you finally move forward in the plot, the regular enemies can't touch you. Hell, a nuclear bomb couldn't touch you by the time you're done. So every time you walk into a dungeon or boss fight, you know the outcome. Swift, undeniable victory.

Cons: As a result of your OCD leveling, there is almost no challenge left in the game at all. If anything, you may become so bored and jaded by that lack of risk that you stop playing the game before the end, because you know you'll destroy everything in your path until the quest is over anyway. Even worse, this type of gameplay can tack on a shitload of hours onto your overall play time ... not just 3-4 hours, but 20-30. Don't you have a life somewhere else?

The reason I've written this blog entry is because I've been thinking about how these strategies are a reflection of a player's overall personality. Some people just blow through things, others spend way to much time on them, and some people know the balance they need to be happy. Looking at this from another perspective, some people run lots of risk in the things they do, while others like to eliminate risk from any decision they make or any venture they pursue.

For as long as I can remember, I've been in one of these distinct classes of strategists in RPG's, and in life. Can you guess which one?

Happy winter break.

2007-12-11T13:25:00.000-05:00

Photo Finish

We're down to the wire:

-Christmas Shopping
-Graduate Applications
-Pick up ICWE Music
-Pick up IBE presentation reviews
-Submit IBE final deliverables
-Write scholarship donor letters
-Submit resident check-out roster
-Make NSCS Red Cross donation
-Aerodynamics project
-Controls Final
-Aero Final
-Mechanics Final
-Clean the kitchen of 467

And we're done.

By the way ... I think I lost my glasses. If anyone finds them, let me know.

Happy Finals.

2007-12-05T11:25:00.000-05:00

Stolen from the Blog of George Hopkins ...

... who stole it from the New York Times. The below article outlines the societal and personal implications of perfectionism and how they relate to mental health.

Fun reading for this week :)

December 4, 2007
Mind Unhappy? Self-Critical? Maybe You’re Just a Perfectionist
By BENEDICT CAREY

"Just about any sports movie, airport paperback or motivational tape delivers a few boilerplate rules for success. Believe in yourself. Don’t take no for an answer. Never quit. Don’t accept second best.

Above all, be true to yourself.

It’s hard to argue with those maxims. They seem self-evident — if not written into the Constitution, then at least part of the cultural water supply that irrigates everything from halftime speeches to corporate lectures to SAT coaching classes.

Yet several recent studies stand as a warning against taking the platitudes of achievement too seriously. The new research focuses on a familiar type, perfectionists, who panic or blow a fuse when things don’t turn out just so. The findings not only confirm that such purists are often at risk for mental distress — as Freud, Alfred Adler and countless exasperated parents have long predicted — but also suggest that perfectionism is a valuable lens through which to understand a variety of seemingly unrelated mental difficulties, from depression to compulsive behavior to addiction.

Some researchers divide perfectionists into three types, based on answers to standardized questionnaires: Self-oriented strivers who struggle to live up to their high standards and appear to be at risk of self-critical depression; outwardly focused zealots who expect perfection from others, often ruining relationships; and those desperate to live up to an ideal they’re convinced others expect of them, a risk factor for suicidal thinking and eating disorders.

“It’s natural for people to want to be perfect in a few things, say in their job — being a good editor or surgeon depends on not making mistakes,” said Gordon L. Flett, a psychology professor at York University and an author of many of the studies. “It’s when it generalizes to other areas of life, home life, appearance, hobbies, that you begin to see real problems.”

Unlike people given psychiatric labels, however, perfectionists neither battle stigma nor consider themselves to be somehow dysfunctional. On the contrary, said Alice Provost, an employee assistance counselor at the University of California, Davis, who recently ran group therapy for staff members struggling with perfectionist impulses. “They’re very proud of it,” she said. “And the culture highly values and reinforces their attitudes.”

Consider a recent study by psychologists at Curtin University of Technology in Australia, who found that the level of “all or nothing” thinking predicted how well perfectionists navigated their lives. The researchers had 252 participants fill out questionnaires rating their level of agreement with 16 statements like “I think of myself as either in control or out of control” and “I either get on very well with people or not at all.”

The more strongly participants in the study thought in this either-or fashion, the more likely they were to display the kind of extreme perfectionism that can lead to mental health problems.

In short, these are people who not only swallow many of the maxims for success but take them as absolutes. At some level they know that it’s possible to succeed after falling short (build on your mistakes: another boilerplate rule). The trouble is that falling short still reeks of mediocrity; for them, to say otherwise is to spin the result.

Never accept second best. Always be true to yourself.

The burden of perfectionist expectations is all too familiar to anyone who has struggled to kick a bad habit. Break down just once — have one smoke, one single drink — and at best it’s a “slip.” At worst it’s a relapse, and more often it’s a fall off the wagon: failure. And if you’ve already fallen, well, may as well pour yourself two or three more.

This is why experts have long debated the wisdom of insisting on abstinence as necessary in treating substance abuse. Most rehab clinics are based on this principle: Either you’re clean or you’re not; there’s no safe level of use. This approach has unquestionably worked for millions of addicts, but if the studies of perfectionists are any guide it has undermined the efforts of many others.

Ms. Provost said those in her program at U.C. Davis often displayed symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder — another risk for perfectionists. They couldn’t bear a messy desk. They found it nearly impossible to leave a job half-done, to do the next day. Some put in ludicrously long hours redoing tasks, chasing an ideal only they could see.

As an experiment, Ms. Provost had members of the group slack off on purpose, against their every instinct. “This was mostly in the context of work,” she said, “and they seem like small things, because what some of them considered failure was what most people would consider no big deal.”

Leave work on time. Don’t arrive early. Take all the breaks allowed. Leave the desk a mess. Allow yourself a set number of tries to finish a job; then turn in what you have.

“And then ask: Did you get punished? Did the university continue to function? Are you happier?” Ms. Provost said. “They were surprised that yes, everything continued to function, and the things they were so worried about weren’t that crucial.”

The British have a saying that encourages people to show their skills while mocking the universal fear of failure: Do your worst.

If you can’t tolerate your worst, at least once in a while, how true to yourself can you be?"

2007-11-23T14:45:00.000-05:00

Fatty McFatFat

So in the Fall of 2005, I stopped working out and fell into something of a depression after coming back from the Cadets. I ended up gaining about 20 pounds, but the majority of that was weight that I lost during the summer. I went from 135 to about 155 ... which I would translate from "way too damn skinny" to "average build."

For whatever reason I decided to pull the same trick this semester, with a couple of distinct differences. Firstly, not only did I stop running and working out, but I also took up regular drinking as a new hobby. Secondly, I didn't start off at 135 but a still moderately healthy 160 or so. Combine all those things and you get the revelation I did yesterday when getting out of the shower ...

Since September, I've gotten fat.

The new goal, by May 2008, is to drop back down to 160 while putting muscle back on. I don't need to be in superhuman shape, obviously. That probably wouldn't happen anyway and I'd get discouraged. The tentative plan to accomplish this goal has four distinct parts to it:

1. Run at least 3 days a week.
2. Work out at least 2 days a week.
3. No more drinking, unless I'm out and it's the weekend. This part of the plan should also reduce my bar tab significantly.
4. Eat vegetables and fruit. Those are apparently good for you.

Mm, I do so love goals. The plan started this morning ... wish me luck.

Happy Break.

2007-11-13T12:42:00.000-05:00

Engineering Circle Drill, Continuous

The end of November and beginning of December are the best time to be alive if you're an undergraduate student. Everything converges to a very definitive point, far moreso than during the summer, the spring, or any other time of year. I actually see this part of the year as the final push, rather than in April towards the end of the academic year, because the real yearly break happens at Christmas, not in the summer.

Here's what's up for me this season. Godspeed to everyone in your own journeys to tame the perilous November skies.

November 13 - Wind Ensemble Dress Rehearsal
November 14 - Heat Transfer Midterm
November 15 - Aerodynamics Midterm
November 15 - Wing Design Preliminary Report Due
November 15 - Martindale Gala in NYC (speech)
November 17 - Lehigh/Lafayette Game
November 18 - Wind Ensemble Concert
November 21 - Thanksgiving Break
November 21 - Martindale Rough Draft #1 Due
November 26 - Heat Transfer Project 7 Due
November 28 - Martindale Rough Draft #2 Due
November 30 - Control Systems Midterm
November 30 - IBE Venture Summary Due
November 30 - IBE Poster Design Due
November 30 - Gryphon Carousel
December 2 - Gryphon Carousel
December 2 - Possible KKY Service Project
December 3 - Control Systems Design Project Due
December 6 - Possible KKY Service Project
December 6 - Brass Ensemble Performance
December 6 - Wing Design Competition
December 7 - Wing Design Final Report Due
December 8 - Heat Transfer Final (early)
December 9 - Vespers Performance (two shows)
December 10 - Brass Ensemble Performance
December 10 - IBE Presentation to Ben Franklin
December 10 - Control Systems Take-home Final (??)
December 12 - Aerodynamics Final
December 14 - Materials Final
December 15 - Grad Applications Due
December 20 - Trembley Building Closing
December 21 - Much Drinking, Wii, and Joy

At least it's time for Christmas music, right?

Happy November ... keep your horn up.

2007-11-03T16:32:00.000-04:00

Mo' Money, Mo' Problems ...

... you should understand that better than anyone, Stanley.

So I've come up with a couple of projects I need to take care of over winter break. The first is the usual one- practice at least 3-4 times a week and regain my chops, since oddly enough they usually get worse as the semester goes on. Apparently playing twice a week for a total of 3 hours is not enough to keep you sounding good in the long-term. Who knew?

My second project is to continue work on the Martindale Thesis. It's going to be a push to get this first draft out the door by the end of the semester, and the more work I can devote to it over winter break the easier time I'll have in the Spring. I'm not overly behind, but I just need to find 10-20 hours this month to really sit down and crank this bad boy out. The problem is that, since this assignment is due in over a month, I always focus on everything else first. By the time that's all done, is between 12 and 1 AM and I just want to go to bed. Oh well ... I'll get it done for this semester and then push forward into January. It just might not be a pretty sight for the next few weeks.

Lastly, my third project is to put my BIS 111 knowledge to good use. For some reason I've been spending a much larger amount of money this semester than in previous ones, and only recently have I sat down and tried to actually figure out where it all went. The answer, as best as I can estimate, is as follows:

1. Food- Since most of my friends are off the meal plan, I'm less inclined to use it myself. This means that my "free" meals (paid for by Gryphoning) are going to waste and I'm spending about $6-7 on individual meals a couple times a week. That adds up, especially when the meals involve off-campus group or team meetings.

2. Alcohol- The amount of alcohol I'm consuming this semester has definitely stepped up considerably, probably between 100 and 200% from the Spring. It's been a fun little hobby, although in the last few weeks I've backed off it somewhat due to illness. The downside of this increased consumption, though, is that I find I'm often supplying alcohol for events or keeping my own personal stock higher. I'd estimate I've put in maybe $150 for alcohol this semester, or even $200. That's not necessarily money I'd like to be putting into this type of expense ... so I need to pay more attention to that in the future.

3. Projects- I have a bad habit of not getting reimbursed for things fast enough, and that means that they quickly fall off my radar and I might lose out on them. That's no biggie except for the fact that the purchases I'm making are much larger this semester, namely in the way of software and hardware for IBE. So far I'm about $200 in the hole for that project alone. It's time to get on the ball and get my money back.

4. Gas- This is only about $40 a month, or about two stops at the station every 4-5 weeks. All in all it's a small expense, but I'm certainly driving a lot more than last semester due to visits home, visits to TCNJ, and IBE trips. Maybe I can get reimbursed for the IBE travel, as well?

The major result of this analysis, however, is that I've discovered that I don't take very good care of monitoring my finances. You don't need to monitor every penny that comes through your checking account, necessarily, but you should definitely by able to determine how much you're spending on various things every month, how much income you're receiving (zero, anyone?), and specifically if you should change your spending habits to maintain financial stability. So here's my idea for winter break to fix this: design an MS Access database for all of my finances. My end goal is for the database to have the following features:

-Revenue and Expense entry forms that include the amount of a transaction, the type of transaction, the type of item/service purchased, etc.
-Each entry, depending on the data given, will be recorded onto different lists and statements organized by type. A $20 purchase of beer, for example, will be logged onto the total alcohol expense sheet (by month and year), the expenses for the given month, the expenses for the account from which it was taken (cash, checking, savings, credit), and the cash flow for the given month by type.
-Overall documents will therefore be able to reproduce all of my purchases and expenditures over the course of the month and year.

And before you say it ... yes, I know i just described what the "Quicken" software does. But hey, over the break I've got lots of time and my database knowledge definitely needs a booster shot, so what the hell.

Here's to being fiscally responsible in 2008!

Happy Saturday.

2007-09-26T10:52:00.000-04:00

Lessons

This morning I sat down in front of five middle school trombone players and said, "Today we're going to learn the Bb scale. It's what the band uses to warm up, and after today you'll be able to join them."

35 minutes later, all five of them were able to name the notes and positions, and play the scale from memory. Will they remember it tomorrow? Maybe not ... it takes a while to learn scales for the first time. They probably won't remember all the positions or notes that they were able to rattle off to quickly this morning, and it might take them a little while to recall the sound and feel of moving your slide to match the Bb scale. That's okay; it's not my goal to have them ready for a regional audition by next week, but just to learn how to play a little bit on the horn.

So I was sitting at the end of the lesson thinking about this and starting to set some new goals for the whole semester (all five players are new to the instrument) when something amazing happened. One of the boys was slouching and put his feet up on the chair in front of him, about to bring his horn up to play. Before I could correct him, the boy sitting next to him said, "Hey, sit up. Back straight, feet on the floor. That way you'll be able to breathe better." The first boy asked him why ... and the second boy responded, "Jeremy said so. And he's right. That's how we're supposed to sit."

It might have been trivial, and it might have been something that I could have said myself, but watching a student pass on something I'd taught them ...

There are some things that just make your heart happy, you know?

Happy Wednesday.

2007-09-21T10:19:00.000-04:00

Crap

You study, and you know the concepts, and you can do all the new math and methodology that's presented to you on a test. But wait- suddenly you reach a point in a problem where you can't go any further because you don't know what to do. And it's not the material for the class that's stopping you ... it's some simple math rule, or derivative method, or factoring procedure that just escapes you. You stare and stare at the problem, a handful of steps away from the solution, only to run out of time and write down something erroneous. After the test, your classmates are able to easily explain what you didn't see, elucidating every step clearly and with complete understanding.

Sometimes you see the solution ... and sometimes, for whatever reason, you just don't. Such is life.

So you win again, Laplace. But tomorrow the sun shall rise, and the war shall rage anew.

Laplace - 2
Jeremy - 1

2007-09-16T13:01:00.000-04:00

Fall

I was 6, maybe 7. Fall meant that the air was going to grow colder, that we could spend no more time in the pool that year. That the leaves were going to fall and that when it was sunny, the air was crisp. When it was cloudy, the air was damp and moist and frigid if you were outside early in the morning. I remember standing at the bus stop on the mornings, huddled in the jacket I had fought against wearing (but now was happy that my mom had made me put it on). I carried my back pack and lunch box, but didn't yet realize that school was my future for the next 16 years.

Fall meant that games of baseball in the street would be ending soon. Mornings at the bus stop would be bitter and the wind cutting. The green of the trees would be giving way to the gray of the street as the most dominant color of my neighborhood.

That fall I would learn to read.

I was 11. This fall was different for the first time in 5 years. The old house was gone, the old school was gone, and now the growing coldness felt more foreboding than it did familiar. The only thing that was the same for me was the sky on those early mornings ... it was still crystal clear blue, or various hues of gray, or sometimes lanced with white offset by golden sunshine. Every morning the bus arrived but took me somewhere far unlike the place I had come from.

My own feelings were different. Something was beginning to happen. This was the first time I had been challenged to rise again in a new place. And, that fall, I would meet the first teacher who told me I could do better. He told me I had to work hard now, improve, meet my potential.

That fall I would learn to write.

I was 14, and this was the fall that would forever change my life. The moments which define that fall for me were, for the first time, not at the bus stop. I vaguely remember those mornings, but far more telling for me were the evenings. There was always the same cutting wind from my youth across the field, the same white lanced with gold in the sky, and the same gradual transposition of orange from green, then gray and brown. But this fall was something new. Something that I truly loved.

I will never forget the vision of that first sunset. We rounded the corner to come down the hill into the stadium, me beside my best friend and surrounded by my friends, and there in front of us was the most perfect sunset that could have existed. A third of the sun was still above the horizon, the sky was a fiery red that ever so gradually gave way to orange, then beige, then blue, then a very distinct purple on the opposite horizon.

That fall I would learn to perform.

I was 18, and once again it was my first time in a new place. The fall that year was characterized by the sunrise I saw every morning. I would wake up at 6:30, stretch for half an hour, then jog down to the gym for a 3 mile run. Every morning on the way down, though, I'd stop at the top of the stairs and look down into the valley. Some parts of it were still in the dark, thanks to the mountains on the Eastern side. The rest of it was coming to life ever so slowly, being warmed and invigorated with the light that was falling silently.

Every single morning I would pause for that one perfect moment, amidst all the hope and fear that was inside me. My test would come later that fall- the test of my dream. Deep down I knew that each morning would bring me that much closer to my goal. Every mile I ran was one more ounce of strength my body would have when the time came. Every note I practiced was one more degree of proficiency that would set me above the rest. Looking down silently the whole time was the ever-present sky ... gray and muffled or white lanced with gold.

That fall I would test my limits.

This fall is the same as the previous three have been ... but I shall embrace it as what could possibly be the last one in this place. Next year- we'll see what the fall brings with it. I guarantee that wherever I am, whomever I am with, or whatever I'm doing ... the sky will be there.

Happy September.

2007-09-10T21:25:00.000-04:00

HOLY JESUS

For nine long years I have journeyed in the desert.

Next year ... I rediscover religion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFjR2649tDU&mode=related&search=

En Taro Tassadar.

2007-08-26T00:09:00.001-04:00

Jump

The map was pretty clear about where we were. Where the boat was going had already been planned, and I was familiar with the waters. It was a comfortable feeling, knowing the trip ahead. Where we were going. What to expect. I was content.

About a hundred yards ahead there was a fork in the river. No bother, I thought. I know which path I'm going to choose, because that's the path this ship is sailing. I boarded this ship for a reason. I'm going to stick with it. I know these waters. I am content.

And besides, changing course is not an option. I'm not steering.

I glanced to the side and saw another ship, five feet away. Where did that ship come from? There was no warning of it at all.

The ship was different, certainly. Not at all what I knew, what I was used to. But nevertheless, there it was, sailing alongside the ship I was on. I realized I knew nothing about that ship or where it was going, really.

All I knew about that ship was that I could board it, if I chose to. Right now. I could cross the distance and sail down the other fork of the river. All it would take was a single sure-footed jump.

But what of the ship I was on? I would never see it again, in all likelihood. For it would pass from my sight immediately upon making the jump and sail on. Sail on into the waters I knew but could never return to.

Up ahead it was only 40 yards now. Only a matter of seconds until the second boat would be gone, for good. Only a matter of seconds until the new ship, the new path, the new river, and all that was down that fork would be forever left to my imagination.

I take back what I said before; I knew something about that second ship. I knew I was fond of it. I couldn't pinpoint why, but it was discernibly attractive. Obviously tempting.

Just one jump away.

One single jump.

Only ten yards now.

Five yards.

And one eternal moment later, the second boat is gone.

And I'm sailing in familiar waters.

And onward I pass through the fork, and away sails the second ship.

That night I gaze at the stars. I did not jump. I am on the ship on which I chose to sail. I am on the path I know. It makes sense.

Somewhere in the world is a second ship, under the same stars, and I can't help but wonder-

where should I have gone, if I had jumped?

2007-08-22T17:45:00.000-04:00

New CD

I've sung this song before ... and thinking about it, I don't think I ever did come back. I left her at the tide.

But then again- does anyone ever really come back after they sail away?

when the light begins to fade
and shadows fall across the sea,
one bright star in the evening sky.
your love's light leads me on my way.

there's a dream that will not sleep,
a burning hope that will not die.
so I must go now with the wind,
and leave you waiting on the tide.

time to fly, time to touch the sky.
one voice alone, a haunting cry.
one song, one star burning bright,
may it carry me through darkest night.

rain comes over the gray hills,
and on the air, a soft goodbye.
hear the song that I sing to you
when the time has come to fly.

when I leave and take the wind
and find the land that faith will bring,
the brightest star in the evening sky
is yours to find for me.

-The Long Goodbye, Celtic Woman

2007-08-16T11:27:00.000-04:00

SABOTEUR

Yes, I love The Office ... but this might be my favorite segment ever:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9j3-ECsSC8o&mode=related&search=

Pure genius.

2007-08-12T18:31:00.000-04:00

The Sun over the Mountain

Just like that, we're down to the last weeks of summer. It's been a good one, for the most part. Work was educational, lucrative, and gave me a lot of help choosing my career path. Living here at the 467 has been even more informative; I'd like to think I was able to pass my man-training with fairly good results. In between there were trips, adventures, fun, friends, and once in a while a surprise or two. Who knew the choice to live at Lehigh would turn out to be so wise?

The thing that I want to take from this summer most, though, is the notion of what's important in life. The bottom line facing you every day is that for better or worse, the sun will set on today and will rise tomorrow. What you do during the hours in between determines who you are ... and more often than not, we focus on a lot of things that don't matter. If you skip an assignment, the sun will rise tomorrow. If you study a few minutes less, the sun will rise tomorrow. If you just flat out ignore all those nawing responsibilities you have in life, time will inevitably go on with or without you. Sure, there will be consequences, but you're the one who faces them. If you're ready to do that, whatever the consequences may be, then godspeed.

But, on the other hand, this idea can work against you. If you pass up the chance to see your friends, don't say something you need to, pass on an opportunity, say goodbye to someone, fail to call someone, stay angry in a fight, or walk out the door when you shouldn't ... the sun will rise tomorrow.

The trick to this is that the one constant in life is how fleeting it is. It goes back to some of the best advice I've ever received: "Figure out what makes you happy, and do it. Find out who makes you happy, and stay with them." As this relates to me ... I know that I don't want another year of strict academics and a deterministic adherence to getting work done. I don't want to sit in the lab hour after hour, day after day, watching the world go by. I want to be with the people in my life, learn who they are, make them laugh, and enjoy their company. It will take all the will power I have to actually turn off my desire to be the best and excel at my coursework all the time. But there's a balance to everything in life ... and it's about damn time I found it.

To this end, I am making a general declaration. Anytime this year, if you present me with a timely, reasonable proposition for fun or adventure, I am not allowed to decline it. Exceptions include the existence of plans of a similar nature or something that may affect the future (an exam, etc), but in general this will hold. My greatest motivation in life comes from the perception others have of me ... so in a way I'm partially relying on others to save me from myself. Remind me that I am a tool if I keep working and staying inside, question my manhood, and demand my presence at somewhere fun. I'll appreciate it more than you could know.

So that's my promise, watching the sun set on Bethlehem right now and counting down the hours to when senior year starts ...

I promise to live.

And, on a somewhat related note-

I promise to find courage.

Happy Sunday night.