Saturday, November 8, 2008

history channel shows about Christianity are awful

though perhaps a dozen or so eminent scholars are assembled and interviewed, the producers always manage to contrive a sensationalistic plot with conspiratorial or ominous mysteries. yes, they give a soundbite to Mr. PhD from Yale...but, "oh, hey, what does mrs. marginal crank have to say about this?" then the viewer endures silly intoning from some lady who wrote a book that you can't even get the cover image for on amazon.

most of the shows also begin with some radical, heretofore marginalized or new theory that is the WRH (what really happened), which contradicts popular or generally accepted knowledge.

crackpots get to get on tv and it appears that professors get their words twisted to back up the precoceived WRH (though, I'm sure at least a handful of professors get giddy over the opportunity to share w/ the world their novel thesis originally published in the Northeastern Journal of Biblical Archaelogy--issue 36 volume 4--back in 1996).

I always learn a bit--but it's not worth the cringing!

Sunday, October 26, 2008

hold the sentimentality. and i'll take extra cynicism

I took a break from God relation sometime back in May.

To an extent, I got to the end of my neurotic Christian rope. There was nowhere else to go. I had plumbed the depths of sentimental/tortured narcissism. I had sinned horribly. I had glided on clouds, mistakenly believing that something “real” had happened to me spiritually in March. I read Wesley’s sermons and concluded, with only a smidge of doubt, that I wasn’t saved—I wasn’t a Christian.

I mean, I always had my doubts—but I was too ignorant to put myself firmly in the unregenerate camp. So I stopped trying. Scrapped the accountability partnership (though to call it that is a lie—it was one sided partnership for months, with all the, albeit meager, effort coming from my end), uninstalled my internet filters, stopped seeing the therapist (he was on the school’s dole/I was no longer a student), and stopped confessing to my Christian friends.

Parts of me want to ask for help. Other parts think that’s a farce. Ask for help? I already did. God and friends didn’t help. They both gave the only advice they really can: man up, work for it, do it yourself.

I used to think others could help. But they have their own problems—some simply don’t have time for others and some don’t even realize how crippled they already are—their advice hardly even assuages their own consciences; it’s not going to help me in the slightest.

For years, I’ve been acutely aware of my neurotic need for contrived affirmation, acknowledgement, and friendship. So I try not to pursue those—for even if I get it, it’s just a band aid or deeper problems of self-responsibility that I need to work out on my own, or worse, I risk entering some unsatisfying co-dependent relationship with another broken person that deepens my problems.

Well, I’m redoubling my efforts to act and think as normally (read unsentimental) as possible—hopefully those interactions born thereof will be reparative. Plus, my slavishness and occasional pretentiousness induce cringes when I think about them later. No wonder they don’t work; they’re fake. Psychically unhealthy people don’t care and the well adjusted don’t see it in other normal people so they don’t know what to make of it.

So I’m cynical. I know I’m still putting myself in the center. I recognize this as just another variety of over-dramatizing my life’s condition—“if I can’t be healthy, I’ll be special.” --Breaking the mold and doing pre-Christian life my way.

Well that’s that for now. I hope this explains why I’m not going to church anymore nor praying. It’s probably true that my heart’s hardened. But let me also suggest that maybe my heart is just too mushy. Love and grace run through me like champagne—the God of those I can’t engage with because the sinful parts of me cling to warped reflections of those.

No, the God for me now is the God of systems, of theology—of sin and hell, of the condition of man, of clouded visions of heaven. Emotive commitments don’t slay neuroses. Real friendships do. Old-school harsh psychology does. Self insight born of new philosophies does. When the scaffolding in my head it sturdy, perhaps I’ll begin to unmoor from cynicism and allow more emotion into the project. Please love me in the meantime. Oh, wait, don’t.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

changing my story

a month or so ago, a very good friend asked if I still wanted to be a marriage and family therapist. I laughed because I haven't mentioned that to anyone in around two years.

but it made me wonder, "from my past disclosures, what else do people still think is true of me?" --perhaps it's (an over-concern with others' perceptions of me) a remnant from the years of very insecure adolescence, or of very present-day narcissism, or fear of early death, in which case I never get to publish, figuratively, my life (I'm more than half sure I'll die young), but mainly I'm taking it as a sign that most in my life aren't the best sounding boards for figuring out my future.

what's rather consistent internally, is just bits and pieces in my friends' minds

even after trying so hard to "get real," cut the strings of my airs, double back and criticize myself this way and that way, reveal my strategic maneuvers--my playbook, expose my achilles's heels, render myself understandable, my good friends still remember anachronistic self-disclosures.

I have great friends and we have relationships that are's just that I'm not all that healthy psychologically an individual--so I blame most disappointments on myself, on my petty scorekeeping, and on my inability to form friendships like average guys do.

there are three types of relationships that I long for:

romantic: should romantic love be one of self-discovery? well probably not--or at least not how I did it. the last time I was a boyfriend, I entered it with the enthusiasm and idealism of a novice. she would complete me and I, her. every crevice would get a flash light shone in it, psyches would be unfolded, pretenses would fall and the spirits of two individuals in embrace would conquer the anxieties of life. instead, she was more in it for normal love--not dime store psychoanalysis. we fought until words only made things worse and no amount of mental gymnastics could land me on the virtuous high beam. probably never great to end a relationship with overtures to a love that doesn't really exist, a truce, and a promise to stay away from each other for a few years. but I think I can do it better now. I've learned from past mistakes and I'm a better person now, more subdued and deliberate and honest in a constructive way. I'm not getting into next time so much as an avenue for therapy into wholeness. next time it will be mutual and giving. giving is important to me--it's the whole point: living for someone else. still, I want someone who's OK with everything me. of course I can't split myself open on the first date and play self-psychopathologist but I do expect to get honest pretty soon--because I refuse to make someone commit to a persona.

to be continued...

Monday, August 18, 2008

Transitions and Summer Ruminations

In the last two weeks, two of my best friends moved, each now living hundreds of miles away from San Diego. And their moves are permanent. Considering their departures in my head, the word "bittersweet" doesn't seem such a cliché, but an accurate description of the mix of nostalgia and regret, both of which loom over the uncertain fog of own my adjustment. When lots of your self-conception is dependent on your relationships and a couple important ones change, you ask yourself, "what's next?" and, not least of all, "what do I do with my evenings?"

There's a tinge of regret at circumstances lost but also of not being a better friend—for being a puzzle piece that never quite interlocked well enough, for not fixing past wrongs, and, perhaps more selfishly, for not shining brightly enough in their memories. (To add to the theme of change in my life's relationships, another friend from my inner circle at Point Loma was married yesterday). So life's demanded some reflection at the close of this most recent season.

It's interesting: when good friends leave, a part of you is suspended—the part of you (well developed over a long/meaningful friendship) that interacted with him or her in a unique relationship of no-two-are-the-same people. It's these suspended interactions/dynamics that are making me more wistful than the relatively un-hurdled end of college. Though, there was a big change post-graduation: full-time employment.

Work brings me money and a weekly routine, if also emotional labor (, corporate goals, and a pungent mental image of the "great unwashed masses." I really do enjoy the company of most of my co-workers—indeed, it's the dominant social sphere in my life now. A single vignette: There's David, the English accented co-worker who sits next to me all day. We pass our hours joking with each other, letting off steam in the face a sometimes-indignant public, commiserating over our post-graduate lives (perhaps it's an airy luxury of the 20-something to find his circumstances too small rather than his aspirations too big), and wondering when we'll be replaced by machines and/or genius cross-selling chimps.

That all makes me sound jaded, but I'm not...that much. As I told a friend recently, work life, when not meaningful or impassioned, often feels like a distraction from the greater stories of life that make a man: about 45 hours a week, I'm co-worker Matthew, the diet soda swilling former theology student, mostly affable (if haplessly out of touch with the dictates of suave likability), a little too eager to please, and with a penchant for sharing an opinion, even when (surprise!) not solicited. But those aren't the stories of life one tells when meeting new acquaintances, going on a date, or talking to another ambitious peer. And this distraction life takes energy—energy that I had hoped would go into making someone useful

None of this is permanent for me, however. I am building (slowly and with setbacks) the foundations ($ practicalities) of my grad school launchpad, hoping for liftoff within two years. In the meantime, I hope to eat lots of dinners with friends, read books that shift and clarify my insides, fly and drive around this country some, and take my shirt off more.

Occasionally while driving, listening to my iPod, or just walking alone, I’ll realize that I’m pretty happy. I wouldn't go back given the opportunity, I like lots of the new ideas in my head, fun memories, and just thinking about the bright(er) future I'm pretty sure that I'll demand of myself.

A persistent exhortation I give myself is to befriend Jesus...soon or next season. The highs and lows (well, mostly lows) of God-relation in this errant life of mine have been replaced with even steadiness. Not exactly because God's my rock, but because I've reduced him to a pestering pebble (a beautiful shining pebble that I sometimes hold up to the sky) in my step. Oh, and I hop around on the pebble-free foot a lot. Thankfully for my self-disclosure weary friends, very little in me desires writing or talking about my faith as if I'm the Underground Man in Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground. Unfortunately, for my soul...well that’s damned.

And on that cheer-y note...give me a call: I'm living for my friends these days.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

thoughts on grad school

In a hotel room now. I'm in Newport Beach all week at a training class (Part I of III) starting to learn everything about motor vehicle registration for my new job (since my "promotion") at AAA.

When telling people about my AAA job, I invariably add, "I hope to go to grad school in a year or two..." I'll add "in London" if I'm especially determined to preempt their judgment against lazy/unambitious/unskilled recent college grads.

I've realized sometime early last fall that grad school preparation was just not in the works my senior year at Point Loma. I didn't want to think about it then and the benefits of waiting convinced me easily in favor of taking a break from school after graduation. Having decided, while still studying abroad my junior year, that I'd be spending more time abroad (I was thinking mostly mission work then and more leisure travel), I came to think that grad school in England would be awesome. Perhaps I was encouraged by a good friend doing the same in Nottingham and another prepping for a year at the London School of Economics, but mainly I wanted to revisit/recreate/expand upon the amazing, searching, and joyful year I spent abroad.

My research revealed that a one year MA program in London would easily cost me $45-50,000. Well...I came back from Europe with just enough money to keep my bank accounts open and even owing my brother a couple hundred dollars. And my parents, who dutifully paid $60-70,000 for my undergrad degree, will not be helping me with grad school. Of course, I could have taken out loans and be prepping for London year right now...but loans scare me and I don't care to leave for Europe knowing that Fannie Mae owns me when I return. To me, owing over $10,000 seems so limiting like a straitjacket or two left foot shoes that bend me in a certain direction (job I don't care for or more education for the sake of deferring loans).

I like my freedom. And that's why I decided to work. The Auto Club, where I've worked since May 2006 (excepting the months abroad) has been really good to me. Flexible and understanding when I was in school, they're happy to keep me 40 hrs/week now. Plus, there's the friendships and social/professional capital that are earned and won't be transplanted immediately (or are even guaranteed) with a new job. And the pay isn't bad. I know a couple people making less out of college, some others in the $40,000 and plus range, and couple others who are making more (a lot of money by their own characterization) but I'm not sure what that means.

So now I wait. In this year of reading, learning, and saving, I have to decide if I should go to London in the Fall of 2009 or Fall of 2010. I really have little idea what this year will hold for me (and I'm speaking of the tenor), how I may change, what I'll want when... Will I even stay at the AAA? What if something better and better paying comes along? What's the end goal? Which job am I aiming for?

and Am I delaying my life?

Well, professional/most exciting dynamic life at least. It's funny, but I think I've found an advantage to being a late-bloomer (and I am talking puberty). I'm going to say that those couple high school years of agonizing "my-friends-are-hairier-than-me" bought me a couple years now.

A co-worker who learned that it was my birthday recently, guessed that I was turning 20. Sounds good to me...when I'm 24, I'll look 22--and that physical immaturity is reason enough for me to excuse the professional/academic one. :-)

Sunday, June 1, 2008

I wonder

...can watching all 94 episodes of SATC in the span of a little over a week be considered a life experience?

Thursday, May 15, 2008


they elude me. these blogs and notes (e-deliveries of my over-analytical psyche/internal life) don't feel so simple right now. neat packages of lessons learned or neuroses tied-up aren't coming so easy. no surpise that they weren't at the top of my priorities list in the final weeks of school.

but now the neutering stress of school has been replaced over the "what-comes-now?" thoughts of a post-undergraduate dutifully passing out maps and license tags at the autoclub between entertaining thoughts of grad school and mission trips abroad in a milieu dotted with the accomplished "isn't-that-cool?" post-graduate plans of friends and peers.

two things hold me in san diego: money and the lack of a life here.

if I stay in sd, working...those abroad dreams become less fanciful, the return to america less ominous, the debt burden reduced.

if I stay in sd, I can begin to build a life of service/of meaning here. regular church attendance, involving myself, maybe even serving. maybe, I'll prove to myself that I can do it here and be fulfilled, that I need to do this for God, not for europe and God.

other things push me out abroad now.

I should "start my life" now. a year or two of autoclub work will hold me back, peers will advance as I languish.

people do loans. don't let fear of debt delay life, wasting some of the most free, dynamic years life.

also on my mind now: my desire for love and being authentic.

I'd rather not so manage my interactions with others. I want to be myself and I want to be liked just-as-I-am: a sometimes stagnant, reaching, self-aware, laughing, hurting person with a well-earned low opinion of himself and quite the theology/Jesus consciousness.

I don't mind managing this so much with co-workers and acquaintances (people who don't have the time to get to know most of me). but doing it with my good friends is so frustrating. I don't want to push them away. I want to keep interacting with them as a normal, psychologically healthy, listening, calm/deliberate headed, well-adjusted person that I've aspired so hard to be. who gets excited about perceptions of transgressing the borders of appropriate male gender and/or happy/well-adjusted communication? plus, lots of self-help-y "be yourself" mantras are all about affirming our fallen, broken state, misdiagnosing the ills and prescribing terrible remedies. I want to do this right. I want to do what's whole and growing and right.

but I aslo want the people who withhold intimacy and love and understanding to grab me, look me in the eyes and tell me that I matter, that they care. that they'll take me as I am help me become better. that they don't lord over me enjoying the unequal sharing of power and meaning, purposely withholding openness and listening. frack...that they'll give me anything more than blank stares, inane or themselves-centered talk, or insincere smiles.

it's so selfish and I waffle, not knowing what would be good for me.

how much would help and how much would reinforce everything wrong about me?

I'm weak and I'm strong--not wholly one or the other. I want to be better (and to which degree or of which virtues I need to pursue, I don't and can't articulate right now at least).

again, my apologies for spilling this here. thank you.

Monday, May 12, 2008


i made a thousand dollar mistake recently

a flight to europe
a nice camera
a couple iPod touches


instead, I get a lesson

Monday, March 24, 2008


humans are so loathsome. conscious of the past but too small to undo.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

a rash sorry

google stalking
i found a poem
the subject--me
a punch to the stomach

i have to respond

the time is not right
our paths diverged
i pray that my looking back
is not a new injury
or even a nuisance

how soon regret replaces nostalgia
face-saving jumps to the fore
that’s not how i want to be remembered

i forgot about the pain
about the tearing

i used you to grow
split myself open
demanded the same from you

when i should have loved
i demanded understanding
i wanted a mess to match my own
someone to get me
someone to fix me

it was wrong
but not deliberate

we were children pretending to be adults

for the past--forgiveness

into the future--good luck

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

unregenerate, hellbound

"Well, I suppose my overarching problem is that I don't think I'm a Christian"

And so were the words I uttered during a counseling session some weeks ago.

I can't be sure of the numbers, but I have to imagine that I'm one of the very few theology majors who doesn't attend church, has never been baptized, and brings up their studies only in the most narrow ways that make him or her look good without unmasking all of the defeat, malice, and sorrow.

At times I identify with the label "Christian" but I know (at least, I'm mostly convinced) that theologically I'm not. I mean, I know/feel that I haven't been reborn, justified, etc.

I like Grace...just as long as it's cheap, can be referenced briefly before, during, and after a transgression, and somewhat encourages me that I'm valued, special, self-aware, and not-all-that-bad.

One component, perhaps the heaviest and most-guilt inducing, is the addiction that chains me to the past and to sin. There's nothing quite like the highs and lows of hope and shame--the juxtaposition of the holy with sin--to bloody and stupefy the soul. Scattering sin into even my most healthy relationships has also been a such a treasured result of the I-could-not-give-a-damn spells I entertain.

My environment and readings have encouraged my doubt--my school's church (part of the Holiness Movement) and the accompanying theology and education have fostered a concern for righteousness and moral/ethical purity that was far greater than any related concerns held when I was more intellectually immature (I'd add spiritually immature too--but I'm losing faith in things not reason). In turn, I reflect on my choices and my thoughts and I can't help but conclude that I willfully choose sin when I know better. How can I claim to be a child of God reborn in the image of His Son when I ______________ (insert sin)? I can't and I don't.

So I acknowledge the God and creation that allow for rebirth, but I won't choose to allow God to regenerate me. Sometimes I chastise myself and let others chastise me. Sometimes I'm hopeful and let others encourage me. Bust mostly I walk like God's pretty far away, and only briefly immanent when I weigh (also briefly) on him during my latest existential crisis.

In the other moments when I dentify as a Christian, I have to abstract it out to something quite odd--like beliefs that are only assented to but rarely lived (the practical atheism that is most of my life).

The faith/good works (what God does/what I do) debate is infuriating. At a certain point, I realized that the altar calls, the sobbing, and the confessions didn't effect anything lasting. Those momentary outbursts of raw emotion instilled false hope. At another point, my works of reading and conversation stopped helping me grow. Regimes and strategies of discipline--"do this for faith"--seem a little cart before the horse to me. Dialogical/dialectical approaches and tensions and paradoxes make my head hurt--and worst of all, for me at least, they lend themselves better to sin than to faith. They don't exactly open me up to the divine mystery of God nearly as much as they focus my attention inward and on my own humanness. I'm left with stultifying confusion rather than any type of propelling mystery. Clichés of journeys and commitments (sometimes proffered by well-meaning friends or found in some popular Christian literature) bespeak a hypocritical and proud faith suited for an individualistic, 21st century faith. Then again, the toothpaste is already out of the tube--and I'm looking at the gobs in the sink like they're tea leaves. I'm an analyzer and a skeptic--far too cynical and detached to ever have a 19th century, fire-in-the-belly pentecostal revival spirit about me.

I just want to be fixed, preferably right now.

I have a consciousness of God and of love and of Christ and of a saving gospel. But that consciousness doesn't induce action/choice/faith/surrender. This fact (that 1. I often hope I won't die in the immediate future (before I'm saved) because I'm hellbound and 2. believe this but won't allow God to change me] makes me feel (and think) hopeless. I'm inward looking and ego-centric and the truth that I shouldn't be--that I need to re-orient outwardly and upwardly (be theo-centric)--hasn't encouraged my faith.

I don't know what I'm trying to get out of posting this here. There is sin even in this writing, in this reaching writing. I can't help but see it everywhere. It's everywhere infecting my whole mind. Is this all a waste? I can't even do this right.

This is where I'm at. I'm not sure if insights or lessons will help me--I don't believe/live most of the ones I already know. Maybe nothing. Maybe just God. Please come becaase I can't save myself.

"More faith! More discipline!" I don't know what this means. I usually don't care what this means.

God give me a strong will and faith. God, the part of me that faces you, the part of me that looks up in the sky during a walk and speaks out loud, the part of me (if it still or ever existed) that shook at those altars really wants your help in making me right. please

God, brothers, and sisters: please help me.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

one of those days

At work, there are certain days when I just want to freeze the room (a la Piper from Charmed)—to enjoy a moment when time stops and I may shout a purgative wail before I kick someone’s immobile body to the floor. A small part of me always expects that one day God will grant me these powers; He’s just waiting until I’m responsible and mature enough. Until then, He leaves me only the passive and private powers of mantras and prayers (not nearly as explosively satisfying as I imagine superpowers are).

Today there was no respite until lunch break. Then there was Diet Mountain Dew Code Red, Tylenol (as far as inventions go, it ranks up there with the www, laptops, and iPods), and--the icing on the relaxation cake--my QC2 noise canceling headphones playing Enya. Within minutes I was cat-stretching in my car out in the parking lot before contemplating deep thoughts about the future. I went back to work ½ an hour later, sans headache and feeling 7 times better than at first clock-out.

Work ended and I made the drive home down the traffic clogged 1-8 East. After arriving, I realized that I needed to do laundry. I called my mom and she informed me that a close family friend whom I’ve known all my life passed away this morning. She was only in her 60s. We talked about that for a few sobering minutes before she asked me why I called. I hesitated. Began. Then paused. “I...I, I wanted to know how to get a stain out of my jacket.” There was silence and then I started to nervously laugh. She got the joke and started to laugh too. The juxtaposition of the solemn and the mundane was more than a bit ridiculous—but so is life.

I had many intentions to begin my schoolwork early—but that never pans out. Instead, I read my blogs and decided to call some friends to get a sane-tifying dose of vicarious holiness, ambition, and intelligence. It worked.

Now, I’m getting ready to get to sleep. Still haven’t touched my homework, but I think it can wait.

Sunday, February 10, 2008


sometimes they pleasantly surprise and sometimes they disappoint. some are needy and some don't need me enough. some bring out qualities i like and others bring out the qualities i don't.

but barring all qualifications, they teach me about life, the world, me, and God. for this, i am grateful.

Friday, January 25, 2008


I ate Spam for the first time tonight. was ok. It's just the chicken nuggets of pork--"What part of the pig did this come from? Oh. I don't care; It tastes pork-y." Plus, it comes in a can, and, though I risk botulism, I don't fear every subsequent itch as the onset of trichinosis.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

always hopeful for a time when I don't write things like this

sitting here out-of-shape, homely
numb with everything

a body and will that betray me

a talker/writer but not a doer

a mind so sick and small
i'm not sure what i want
that's a lie
i want what everybody wants
recogntion, caring

so selfish still

i just want to matter
to say worthy things

kill a neurosis
read a book
have faith
someone to love
someone to love me

i want to be someone else

ipod charging
cold feet beneath an electric blanket
noise canceling headphones donned
wardrobe in the closet
typing at computer
-the blessed life, you know

self-aware of the ego consuming all

had a similar crisis in london
some voice just kept repeating,
"get out of yourself"
insight is a bit stale now
maybe, i'll do that mission trip
concerning future,
it's one of only a few respectable
things I have to talk about

highs of life:

i want God on the list
but i don't try hard enough

i'm defensive too
i do want to change
become what i'm supposed to be in Christ

though, for now i just feel
that i have to go back to fundamentals
be honest

i'm not a good christian
not a good male
not a good student
not a good learner

so I'm incongruent
the answer isn't lying about where i'm at
or running away from those ideals

i don't want affirmation
and change seems impossible
so i just go numb
and this rut stretches into the future

Monday, January 21, 2008

sex talk

I told my counselor (I used “therapist” in a recent post before I remembered I don’t aspire to write chick-lit) that I wanted to be more open about sex-y stuff. I may have been raving though, imagining throwing discreteness to the wind like I wanted to get everyone’s attention at the party and then vomit all of my chaos onto the dance floor.

He kinda shook his head. He grabbed a white board (these people draw A LOT—who knew psychology was so spatial?). Three concentric circles later, he was explaining to me that some stuff you share with only the small, inner circle, other stuff with the middle circle, and even less with the biggest circle.

It didn’t feel like the right time to say, “But Anne Lamott says...”

All in all, I think he wanted me to intellectualize it, psychologize it
but I just kept thinking, "That's your job."

His cross-examination made me a little more hopeful, though—like he’s on to something: these things get better when they’re talked through soberly and with insight. Jokes are there, but only to grease the wheels, not to divert attention. This, IMHO, is more of what churches and Christian schools like mine need: sex to be talked about in a way that’s honest and captivating without being ridiculously solemn or too wink-wink silly. It should be talked about the way it's actually lived--in all its complicated facets.

So I’ve put my brain to the task, coming up with some more to say for my next session. I’d tell you, but I just can’t be sure that you’re in the smallest circle.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

fun with international law notes

Premature recognition – It’s common and even normal for States your age. Not to be fretted over too much; it’s probably psychological. Perhaps, recognize yourself shortly before multilateral talks are expected. Also, consider using two envoys.

this is what nancy gets for having me bail her out and sharing notes for the textbook she hasn't received yet

Monday, January 14, 2008

my excuses for not dating

-I’m a terrible driver

One turn in the wrong direction down a one-way street or one running of a red light and s/he’s gonna wish s/he stayed home to study. I also get lost, hopelessly, hopelessly, a-new-10-minute-drive-takes-me-30-minutes, lost.

-$20 Movie Tickets

 It’s only $10 when I’m single.

-Ratio Problems

 50/50: you talk/me talk. A conversation is not your consecutive responses to 10 of my questions.


I will not play football with your brother. I’ve never watched ESPN; I have no idea what you’re dad is talking about.

-I like my alone time

My ideal weekend is one spent in my underwear…alone, at home and accompanied by my programs, an ice machine, and limitless diet soda.

-If only I could still wear a bib
Have you ever seen me eat a burrito? Imagine a mitten-wearing Helen Keller at Santanas. 

but if those aren't a problem (I will yield to pre-feminist/egalitarian tradition on the movie tickets, though)...send me your number!

Thursday, January 10, 2008

school has started again

This time there is hope, though. It’s my 8th and final semester. Oh, the friends, eating out, and all of the talks are fun. There are just these damn classes to arrive at on time and those indomitable papers that I would pay hundreds of dollars to avoid

Reading the syllabus for one of my classes, paying particular attention to the section enumerating all of the requirements for the 30%-of-your-grade writing assignment, I muttered a low and dejected "fuck."

The class: Doctrine of Holiness

Sunday, January 6, 2008

obsessed with youth

another election, another series of articles in the media about youth involvement, usually on the DNC side. college-age types have never tipped an election and they never will. young twenty-somethings aren't an omen nor the thin end of the electoral victory wedge and readers shouldn't let writers imply it.