If you haven't heard the Sleep Talking Man, give him a listen. His nighttime chats make me roar in laughter, and too much laughter is never a bad thing. Props to this man's wife for recording every night!
Reminds me of my sophomore and junior roommates, both of whom talked in their sleep about the most random and ridiculous things.
Sweet dreams.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
More Than Hopeful Thoughts
"Once again Jesus went out beside the lake. A large crowd came to him, and he began to teach them. As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector's booth. 'Follow me,' Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.
While Jesus was having dinner at Levi's house, many tax collectors and 'sinners' were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him.
When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the 'sinners' and tax collectors, tehy asked his disciples: 'Why does he eat with tax collectors and 'sinners?'
On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need the doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.'" -Mark 2:13-17
**********************************************************************************
"Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." -Matthew 5:3-12
**********************************************************************************
The killer in you is the killer in me, my Love.
A life, all life is holy.
Healing in you is healing in me.
A brain spinning, twirls round and round.
Beating heart inside reminds me of the beating heart in you.
And at the end of the day, the words are borrowed, but the meaning is true, disarming me. This constant battling of the head and the heart, my blood pumping to rhythms new and old makes me alive, which is the important part, I think. Jesus to Rachel Remen to Smashing Pumpkins, tomorrow is a brand new day. Amid P.C.'s high volume, truth speaks loud clear. Let it be heard, and let my heart be changed.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Dear Show Attendees:
If you pay $25 to see a band play live, you should listen and watch. To the many of you at last's nights Explosions in the Sky show, here are some pointers for how to listen better:
To the four couples surrounding me who spent 90 minutes in lip-lock: Colfax has a plethora of inexpensive motels, which-by the nature of their definition-offer you the appropriate space for your activities. You could pay potentially $25 flat if you find a true motel and save yourself the $25 you forked over for your significant other. Make use of them. Or purchase a Groupon Getaway; I hear they rule.
To the man attempting to become the boyfriend of five women: Pick a target, and stay focused. You appear moronic to the rest of the crowd. And next time you try to seduce a woman, maybe try a subject other than jelly beans. Try art, music, television, books, travel, nature, but not jelly beans for fifteen minutes. Here's a free tip to end my piece for you: attend a show of a band you actually enjoy, so you don't need to complain about your eardrum's post-rock-mordem. This way, you will shut up and have something to talk about for at least thirty minutes afterward.
To the wild dancers: It's post-rock not disco. Dance, dance, dance away, but keep your appendages out of my face and ass, k, thanks!
To the tall people: When you see a hole in front of two women under 5' 6'', and you are circa 5' 9'', don't weave your way in. And when the 5' 5'' girl confronts you, don't say you're sorry and produce a puppy-dog face... then stay planted to the ground. Dammit tall people!
And, finally, to Mr. McGrabby: If a song-which happens to be my absolute favorite-is called, "Your Hand In Mine," plays and I sway a bit, it is not an open invitation to hold my hand or work your way up to my breasts. And if I push you away more than once (specifically three times), that's a good indicator that you should stop before I lose it entirely and scream, "WHAT THE F***? STOP TOUCHING ME, DUDE!" Yes, I will be like Moses and part the sea of harassment for the auditory pleasure of the crowd. And after a failed attempt to hit on me, you should move your body further than six inches from mine, particularly so I don't overhear you hitting on the woman next to me.
If, collectively, we follow these basic rules of common, social interaction, we will have a pleasant experience together, with or without marijuana. I believe in your ability to succeed but welcome your questions if you find yourself in a state of ambiguity.
Cheers! And... Texas Forever!
-Ash
If you pay $25 to see a band play live, you should listen and watch. To the many of you at last's nights Explosions in the Sky show, here are some pointers for how to listen better:
To the four couples surrounding me who spent 90 minutes in lip-lock: Colfax has a plethora of inexpensive motels, which-by the nature of their definition-offer you the appropriate space for your activities. You could pay potentially $25 flat if you find a true motel and save yourself the $25 you forked over for your significant other. Make use of them. Or purchase a Groupon Getaway; I hear they rule.
To the man attempting to become the boyfriend of five women: Pick a target, and stay focused. You appear moronic to the rest of the crowd. And next time you try to seduce a woman, maybe try a subject other than jelly beans. Try art, music, television, books, travel, nature, but not jelly beans for fifteen minutes. Here's a free tip to end my piece for you: attend a show of a band you actually enjoy, so you don't need to complain about your eardrum's post-rock-mordem. This way, you will shut up and have something to talk about for at least thirty minutes afterward.
To the wild dancers: It's post-rock not disco. Dance, dance, dance away, but keep your appendages out of my face and ass, k, thanks!
To the tall people: When you see a hole in front of two women under 5' 6'', and you are circa 5' 9'', don't weave your way in. And when the 5' 5'' girl confronts you, don't say you're sorry and produce a puppy-dog face... then stay planted to the ground. Dammit tall people!
And, finally, to Mr. McGrabby: If a song-which happens to be my absolute favorite-is called, "Your Hand In Mine," plays and I sway a bit, it is not an open invitation to hold my hand or work your way up to my breasts. And if I push you away more than once (specifically three times), that's a good indicator that you should stop before I lose it entirely and scream, "WHAT THE F***? STOP TOUCHING ME, DUDE!" Yes, I will be like Moses and part the sea of harassment for the auditory pleasure of the crowd. And after a failed attempt to hit on me, you should move your body further than six inches from mine, particularly so I don't overhear you hitting on the woman next to me.
If, collectively, we follow these basic rules of common, social interaction, we will have a pleasant experience together, with or without marijuana. I believe in your ability to succeed but welcome your questions if you find yourself in a state of ambiguity.
Cheers! And... Texas Forever!
-Ash
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Big Girl School
I survived the first day, and while it was seven hours of orientation, I made it! In the crowd I found the other Hep-C interns, a girl from CCU, and some friendly girls at lunchtime, so, technically speaking, I made some friends!
One of my favorite parts of the day was listening to faculty introductions. Each person talked about the courses he or she taught and their personal interests in social work. To say I was intrigued puts it mildly. All I wanted to do afterward was ditch orientation and talk to professors. Nerd alert! But, really, who doesn't want to take a trip to Ireland to study the relationship between political systems and religious oppression? Or go to Bosnia to study how major trauma influences community development? Or attend a free yoga class aimed to teach low-income individuals how to cope with stress and love themselves bettter?
And now onto the bizarre part of the day. A professor lead us through an exercise to help us understand this idea called the "learning edge." Basically, we walked around the room-which he termed feeling the space-not speaking to one another and traveling whichever direction we wanted. Hello, human whirlpool! Then we would pause and shape our bodies into the image or concept he asked us to imagine in our heads. The first time we stood shaped like a tree, but then it got more abstract: shape yourself like the biggest barrier that will keep you from being successful and shape yourself like what you will do to overcome that barrier and shape yourself like your true motivation for entering into this profession. When asked about our reaction to the exercise, I replied, out loud, that I had a hard time taking it seriously, especially in the most serious parts. And then everyone in the group laughed. Yay! At least I'm funny...
Talk about weirdo but enlightening. The professor went on to explain that the tumultuous range of emotions most of us probably felt during the day meant we stood at the precipice of our "learning edge." If we were brave enough to stay at our learning edge during our studies, which involved feeling the icky emotions without shutting down or ignoring them, we would engage our social work education to the fullest, know ourselves better, and overcome many of the hindrances that keep us from being our best and seeing the best in other people. He noted as well that, to do our profession well to make tangible change in issues we care about, we would need to stay at our learning edge for life. It was odd, but it challenged me, which is something I crave and need.
Overall, I think I'm going to do okay in grad school. And not just okay, I think I'll really love it. And hate it at times as well. Each class will kick my butt probably. I'm sure I'll get in trouble for using pronouns that are not gender-neutral; this is something very new to the CCUer in me. But in two years I'll be ready to take on the world... whatever that will look like then. In the meantime I can rest assured that adult butterflies are very real but very likely to be overcome. It's nice to know that something in my life is more than a hopeful thought.
Peace.
One of my favorite parts of the day was listening to faculty introductions. Each person talked about the courses he or she taught and their personal interests in social work. To say I was intrigued puts it mildly. All I wanted to do afterward was ditch orientation and talk to professors. Nerd alert! But, really, who doesn't want to take a trip to Ireland to study the relationship between political systems and religious oppression? Or go to Bosnia to study how major trauma influences community development? Or attend a free yoga class aimed to teach low-income individuals how to cope with stress and love themselves bettter?
And now onto the bizarre part of the day. A professor lead us through an exercise to help us understand this idea called the "learning edge." Basically, we walked around the room-which he termed feeling the space-not speaking to one another and traveling whichever direction we wanted. Hello, human whirlpool! Then we would pause and shape our bodies into the image or concept he asked us to imagine in our heads. The first time we stood shaped like a tree, but then it got more abstract: shape yourself like the biggest barrier that will keep you from being successful and shape yourself like what you will do to overcome that barrier and shape yourself like your true motivation for entering into this profession. When asked about our reaction to the exercise, I replied, out loud, that I had a hard time taking it seriously, especially in the most serious parts. And then everyone in the group laughed. Yay! At least I'm funny...
Talk about weirdo but enlightening. The professor went on to explain that the tumultuous range of emotions most of us probably felt during the day meant we stood at the precipice of our "learning edge." If we were brave enough to stay at our learning edge during our studies, which involved feeling the icky emotions without shutting down or ignoring them, we would engage our social work education to the fullest, know ourselves better, and overcome many of the hindrances that keep us from being our best and seeing the best in other people. He noted as well that, to do our profession well to make tangible change in issues we care about, we would need to stay at our learning edge for life. It was odd, but it challenged me, which is something I crave and need.
Overall, I think I'm going to do okay in grad school. And not just okay, I think I'll really love it. And hate it at times as well. Each class will kick my butt probably. I'm sure I'll get in trouble for using pronouns that are not gender-neutral; this is something very new to the CCUer in me. But in two years I'll be ready to take on the world... whatever that will look like then. In the meantime I can rest assured that adult butterflies are very real but very likely to be overcome. It's nice to know that something in my life is more than a hopeful thought.
Peace.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
What is technically supposed to be 1/2 Week 4
As soon as I received my syllabi for my fall quarter class-load, I abandoned the high hope of running a half marathon in November. I realized that I value sleep more than running a 13-mile race, and that realistically I would never be able to pull my butt out of bed four mornings a week at 5 AM. So, now that that's settled, I've opted to run a 10K in November which is slightly less than half of a Half and a real Half in the spring.
Updates to come. Now off for a run! (Don't worry... three miles, People, three miles.)
Updates to come. Now off for a run! (Don't worry... three miles, People, three miles.)
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
I have this jean problem...
I feel compelled to share the Googling results of my most recent search for the world to see, mostly because it made me roar in laughter. See!
Google Search Initiated:
"My jeans rip in my inner-thighs always! Fix!"
Results:
- "Make My Jeans Last Longer: 'Ill back up caddis' point about lining. I find that wearing boxers reduces this inner thigh pant wear. I'm not sure if you can even buy that style of women's underwear anymore though an previous girlfriend use to like wearing men's boxers.'"
- "I know a girl who scothgards her crotch for this very reason. It makes sense in theory, but I've never tried it though."
- "Katherine: 'This is the bane of my existence. The destruction is inevitable but in the past I've prolonged the life of my pants by preemptively putting iron on patches on the inside of the pants at the rubby parts. They come off pretty damn quick though...'"
- "This isn't supposed to be sexy..."
- And get ready for the best: "Do you wash em regularly? Bacteria causes rippage in the inner thighs."
I'll be denim-patching these suckers. They're my favorite skinnies (and, currently, my only skinnies). Grad school budgets excuse such decisions. At least I'm not alone and got a good laugh this morning :)
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