this afternoon, as I was looking at my daytimer, I found out that I was supposed to preach tonight. to put it in to words of one funnyguy I read recently, I wouldn’t be more surprised if I woke up with my head sewn to the carpet. but I preached. life is a neverending adventure for the irresponsible.
I like words. You should too. So I have posted words that you should incorporate into your vocabulary. Enjoy.
termagent: a quarrelsome, scolding woman
picara: a woman who is a rogue or adventurer
goliard: a wondering student in medieval Europe, noted for writing ad singing ribald and satirical Latin songs
putto: a representation of a small child, often naked and having wings, used esp. in the art of the European Renaissance
schadenfreude: pleasure derived from the misfortune of others
Pecksniffian: hypocritically benevolent; sanctimonious [after Seth Pecksniff, a character in Martin Chuzzlewit, a novel by Charles Dickens]
philoprogenitive: producing many offspring; prolific
I am moving from a dormitory room to an apartment. I have been moving from a dormitory room to an apartment for 2 weeks now. Most of my stuff is in the apartment, except for my books, my toothbrush and other such hygienic paraphernalia, and tomorrow’s change of clothes.
Moving usually goes quicker. But the Fates have determined that it should not be so this time. I was faithfully moving my belongings, until I had a vision. I realized at that point that I really did not feel like moving. I would much rather read. It was thus revealed to me that I should burst forth from the prison of responsibility, and walk unfettered into the liberating sunshine of procrastination. Fate that determined that I spend my evenings with books; who am I to argue?
Thus, my belongings lay strewn across the bed and floor of my apartment room. I do not know when this season of neglect shall end. For now, I read.
this one's for sam, whose digital camera is floating around somewhere on the chinese black market
In a short lapse of retrospection,
I found an old mem'ry--this recollection
Has found a place in my affection
And I laugh at it once more.
Nostalgic, I play and replay this vision
That merits my laughter and derision;
Sam's camera--lost--I now envision
And I laugh at him once more.
Let it be known to all with ears attached to their head that I, with assistance, changed my tire yesterday.
One of his lesser known works, apparently. I defy all who might think it mawkish, saccharin, maudlin, cheesy. I think it none of those things.
Lady with the frilled blouse
And simple tartan skirt,
Since you left the house
Its emptiness has hurt
All thought. In your presence
Time rode easy, anchored
On a smile; but absence
Rocked love's balance, unmoored
The days. They buck and bound
Across the calendar,
Pitched from the quiet sound
Of your flower-tender
Voice. Need breaks on my strand;
You've gone, I am at sea.
Until you resume command,
Self is in mutiny.
the drug of choice for the human race
adds grey to the head and years to the face
its sweetly enticing, ensnaring taste
drains life in an ever-increasing waste
and the rebel, weary-eyed
and self-deprived of life
till his last ragged breath.
And all the legends that he started in his life
Live on and prosper,
Unhampered now by his existence.
- from Ernest Hemingway’s “Roosevelt”
Life should be bearable
if but for
I took my final exam for Old Testament Theology.
I will not tell how I did on the test. I will describe.
Imagine a young man, a recent kindergarten grad, perhaps, bent over his father's knee, as the father in the picture is administering corporal punishment to the young man in a series of swift strokes upon the young man's posterior, each of which produces a loud "whack" and an unearthly wail from the young man. I, of course, play the part of the young man. The father character is played by either Dr. Casillas or the exam.
Unlike Sam, I did not finish first. Nor did I finish last. My song of victory stems from the composure in which I left the room. I departed, chin held high, proud and undefeated.
Summer has come upon me like a strong man.
Despite my protests Time just keeps on moving. I dread the thought of sounding trite, but I'm now half way done with my Masters degree and it went by fast. Really fast. And I have reason to suspect that it just keeps getting faster. I think it's only a matter of time before science discovers that the rate at which time flies increases exponentially.
In the past 12 months I was supposed to have completed the following:
1. Master the guitar. I played after a long sabbatical from the guitar, at a nursing home ministry recently, and found that I have not accomplished this goal.
2. Fall flat on my back while attempting to do a handstand on a barstool. Done.
3. Master the Greek language. Nada.
4. Become mature, financially stable, and self-disciplined. Um . . .
5. Go to a worship service in which they actually "praise[d] Him with the dance." Well, check that one off. It was dancing mimes, no less . . .
6. Read The Picture of Dorian Gray. Did it.
7. Run every day until I can compete in a marathon. Yep, that's what I had planned: every day. I lose on that one.
8. Visit the cadaver room at a med school. Mission accomplished.
Upon reading a recent post, an old sentiment was stirred.
That old desire to keep on changing. I have to agree with SR that the worst thing someone could say to me is that I haven't changed a bit.
I don't want to remain me. Jon Sligh is a rather nasty chap, and I really want him to go away. I want to believe that my selfishness and godless thinking are gradually being purged. I want to be loosed from my obsession with all I call my own.