Running diary: 1992 NBA Finals

Note: This has been sitting around for about a month now, but it shouldn't really matter since it's about an event that happened 14 years ago. I also apologize that it turns into a sort of play-by-play at the end, but the game was so crazy I didn't have time to analyze what I was seeing.


10:08 pm: Welcome to my running diary of game six from the 1992 NBA Finals. After a heavy week of World Cup action it’s time to pour down some bitter nostalgia. Fortunately I taped the game from ESPN Classic, so if things start getting too bad I can pause it and go downstairs for a piña colada. Unfortunately, since I taped the game from ESPN Classic, I don’t think I’ll get to watch any era commercials. With that, I’ll hit play.


10:12 pm: Dave Rivsine begins by mentioning that the Bulls were battle-tested during this playoff run and that they came into the game with a 3-2 series lead. Uh-oh.


10:12 pm: I miss the NBA on NBC theme music. Ooh, maybe this means I’ll get era commercials.


10:14 pm: This game was in Chicago. I was thinking this was the eyes closed free throw game. Now I don’t know what to expect.


10:15 pm: The starters are being called, with the away Blazers going first. This is the classic Blazer team: Buck Williams, Jerome Kersey, Kevin Duckworth, Terry Porter, and Clyde Drexler. Same goes for the Bulls: Horace Grant, Scottie Pippen, Bill Cartwright, John Paxson, and Michael Jordan. Also of note: Phil Jackson’s tie is atrocious.


10:17 pm: Our first shot of Ahmad Rashad, who Marv Albert reminds us is from Portland. I would also remind you, he went to Oregon. And now Marv is letting us know that no team has ever come back to win the finals after being down 3-2 by winning the final two games on the road.


10:18 pm: Jerome Kersey and Horace Grant took the tip-off. I only mention it because I was shocked that it wasn’t Cartwright and Duckworth…


10:20 pm: I just realized that Marv Albert’s booth partner is Mike Frattello. David Stern needs to bring those two back together. And the Blazers are shooting 0-5 to start the game. But at least Pippen nearly stole the inbounds pass.


10:22 pm: Shooting 0-7 now. But we get some free-throws. And Porter starts the scoring for Portland by hitting both from the line.


10:24 pm: Duckworth gets called for the “elbow” on Cartwright. Thank you Marv. And Kersey missed the Blazers eighth shot from the floor, but gets the putback. Then he steals the ball and has a breakaway dunk. So even though the Blazers started terribly they’re actually ahead now, 6-4.


10:26 pm: The Blazers are shooting 16% from the field, and the announcers just told us that Jordan was second in blocked shots for a guard only to Reggie Lewis from the Celtics. I’m glad I’m not watching this with the Sports Guy.


10:29 pm: I’m done watching commercials. These are crappy, but they’re not from 1992. From now on I’m fast-forwarding.


10:30 pm: ESPN Classic has moved us ahead to 3:06 left in the first quarter.


10:31 pm: Jordan makes a ridiculous pass to Horace Grant. I think there must be something about touching the ball immediately after MJ, because there’s no way Grant should have made that circus shot.


10:34 pm: Jordan gets his first points of the game to tie it at 19, but Kersey matched it with a sweet drive and lay-in. And now two more. And now another two. This is why Bill Schonely called him No-Mercy-Kersey. Hustle basketball? Yeah. Hustle basketball.


10:38 pm: Stat comparison for Kersey and Pippen: Jerome has twelve points and five rebounds, Pippen has four and one.


10:40 pm: Three guard offense with Porter, Ainge, and Drexler, and Clyde made a three as the shot clock expired. I just found out that the Bulls have led for 78% of this series. That’s not ominous.


10:43 pm: ESPN Classic has moved us ahead to 7:24 left in the second quarter.


10:44 pm: The scoreboard in Chicago just showed that Kersey had three fouls, so Adelman took him out. This matters because he’s been the best player in the game so far and because he really only had one. Apparently that was the fault of the Blazers trainer. No, the Blazers have never had any issues with non-playing personell.


10:47 pm: Drexler is playing terribly, but as I was typing that he threw down a sweet dunk. Portland looks really good right now.


10:48 pm: Another drive by Drexler. I guess I just needed to call him out. And now nothing can go Chicago’s way, as they try to call a timeout and instead lose the ball out of bounds.


10:50 pm: The bulls and have been outscored 10-0 since Jordan came back in. Buck Williams makes a driving lay-up and the free-throw to complete the three-point play, and Pippen’s mustache is really ugly. Really ugly.


10:52 pm: I think the wheels are about to fall off. Ainge just dribbled the ball off his foot.


10:53 pm: They just flashed this stat, in 1992 Jordan was already the all-time playoff scoring leader, averaging 34.6 ppg.


10:55 pm: Jordan drains a three after an ugly series of events by the Bulls, but one in which they somehow managed to keep it.


10:58 pm: A great image on the screen right now comparing the Finals stats of Jordan and Drexler. For Clyde the Glide: 25 points, 7.8 rebounds, and 6 assists per game. For Jordan: 36.4 points, 5 rebounds, and 7 assists per game. Those guys were pretty good at basketball.


11:01 pm: Three-pointer by Jordan, which is answered by another three from Porter.


11:04 pm: Kersey gets his third foul as the first-half ends and Pippen gets to go the line to cut the lead back down to six.


11:06 pm: I’m quoting Dave Revsine, the ESPN Classic schmuck talking during hafltime: “Coming up next, Portland would extend the margin to 17 late in the third with perennial all-star Clyde Drexler and talented forward Jerome Kersey leading the charge. But would it be enough to hold off the charging Bulls?” I’m guessing it wouldn’t be, Dave. I’m guessing that’s a no.


11:09 pm: We join the game again with 6:50 left in the third quarter.


11:11 pm: The Blazers had five or so chances on the offensive end, which was capped by Kersey hitting another jumper. It’s crazy how much Kersey has outplayed Pippen in this game. As I wrote that, Kersey hit another jumper. Balzers are up 66-52.


11:12 pm: A beardless Phil Jackson seems to be contemplating how ugly his tie is. Either that or he is realizing how lonely his mustache feels.


11:14 pm: This game makes me miss the early ‘90s Blazers more than I thought I did. There were really good. And fun to watch. Maybe if they hire Adelman as coach again, everything will go back to the way it was. I’m going to click my heels three times…


11:16 pm: Jordan makes a turn-around fade-away over Porter and gets the foul. Vintage Jordan? Perhaps.


11:17 pm: The Blazers play a lot like the current Suns. Well, except the Blazers play good team defense and good individual defense,


11:18 pm: Apparently back in the early ‘90s if you got a bloody nose they put a cigarette up your nostril. At least that’s what it looks like they did with Duckworth.


11:20 pm: Jordan has a one-on-three and the Blazers take advantage, with Drexler blocking his lay-in. This Portland team was really good.


11:22 pm: At the end of the third the Blazers lead by fifteen.


11:25 pm: Bulls make a three, and then the Blazers give the ball away. Now Kersey is getting called for a flagrant foul. That was terrible. He was going for ball but came through and hit Scott Williams on the shoulder. Williams only hit one of two, but then the Bulls get another two.


11:29 pm: Stacey King makes two free-throws, so the Bulls are now within nine.


11:30 pm: Pippen hits a short jumper to bring them within seven. Double dribble by Drexler. And Jordan isn’t even on the floor. Oh the humanity.


11:32 pm: Good pass to BJ Armstrong, which he loses. He has to run outside as he regains possession, and then decides to turn around and drill a mid-range jumper. Bulls within five.


11:33 pm: Stacey King just made two more, the Bulls are now down by three.


11:35 pm: Porter dribbles it out of bounds off his knee, and Jordan is back in the game.


11:36 pm: First Bulls miss in a very long time, followed by Drexler getting an easy lay-in. Maybe Portland can hang on?


11:37 pm: Sweet alley-oop attempt from Drexler to Robinson, but they couldn’t quite get it done, Bulls come back with it.


11:38 pm: I just saw Buck Williams talking trash with Jordan. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.


11:39 pm: The young Cliff Robinson I remember shows himself, taking a really bad shot. The Bulls follow it up with a sweet Pippen lay-in and a classic Jordan floater. One point game, timeout Blazers.


11:41 pm: More good news, the Blazers only have one timeout left, the Bulls have four.


11:42 pm: The Blazers have made all 17 of their free-throws so far, which means they’ll miss the ones at the end of the game. By the way, they’re back up by three.


11:43 pm: Pippen hits a three to tie it with a man in his face as the shot clock expires, but Porter answers with a long two.


11:44 pm: Jordan ties it with another floater. In case you were wondering, the Bulls last lead was 4-2.


11:45 pm: Jordan takes the ball out of Williams’ hands and dunks it to take the lead for the first time since the first quarter, but Drexler immediately ties it back up.


11:46 pm: Timeout Bulls.


11:48 pm: Pippen just made another pull-up jumper, Bulls up by two. Then Porter gets the ball stripped, but as he tries to grab it again he knocks it out of bounds.


11:49 pm: Jordan drains another turn-around fade-away, and Portland takes its last timeout down by four.


11:51 pm: A telling stat, the Blazers have zero points off turnovers, the Bulls have 16.


11:52 pm: The Blazers still haven’t missed a free-throw, but are down by two with no timeouts left and 1:13 to go in the game. That is classic Adelman.


11:53 pm: Drexler went up for the lay-in, ran over Scott Williams—who would have been in the circle if that was in the rule-book—no foul on anyone, jump ball on the rebound. Portland gets the ball out of—wait, they reverse the call. Chicago gets the ball out of bounds after the jump.


11:55 pm: Jordan just took the ball all the way down to put Chicago back up by four.


11:56 pm: Portland still hasn’t missed from the line with Kersey hitting the first of two.


11:57 pm: And perfection from the line is maintained. Porltand is down by two. Portland fouls Jordan, who goes to the line with 11.8 seconds left and a two point lead. Of course, MJ makes both, the Blazers can’t do anything, since Adelman already burned all of their timeouts, and the Bulls win their second straight NBA championship. Excuse me, WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP.


In case you want to see a YouTube version of the end to this game, click here.

They didn't read my earlier posts

So the Blazers appear to be trying to finally end any loyalty from the Portland fan base. That came about when they didn't draft Morrison, which they could have done with the number two pick from Chicago. That isn't really what has sent me again to the dark realms trying to figure out how much more I can take. What did that was the trading away of Telfair and Khryapa, two guys I considered to be important parts of the building of this Blazers team. I would have liked to keep them both anyway, but especially if the Blazers are serious about moving Randolph and Miles. If they're able to get rid of those two guys--and this next part could happen only if the first one does--and re-sign Przybilla, then they have a core of Przybilla, Jack, Dixon, Outlaw, and Webster coming back next year. That isn't the core of players I would want. Throw in an overpaid Raef LaFrentz and Dan Dickau--who the Blazers already gave an audition--and I'm not convinced that Aldridge and Roy were worth it. Having said that, I just now found out that we traded Foye for Roy, and I'm really happy about that. I just think it's too bad we took Aldridge, and I'm even more upset that we traded away Telfair, who I think could still become an unbelievable point guard.

I just finished a class and needed to rant, so that's all for now. I'm going to buy a computer some time next week, so I'll have a chance at that point to edit and post my running diary of 1992 NBA Finals game 6.

State of the Blazers...part 3

So this is just a quick post to say that I'm pretty excited that the Blazers fired GM John Nash. I would love to see them get rid of team president Steve Patterson. It's hard to fix management issues that have been plaguing the team since Bob Whitsitt was hired in 1994.

State of the Blazers...part 2

(I began part 1 by mentioning Derek Anderson, so I'll begin part 2 with some other historical tidbits)

Some news about former Blazer coaches: Rick Adelman just got fired, again, and Mike Dunleavy recently botched another playoff series. In addition, a former player from Adelman's days in Portland, Mario Elie, and Adelman's replacement in Portland, P.J. Carlesimo, are on the short list of likely replacements for him in Sacramento.

And Blazer related Sports Guy stuff: why does he have to keep reminding me of that dreadful game seven against the Lakers in 2000? That was the day I graduated from high school. It was terrible. Jerk.

Once again Oregonlive, the Oregonian's online newspaper, has been running a survivor style competition to see who the fans think should remain from the team last year. I don't mind this except for what it does to the mentality of the fans. Certainly part of the reason that the Blazers haven't been doing as well in the past few seasons is the personnel on the team. But the problems that have led to the demise of one of the great NBA franchises are located mainly in the management camp. In the heyday of the Portland Trail Blazers there was a core of players that could be counted on. From 1989 until 1995 the foursome of Clyde Drexler, Buck Williams, Jerome Kersey, and Terry Porter were constant. At the end of that span they traded Drexler away, and neither Kersey nor Porter were starting, but they were still a part of the team. As those players were getting older other players stepped in and provided continuity. Cliff Robinson was a holdover from the glory days of the early '90s, and then Arvydas Sabonis finally arrived, followed the next year by Rasheed Wallace, the year after that by Brian Grant and Damon Stoudamire. That was the 1997-98 season. Because of the slow personnel turnover--instead of bringing players in for one year stints--the Blazers were able to overcome a declining public image and off-court antics to continue as a perennial playoff performer. The downfall of the Blazers really was game seven of the Western Conference Finals in 2000.

After that game management decided that they needed to make some big changes. And maybe they did. But what happened was to start shifting the focus from being a good team to bringing in the right players. Even though there had been some complaining, most of the Blazers accepted their roles on a team that was loaded with talent. People like Brian Grant and Rasheed Wallace actually cared about the community. When management decided it needed to make big changes, instead of expecting more from the players they had already invested in, that's when things really started sliding.

I know, the NBA isn't a league that allows for keeping teams together for long periods of time. But it is possible to keep a core of players together. This idea that getting rid of problem players and bringing in fresh blood will solve things is outrageous. Most of the teams that have done well, even in the NBA, have had a core of players that have some longevity. I think it's time for another table. I'll examine the NBA champions from the last 20 years, and look at how long the core players had been together.

Year	NBA Champions	Core players	Years together
1985-86	Celtics	Bird, McHale, Parish	5
1986-87	Lakers	Abdul-Jabbar, Johnson, Worthy, Cooper, Rambis	4
1987-88	Lakers	Same (and some others)	5
1988-89	Pistons	Thomas, Laimbeer, Dumars	3
1989-90	Pistons	Same and Rodman	3
1990-91	Bulls	Jordan, Pippen, Grant, Paxson	3
1991-92	Bulls	Same and Cartwright	3
1992-93	Bulls	Same and Armstrong	3
1993-94	Rockets	Olajuwon, Thorpe, Maxwell, Smith	3
1994-95	Rockets	Same, minus Thorpe	4
1995-96	Bulls	Pippen, Kukoc, Kerr, Longley	2
1996-97	Bulls	Same, Jordan and Harper	2
1997-98	Bulls	Same and Rodman	2
1998-99	Spurs	Robinson, Elliot, Johnson	3
1999-2000	Lakers	O'Neal, Bryant, Fisher, Horry	3
2000-2001	Lakers	Same and Fox	3
2001-2002	Lakers	Same	4
2002-2003	Spurs	Duncan, Robinson, Rose, Kerr	4
2003-2004	Pistons	Billups, Hamilton, Wallace, Prince	1
2004-2005	Spurs	Duncan, Parker, Bowen	3

The table shows that, with the exception of the 2003-04 Pistons, the NBA champion team had a core group of players who had been together for at least two years before winning a championship. Even the Bulls had a core of players not including Jordan that had been together during his absence. You'll notice too that only one of the teams lost someone from the core that I mentioned if they won back-to-back titles. In addition to these things, what most analysts thought was so incredible about that 2003-04 Pistons team was how well they played together as a team. It seemed as though they had been together for more than just one full season before their championship run. Also of interest is how many teams had one or two players that were added to their core before the championship run started, so that if I were only looking for teams that had been together for two years, instead of trying to find longevity of the core, I could have listed a lot more names for several of those teams.

This brings me back to my question: can a team in the NBA keep a core of players together in the current situation? I believe they can. What does that mean for Portland? It means that management needs to stop blaming the players for everything and start taking some responsibility for the mismanagement that's gone on in the last six years. It means that the Blazers need to let Telfair, Miles, and Randolph know that they are the core of the team and they will be playing together for more than just the next season. It means that they need to resign Przybilla to be a guy that pulls the other core players along. It means that McMillan needs to have the confidence of management so he can mold these core players into a team. It means that management needs to put more confidence in the players instead of just threatening to get rid of them if something goes wrong. I might include a few other players in that core group: Outlaw, Khryapa, Webster, and Przybilla, but that means that these guys need to continue to develop as players and teammates--and in Przybilla's case resign with the team.

After seeing my Seahawks have a fantastic year in the NFL I came to the conclusion that continuity was more important in pro sports than many people acknowledge. Upon doing the research into the last 20 years of NBA champions I believe that even more strongly. Hopefully it works, and hopefully the Blazers follow the plan.

(A huge source for this post was Basketball-Reference.com. This site has all sorts of goodies on it, and is up there with some of my other favorite NBA sites:
82games.com
Hoopsworld.com)

State of the Blazers...part 1

In honor of my days playing NBA Live at the Kay house, the first thing I need to say is that the Blazers are paying Derek Anderson $9.7 million next year to play for the Heat. So that's good news.

Other salary type news: only two guys come off the books this season. Voshon Lenard is one of them, and I don't think we should resign him. The other is Joel Pryzbilla. I really don't know what we should do about him, since he played really well for the team this season, but he doesn't like the attitude of a lot of guys and is going to probably go for more money than he's worth.

Some more important salary info: the top three paid players for the Blazers have dealt with injuries the last two seasons, which has really hindered their contributions to the team. Zach Randolph was healthier this season, but I am a bit worried that the injury could hamper him in the future. More on Randolph when I actually talk about which players they should keep. Ratliff is overpaid. The Blazers knew they were taking a risk when they traded for him, that he had a history of injuries. The first season he was in Portland he stayed healthy and was fantastic. But since then things have gone the same way for him that they had been going since he came out of Wyoming. So if someone would be willing to take that big contract, I think we should dump him. The third player--besides Derek Anderson, bravo management--earning top dollar for the Blazers is Darius Miles. I'm still torn about Miles, because I like his game a lot. I think he could be an incredible player, and that he brings a ton on each end of the court. But I'm beginning to wonder if the problems he had with Cheeks are going to keep coming back. More on him later, too.

So which Blazers are not being overpaid? Sebastian Telfair, who is only making $1.79 million next year. Victor Khryapa, a very good SF from Russia, who is making $1.14 million next year. Juan Dixon, who I would think is overpaid at $2.7 million next year except that he was one of the few bright spots on offense this season for Portland. Travis Outlaw, who is a phenomenal athlete and a pretty good basketball player, who made 900K last year and will make $1.53 million next year. Here is my statisticall backup to these statements, thanks to 82games.com.

The fair salary, which is based on the Roland rating--something I don't yet understand--and what the player brings to the team on and off the court, is as follows for each of the players I just said wasn't overpaid.

Telfair: $1.93 million
Khryapa: $1.26 million
Dixon: $3.09 million
Outlaw: $430 thousand

So I was wrong about Outlaw, but right about the other three, for the sake of comparison, here are the actual salaries and the fair salaries for the rest of the team:

Player	Fair Salary(in millions)	Actual Salary(in millions)
Randolph	$6.50	$12.00
Przybilla	$3.78	$1.56
Dixon	$3.09	$2.70
Miles	$2.36	$7.75
Blake	$2.08	$1.08
Telfair	$1.93	$1.79
Khryapa	$1.26	$1.14
Jack	$0.89	$1.14
Webser	$0.63	$2.78
Outlaw	$0.43	$1.53
Lenard	$0.21	$3.52
Skinner	$0.17	$5.40
Seung-Jin	$0.08	$0.74

More to come later, it looks like I was wrong on a few other players...

From Phoenix, with hate

Okay, the hate isn't for you--and by you, I mean anyone who for unimaginable reasons still checks my blog, there's nothing but love for you--it's for Phoenix. I have less than three weeks left here and I'm quite ready to get out. Not that I haven't had a good time. And not that I haven't gotten some work. Those were my two reasons for coming back down for this month-plus, and both have been accomplished. But I am very excited to get back to the pacific northwest. Nearly everything for Oregon is lined up, I just need to send a few things back to them and then make sure I get housing. I'm pretty excited about that too, I think. By Jonathan Lewis' request I plan on writing a state of the Blazers blog in the near future. I may do the same for the Seahawks, and even a mid-season state of the Braves. In fact, I could just turn this into a sports blog. I might write more.

A Eulogy--Almost

My iPod is broken. This is world-ending news. Only six months ago this couldn't have happened, since I didn't even own an iPod yet. But now I do, and it's broken.

I am in Palo Alto for a week with no music. And then I'll be in San Francisco for another week with no music. All because my iPod is broken. Six months ago the worst that could have happened was for me to lose a CD. Or for a skip to develop during a favorite song. Or for the player to break. But those problems are easy to fix. For the first two I could simply listen to something else. For the last one I could buy a cheap new CD player. But a broken iPod is not as easy to fix while I'm away from home.

The sad-faced iPod icon told me to visit the support section of the Apple web site. But without my computer connector I can do no such thing. Even if I could, the best that I imagine could happen would be a re-install of the iPod software, wiping out my library of music, which I would be unable to recover until I got back home.

This leaves my ears open to the air. Instead of music, the new soundtrack of my life is the faucet in the other room, the traffic outside, and the air moving through the vents of Michael's house. I wouldn't quite call this silence, but it is quiet. It's this relative quiet that makes me realize how hard actual silence must be to endure. I wonder if this approaches the spiritual discipline of silence that Michael read about in a Dallas Willard book.

I have thought about visiting an Apple store to see if they can fix my iPod. I am still considering that option. But I'm not sure that if I get my iPod back I will stay here with my relative quiet. And in these two days I've grown to like the not-quite-silence.

Two weeks away from home is a long time, but with music it doesn't seem as long. Palo Alto and San Francisco are a long way from Roseburg, but with music they don't seem as far. Maybe the added time and distance are what I need. I came into this thinking of it as a break. Now I'm wondering if I might instead call it a retreat. Yesterday I was thinking about how nice it might be to spend considerable time at a monastery. I might not have to wait to get there, because my iPod is broken.

A small treatise on writing

It's funny how hard it is to write with a pen. It's not hard because my hand or fingers are weak. No, it's hard because I'm a child of the technology revolution. I want to write because it feels so much more organic. When my hand is moving the words are flowing right out of me. This flow needs to keep going, otherwise it dries up. There is no cut and paste. This method of writing is less forgiving of a first draft--the rough draft will be rougher because if I bother to edit as I write nothing will happen. This very characteristic makes me a better writer, because I am forced to continue writing no matter what. If I want anyone else to ever see what I've written, I'll have to type it. No one else could read my handwriting. Of course this means typing it into a computer, which means forced editing. This editing most often comes at some point later than the original writing session. The requisite waiting period some guys have for calling girls is three days, or so I hear. I don't know if this is to develop some perspective, but that seems plausible. I need at least that much perspective with my own writing. Three days should give me enough time to realize that my flawless work may in fact have a few flaws, or that the waste of ink I scribbled has a little value after all. Then when I type it out I get to edit, rewrite, and revise. That reminds me an awful lot of the writing process I learned in high school.

But I didn't even get to the point I started making--which is, of course, a product of writing the rough draft of this in pen--about how hard it is to write. There are several possible causes for this, and I'm going to explore what these might be:

1) Education

I'm not saying that there is a pro-typing/anti-writing character trait inherent in those who have an education. What I mean to say is that the education establishment drives the will to write with ink right out of students. Teachers and professors want everything typed. Something about legibility seems to be involved with their reasoning. But this effectively means that the only time most students use a pen is on a written final. Any paper done in high school or college needs to be typed. Even the least academic student, given his or her choice about what to write a paper on, may find some pleasure in working on it. But even the most academic may have problems with anxiety and confidence when forced to pull out a Blue Book and answer various exam questions. How could this not translate to deep-seated feelings related to each method of relaying the written word?

2) Procrastination

I haven't studied American culture or its history at all, but I find it hard to imagine that procrastination has ever been as common as it is presently, and certainly the common pride in this procrastination is greater than ever. We--I--like to wait until the last minute. There is something exhilarating about a deadline. But because teachers and professors want papers to be typed, this means that even those who might otherwise write out an early draft are likely to use the computer. This enables faster editing. It allows for manipulation of the text. Spell check, thesaurus, and online resources make technical issues easier to take care of quickly. When a paper is due in three hours, efficiency is a key issue.

3) Laziness

Maybe this is related more to procrastination, but I'm sure it isn't only related to that reason. When writing a paper--I mean really writing--hard copies of research materials are needed. This means that a certain amount of work must have been done before the writing was started. Perhaps there is another option. The writer might have such extensive knowledge on the subject that he or she doesn't need the research materials at hand. But this is really not a second option, just a slight modification of the first. Most of us need to spend considerable preparation to have enough knowledge to write about something with no external resources. The other problem is that even with this sort of knowledge, crediting proper sources and steering clear of plagiarism are difficult. Working on the computer from the beginning eliminates these issues. Thanks to Google and other online sources, information is readily available while typing. There is no longer the felt need to go down to the library when a gap in information arises. Sure, too many online sources are looked down upon by teachers and professors. But many print resources are making their way to the web, eliminating this problem. Quoting someone is much easier when using cut and paste rather than read, transcribe, and rewrite.

...

So how do I solve this very personal problem? I see two options for myself, neither of which are inexpensive. The first is to practice writing. If I keep using pen and paper, over and over, despite its perceived impracticality and my inability, eventually I might develop some proficiency at writing. This will take time, effort, and planning, three things I lack. (Perhaps there is something to be said about the inculcation of the virtues that comes from the practice of writing, but I'll save that for some other time.)

The other option is to actually type. Up until this point I have been using type to mean word process, but now I mean just that: typing on a typewriter. If I buy a typewriter I can keep some of the aspects of the typing we've come to know with computers, but also keep the emphasis on the writing process that flows from a pen. The feeling of typing is still present, so the ease with which words seem to come while typing on a keyboard compared with that of grasping a pen isn't lost. In addition, that ever-important legibility isn't lost either. Typewriters can't connect to the internet. They can't save. There's no cut and paste. All the deficiencies of writing for getting something done quickly--and thus undercutting the writing process--are still lacking. But typewriters aren't cheap, either. Nor are they terribly prevalent. The upkeep is costly. And of course, those other expenses that were related to writing, time effort and planning, are still present. Is good writing worth it for one of these two options? I think so. In fact, I think so strongly enough that I now have a long-forgotten ailment and tell-tale sign of a forgotten generation of authors: writer's cramp.

THE FUTURE!!!

Sorry, sometimes I get carried away. I wanted to have a big, ominous-looking headline. I am now signed up for the last three tests I need before I can get into the education program at the University of Oregon. Now I need to get that application done and my references taken care of. On the other side, Shane is ready to talk about Leuven and all three references for that application are good to go, so now I need to work hard on revamping a paper and figuring out how to convince people that they should let me study philosophy. The timeline for my trip so the bay area seems to be formalizing, since I figured out last night when the Cal-Stanford swim meet is. The last two weeks of February (which includes the beginning of March) will most likely find me down by the bay. Now I just want to figure out when and how I can get back out to Chicago and down to Phoenix. I've got a wedding in Phoenix in early June, but it'd be sweet to get down there another time before then...maybe around my brother's college graduation in May? Now I'm thinking in text, for all to see. Which makes for drivel, in my opinion. So I'm done.

Recent additions to my links

In case you didn't see them, I put these links up because I like 'em and think they're worth looking at:


Tom McGlothlin


j Rogers


Google Video


PutFile


The Oregonian


Apple


MacRumors


The New Yorker


Pitchfork

Edward R. Murrow and the current MSM

I just finished reading this piece from The New Yorker. The thing that's most interesting about it to me, and the most relevant, is the question it raises about government regulation. Liberals and conservatives alike, at various times and in differing circumstances, have tended toward a desire for deregulation, which they've gotten. Is that really better for the public? The article doesn't answer that question at all, but it does make the question palatable.

K.U. Leuven

So all three professors are on board for writing recommendations, which is a fantastic place for me to be on the road to possible graduate study in Belgium. Now all I need to do is work on a previous paper that I might be able to turn into something good, get some personal information/goals to the professors so they can write strong letters, and talk to Shane enough to decide if I'm really serious about this. But still, I'm very excited that all three professors are on board, that was the most important thing for me in this part of the process.

On a different note: I ran (and walked, I'm way out of shape) today, and it was the first time in a while I've really worked out. Importance: as much as I want to work out because it's good for me, the hedonistic reason will probably beat out the healthy reason, because I love endorphins. (I just re-read the article "Moral Saints" by Susan Wolf, so I don't think this is a bad thing at the moment.)

Have you heard of Justin King? (now you have)

Google video is absolutely amazing. Go find out for yourself. And so is Justin King.

In addition

Besides re-reading some good stuff, I'm also reading several other things. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, which is pretty incredible so far, and Silence by Shusaku Endo. Both of these authors were highlighted by Philip Yancey in his book Soul Survivor, and so far I'm quite appreciative of him for praising them so highly.

In sports-related news, I'll be substitute teaching at Troy Polamalu's alma mater tomorrow. And with responses from two of the three professors I emailed about being references for me with Leuven, things are picking up speed.

The importance of the re-read

Today I re-read two things that were fairly inspiring the very first time I read them. One was the article "Modern Moral Philosophy" by G.E.M. Anscombe. The other was the short story "A Perfect Day For Bananafish" by J.D. Salinger. Other than both authors being elitists and going by multiple initials followed by last names, these two chunks of text have in common the ability to motivate and inspire me. Anscombe's article is a critique of moral philosophy since the time of Aristotle. It's funny and arrogant and insightful, and did much to push the issue of virtue ethics into the minds of many philosophers. Reading it again, in part because I'm getting really serious about getting back into philosophy, got me to thinking about philosophical questions again, which is a pretty important step for me if I want to go study philosophy in Belgium.

Just now I finished re-reading the first story in the aptly titled collection Nine Stories by Salinger. His clarity is incredible. His dialogue is amazing. His characters leave me grasping for the right cliche. And to be honest, I re-read the story because I know Salinger has that effect on me. His writing influences my writing, and for the better. Well, I think it's for the better. And since I'm trying to work on a few short stories for the Winter Bookquet at Multnomah Bible College on February 2--nice little ad there, eh Krispin?--I thought that going back to the stories that make me think about how I use words when I write would be a good beginning.

In addition, which you probably already noticed, reading these two pieces today has been the catalyst in getting me to write something on my blog that is truly mine for the first time in a long while. So this post is dedicated to G.E.M. and J.D.

Great quote...because it's true

"Oregon is the Canada of California."
--Stephen Colbert


I just had to share that with everyone.

Chuck Klosterman and race

This is a nice little article that Klosterman wrote for ESPN.com, where he routinely contributes. It's always fun to see what he has to say about sports, especially since he is recognized by so many for his insights into other areas of pop culture. So read it.

I may not have told you about this

The day after Thanksgiving I received a phone call from Daniel Golden. He was looking for Wheaton alum Josh Carlton. The link above is to the article he wrote which contains a little snippet from our conversation. I think he does a good job in the article, and I also think that he asks some good questions without oversimplifying or setting up straw men. Most of all, I appreciate the fact that Dr. Hochschild is getting a bit of recognition, albeit for unfortunate reasons, because he really has been a very influential person for me.

With that said, I've recently been reconsidering graduate study in philosophy, perhaps joining Shane in Belgium. And props to Tom for posting the link to this article first, since I didn't know how to get there online.

A link to a stupid article and me whining: an all-around great read

Like most of the posts on here, this one comes for no real reason and with no specific purpose. I've been reading in "my" room. The one in my parents' house that I dormified so that I could have my own space. It's nice. Except that I'm 24 and living in my parents' house. I wish I knew what life was really about. How to do it. People. Sure, I really do think that life is about people. But I don't really know what the hell that means. I have friends in town, but they're mostly in high school. If I hang out with them too much I get in trouble. I don't think I should, since I do live with my parents. Basicly I'm at their level. Maybe a little more mature. Sometimes. So I read. That's my outlet. But that's pretty lame. I think reading is good, worthwhile, and all sorts of other things, but a replacement for actually being with people? Nope. This is pretty much how I felt when I was staying with my brother. The best friends I had were Potok characters. Now they're members of the Karamozov family. I wish I knew what to do about it, but I don't.

And then there's this: as I finish writing this post I think about all of the people around the world who are actually facing hardship. None of them are spoiled enough to think about "what life's really about" or similar shit. And then, and then, I look back at a few sentences and hate my writing, when that's the thing I think I might like to do most. And the story that this links to might be the highlight of my night, since it plays a big part in my weekend: fantasy basketball.

More linking, this time to a Leonard Pitts article

This is about the "war on Christmas." It's really good, and what's most amazing is...nevermind, it's not too long. Just read it.

Another link, a different perspective

Joe wanted me to link to the New Yorker article that ripped on Jacobs, so I did.

Another link to something by Alan Jacobs

I know that most of the people who were consistently checking in with my blog are gone because I have alienated them, but I wanted to link to this article even if it only serves to give me quick access to it in the future. This is a review/essay about Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by Dr. Alan Jacobs. I don't know what else to say about it except that it's quite insightful, and very helpful to my thinking about reading and about Harry.

Popularity on life's grandest scale: an NBA arena

Things basically started when Jason asked me if I wanted to shoot a free throw during a time out in the second quarter. The catch was that I would be blind-folded. When he asked me, my immediate response was positive. Of course I want the chance to make a shot in front of a stadium full of people. But then I thought about it and realized that I didn't want to miss a shot in front of a stadium full of people. Given my basketball history and skill level, the second option seemed far more likely. But, as tends to happen, I decided the opportunity was worth the risk. He told me that we'd be meeting his friend Paul at gate A12 with nine minutes to go in the second quarter. With that, I sat down to relax and watch the game.

Except of course I couldn't relax. My nerves were wreaking all sorts of havoc on my body, making me quite uncomfortable, until the Blazers started playing really well. And then my stomach didn't hurt so much. Things went like that for a while. I sat there enjoying the game, every once in a while visualizing Michael Jordan making a free throw in Portland with his eyes closed or imagining all of those times in goal that I had to make big saves. Then we started off to rendezvous with Paul. The nerves came back.

We met Paul and he led us into the bowels of the Rose Garden. As we walked he explained to me exactly what would happen. I would get out to the line, I would get a chance to look at the hoop, I would put some black ski goggles over my eyes, and then I would have thirty seconds to put a basketball in the hoop. Event staff would be placing the balls in my hands, and they would be helping me by telling me if I needed to shoot weaker or stronger, to the left or to the right. As Paul told me all of this I realized that I would have a very small chance unless I made the first one, because the first one would be the only one that was purely based on my senses. As we walked I told Paul and Jason what I thought, and they had no response. When we got to the floor Todd, Paul's boss, explained everything to me again. The only difference was that Todd told me not to leave if I didn't make it during the thirty seconds. They would give me one last chance with my eyes open. At that my nerves really kicked in, because I couldn't imagine much more pressure than missing a bunch of free throws without seeing, and then getting one shot while seeing. The only way I could enjoy the minutes until my chance was to watch the game. Which I did. From the corner of the court.

As I watched Rasheed Wallace and Zach Randolph bang bodies not more than 20 yards from me, my nerves settled into a steady burn. The whistle for the third timeout was blown and Todd told me to get out on the court with him. Goggles in hand I followed him onto the floor.

We got to the line and Todd introduced me to the crowd. "With us tonight is Josh, all the way from Roseburg," rang through the stadium and brought my nerves back to the prominent place of my throat. Then Todd mentioned the time that Michael Jordan made his free throw with his eyes shut, and that to commemorate that, if I made one free throw in thirty seconds without being able to see, I would get a brand new pair of Jordan brand shoes.

All of this wasn't helping to calm me down, but then a strange thing happened. Todd told me to take one last look at the hoop, so I did. The funny thing about NBA arenas is that the hoops aren't right in front of a wall. In fact, there's a lot of space between the backboard and the nearest background. This serves to make it look a lot closer than a normal hoop, or at least it did for me. Which in turn served to ease my nerves. All of the sudden I was confident of my ability to get the ball to the hoop. My only concerns were putting it up straight and putting it up with enough touch that a bad shot had a better chance of going in. With that, I pantomimed one shot, and put on the goggles.

Todd handed me a ball, asked if I could see anything--which I couldn't--and asked if I was ready. I said I was, and he did the old "ready, GO!" thing. I had decided to do my normal free throw routine, something that any who've seen me shoot might not have advised since I don't make too many, and proceeded to spin the ball and dribble twice. Then I put up my shot. It felt good, but immediately I put my hands out for the next ball. After what seemed like a long time, I heard an explosion of noise as the crowd let me know that my first shot had gone in. Apparently they gave me a new ball at the same time, but I didn't remember that until I saw the pictures later. I was so dumbstruck by the idea that I had made the shot that I just stood there. When Todd proclaimed that I'd made it I ripped off the goggles. I have never felt quite like I felt with the whole Rose Garden cheering for me.

As we left the court I was congratulated by the front row ticket holders and VIPs. They gave me my certificate for my Jordans, and Jason and I walked back up to our section at the top. On the way every person who saw me gawked and congratulated me, complimenting my tremendous basketball skills. Our group screamed when I got back, as some hadn't even known where I was going when I left. As I sat down I tried to recreate what had just happened, but I couldn't. I decided a while ago that I would stop referring to new experiences as surreal, but that's what it was. It seemed like it never even happened. My stomach didn't calm down until the next morning.

The moral of the story: I rock when put in front of big crowds.
Therefore: we're getting the band back together and doing arena rock.

my most recent theological worldview

You scored as Neo orthodox. You are neo-orthodox. You reject the human-centredness and scepticism of liberal theology, but neither do you go to the other extreme and make the Bible the central issue for faith. You believe that Christ is God's most important revelation to humanity, and the Trinity is hugely important in your theology. The Bible is also important because it points us to the revelation of Christ. You are influenced by Karl Barth and P T Forsyth. Roman Catholic 71% Neo orthodox 71% Emergent/Postmodern 68% Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 54% Classical Liberal 50% Modern Liberal 43% Reformed Evangelical 32% Charismatic/Pentecostal 18% Fundamentalist 7% What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com

another change in location

it's been a really long time since i've posted. i started school this week. i'm quite excited about all three of my classes, and expect to get a ton from them. there may be a bit more excitement for my class "theology, pop culture and the emerging church," which i wasn't even that excited about to begin with. the professor used to tour with AC/DC, among others. at the moment i'm sitting in stephen's dorm room. i've been living here since i got back from phoenix. this certainly isn't the ideal situation for many reasons, but it will suffice until i have a job, at which i will hopefully be able to find a cheapish room somewhere. on the job front: i had an interview with 24hour fitness the other day, and it seems likely that i'll be working there very soon. in other news: i'm headed to chicago october 20-23 for a wedding. i can't wait to get out there and see jacob and the rest of my long-time wheaton friends, especially the dignan boys. oh yeah, the wedding should be good too. and perhaps another dignan reunion show? i'm only imagining it right now. so far i'm not too impressed with seminarians of the female persuasion. actually, i haven't been drawn to many of the seminarians at all. there are a few guys i've clicked with already that should become friends to some degree, but with me living down here that degree might be small. i think that's about all. i've been to the beach once, at night, so i may venture out there today to cool off. it's been so hot here the last few days. pretty ridiculous.

quick quote from reading Yancey

“Where there is no longer any opportunity for doubt, there is no longer any opportunity for faith either.” Paul Tournier, quoted in Dissapointment with God, by Philip Yancey.

Another Coffeeshop Bum

I think I'm back to updating weekly, which is a vast improvement upon how often I had been updating. In this installment I'll be putting some links up of things I've been into recently, and trying to set them up permanently on the side. Also, I have no idea what I'm going to talk about, so I should get to the links.

A Christian Review of Books and Culture

the New Pantagruel (former Wheaton Philosophy professor Dr. Joshua Hochschild is heavily involved with this one)

GetReligion a great blog that links to articles about religion

Timothy McSweeney's great satire and other stuff

My myspace

I'm sitting in My Coffee, that hideaway for me in Roseburg, looking out the window at the clouds. I am excited for the possibility of rain, and not just because I like it. Part of the reason I look forward to rain, or sun, or snow, or any other weather pattern, is that I want a change from whatever the current pattern is. I really want some rain. Two weeks or so and I'll be heading down to Fuller. I still don't know what I'll do about housing, and I'm still a little apprehensive about my potential work situation. But I am so ready to get out of here. I've been listening to the song Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap (from the group Frou Frou) a ton recently. The last link is to my myspace profile which has the video for that song on it. While I was trying to find a free version of the audio to link this page to, I found out that the song had been on the season finale of The OC. Go ahead and get elitist on me, but I enjoy the show, and that helped explain why I've been so addicted to this song since Eric sent it to me. The combination of music and image is pretty incredible, and The OC does a great job of matching songs with scenes. Two of my favorite songs from the past year--the aforementioned Hide and Seek and Fix You by Coldplay--were first played during really powerful scenes on The OC. All that to describe my connection to this song, which is one that sort of makes me sad and happy at the same time, embodying my simultaneous feelings of anticipation and anxiety towards moving. It would be so much easier if I were heading back to Wheaton. Of course, once I got there it might not be any easier at all. But for now, it certainly seems like that's the case. And I think that it would be easier if Jamie and Eric were coming out this fall, but who knows if that's true. Maybe more time apart will give Dignan more staying power once we're back together.

(Quick sidenote: there's a pretty girl who came in a few minutes ago who seems to be staring at me. I have no idea what to do. Nevermind, she's getting two coffees, so one is probably for a boyfriend. Maybe even a husband. And now, walking out the door. Too late for me.)

I think that this post was just derailed by my hormones. It's funny how existential crises can be put down by biological functions. Maybe that's the trick, I need to be around more girls, er, women who are my age. Yeah, that could be quite helpful. As long as that they're not rich/spoiled/snobby/girly southern California women. Hmm, that could be a predicament, as I'm moving down to southern California. Shoot. Well, that was a post anyway.

Trying to find Ms. Pac-Man

I’ve been trying to imagine Jacob in Wheaton for the last few days. He and I have talked several times—well, communicated several times via email, blog, and phone—and that’s given me the chance to picture him in specific Wheaton situations. I can visualize the awkward freshman mingling that happens. Guys prancing over to the Ladies’ floors, these same females cavorting on the east side with the guys. I can even conjure up the exact way these opposing forces view each other, with the gotta-find-a-mate-cyborg character Jacob described in his blog. I can hear the orientation committee members utilizing spiritual sounding words so as to impress the newbies with Wheaton’s uber-awareness of the other realm. The intonation as they talk about “the LORD” and how they decided to do something because “the spirit LED me there” echos through my mind. This is the same stuff my friend Shane wrote about in The Record last year, and subsequently posted on his blog. My mind has no trouble envisioning people walking around asking the big three: What’s your name? What’s your major? Where are you from? (Of course the fourth question is Will you marry me? Haha. (No, seriously, will you marry me? You’re perfect for me; you just don’t know it yet. Let’s at least agree to start courting. No? I have to talk to your dad first? I can do that. What? You were kidding. Haha, me too. Heh, hehe, we sure are funny. This isn’t uncomfortable at all.)) And the whole time they’re doing this they look like pac-men. Most Wheaton students smile so terribly hard during the first week that they have to tip their heads back to speak. It’s as if the lower half of their faces are paralyzed in this grin that spends all day trying to convince anyone who will see it that it’s owner is the nicest, most sincere, most Christ-like, happiest, most perfect possible spouse, in the whole world. Hence the pac-man-talk. Instead of mouths opening like normal humans, the top of the head tilts back as if to gobble up white dots and flashing fruit. I can picture the new Todd M. Beamer center, with it’s gaudy wall sculpture of its namesake walking with his family on a beach, shamelessly reveling in the terrorism-inspired culture of fear. (Yeah, that was way over the top. But every once in a while I have to say something really ridiculous. Maybe my problem is more with the idea that most Wheaton buildings are usually named after people who have done amazing things for the Kingdom of God—however that can be decided—and Beamer did something that united the kingdom of Bush.) My flip-flops can feel the pedway underfoot as I imagine Jacob walking down to the BGC and then along College Ave. towards downtown Wheaton. Even my emotions well up in me as the sentimentality of Jacob meeting cool Wheaton students for the first time hits.

The problem with all of this is that it isn’t quite true. I can’t picture Jacob doing any of this. At every point I see myself instead of him. I can’t quite put my envy into words, this is the best I can do: any time I try to picture him in one of these situations, my mind replaces him with me. I’m not trying to do it. I wish I could stop. Life is no easier, post-college no simpler, near-graduate study no more imminent, by reliving Wheaton at every turn. Especially since I can’t really do it. There is to be no reliving of Wheaton. It’s quite done. Very finished. Absolutely over. Last year gave me false hope, having three classmates in such close proximity. This year will give me the real thing. Unless the Exley brothers make it out sooner than expected. No. No false hope. This is absurd how this sentimentality is making me write all of these fragments. My skills of communicating in our wonderful language are being corrupted by my own state as an emotional wreck. I suppose that Ben Folds isn’t helping write now, as the song Time pulses through my headphones.

Upon re-reading this before posting I see very well how unedited and bad the writing is. And yet I'm so happy to be posting that I can't let the general crappiness keep me from sending this into the cyber-universe.

joining the techno revolution

i'm making this post from my favorite coffee place, drinking a caramel machiatto and enjoying the free wifi. i just finished watching bottle rocket with jacob and josh, and i really need to give that a viewing at least once every two months. there are so many enjoyable lines in that movie, and i realized today that it pulls off showing us an important character only once but keeping her involved in the story.

i also finished the name of the rose, by umberto eco, last night. this was the most arduous reading undertaking that i attempted this summer. the book was only 500 pages, but it took nigh on three weeks. it was also hard coming off the heals of harry potter and the half-blood prince. i enjoyed the great mystery all the way through, and the unusual story-telling devices employed by eco in the telling. it was also fantastic for the quotes that i pulled out that pertain to theology and philosophy. i am going to paste a few of them:

“But why doesn’t the Gospel ever say that Christ laughed?” I asked, for no good reason. “Is Jorge right?”
“Legions of scholars have wondered whether Christ laughed. The question doesn’t interest me much. I believe he never laughed, because, omniscient as the son of God had to be, he knew how we Christians would behave. But here we are.” (161)

“Illness is not exorcised. It is destroyed.”
“With the body of the sick man.”
“If necessary.”
“You are the Devil,” William said then.
Jorge seemed not to understand. If he had been able to see, I would say he stared at his interlocutor with a dazed look. “I?” he said.
“Yes. They lied to you. The Devil is not the Prince of Matter; the Devil is the arrogance of the spirit, faith without smile, truth that is never seized by doubt. The Devil is grim because he knows where he is going, and, in moving, he always returns whence he came. You are the Devil, and like the Devil you live in darkness. If you wanted to convince me, you have failed. I hate you, Jorge, and if I could, I would lead you downstairs, across the ground, naked, with fowl’s feathers stuck in your asshole and your face painted like a juggler and a buffoon, so the whole monastery would laugh at you and be afraid no longer. I would like to smear honey all over you and then roll you in feathers, and take you on a leash to fairs, to say to all: He was announcing the truth to you and telling you that the truth has the taste of death, and you believed, not in his words, but in his grimness. And now I say to you that, in the infinite whirl of possible things, God allows you also to imagine a world where the presumed interpreter of the truth is nothing but a clumsy raven, who repeats words learned long ago.” (477)

“It was the greatest library in Christendom,” William said. “Now,” he added, “the Antichrist is truly at hand, because no learning will hinder him any more. For that matter, we have seen his face tonight.”
“Whose face?” I asked, dazed.
“Jorge, I mean. In that face, deformed by hatred of philosophy, I saw for the first time the portrait of the Antichrist, who does not come from the tribe of Judas, as his heralds have it, or from a far country. The Antichrist can be born from piety itself, from excessive love of God or of the truth, as the heretic is born from the saint and the possessed from the seer. Fear prophets, Adso, and those prepared to die for the truth, for as a rule they make many others die with them, often before them, at times instead of them. Jorge did a diabolical thing because he loved his truth so lewdly that he dared anything in order to destroy falsehood. Jorge feared the second book of Aristotle because it perhaps really did teach how to distort the face of every truth, so that we would not become slaves of our ghosts. Perhaps the mission of those who love mankind is to make people laugh at the truth, to make truth laugh, because the only truth lies in learning to free ourselves from insane passion for the truth.” (491)

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. Harcourt Brace & Company, New York, 1983.

it's funny you should say that...

last night i was laying (lying? i should know which one to use) in bed thinking about updating. yesterday i received a message via myspace from a band down in medford. it seems that they are looking for a bass player. i happen to be a bass player. they have released several ep's, and i really like their sound. they are also touring, although they have a bit of a break right now. they want me to come down and try out. i want to go down and try out. what i've been thinking a lot about are the possible consequences. say they really like my bass playing, and think i'd be fun to have in the band. also imagine that i like their music even more when i get there, and agree that they would be fun to play with. they are planning on touring more, and if i go down to fuller, i'm out of something before i even start. which makes sense if i'd also have to work and find housing and things like that. but, if they are really in talks with labels right now and are going to sign something soon to record and make a little bit of money--i mean a little, i know it won't be much--how can i not take the opportunity to play music right now? if we get into a decent tour, which means we can make a little money off of playing shows, and we're going non-stop, then my days would be filled with time in a vehicle to read and listen to music and hang-out with my new bandmates and make new music. that sounds pretty amazing to me, besides the fact that i'd be traveling a lot. i sent them a message back yesterday and haven't heard any more, so hopefully in the next few days they'll let me know when a good time to come down would be. and then, maybe, i'll be in a band again and not going back to school quite yet.

i really do like posting, i don't know why it's taken me so long to write something. it's gotten so pathetic that i even received one of those spam-comments for a singles service. ouch.

article

click and read.

A new story about scene girls (or at least the girls who watched my high school band play)

Sitting here at Brewed Awakenings has reminded me of an incident I hadn’t thought about in quite some time. One of the baristas here is a girl who went to Horizon High School with the rest of the guys in my band. She was a regular at our shows, probably not least of all because she wanted to marry our bass player. Actually, there was a fairly large group of girls from their school who came out to support us. (And yet, I was never able to capitalize on this and get a girlfriend. Ah, the myth of the Rock Star.) We played one show—one of our last local shows—at the church where we practiced. After the show we went to our drummer’s house for a bon fire and some good teenage flirting. It was here that Michal, the barista who never married our bass player, asked if I could give her a ride home.

Several things should be noted at this point in the story: the first is that the retelling of this is probably being affected by the fact that I keep looking up and noticing how cute she is. The second thing to be noted is that she wasn’t flirting with me. Despite the utter rejection from him, Michal was quite committed our bass player. The last thing to be noted—that is, until I remember some other things that need to be said—is that Michal and I had a history of sorts. Before the break-up of her family we lived in the same mobile home park. Her older brother and I were not friends. In fact, the closest thing to a fight I ever found myself in was with her brother. While playing football in the street like I always did, her brother had passed through the edge of our game on roller-blades. Our quarterback didn’t appreciate the interruption to our game, and threw the ball at him, knocking him off his feet and to the curb. Since I was the youngest of the players Michal’s brother chose me as the focus of his retaliation. But my status as the youngest player didn’t correspond to a size advantage for him. As it was I was not only taller and fatter than he was, but stronger as well. His push did nothing to me, but since he was still on his roller-blades it served to knock him off his feet and this time down to the street.

With this sort of history—that of her family viewing me as some kind of nemesis, perhaps even an arch one—it was a nice gesture of her to entrust herself to me and to my 1980 Buick Skylark, especially in what was becoming an increasingly wet night.

The beginning of our ride was not noteworthy except in its lack of unsettling awkwardness. Even now, as someone who can converse fairly confidently and comfortably with anyone, I seem to find myself in awkward situations when alone with girls. In high school I was much less confident and much more introverted. All that to say this: the lack of awkwardness in our silence was an unexpected and welcome companion. We drove along like this for seven and a half minutes or so, just riding and not feeling pressured to force conversation, watching the driving rain. And at the eight-minute mark, watching the flashing lights pull up behind us as we were pulled over.

One last note is needed at this time. My Camel Brown Buick Skylark used to shimmy. I enjoyed it, and thought it was cool to have my car dancing to my music as I drove. But most of my friends entered my car with trepidation, consumed with a fear akin to that of a woman who once followed me home to tell me that my right rear tire was about to come off. Because of these fears I decided to get my car fixed. But in doing so the mechanic had to disconnect the speedometer. Unfortunately he had forgotten to reconnect it, and I had been remiss in getting it connected myself. Instead I had been driving at whatever speed felt right, generally going with the flow of traffic.

Due to the rain there was a genuine lack of traffic, and hence a lack of flow by which to judge my speed. The officer pulled me over because, as it turned out, I was driving about 65 in a posted 50 zone, in an old car, in the pouring rain. The nice feel of comfortable silence was at this point overtaken by the awkward kind. I had never been pulled over, and now the first time I was actually taking a girl somewhere—even if it was home—I was being pulled over. All the baggage of me as nemesis that Michal had overcome to ask me for a ride came pouring back onto the carousel of her mind. Not only was I an enemy, I was irresponsible and endangering her safety.

I explained my reason for speeding to the officer, which was basically that I didn’t know I was speeding. He took my license, at which time he realized that he worked with my dad and that I was most likely telling the truth. I didn’t get a ticket, just a warning and a reminder that I really needed to get my speedometer fixed. My response was one of genuine thanks for letting me know how fast I was going. And for ruining my self-esteem in front of a girl.

I forgot to thank him audibly for the second part, and for absolutely ruining the last six and three-quarters minutes of our ride. As we continued on our way there were several nervous attempts at conversation, but her responses were all thickly veiled attacks on my misogynist character. Endangering the life of a high school girl! Forcing her to endure the shame of being seen with a speeder! She pretended to be nice as I dropped her off at home. Just like she pretended to be nice when she poured my coffee today. I suppose right now is my chance at redemption. I could apologize, ask her to let me make it up to her by taking her out some time—did I mention how cute she looks right now? —for lunch or dinner or a movie.

Or coffee.

coming soon

i have a pretty crappy rough draft of a short story i wrote coming soon, maybe even tomorrow. also, i've been writing a few other things that i may post.

the last phoenix post

i'm taking off tomorrow, and my apartment is almost all packed up. tonight i'm going to pf changs with the guys for one last night of teacher fun. (thanks to a student who gave me a gift certificate as a year-end "thank you") it should be a good time. then i'll come back here, finish packing, go to bed, get up in the morning and grab anything that's left, clean everything that hasn't been cleaned, and take off. the end. i'll see all you roseburgers in a few days.

yearbook signing party

today after school there was a party so that students could sign yearbooks. i attended, and signed lots and lots of yearbooks. it was fun. at the same time, and this was partly because of the music that they were playing, i couldn't help but feel like i was actually in high school again. it was crazy. i'm NOT. sometimes i have to remind myself of that. i didn't say anything worth saying in the yearbooks. i never know what to say, so i write meaningless drivel. "i enjoyed having you in class." "good luck and have fun next year." "(some random inside joke that's too obscure for the person i intend to read it)." stuff like that. i don't know how to fix this. i didn't want to just write trite "christian" phrases, but i also started feeling pretty pathetic, being a teacher at a christian school, and not really saying anything different from what non-christian high schoolers might be writing to each other--without the innuendo. i admire jacob's ability to ask hard questions, and i wish i had that unabashedness, and that level of awareness of my own questions. i don't know if i wish i had the same ones, but i do wish i really knew what i was thinking and wondering about.

i recently finished the count of monte cristo and a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. the first was very good--i mean, it is a classic--and the second was amazing. it's basically a memoir written by a man who's parents died when he was twentythree, leaving him to raise his seven year old brother, with some help from his twentyfour year old sister and twentyseven year old brother. amazing. not for the faint of heart, or for those who will be offended by pure, raw, often profane emotion. amazing book.

i'm almost done with teaching, and i'm really really excited about that. two weeks until i'm in oregon again, and that's exciting.

flying to dallas

right now i'm trying to decide if i drop almost four hundred dollars for the combination of flying to dallas for alec's wedding and then flying to seattle the next day for dan's. i have the money, and it's not going to get any cheaper, but it feels like it's so expensive. no, i need to do it. as soon as i call my parents and see if they want to get a fun seattle trip out of it. yep, that's what i'm doing.

i've been sick again for the last few days. it feels like the bronchitis came back, but i can't be too sure. i will say that i've been getting better as today has gone on. but being sick doesn't make school go by any better, rather it makes me yearn even more for the time (less than a month, now!) when i'll be done teaching and back in roseburg doing whatever it is i can find to do. and then only a few short months and i'm back in school. that makes me quite happy. i think that's all.

wheaton re-visited

at the moment i am waiting for my (ex)roommate andrew to come pick me up, and then we are going to coffee or breakfast or something like that. so far while i've been here i've hung out with a lot of people, which is fantastic. it's amazing how invested i still am in the individuals who live here. i sat in on a class yesterday, and it got me really excited for this fall when i'm in class again. ahh, how i miss school. jacob, i've told some of my friends that you're going to be here next year, so don't feel awkward if they just come up to you and introduce themselves. i don't know that i really have much else to say. it's nice to be back, and as always, it's completely normal and utterly weird. los burritos is on tap tonight...how i long for los. it's been since december, and i need a good fix.

frigem fragem blasted network

the other night i posted at school. and then when i went to edit a tehe that should have said the, it blocked me from getting back here. yes, that made me ecstatic. mainly i think that i said school was going pretty well, and then i listed a bunch i've recently read so that others can go read them now. extremely loud and incredibly close by jonathan safron foer is probably my favorite book for the moment, although my name is asher lev by chaim potok and the amazing adventures of kavalier and clay by michael chabon are close behind. apparently i'm a big fan of jewish authors. i suppose that's about all i have to say right now. stupid "network administrator."

aargh

i wrote a bunch last night and then my browser unexpectedly quit on me, so now i'm writing a quick blog from my lunch. i'm in the midst of day three as a real teacher, and things are going quite well. i'm pretty proud of the way lessons are going, and i think students are leaving every class period knowing more than when they came in. also, i only have 15 pages left in the book survivor by chuck palahniuk, and it's competing with choke and diary as my favorite of his works. that's all for now, i need to either get lunch or help students.

we all suck

i'm sitting here with jacob, talking about stuff. sorry i suck at updating. no promises, as they always turn me into a liar.

verbal constipation

i think i binge and purge when it comes to words. in the last few weeks i finished my third and fourth chuck palahniuk books and two anne lamott books. now i'm hoping i can spew my own words out for all to read. i don't know how soon i'll post short stories here, but i'm going to start writing every day and working on really crappy first drafts. i don't have much else to say. i leave for san francisco monday afternoon to help chaperone a mission trip. and i'm done teaching first graders. good news all around, really. i wish that i were better about updating this, hopefully i come back soon.

pain

my ear hurts so very much right now.

the pain is absolutely excruciating.

really, this is probably the worst pain i have felt in quite some time. i would suggest that the last time i felt pain that hurt this much was when i thought i broke my leg sophomore year playing soccer.

it feels like i'm trying to pass my bass amp through my ear...while someone is playing really crappy loud bass through it.

webmd just told me that i need to contact a health professional immediately. sure, with no insurance. i'm right on it.

hopefully i can fall asleep tonight.

reading and other such endeavors are no substitute for the people from "home"

i read the entire book choke, by chuck palahniuk, yesterday. it was fantastic. if you get offended easily...wait...if it doesn't take a LOT to offend you, then you shouldn't read it. but if you can handle a fair amount, then take a look. palahniuk is an amazing story-teller, and his themes are fantastic. his stuff is really funny, but also very inciteful, and it asks the kinds of questions that everyone should be asking. so there's a plug, like what jacob did recently.

i got to talk to krispin and jacob and ashley on the phone, all from my parents' house, because krispin was in roseburg this weekend. his post since returning to beaverton captured so well how i feel about the place that i had trouble finishing my day at school. well, that and the fact that the little cretins are trying to prove their citizenship in the underworld. gosh. they ruin me.

i don't have much else to say. i finished the problem of pain, by c.s. lewis, today. good stuff. now i think i'm going to read a play called w;t [wit] that luke recommended, and finish organizing a bunch of papers the first graders will take home tomorrow.

the queen of scene girls revisited

okay, so i assmed that "my readers" would understand by my silence what happened with the queen of scene girls. apparently not. quick story: she was kind of with a guy, or a bunch of them, or something like that. in addition, I DON'T ASK GIRLS OUT! geez, if you've been reading my blog for a while, you should know this. if you've known me for a while, you should know this. so, in case you didn't figure it out from everything i just wrote, I DON'T ASK GIRLS OUT!

some day, some day, some day.

the life aquatic with (insert name here)

i finally saw the life aquatic with steve zissou. i enjoyed it, but was slightly disappointed, although my disappointment has been fading since the final 20 minutes, and now is nearly gone. it made me miss family and friends. i was surprised at that, actually, and on the drive home from the theater i realized that all the fuss over physical touch being important is not made for no reason. that was a very meandering sentence that tried to say this: i miss hugs. as much as i can be annoyed by people who are always touching other people, i really do need some sort of physical touch, and i haven't had any since i was in roseburg. wow.

also, qickly since i need to go to bed, i liked the idea of life as an adventure in community that the movie put forth at the end. well, i guess it was out there throughout the movie, but it became as close to explicit as a wes anderson theme will get at the end. stanley hauerwas talks about life being an adventure in community, particularly for the church, and it was cool to be reminded of that in such a profound way by a movie.

zao, scene kids, and the queen of scene chicks

tonight i went to a metal show. it's not really my cup of tea, but one of the bands playing, fear before the march of flames, played with my band a year ago and i thought it'd be cool to support them. also, the headlining band, zao, is legendary, and i decided i couldn't pass up a chance to see them. so i went. it was fun. zao really is amazing, and fear played really well too. the other two bands were okay, but it would be true to say that between my bandmates and krispin my appreciation for metal has been developed into a (gasp) affection. so there's that.

the bands were pretty good, but one part of the show that i didn't enjoy was the abundance of scene kids. emo haircuts, tight jeans, look identical to everyone else...it's the same as being in abercrombie and fitch, only the look is different. (and it's really not that different). needless to say, i was very annoyed by them all. but there was one phenomenon that made being around them worthwhile...

at a lot of rock shows there is some sort of pit. it's either for moshing, or for kicking/punching/elbowing/flailing. the latter option is what they do at metal shows. during the zao set this pit was even bigger, so that more people could be acting out the culture's currrent version of fight club. at one point a girl i had seen earlier, probably about my age, walked into the middle of the pit. she just stood there. this is not proper ettiqette. i kept waiting for someone to ram into her. but no one did. she owned the whole crowd. certainly she was attractive: bobbed bleach-blonde hair, vest, and a beautiful face. but it was still amazing to see the scene kids bend to her whim. it got better when one of the biggest guys at the show decided to stand back to back with her--as she is watching the band--to make sure no one blindsides her. unreal. so that happened, and i thought you all should know about it.

and once again, zao really does rock.

walking opposite the flow of traffic is hazardous to one's health. (or perhaps it's the cigarette)

As I pulled up, Morgan was walking toward me on the opposite side of the street. Of course I didn’t know then that his name was Morgan, I only knew what I could tell from his appearance. Better said, I only knew what I made up about him based on his appearance. I stared at him as I would stare at any out-of-place object, trying to figure out where he was supposed to be, or whose place he was in, or maybe even if I was in the right place. He wasn’t supposed to be in front of the church. He wasn’t supposed to be in front of the church because he didn’t want to be there. I didn’t know that he didn’t want to be there, he just looked like he didn’t want to be anywhere near a church. Maybe I decided this because he had his hood pulled tightly over his head to keep the rain from dousing his cigarette. No one with a hood on could want to be near a church.

As I stopped driving, he stopped walking.

As I got out to walk opposite the direction I’d been driving, he turned around and walked toward me, still on the other side of the street.

As I crossed the street, he turned back around and fell in-line behind me.

As I walked inside, he continued to tail me. He followed me up the stairs, a few paces behind, and through the doorway into the worship center. Once inside I headed to the front—to the stage—and he sat in the back. My comfort had stayed behind me in the car, so I grabbed my guitar to ease the tension in my own mind. After a few notes—notes that didn’t ease any tension whatsoever—I put the guitar down and moved to the front edge of the stage.

As I sat down Morgan lost status as an out-of-place object, his voice ringing in the empty room.

“What’s your name?”

“Cornelius,” I said. “What’s yours?”

Social convention was introducing us.

“I’m Morgan.”

As Morgan named himself he became completely human. He was no longer an out-of-place object, but he was still out-of-place. Our dialogue continued, and I tried to make sense of him being inside the church.

“So, what do you believe?” he asked me.

How can I answer a question about belief when there are so many different things to talk about? I believe in the creeds: One Father, His eternally begotten and only son, the Holy Spirit, which proceeds from both Father and Son, the Virgin birth, the holy catholic church, the death on the cross, the resurrection, the ascension, and the future glory. I believe that relationships are more important than tasks. I believe that I am screwed up.

That’s a good place to start.

“I believe that I’m pretty screwed up. I mean, I do a bunch of stuff that I can’t even understand, and I don’t treat people the way I want to treat them. So I believe that. I believe that God was gracious enough to make a way to fix everything that I’ve messed up. With some great sense of divine irony he sent himself—only not the way I would send myself somewhere—to his very creation so that he could save me and a bunch of other screwed up people. Somehow he died. I don’t know how a living God could die, but he did. And he didn’t. He conquered death so I didn’t have to. So I believe that.”

“Well I don’t really believe that I’m screwed up. I think that a bunch of things that most people call sins aren’t really sins.”

“Wow. I guess I think that the way I’m most screwed up is in how I treat people: the fact is that I’m a huge jerk and I don’t love people the way I should.”

All the beautifully vile and utterly meaningless evangelical rhetoric came rushing down the stream of my mind, but somehow the dam of my mouth was closed. Morgan did not want me to tell him how Christ had saved my life. Morgan didn’t even want to be loved. Morgan was only interested in a philosophical discussion. Worse than that, Morgan didn’t have any trouble with pain or suffering. Apparently he’d never thought about those things, because he didn’t really think that there was evil in the world. This conversation was going nowhere.

“Actually, I don’t really believe in Hell,” he elaborated. “I mean, I believe in Satan, but he’s more about keeping us from being the people we should be than trying to draw us away from God.”

Wow. He just said some of the very things I think, but with a different perspective. Satan really is trying to keep us from being the people we were meant to be. He wants to keep us from reaching our end. But for Morgan that had nothing to do with God. Aristotle even thought our end had to do with God. Morgan must have been a lot smarter than Aristotle. With the knowledge that Morgan fancied himself smarter than one of the most important thinkers ever, I stopped contributing to the conversation.

“Actually, I think I’m an angel,” he said.

“Umm, I’m going to have to disagree with you there,” I responded.

“With all of the things that have happened in my life, I must be an angel.”

“Yeah, again, I don’t think so. I think you have a pretty poor theology.” And there it was: I pulled the theology card out, how terrifically superior of me. In all the effort to keep the dam shut on meaningless evangelical rhetoric, the spillway had been filled with my intellectual arrogance, and that arrogance couldn’t be held while the rhetoric was being stalled. Never fight a war on two fronts.

“Well, if you only knew what I've been through, you’d think I was an angel too.”

“I really don’t think I would.”

With that the conversation ended. I turned and walked back up onto the stage. Morgan stayed seated in the back and said hello to various other members of the band as they walked in. After fiddling with some switches on my amplifier I turned around, and Morgan was no longer there I don’t know when he left. I don’t know why he left. Maybe he realized that he didn’t belong in a church. Maybe he decided that he didn’t want to be anywhere near a church.

Or maybe my theology is the one that’s off. Maybe Morgan was an angel. God put him there to wake me from my dogmatic slumbers, as Kant would say. After talking with Morgan I had to think about my view of others. I had to think about my hypocrisy of being prejudiced against meaningless evangelical jargon while being wedded to meaningless academic jargon. I had to think about the way I talk to people, and not just making statements like the one I made to Morgan about not loving others enough.

Probably not.

Even so, Morgan made me think, and I’d rather interact with another broken human who makes me think than an angel who tells me what I want to hear.

it's on the way

i've heard that i'm a lamewad, and i acknowledge this fact. the trth is, i've been reading a lot, and i've been finishing up my grad school stuff and writing other things. i've been working on a short story and this should be done and posted very soon.

more hauerwas, but not at present

i just finished the collection of hauerwas essays (finally) and wanted to put some excerpts up from the last essay, but i'm too lazy. instead, i just told you that's what i wanted to do. what a waste.

at school

so i'm at school right now. one of my first graders is sitting in the classroom eating lunch, the rest are outside on recess. i must say that it's really weird to think that i'm not leaving things for the everyday teacher to fix, rather, i'm leaving things for me to deal with on monday. that's crazy. i just thought it'd be great to update from work/school.

the return

so i'm back in phoenix. i stayed monday night with michael o'neil in palo alto, which was awesome. then tuesday i made the trek south and east. the grapevine was closed because of snow, so i went through bakersfield and some mountains to catch up with I-10 in san bernardino. at that point my left rear tire blew out. i didn't know exactly what to do, and had never had a flat before, so i wasn't too sure that was what was happening. but it was. and then i pulled off the freeway with a flat, because it was raining really hard and there was an exit right there. the exit i pulled off had a tire store right there, so i was able to get a used one to replace mine for $21. it really didn't end up being too bad. today i didn't work, and i'm not tomorrow either, as i need to finish all of my grad school stuff asap. but friday i was requested for a music teacher i've subbed for before, and today i was requested for a long-term sub job starting two weeks from yesterday. it will last five weeks, and i'll be teaching first graders. get excited.

as for my pathetic showing over the break: meh. i can't say much more than that, i don't think. i need to work on this grad school stuff, so i shouldn't even be writing this now, but when that's over i'm ready to begin writing again. i have some new things bouncing around in my head that need to be put down somewhere, and the intellectual abyss of cyberspace is my dumping ground of choice.