I can read!

I'm relearning how to read.  After months of cramming hardcore philosophy and historical dissertations during the week and suffering from serious brain drain on the weekends, I'm slowly rediscovering the delight of tasting the words on the page and not checking the page number to see how much farther to the finish.  Last week, I finished The Great Hunt by Robert Jordan, part of his Wheel of Time series.  I read half of it the weekend before this past semester started, read about 5 pages during the semester, and finished it in a night last week.  Now I'm finishing A History of the World in 6 Glasses, an easy read that I've only had time to chip away at since last summer.  If you're at all a fan of drinking beer, wine, spirits, coffee, tea, or coke, you would enjoy it, although I'm fairly convinced that any good historian with a readable persuasive voice and decent research can "prove" that history was definitively shaped by their pet interest; for example, see Salt: A World History or Robbing the Bees: A Biography of Honey or one of the drier dissertations I read recently, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics, which argues that the Puritans created liberal politics and that all subsequent revolutions are descended from their radicalism.
Unfortunately, my recent flurry of pleasure reading and all of the reading and writing I've done in school lately have made me realize that I furrow my brow intensely when reading, which inevitably leads to a headache.  When I unfurrow my brow, I somehow have more difficulty focusing on the words.  Since I don't think that the placement of my eyebrows on my face has much to do with my cognitive ability, I'm going to the eye doctor tomorrow.  It may be that my reign as the Eyesight Wonder Kid of the family (everybody else wears glasses) is finally coming to an end.
This is a minor setback, however, and I will be victorious in tackling my stack of summer books.  (I almost re-wrote the previous sentence, placing the "however" at the front, as one of my professors hates it when the "however" is in the middle of the sentence.  I once told him that one of my teachers had taught me to put it in the middle and not the front, and he said "Who was it??  What's his name?  Was it somebody in the English department?  They don't know how to write over there."  I'm having a hard time adjusting to writing by my own preferences.)  If the problem isn't my eyesight, I'm not sure what I'll do to prevent the furrowing.  Maybe duct tape my forehead smooth?  This could prove difficult.  That's okay - I can fix it.  I can also fix dinner, which is what I'm going to go do now.

"I am not a speed reader.  I am a speed understander."
- Isaac Asimov

T Minus 24 hours and counting!

If I could make time pass by the sheer force of wishing - it would be tomorrow afternoon, yesterday.  I can taste freedom.  I am somewhere around 70% packed and 100% ready to go.  When I was a freshman, people told me that 2nd semester junior year was the hardest.  They were right.  But it's ALMOST OVER!  In the spirit of  impending senior year and graduation, I've been exploring post-grad opportunities.  I'm possessed by a desire to plan my future.  Where will I live?  What will I do?  How will I make money?  I want to know!

Sometimes, it's very hard to let go and let God, as my mom would say.

Yesterday, I fixed my roommate's computer:

Pretty sweet, right?  It's only a temporary fix, of course, but she was pretty excited to be able to use her own computer for her final papers.  I told her I was excited that I had gotten to fix something, because fixing things means A) I get to solve a problem B) I get to experiment with ideas and C) I get to feel good about my abilities when I finish.  She laughed at me for saying "feel good about my abilities" instead of "feel good about myself."   I explained (although she kind of already knew) that for me, really for NTs in general, abilities = identity.

This is a good motivator for success.  NTs include Socrates, Einstein, Nietzsche, Marie Curie, C.S. Lewis, Ayn Rand, and Thomas Jefferson.  Successful people, right?  I wonder how many of them were plagued with the fear of impending failure.  I would bet money on every single one of them, although Lewis knew one thing that I know: my abilities are not my identity.

On my own abilities, I could become very successful, but I would never satisfy myself.  I would always be disappointed in myself.  I would consider myself a failure if I was not the absolute best.  I don't have to live in that fear, though.  My abilities and failures don't matter in the light of Christ's victory.  In my own life, I have experienced the freedom that comes from surrendering my constant quest for greatness to the Greatest of all.  In Him, I have found my identity and my purpose.  God even uses my weaknesses and failures in uncomfortable and life-changing ways.

Even though I fixed Mary Beth's computer, tomorrow I may do poorly on a test, or I may look stupid in front of people I respect.  The beautiful thing is, that doesn't have to eat me up anymore.  I don't have to live and die on my performance, because I have died and live in Christ.

Nothing-Happened Saturday

Happy uneventful Saturday between death and resurrection!
My church has a 5k (called Run to the Cross) and a spring festival (mostly for kids) every Nothing-Happened Saturday.  This was my first year, since I usually go home for Easter.  There are big inflatable castles and slides, and Easter Egg hunts, hot dogs, one slightly awkward Easter bunny, and live music.  This year, a few members of the regular worship band, and me, were asked to be the band - which is why I went, because egg hunts have long lost their luster for me.  Apparently for the past three years the band has been Act of Congress, an AMAZING local band that is now making it big, at least too big for our Easter festival.  Just go to their page and listen to 5 seconds of a song, and you'll know why this makes us, the worship band, look like lame follow-up wannabes.
It rained and our drummer canceled, so our venue changed from outside to in the gym and we switched from electric to acoustic.  When we got to the gym, we had to wait for a children's choir, armed with kazoos, to finish.
Then the saxophone player decided to show up - even though he didn't come to rehearsal, and we no longer had the full electric sound to back up a LOUD and resonant instrument like the sax.  The boss man likes the sax, though, so those of us actually playing the acoustic instruments had to grin and bear it as he jazz improv'ed all over our harmonies.
When the children's choir was done, they all left, with their parents (the gym wasn't full to begin with).  Then after we played a few songs, we had to stop so that they could hold the Diaper Derby.  Once that was over, all the parents with the cute little babies left.
About one-third into our set, it was announced that the inflatables were closed due to their being too wet to be safe, and this was our death-knell.  A couple songs later, all that was left was the cleaning crew - the die-hard church volunteers who had probably heard our songs 50 times before.  They do know how to appreciate, though!  We didn't finish our set and took a couple requests instead, and as the Spring Festival officially withered to a close, the sun came out.
Tomorrow is EASTER, though, which means Resurrection and rejoicing, and 5+ hours of rehearsals and services.  But Easter is a very, very, very good day.

Criminal Record

Recently, I received a mysterious e-mail from Stepford Residence Life summoning me to a "hearing" of the "Community Standards Council" to determine if I was responsible for allegedly being "involved in a incident in violation of Stepford's values and honor code."   I told my roommates and Amber immediately began channeling all those Law and Order marathons we've wasted good sleeping hours on.  We (really, just she) poured over the Student Handbook and discovered that the summons technically violated Values Violations procedure as outlined in the handbook, as it did not inform me of whatever the alleged incident actually was (although it did tell me the date of the incident, from last semester - like I remember what I did last week!).
We didn't have time to get pencil skirt suits and briefcases, so we marched into the hearing wearing jeans and backpacks instead - Amber playing the role of my legal counsel and Mary Beth just there to be amused.  It took us a while to find the room, as it was in a part of the University Center we never go in.  At first I thought it was the door behind the big statue of a dead white guy that used to be in the room in the Capitol where they have statues from all the states (they replaced him with Helen Keller, she's more PC), but the door was unmarked, and when we stood in front of the statue and said "Lemon Drop," nothing happened.  We did find it, though, and we weren't late, although half the council was - the council being comprised of a staff adviser and seven students, only two of whom actually showed up.  A handful of other equally confused students were present to get their sentences (more politely called "sanctions").  You parked in the wrong parking lot?  Hang them on the Quad!  Hang them all on the Quad!
They explained how we would each get a chance to tell our side of the story privately to the council before they discussed our sanctions.  They finally presented us with written reports of our "incidents" - thus removing a leg from our defense about "not following procedure."
The incident?  We have visitation hours in the dorms, when we are allowed to have members of the opposite sex in the dorms (co-ed dorms are for heathens and sexual vagrants), provided we sign our visitors in at the residence life office and fork over a drivers license and a kidney as collateral.  On weekends, visitation is from 2 PM - 12 AM, and usually when we have guys over, it's the weekend.  However, on weekdays, visitation ends at 10 PM.  The day of the mysterious incident was a weekDAY, not a weekEND, and we were hanging out in the dorm, when at 10:15 PM I received a phone call from Residence Life telling me to come sign out my visitor.  We signed out and I apologized to the (apparently pissed) RA on duty, explaining that I had forgotten visitation ended at 10 and not midnight.  No harm done, right?  Wrong!  Stepford has been VIOLATED and someone must be punished!  The RA on duty, contrary to the forgiving nature of almost every other RA I know, wrote a report on the heinous and malicious breach of protocol and it was this report that caused me to be summoned to the Community Standards Council on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
I told them my side of the story - what I've told you here, minus my comments on the RA's bad mood.  One of the two students on the council said dubiously, "That's it?" and they sent me on my way with their characteristically Stepford smiles, promising an e-mail the following day that would deliver my sanction, if there was any.
My thoughts afterwards?  That this was a ridiculous, trivial waste of time, and these reasonable people understood the harmless and thoroughly accidental nature of the incident.  Well, I got my sentencing via e-mail today, as promised, and I received two points on my "record," seven of which will send a person to the "Values Advocate" and likely put them on probation.
You know what else I did today?  I put down a deposit on an off-campus apartment.
I don't foresee suddenly accumulating 5 more points in the next year, but the absolutely useless nature of the entire process from start to finish has only solidified my firm dislike of the Stepford administration.  I have wonderful professors, I've met a few interesting people, and I've gotten a good liberal arts education for what is unfortunately a bargain, but I will have no feelings of nostalgia or affection for the institution when I step off its perfectly landscaped campus for the last time.  This one incident is not what has tarnished my view of Stepford, it's only the cherry on top - a battle scar, if you will, and an enjoyable story to tell.

Existential Mortality = Joy

We have been reading dead Germans for longer than anyone should ever be forced to.  Whether or not Tuesday's lecture/discussion/monologue was on the Heidegger reading we were required is beyond me, because I'm still on Nietzsche.  The discussion - which is really just Dr. P talking about what he thinks about the reading and anything possibly related in his life currently, with the occasional lewd joke thrown in - somehow ended up being about death.  According to Heidegger, man's ultimate possibility is his impossibility.  In English: the only thing certain in life is death.
Philosophy lectures can be long and frustrating, because they are often a lot of jargon to no end.  Philosophers supposedly search for answers, but they seem to delight in coming roundabout 360 degrees.  That, combined with the cheery prospect of death, should have made it a particularly depressing lecture.
On the contrary, it made my day about 100% better.
Dr. P presented a few different reactions to our mortality: we can become nihilists, we can become hedonists, or we can relish each moment of joy with added value because of its scarcity and inevitable end.  Of these three, I agreed with the third.  To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, if not for shadows, we wouldn't know what light means.  Dr. P continued with the the consequences of our mortality and our general insignificance on earth - in a hundred years, he said, nobody will think of us anymore.  Nobody will remember us, and even if we do something that goes in the history books, we're still dead, and we're not coming back.  This was the absolute highlight of my day, because - in two hundred years, when nobody remembers my name,
I WILL BE WITH JESUS
And who even cares about the history books then?

I finally remembered to bring my metronome to work today.  Luke, my 9 year old student, thought it was THE COOLEST thing ever.  He had a hard time playing with it at first, which always made me loathe the thing as a kid, but he still thought it was SO COOL and wanted to know WHERE he could get one for himself.  He also was thrilled to show off his awesome multiplication skills when I wanted to switch from the quarter note getting the beat to the eighth note getting the beat.  When Luke's lesson is over, he always sends his 7 year old brother Kyle in for his lesson.  Kyle opened the door and gave the room a quick once-over, like he was looking for something really big, and said (loudly),
"Where's the metronome thingy?  Luke said there was gonna be a metronome thingy!"  I picked it up the small ticker and showed it to him,
"This is it.  Do you want to see how it works?"  Kyle's face immediately fell.
"Oh.  Luke said I was gonna be really surprised."  He paused, shook his said wryly and said, "I'm not."

In other news, I bought an electronic piano today, secondhand from my boss.

The only thing it doesn't have is weighted keys, which would give it more the feel of a real piano.  Nonetheless, it was a great deal, and after I moved Mary Beth's bed into the living room it fit perfectly.  Ah, I'm kidding.  I had to move my dresser into my closet, but it's a sacrifice willingly made.  All that remains to do now is get a good pair of headphones so as not to bother the roomies when pounding out Regina Spektor's "Apres Moi" or tripping over Clair de Lune.

This semester is a tough one, with 5 classes total, 3 of them upper-level and reading/writing intensive.  I've become a bit burned out on writing the opinion column and, obviously, blogging.  I hate that I feel so apathetic toward writing, but I'm too apathetic to overcome that apathy.  Music is becoming more important to me (not that it was ever less important) and I find myself drumming piano fingerings on my desk during particularly long lectures.  I am counting down the weeks until summer (6 1/2!), even though I usually hate summer.  I find if I have low expectations, my expectations will be pleasantly exceeded.  I know, I'm a regular Pollyanna.  We found an apartment we like and will be moving in hopefully in June.  Maybe I will finally have room for all my instruments and 1/4 of my books!

Heigh-ho, Berlin!

My Russian history book is open to the chapter on Russian exile in Berlin, Paris, and America, post-Bolshevik.  My ticket for the DDR (German Democratic Republic) museum in Berlin, ever the faithful bookmark, is tucked between the pages.  Berlin here and Berlin there, and it makes me want to go back.  We only spent 4 days in Berlin, those few days packed with snow, trains, and tourism, but it was enough to generate a lifetime of interest.  I'm no worldwide explorer, yet, but I've been to my share of European cities, and Berlin stands out starkly, embracing its scandalous and tragic recent history to defy traditional spire-filled European skylines. The panoramic brochure of Berlin as seen from the Reichstag that makes a pretend window on the backing of my desk shows a different, clearer, and more cluttered Berlin than the dark, snowy, light-studded city I saw from the same perspective the freakishly cold night that we ventured to the glass-domed building.  What is it about Berlin?  Is it the Soviet bloc buildings?  The ruins of a French Prussia?  The insistent modernity sprung up alongside, in spite of, inescapable past?
It's quite possible that I am romanticizing the city.  I tend to romanticize things I don't know much about.  Yet, the remnants of a soviet world, so foreign to me, whisper enticingly.  There are hundreds of cathedrals and castles in Europe, but only one Berlin.
Berlin.  It speaks to me just like all the other places I long to visit.  Always restless, always wanting to go somewhere, do something, have an adventure!  Adventures are never what I expect, though.  Usually they're decidedly less adventurous.
Robert Louis Stevenson reminded me recently that "the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek."  I was frustrated when he told me this...does this mean I should sit at home and just wait for adventure to come to me?  Robert, what are you thinking?  Unfortunately, he died a while ago, so he can't answer me back.  I do agree with his statement, but it leaves much to be desired regarding how to approach adventures.
It would be nice if I could achieve some resolution in this short blog post.  Adventure equals __, therefore I should ___ in my own life.  Enter dreamy and optimistic phrase with a sunny outlook on life.  Adventure is out there!  You know.  But alas, life is always far more complicated, varied, nebulous, ambiguous, turbulent, and deceptive.  How's that for sunny side down?