Sunday, September 30, 2007 | by nathan

Roughing It

This weekend had been planned for at least a month. Bri and I were going to pack up on Friday night and leave with our friends Jayson and Laurie to drive to Robbers Cave, a neat little state park in Oklahoma. We were going to find a campsite, pitch some tents, open a cooler of beer, and chillax in the wilderness until Sunday afternoon. We packed up all our camping gear, got the dog psyched out for his first long trip, bought beer.

We set off along I-40, Sam being his perfect angelic self in the backseat of the car, perfectly content to be confined to the backseat for long stretches of time. Then, somewhere near Wewoka, Oklahoma, Jaye and Laurie’s car died. We managed to get it into the parking lot of a filling station off the interstate, but only barely. The alternator was out.

So. We loaded up everything we could in my truck, four people and two dogs and everything even remotely valuable we had with us, and headed back to the city. Brian and Jaye went back the next day to fix the car while Laurie and I watched the very, very disappointing Oklahoma football game. We’ve been camped out in my living room ever since. We’ve taken the dogs to the dog park twice, and shopped for Halloween decorations at Super Target, and eaten at Qdoba. We took a field trip to Norman last night to play miniature golf and skee-ball.

It’s been rough, but we’ve managed. Seriously though, it’s funny how a little bit of bad luck can lead to one of the coolest weekends ever.

Sunday, September 30, 2007 | by nathan

343 - E.

You believed that Christian girls should only attend bible colleges, and this kept you out of Oxford and Harvard and on path to become a child bride.

Saturday, September 29, 2007 | by nathan

Of Bees and Poet Laureates

Springtime in Winston-Salem is really glorious; I fell in love with the Piedmont Triad in April. The smell of tobacco is thick in the spring; you wade through it as you walk. The magnolias would bloom on campus and the flowering trees around the Quad would shake in every gentle breeze, showering you with petals. Also, there were gigantic bees, killer bees the size of dinner rolls, with stingers like machetes, and they were mean-spirited; they’d chase you.

One of the reasons my life has gone the direction it has is that, when I was 12 years old, my cousin Robert gave me a book of poetry; "Here," he said, presenting it to me like I was an adult just like him, "I think you’ll like this woman." It was Maya Angelou. My decision to attend college where I did was influenced in no small part by the fact that she was a professor at Wake Forest. In the spring of my junior year I was lucky enough to get to take her class, titled World Poetry in Dramatic Performance.

It was kind of everything you’d think; she’s intimidating, but she puts you at ease quickly. She has a way of being in a room - in the world - that makes you want to be polite, and well-spoken, to think before you speak, and think well. The class was only 3 and a half weeks long, but in a lot of ways it changed my outlook. It made me see the importance of good manners and of laughing at oneself. I’ll always be deeply grateful for the experience.

One day, my friend Brianna and I were walking to Dr. Angelou’s class, and as we approached the Fine Arts Center where the class was held, Dr. Angelou’s car pulled up. Her personal assistant, who we’d met and come to like, got out and opened the door for the professor, and the two of them began schlepping these big bags toward the building. Brianna and I walked up and said, "Professor, may we help you carry your things?" Trying to be all nice, you know.

Dr. Angelou and her assistant handed us the bags with a thanks, and the four of us began walking toward the building. As we approached the door, a large bee flew directly into the professor’s face, and she swatted it away a few times before it finally left her alone. We all kind of stood there, frozen, for a moment, and then Maya Angelou said, in that unforgettable voice, very softly:

"That bee came to me and said, ‘I want to become one with you.’" 

Saturday, September 29, 2007 | by nathan

342 - B.

One night, you took a girl to her room, started screwing, began crying, “I’m still a virgin,” and ran off. Next day you called her a whore.

Friday, September 28, 2007 | by nathan

341 - B.

She showed up at my door senior year: “I’ve been working with AIDS patients, and now I don’t think God cares if someone is gay.” I cried.

Thursday, September 27, 2007 | by nathan

O! Winston-Salem!

Hey North Carolinians! Guess what!

I’m coming to Winston-Salem. November 29 through December 3. I spoke to my friend Woody on the phone today and he said we should go to the Moravian Love Feast they have every year in Wait Chapel. I thought it such a good idea that I checked my SkyMiles balance and $70 later, I’m headed to North Carolina.

So. Who’s gonna let me & Brian crash for a few days? 

Thursday, September 27, 2007 | by nathan

“River: The Joni Letters” by Herbie Hancock et al.

From my junior year of high school on I overloaded myself with school work. I was trying to get into a great college, and I have never been under the mistaken impression that getting what you want involves anything but hard work. To that end I enrolled in a bunch of really tough classes and took on a whole, whole lot of extracurriculars. It all added up to a whole lot of nights that I was up until the wee hours of morning.

That’s when I discovered jazz. My radio in my room tuned in most clearly to the local National Public Radio affiliate, and I’d sit up all those hours, late into the night, listening to Jazz with Bob Parlocha. The music warmed my heart, and kept me sane in a lot of ways. My first jazz CD was The Essential Stan Getz, selections of which I’d heard the first night I listened. I rushed out the next day and bought one of his records. Miles Davis, Coleman Hawkins, Stephane Grappelli, Thelonious Monk, Billie Holiday, Cannonball Adderly; these were my friends all those long, worried nights.

It was also around this time I was introduced to Joni Mitchell. Her album Blue has been with me for years, and every single time I listen to it I feel like I’m hearing it for the first time. It’s one of two albums that I listen to when I need to cry.

That same year, a friend at the time recommended I read Jack Kerouac’s On the Road; it’s jazz in literary form, to me; my education had begun.

Now, over ten years later, I am introduced to this: River: The Joni Letters, by Herbie Hancock. First off, it’s Joni, interpreted by Herbie, one of the greatest jazz musicians of all time. Second, it features three of my favorite non-jazz vocalists: Tina Turner, Norah Jones, and Corinne Bailey Rae, each sounding completely new and in best form, plus some incredible musicians including Wayne Shorter of Weather Report, and Joni herself on the track "The Tea Leaf Prophecy."

Some records are like heaven. This one, especially. I think this will be my soundtrack to this fall and winter.  

Thursday, September 27, 2007 | by nathan

340 - M.

The friendly Irishman with the huge heart and the amazing family introduced me to a country I’ll love like my own, for as long as I live.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007 | by nathan

Wrestling Aloud

My friend Eric is a campus minister at Miami University in Ohio. It’s a new position for him, and he’s kind of building the thing from the ground up. It’s fascinating to watch, even if I’m just "watching" via blogs.

He’s started keeping an online journal of daily thoughts and theological questions; he’s yet another in a wonderful bunch of people in my life who are constantly wondering aloud where the rubber meets the road, theologically speaking (I’m looking at you, Jon W.) I’d highly recommend you all check it out. Today’s entry is particularly fascinating:

I am totally on board with the idea that God loves his creation (not just people, but all of the created world), and that since it has value in His sight, then it should have value in ours as well. But at the same time, I know my own laziness, selfishness, and greed. I know the darkness in my own heart, and I know the voice that says “Don’t worry about it…it’s not your fault….it’s someone else’s problem…you’re not that bad…” and so on.

So how do we deal with this? I guess the root question that I am asking is not really how do we take care of the earth, but rather how do we address this selfishness in practical, significant, and lasting ways?

For me I think the answer is this: the selfishness and greed will pretty much always be there. The only thing I know to do is to not let it rule me. Simply speaking, we go ahead and take care of the earth anyway. We go ahead and call that person with whom we’re deeply angry and invite them to dinner anyway. We hold off on buying something we know we don’t need and do something really worthwhile with the money. We do it all in spite of that darkness within us, and we keep our eyes open, and the lamps lit. My tendency is to get wrapped up in my own mind, thinking too much about those root causes, and letting the things they’ve wrought run free. Sometimes it’s helpful to work backward.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007 | by nathan

339 - H.

A fabulous Texas woman, with a heart as big as her purse, and hair as big as her heart, both as big as that huge Texas sky.