A Something Random Guide to..

“The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes or by just staring into space.”

~Marilyn Monroe

I’m told the key to overcoming fears of skydiving is to realize that once you’re freefalling, there’s no longer anything you can do; you might as well have fun.

So if this idea of freefalling was to be reversed (such that rather than starting from the clouds, pulling the ripcord, and gracefully descending to the earth, you instead start a gradual decline from the ground, pull a different RIP cord, and hit the heavens with amazing force), is it safe to assume that the fun is reserved for the grounded?

I ran this morning. I ran hoping to run out the thoughts running through my head. I ran with sure footing, waiting on an outcome I’m unsure of. I ran until “my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid.”

And then, instead of pulling a quote from Fight Club and running more, I stopped.

The walk home was strangely unfamiliar. The street signs had the same names, the buildings the same architecture, and the graffiti the same illegible markings of my everyday walk home from work. Except this morning I didn’t feel light on my face, as I do at the end of the day.

With the sun to my back, I struggled to not step on my own shadow cast before me. I was walking west, not wayward, but still felt lost. Was my inescapable shadow the product of the morning sunlight, or something else?

When you’ve moved out west, and are waiting for news from the east, is looming anticipation enough to cast this kind of darkness?

Forget sleeping. There’s beauty in the breakdown.

I know… emo much? My sincerest apologies.

Except not.

Cacoethes scribendi- the insatiable urge to write.

I needed to write something, since in the meanwhile I can’t do anything.

Goodness, I hate waiting.

(image from toothpastefordinner.com)

An excerpt:

“You see, what happened is that some of our philosophers got off base. And one of the great problems of history is that the concepts of love and power have usually been contrasted as opposites, polar opposites, so that love is identified with a resignation of power, and power with a denial of love. What is needed is a realization that power without love is reckless and abusive, and that love without power is sentimental and anemic.

Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice,

and justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.

I’m concerned about a better world. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence.

For through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder.

Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth.

Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence.

Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.

And I say to you, I have also decided to stick with love, for I know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems. And I’m going to talk about it everywhere I go. I know it isn’t popular to talk about it in some circles today. And I’m not talking about emotional bosh when I talk about love; I’m talking about a strong, demanding love. For I have seen too much hate… and I say to myself that hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love.

I want to say to you as I move to my conclusion, as we talk about “Where do we go from here?” that we must honestly face the fact that the movement must address itself to the question of restructuring the whole of American society. There are forty million poor people here, and one day we must ask the question, “Why are there forty million poor people in America?”

We are called upon to help the discouraged beggars in life’s marketplace. But one day we must come to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring. It means that questions must be raised. And you see, my friends, when you deal with this you begin to ask the question, “Who owns the oil?” You begin to ask the question, “Who owns the iron ore?” You begin to ask the question, “Why is it that people have to pay water bills in a world that’s two-thirds water?” These are words that must be said.

Now, don’t think you have me in a bind today. I’m not talking about communism. What I’m talking about is far beyond communism. Communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social.

And the kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor the antithesis of capitalism, but in a higher synthesis. It is found in a higher synthesis that combines the truths of both.

And I must confess, my friends, that the road ahead will not always be smooth. There will still be rocky places of frustration and meandering points of bewilderment.

There will be inevitable setbacks here and there.

And there will be those moments when the buoyancy of hope will be transformed into the fatigue of despair.

Our dreams will sometimes be shattered and our ethereal hopes blasted.

But difficult and painful as it is, we must walk on in the days ahead with an audacious faith in the future.

Let us realize that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. This is our hope for the future, and with this faith we will be able to sing in some not too distant tomorrow, with a cosmic past tense,

‘We have overcome! We have overcome! Deep in my heart, I did believe we would overcome.’”

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. “Where do we go from here“

Growing up, I was never really taught the importance of MLK day. I’m positive I’ve heard excerpts from the “I have a dream” speech hundreds of times, or at least those first four words. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, his dream in its entirety (thus including the above excerpt from a not so well known speech), lives on today.

Even if it is difficult, and painful.

I’ve been think about the notion of an “audacious faith in the future,” and at first was a little unsettled. Audacious has always been assimilated to “brazen” in my mind, and by no means did I consider brazen a positive protest word.

Brazen: face with defiance or impudence.
impudence: crust; the trait of being rude.
defiance: intentionally contemptuous behavior or attitude
contemptuous: expressing extreme contempt.
contempt: a manner that is generally disrespectful.

It’s not that I didn’t know what these words meant. I had an idea, anyway. Note to anyone taking the GRE’s: one of the biggest stumbling blocks in the vocab. portion is the assumption of what words mean, when you don’t know an exact definition. Often, they don’t mean quite what you think.

So brazen, as you followed through my chain of dictionary flipping, doesn’t equate to something desirable. When using audacious in a sentence, the first example that came to my mind was “I can’t believe he had the audacity to say that to your face!”

Yet, returning to the GRE advice, I found myself looking up audacious too. While brazen was one of the definitions given, the first I found read “invulnerable to fear or intimidation.”

Invulnerable. To say that fear is not even an option? That’s what I’m not sure how to respond to.

I have fear. But at the same time I can reflect that there’s a difference between having fear, and living in fear.

I am afraid of the media. Not in the sense that reporters will scale the walls outside my balcony, and choke me in the night with words that I don’t want to swallow… but in knowing that I’ve already unconsciously injested some of the myopic views that have become “proper” or “patriotic.” And the fear of knowing that while I’ve been trained to catch myself in this, both through my academic major(s) and US-2 training, such training isn’t available to the masses.

Have the days of “you can’t believe everything you read,” passed?

I am afraid of the misunderstandings of religion that are intentionally created. Roomkate and I got a letter in the mail from “Saint Matthew’s Churches Bishops,” that said “Let this be the best year of your life through faith and prayer. God is ready to help you reach your dreams and goals. God’s holy blessing power is in the enclosed anointed prayer rug of faith we are loaning you to use… We want this Prayer Rug to be touching both of your knees as you pray for the needs you are facing right now- if you need more joy, peace, health, money, a new car, a new house, healing, or whatever, we are a very old (57 years) church and want to know about it.” Enclosed with the letter was a page that is supposed to be mailed back, that says “Pray for my family and me for…” and then includes many options, such as: my soul, a home to call my own, a new car, a money blessing, pray for God to bless me with this amount of money (and then it has a line where you write in the blessing you’d like to receive.”

Can I take a moment to say WHAT THE HELL? I’m afraid of this shit.

Naturally, Roomkate and I could laugh at the piece of 11×17 paper “prayer rug” folded up, but only because we know better. Yet when the masses receive letters like this, what does that say to someone who doesn’t have an understanding of organized religion? Or spirituality in general? I am afraid people will think that this is how religion works.

Donald Miller, in this book “Blue Like Jazz,” writes “To me, God was more of an idea. It was something like a slot machine, a set of spinning images that dolled out rewards based on behavior, and, perhaps, chance… What I was doing was more in line with superstition than spirirtuality. But it worked. If something nice happened to me, I thought it was God, and if something nice didn’t, I went back to the slot machine, knelt down in prayer, and pulled the lever a few more times. I liked this God very much because you hardly had to talk to it and it never talked back. But the fun never lasts.”

A superstitious slot machine. How appropriate in addressing the idea of writing an arbitrary amount of money on a piece of paper, and hoping to get lucky through a blessing. But when you’re one 7 short of the big jackpot, what does that do to someone’s mentality about the power of religion and spirituality?

In conjunction, I’m afraid of tele-evangelists. I’ve seen paralyzed elders in nursing homes send hundreds of dollars to evangelists who promise that they’ll be able to walk again. Or others with terminal illness that try to pay for miracles when they don’t have enough money to pay for their hospital bills. It breaks my heart.

Consistently I’ve been told to use the 3 point model in my writing and public speaking. “It makes for a stronger argument, and better thesis,” my journalism professors critiqued frequently. But as I sip on my diet coke, I struggle to think of a third fear. That probably isn’t good for this blog so far, but it’s got to be some kind of good for my life.

I don’t live in fear.

But to put my education to use, I will end this in the recommended 3 point style:

While there’s a very good chance I mentioned this quote in a prior post, I don’t care because I enjoy it and I’m using it again- “There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.” With this in mind, I believe that a candle is never dimmed by lighting another candle.

I believe as long as days like today are proactively remembered (in that there is curosity as to why we celebrate the birth of an individual, and research/reevaluate as to where we are as a population), we still have the audacious faith King wholeheartedly believed in.

Lastly, while I don’t argue with King that one day we can all sing “We have overcome!” (from whatever it might be that has been holding us back), I’d like to add-

I believe good things are already happening, all around me.

The NFL season is drawing to a close, and I’m proud to say I have still yet to place a bet on a team.

Proud and pleased with my self control, as I’m sure I would have lost a lot of money in foolishly gambling that the birds would have made it to the NFC championship game. Although my pride has been hurt in that they were no where close, my saving grace in this city is knowing that the Broncos didn’t make it either.

With my beloved Eagles watching this Sunday’s events from the comfort of their home, I can’t help but wonder how I’ll be feeling Monday morning. My best case scenario would be the Chargers and the Giants coming out victoriously, but not because I’d be glad to see them win—rather, I just want to see the Pacs and Pats lose. Let’s be realistic- if the latter two came out on top, I wouldn’t watch the Super Bowl this year. Even for the commercials.

And I was an advertising major.

In an effort to not think about all the hype money would buy (literally) with Farve vs Brady, I’ve decided to come up with my top five something random playoffs I’d rather watch if the worst case scenario came true:

5) Swing Dancers vs Club Dancers:
I’ve done both, but it shouldn’t surprise you that I’d rather be interlocked in spins with someone than deadlocked by some stranger’s sweat. The oldfashionedness (is that a word?) of lads having to ask girls to dance with them is not only classy, but incredibly sweet (think about it- dancing to Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight”—I’d melt). Plus, if you’ve ever danced to the entirety of “Sing, Swing, Sing” you have the endurance to outperform a clubber any day… anywhere. Swing, you get the W.

4) “Rambo: First Blood” vs “Rambo: To Hell and Back”:
Sly Stallone has done it again with his new Rambo, or I can only assume as it won’t be released until later this month. Being that I grew up watching First Blood with my dad, and have yet to see To Hell and Back, I’m going to have to pull from similar archives for this outcome: Rocky vs Rocky Balboa. I cannot say I was disappointed with either ending, or with Stallone’s physical condition in both. Rocky is definitely my favorite movie (not to mention favorite underrated love story), while Rocky Balboa seemed to guide the viewer through more emotions without leaving room for personal interpretations. I’d like to consider myself philosophical, at least in matters of physics, love, and Rocky; with this mindset, I’d wager First Blood outperforms To Hell and Back. Even if Stallone is messing up people’s days at age 62.

3) Diners vs No Diners:
This match up almost isn’t even fair. In Philly (or Jersey for that matter), there’s a diner on every corner offering dirt cheap meals to compliment the spotty silverware. Denver, not so much. I’ve spent countless hours Crystal, Lancers, and Red Lion in PA/NJ, and have not found a diner out here yet. Let alone a place where I can get a HUGE breakfast for $2.95. Lancers has a breakfast special (which I usually got, even when it 4 hours too early for sunrise) that included 2 eggs made your way, toast, and the biggest plate of homefries you’ve ever seen in your life for that amazingly low price. A dollar more to add scrapple. The closest I’ve seen to this deal in non-diner worlds doesn’t even come to double that price. The fact that I LOVE diner breakfast, in conjunction with my word processor not recognizing homefries OR scrapple as real words puts Diners way on top.

2) Surfers vs Snowboarders:
i.e.- The world I left vs the world I want to enter. I sold my surfboard to one of my best friends, thinking I’d use the money to buy a snowboard (and realizing that having a surfboard in the mountains doesn’t make much sense). I haven’t bought said board yet, and I’m becoming bored of only looking at the mountains from a far. Surfing was a year round sport, as winter suits made even the coldest Atlantic waves bearable, where as boarding is confined to the winter months—which I am learning here is pretty much October through the end of April. Surfers can build bonfires on the beach, snowboarders don’t really tempt the fate of forest fires. BUT even though the two times I tried boarding I came home swollen and busted up, I’m going to have to give the tentative win to snowboarders (sorry coastline kids, this doesn’t mean that I don’t miss the taste of salt sea spray, or sunrises over the water… but I want to see a sunset over the mountains).

1) “Most Extreme Elimination Challenge” vs “Ninja Warrior”:
Spike TV’s MXC is filled with hilarious voice overs, and painful eliminations that can make me laugh till I cry, while Ninja Warrior is based off of people who spend their WHOLE lives training to be ninjas. When they fail, they bring so much dishonor to themselves and their families, that I almost just want to cry with them. Outcome? Ninja Warrior trumps MXC. I don’t want to say that Ninja Warrior is real life, but seriously it is. My heart breaks every time a ninja doesn’t make it at the very end, and that kind of compassion for ninjas can’t be beaten by witty remarks for humorous injuries.
My bets are in… anyone care to wager against me?

Newly Learned Life Lesson:

Don’t lock your keys in the car, in the ignition, with the car running.  Not only will it cost you a little bit of pride, cops won’t slim jim in unless there is a baby inside.

You’ll only be left with a $50 dollar credit card charge to “Pop-a-Lock” (that happens to be in my case almost 20% of my living stipend for this month), a wasted Sunday afternoon, and despite it all, happiness that you have a roommate who offers you a consolation cup of coffee while snapping photos to commemorate the occasion.

Roomkate morphed into Leonardo Da Vinci, capturing the moment perfectly.  Notice the Mona Lisa smile–

The left half cynically says “Way to go Rumbels, this is just like you,”

while the right half affectionally says “Way to go Rumbels, this is just like you!”

I had a near death experience today.  Well, a near afterlife experience; and it was glorious.

Some say when you die you’re going to have to account for all that you did in your life.  Today, I had my rehearsed lines ready as I approached the counter.

Yes, I would LOVE a wild garden meal, with chips please.

Alright, so maybe it wasn’t Heaven.  It wasn’t even so much a slice of Heaven as a slice of Wisconsin, literally.  After all, I did lose my appetite when I saw the shrines to Brett Farve surrounding this quaint downtown restaurant.  But my meal came with free chips (lime and black pepper, to my choosing), so I quickly regained it. 

Gourmet Grilled Cheese.  If it sounds too good to be true, you’re not at Chedds.  With 35 Wisconsin cheeses to select from, 12 types of bread, 8 meats, 13 vegetables, 5 condiments, and 5 dressings, Chedd’s tagline of “Millions of Combinations” holds true.

1,092,000 possible combinations infact, if you chose only one of each of those categories.  Undoubtedly unlimited possibilities as you selected more.

Ignorant to cheese flavors, I decided instead of haphazardly creating my own sandwich it would be best for me to stick to one of their speciality melts.  The “wild garden” had pesto jack cheese, wild morel & leek jack cheese, mushrooms, pesto, and ranch dressing on an aspen 7-grain bread.  Let’s discuss deliciousness:

Deliciousness discussion over.  On a scale of 1 to awesome, it was an 11.

Becky ordered the “Yoga Teacher,” made of provolone, turkey, avacado, baby spinach, and italian dressing on an aspen 7-grain roll.  Gracious enough to let me have a bite, I’m not sure if she understood the monster being unleashed inside of me.  The grilled cheese monster.  I hate to admit it but I think I understand how a drug addict feels when they need their next fix.  I’m hooked.

Luckily I know when my next fix is coming–Saturday, to introduce Roomkate to this Wisconsin world she’s already lived in and loved, and I’ve only been made aware of now.  Where has this state been all my life?

(And yet in the playoff game at the same time… go Seahawks!)

So two US-2 Missionarys walk into an Islamic Mosque to hear a Jewish Rabbi speak when…

THEY SEE DAVID HOSEY!

Baaaahahahhaha, best joke ever.

Except all of it was true.  And the blurred photo proves it.

Every once in a while I get into these overpowering (almost unhealthy) obsessions with random things.

I suppose you could compare them to the stages kids often go through. Some are indistinguishably similar to children’s habits–like the two week period where all I wanted to do was tap dance, or the month where I refused to eat anything without ranch dressing. However, there’s nothing childlike about my current obsession.

Protest songs.

And I don’t mean that in an anti-government, anti-establishment way. I’m not trying to psych myself up to start riots, lay infront of tanks, or burn my bra. Or paint the Warren Village van with flowers, even though now that I think about it this would be a welcomed improvement.

To the despair of Dr. Mark Sandberg, my professor who told us to leave personal issues outside the office, I’ve brought this obsession to work with me. Bob Dylan, CCR, and a mix of popular 1960’s protest songs have been radiating out of my tiny computer speakers.

What in the world are you listening to, has become David’s popular question.

Protest music, I respond.

Are you protesting our mandatory policy of wearing shoes? David asked.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve been reprimanded for my barefoot tactics. Unphased by the attack, I continued to sit cross legged with my toes liberated from the shoes that would remain neatly tucked underneath my desk, I answered no.

Then what is it you are protesting?

The absence of thought, passion, and movement in today’s music.

He paused to look at me for a second, and when he couldnt’ come up with a witty response he sat down at his computer, losing interest in our conversation as he returned to his work.

Tony Campolo, a well known liberal spiritual progressive author, professor, and public speaker, says one of the biggest problems with our generation today is that we don’t have any good song writers. Although this quote has an underlying faith element to it (which is a whole other discussion but important to note the progessive stance that many organized religions take on social justice issues), I believe it is pertinent:

“I’m concerned that some of the new songs don’t really express our full faith. I’m concerned that many of the new songs don’t link us with the importance of social justice in our faith. That really frightens me and, whenever I can, I do talk to songwriters about this.”

And I agree. So much that I had to share part of my obsession with you:

One Tin Soldier–

Listen children to a story that was written long ago
’bout a kingdom on a mountain and the valley folk below.
On the mountain was a treasure buried deep beneath a stone,
and the valley people swore they’d have it for their very own.

(Go ahead and hate your neighbor, go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of heaven, justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowin’ come the judgment day
on the bloody morning after one tin soldier rides away.)

So the people of the valley sent a message up the hill
asking for the buried treasure, tons of gold for which they’d kill.
Came an answer from the kingdom: “With our brothers we will share
all the secrets of our mountain, all the riches buried there.”

(Go ahead and hate your neighbor, go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of heaven, justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowin’ come the judgment day
on the bloody morning after one tin soldier rides away.)

Now the valley cried with anger; mount your horses, draw your sword,
and they killed the mountain people, so they won their just reward.
Now they stood beside the treasure on the mountain, dark and red,
turned the stone and looked beneath it. “Peace on earth” was all it said.

(Go ahead and hate your neighbor, go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of heaven, justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowin’ come the judgment day
on the bloody morning after one tin soldier rides away.)

(One Tin Soldier is a ‘60s era anti-war song written by Dennis Lambert and Brian Potter. The Canadian pop group Original Caste first recorded the song in 1969)

If you want to hear more like this, I’d recommend “The Times They Are A Changin’,” and “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” to start.

They say obsessions are involuntary or beyond one’s will. They’re often irrational, and although sometimes inappropriate, it can be agreed that they are uncontrollable. With this obsession for protest music, is it safe to assume that something in my soul is crying out beyond the point of repression?

In my 11th grade social studies class, Mr. Ayton asked us to name songs that we thought would stand the test of time. Amazing Grace, John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and Pachabel’s “Cannon in D,” were all named. And I agree.

But I can’t help but wonder, what songs on today’s radio demand my soul? Not in that they’re catchy and they’re stuck in my head, but in that there is an uncontrollable desire to listen to them. What songs today are worth obsessing over?

Since Friday, four different Santas have visited our resident’s and learning center’s children (well, three came together and switched off for fear of heat stroke).  I had an obsession of getting my picture taken with each one:

 
You better watch out,

You better not cry.

You better not pout,

I’m telling you why…

At Warren Village, when we sing “Santa Claus is coming to town,” we don’t lie.

And not a single child cried.

Any votes for a favorite?