Too Much Quiet Reflection...

...usually means I'm at work. And avoiding my responsibilities.

Just felt like throwing an update out there for all of those who feel like keeping abreast in my life. (What do you mean no one cares? Don't you care? Why are you laughing like that?)

Friday: K and I get out of work around noon and start our drive to good ol' COLLA PARK WHAT (CPW). Nine hours later we actually make it to CPW and head-off to celebrate the 21st of the infamous Shub. Festivities include a bit of awkward small talk and hanging with some Maryland Imagers (sike those guys were crazy) before heading over to Turtle, where we party and dance (READER: Whoa whoa waitaminute, you were dancing?? CHRIS: It was dark enough for everyone to think my convulsions were dancing. READER: Ahh, ok. That makes sense.). Time we leave Turtle? 2:45 am. Yeah, you heard me.

Saturday: I roll out of bed around 11 or 12 and scoot over to Bagel Place with K and Shub. Afterwards, I sit in my room and enjoy youtube, facebook, and the like for the first time in 1.5 months. It' s a beautiful thing *single tear*. After some quality Kimmy and Phil's (that place next to 7-Eleven) and Coldstone, I make my way over to Courtyards to celebrate yet another birthday - this time only 20th. Tick off a couple of hours and a few of us head over to my Big Bro's house where I meet my GrandBig for the first time (real chill dude) and have an awesome time.

Sunday: I find my way to back my apartment and continue sleeping where I left-off, and then very slowly get up for a quick lunch before hitting the road again for Cinci. 9+ hours, pt. II, and we're back in O-high-O. O-joy-O (NOT).

Monday was our summer co-op picnic here at GE, which means I got to miss the ENTIRE day to listen to some of our severely well-paid directors/leaders speak and then eat hot-hogs and play corn-hole for the rest of day. Seriously, if I got paid for that everyday, I'd have no problem waking up at 6-something each morning. Heck, I'd even wake up at 4.

Sidenote: A fellow co-op turned me on to a contraption I've never seen before called a RipStik. It's sort of like a skateboard, only with just two wheels that are attached with ball-bearings and two different platforms that can lean in different directions. To ride it, you basically have to somehow simultaneously balance and give yourself some initial propulsion, then weave or wiggle your hips to drive yourself forward. So basically it's nothing like a skateboard, but, you know.....ehh, just look it up. But after seeing it in action and *attempting* to ride it, I am very close to buying one of my own. The $77 price-tag, though, is a bit off-putting...



Which is why I just spent the last half an hour reworking my summer budget! Creative thinking + organization = CHRIS GETS WHAT HE WANTS.

Frustration

You'll have to excuse me while I deviate from the usually Thursday format. At least, just for now.

This morning, as I was preparing to head out the door for work, I was inspired by a few bars of music. Something random that I had probably heard within the past couple of months, and which had managed to stick for whatever reason. But here I am, searching about the apartment for my keys, and this part of a song crops up.

The song, in a vain attempt to describe music with words, goes something like this:
It's a progression of fifths or sixths walking up a major scale, I think occasionally switching back and forth between the two to keep the major theme going. And as it progresses upwards, the music itself builds and increases in intensity/volume. So at the very end, just before it fades into some minor conclusion, there's the tremultuous peak of pure, solid tone. Of course, me being the nerd I am, this peak made me incredibly giddy when I heard it.

The song seemed to play itself over and over in my head this morning, as if an unknown figure had somehow invaded my brain and quietly placed a looping tape recorder there. Instead of doing what normal people do when this happens - namely try to remember where the song came from - I began to assemble lyrics to the music. The song, as I can now recall my first experience hearing it, has no words. It just has a tone, and from what I could gather from my sluggishly mobilized mind this morning, a feeling of profound emotion.

I can no longer recall those lyrics, although I do remember that the theme of the song was either being 25 or turning 25, reflecting on the previous years, and singing of disappointment to some long-gone girl. I had the powerful urge to somehow record this vague shape of a Billboard-Number-One-To-Be, but being on my way out the door, had no way to do it. And also I didnt have a piano. And also I cant sing.

Which left me plenty frustrated when I finally arrived at the office, unable to get the song out of my head and unable to record it lest I wanted to return to it later. Which is what happened precisely half an hour ago when I 1.) Remembered where the music had come from (a video I had watched three trillion times last semester. It was one of those SWEET HOLY JESUS THIS IS AMAZING videos), and 2.) Remembered I had created a full-on masterpiece of a song out of it this morning. But, of course, I could no longer remember how the song went or the lyrics.

So now I'm sitting here, flustered that I can't remember anything, and sure that whatever remains of my masterpiece that I'm attempting to piece together now is incorrect/doesn't sound the same.

For all you musicians out there, you know that musical frustration is the most mind-numbingly painful thing in the world. Something akin to having a limb removed, if I had to guess...

Happy 31st!

Upon logging in, I came to the stunning realization that this would be my thirty-first post. Thirty-first. Which, in actuality, is not recognized as any remarkable achievement. Twenty maybe, or fifty. Perhaps at one-hundred I'll even throw a small fiesta. The big three-one, though, usually holds no bearing.

But here I was, recognizing my thirty-first post as something significant. I had sat down thirty-one times to type gibberish which I hoped would relay some sort of meaning to a reader. There were probably times where the reader would sit down and nod in agreement when rifling through this blog, and others where they would choke on their Diet Coke and thoughts like this is madness! would crop up. In either case though, I had succeeded. Mission accomplished?

While the gibberish may have been more or less just that for you as the reader, these blog posts have opened up a little self-exploration on the giving end. Something I had not initially intended, because I was/am no monk set out on a meditative discovery of internal truths. I created this blog as a chance to voice a...well, voice, that may not usually be heard in an audible sense. Or not in the way that I would intend (listen to me *attempt* to talk and you'll get the picture). In my quest to come up with post topics, I've been forced to dive for material and have in-the-process made some exciting *cough* discoveries. And then I've posted them for all the world to, erm...decipher.

So now I sit here and stare at a discovery of discoveries. And occasionally correct spelling errors. And then realize why the thirty-first post is so significant: because it's forced me to see what this blog was, currently is, and will become.

There are few times (HA) when we have the opportunity to visualize all three orientations in time. Reading about an event that has already happened qualifies as visualizing the past; yet said reading imparts the past on us at the present moment...or does it? Making a to-do list creates a possible future, but that future is occurring presently in our minds. Which then brings up an entirely new dilemma: Words will always be the past and future, never the present.

Sure, there are stories written in ways that make it seem as if the plot is unfolding around us as we read, and each verb is carefully chosen in the present tense. But in the time when the light from the page has brought the shape of a word through your eyes and into your brain and your brain has almost instantaneously matched that shape to a meaning, the word has already reached the past. The nature of physics prevents us from ever reading in the present time, because every action requires an amount of time greater than zero.

Historical events may be recorded, to-do lists and plans may be written down, but no literature can exist in the present.

As I wrote that, I heard from all two of you who read this blog the internal scream of rebuttal. You have probably, in the seconds upon reading that last statement, formed some argument against my musings along the lines of "Live for the moment!" or "At the time that you wrote this post it was the present and when I read it it was the present and when I think this idea it is the present and blah blah blah." And such is the nature of the human mind. Just remember, this blog is - until such a moment when I decide the change the direction of my writing - a place for simple musings and unintended self-discoveries.

So, to recap and oversimplify...Happy 31st everyone! And congrats if you made it through this post without throttling the nearest object. God-forbid you actually did throttle something, and that something turned out to be a person. Although that would be slightly amusing.

Things you shouldn't do in the office...

• Eat deliciously juicy peaches. Slurping sounds + Flowing juices = Take it outside.

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

• Repeat your name loudly five times into the headset until you realize that no one in the teleconference will hear you with the mute button on. And everyone in the office will.
• Nod-off at your desk and make noises like "waaGGAA" when you jerk awake again.
• Open your bag of Doritos with enough force to create a small, cheesy explosion and a sound like cars being compacted.
• Attempt to roll from one end of your desk to the other in your wheely-chair when there's a very solid column in the way.
• Write in your blog when you should be working....

NOT.

RDTSFCM Thursdays (#2)

John: That kid in the corner is snickering again. What's his problem?

George: He's snickering? I thought he was just exhaling in exaggerated and partially stifled ways.

John: Yes. That's exactly we he's doing. Normal people, though, sometimes call this "laughing".

George: Well I wonder what he's laughing at then. It could be that bracket redesign PowerPoint we saw this morning. Fred did misspell "pylon"...heh.

John: Yeah, those 12 minutes following that slide when you were laughing uncontrollably and everyone else shot you concerned glances and awkwardly tried to continue with the presentation were real hysterical.

George: But he spelled it PILON! HA.

John: OOOH ok. The way you just said it definitely lets me know that he used an actual vowel instead of the usual vowel/consonant line-dwindler.

George: What?

John: Go back to reading your comics.

George: Silly Calvin and Hobbs...

John: That kid's outbursts are really starting to tick me off!

George: In this one they're walking through the woods-

John: Doesn't he know that work hours are for ACTUAL WORK?

George: And Calvin accidentally slips on a rock and rolls down a hill, dragging Hobbs with him..

John: You can't just sit there and read funny stuff on the internet all day. Overpaid little...

George: And when they get to the bottom, Hobbs goes "It's hard to pick you up after a fall if you take me down with you."

John: I think I'm going to toss this bottle of white-out at him to see if he'll take the hint to get back to work.

George: Hehe. You know, because Calvin pulled him down the hill too?

John: That grunt didn't sound like him...

George: Oh yeah, I just saw Bill from corporate head in there to talk to the kid.

John: *....*

George: I miss my stuffed animals...Do you think they're serving fried steak in the cafeteria again today?



Fun life update: I'm headed to Chicago for the Independence Day weekend. Should be good times. And, hopefully, I'll have the chance to go HOME HOME the following weekend. Colla Park, get ready - I'm for serious this time.

If only I had a window to gaze out of...

Remember when I spent the summer not sitting in a cubicle? Because I do, although those memories are currently being driven out of my brain by recently stored memories of staring at a laptop and some short, beige fabric-covered walls. Oh, and the one with the growing pool of blood on my desk from repeatedly smashing my forehead against it. That was a fun time. (thanks Excel! NOT)

New realities and overly-exaggerated stories aside, my blog is being ridiculous. And not in that good "hey we should be friends because you seem fun and exciting" way. More like "when I check my blog I'm always taken to that one post I wrote weeks ago and dont care reading again FOR THE BILLIONTH TIME." So if you happen to find yourself reading this particular shenanigan of a post instead of an older one that appears automatically, congrats. If not, I am currently sending you instructions telepathically to keep clicking the "2008" button under "Archives" until no new posts materialize. This should prove interesting though, considering my telepathic powers are usually limited to hearing Lassie go "Umm, Timmy's stuck in a well again. Instead of saving him, you should probably look into having another child. Just sayin."

Bloggateering has become somewhat of a respite from the workday for me during lunch. Nevermind that whole social interaction with co-workers and seeing sunlight business that the others do. No, I sit and read blogs and guffaw awkwardly in my cubicle and then make vain attempts at posting something partially comprehensible here. And then fail at life. Which actually isnt hard for me to do, considering I like to set high goals for myself along the lines of "Earn a salary of over $1,000,000 within the next several years" and "Learn how to read." I think "Become President of the US" was on that list at some time, but then I decided that a.) the presidential salary is too low, and b.) I'd probably have to talk to and/or interact with people in that job. And we all know how that turns out. (*awkward silence shuffle feet awkward silence*)

Here's a funny bit of a blog that I like to frequent whilst munching on baby carrots:

I had to buy this apricot-flavored toothpaste. Had to. When has there ever been fruit-flavored toothpaste, ever? And why not? Companies are forced to constantly “innovate” in order to stay relevant and exciting to consumers, so we get Giger-designed toothbrushes and glitter embedded in the toothpaste and tubes that stand on end — but where’s the flavor innovation?

I’m thinking the problem is that apricot doesn’t make your mouth minty fresh, and in today’s fast-paced modern hectic cutthroat world, Burning Mintiness = Violently Annihilated Halitosis. Apricot can’t deal with today’s fast-paced modern bacteria, no way. I mean, is an apricot even a full-fledged fruit? Is it even American?

I just bored myself with that paragraph. I’ve been doing that a lot in conversation, too, just slowing down mid-sentence and finally giving up, losing all interest in what I was saying and kind of drifting off. It’s like

Last paragraph: I SO DO THAT.

Letter to my Free time

Dear Free time,

Look, if you're going to present yourself at random times throughout the day, you at least have to leave me with SOME will to be productive. Because whenever you seem to roll around, a little voice in my head goes Hey, maybe I should lie on the floor and think of new ways to play solitaire. And that never seems to get me ahead in the long run because you can't Frenzy with only one person. It becomes more like "Solitaire in-a-quick-like-manner-on-an-individual-basis" (Note: If you don't know what I'm referring to then YOU HAVEN'T LIVED).

Take yesterday, for example. Here I am, having just finished my dinner when you decide to waft into my living room (because you don't flow, you waft). And before you had come, this very demanding voice in my head had been chanting "Go work out and be healthy" for some 12 hours straight, but when you rolled in it was all "mmm, donuts would be good." So then I went out and bought two donuts. And ate them. Where was I then? Stretched out on my carpet with a stomach full of tuna-pasta casserole and donuts, remaining in said position until bedtime. Wow, good thing that wasn't counter-productive or anything *grumble grumble*. We all know this certainly isn't my fault, being the model of perfection that I am. No, free time, the blame is yours. You sweep me off my feet and then throw me into a pool of laziness and vague ideas of card games. And I struggle for, meeh, three seconds? Past that, it's all over. Fine, you've won, now leave me be. So now I sit here and wait for a time when I will be free of you.


And I notice that school doesn't start for another two months. We still get to enjoy our amazing love/BAH-I-HATE-YOU relationship for another. two. months.


Paralyzing hugs or something of the sort,

Chris