Nutbars-R-US

I am officially convinced that Wednesdays are Mental Illness Night at OfficeMax.

Seriously.

Last week, I went in to pick up these funky disposable fountain pens that Dr. Jones turned me on to (there's just something about that tactile scratchy non-ballpoint feeling, you know?). Walking toward the pen aisle, I noticed a middle-aged woman trying on notebooks. Literally. It seemed she was looking for one that would balance perfectly on top of her head. Yes, this actually happened.

So last night, I went to pick up a notebook (what happened to narrow ruled, people?), and got the double whammy. First, there was a couple walking through the store loudly discussing an upcoming lawsuit. I mean, confidential details overheard from four aisles away. Yes, this is socially awkward, but clearly not insane. What got me is that they spent at least ten minutes arguing over whether the legal documents should be printed on cream letterhead with roses or plain, simple lavender. Legal documents. Wow.

Then, I got to the checkout and was stuck behind this woman who was very upset that they didn't have the right ink cartridge. The cashier offered to help and asked what she was looking for. She pulled out one of those wallet cards that comes with your printer. "See? You DO NOT HAVE these!!!"

"OH! Yeah, we do! That's actually one of HP's most common models -- they're right here!"

"No, that has the same number, but it's not the same!"

"Well, ma'am, your printer is three years old. HP has changed their packaging twice since then."

"WHAT??? They can't do that!!! How are we supposed to find the right refill when the pictures don't look the same???"

Uh, by the number.

Wednesdays. OfficeMax Roseville. Mental Illness Night starting at around 7pm. Check it out if you have the time.

Maybe it's not right for me to be so amused, but these seem like trivial brokennesses, like hitches in a person's stride as they walk along the road rather than awkward limps or broken legs. I was talking with a high-school English teacher today, and she told me that she was called to the conference room yesterday to discuss a student. All the boy's other teachers were present along with the guidance counselor. The mother arrived about 10 minutes late. She informed the staff that she suspected her son was smoking pot, and she was very concerned. She asked the teachers if they'd seen any warning signs or indicators that the boy was baked, stoned, high, wasted, toked, messed up, gone, or in other altered states during classes. They all just kind of looked at each other and shrugged. "Not really," they answered, "but we'll be on the lookout." Then the guidance counselor, trying to be as helpful and supportive as possible, asked Mrs. X why she thought her son might be using. Without missing a beat, she replied:

"My stash has been short three weeks running."

Why is there so much brokenness in the world, and why is it so easy for us to ignore our own? I'm feeling really good right now -- all my homework was done by 5pm, and I got to spend the night mixing a new batch of cologne, doing my QBOR (that's Quarterly Bookshelf Organization Routine) and actually reading fiction for fun. I'm on top of my game. Yet, I'm not. The messy places are just in shadow, out of sight, out of mind.

Lord, now that the stress levels are down, now that there's room to breathe -- Thank You! But don't let me forget how utterly dead and hopeless even the upswings would be if I couldn't depend on You. Remind me to use this time to invite you deeper into the broken places and renovate at will. Come, Holy Spirit, and fill in the cracks. Let my rest be that of stillness and not stasis.

Thy kingdom come. Deo Gratias.

News Flash

After a few weeks of construction (Power out, restart, power out, restart, ah chuck it...), CoraclesWakeRadio is back online. Currently playing music new to me in the past year -- enjoy!

Better Late than... well, you know.

Well, in defiance of my profile as an "early adopter," I am only now getting around to doing the "survey thing." I can't make any promises, but I hope it was worth the wait.

Five things I want to do before I die:
1) Live in another country for at least a year. OK, I actually want to live in more than one country for at least a year -- Iceland, Scotland, Slovakia... the list keeps getting longer.
2) Publish
3) Read at least 2500 more books.
4) Own a house that has a nice kitchen (with an island and double oven) and a walk-in closet that I can convert to a chapel.
5) Become a whole lot more like Jesus.

Five things I can do:
1) laugh
2) see beauty
3) cook
4) put words together
5) cry

Five things I can't do:
1) be patient with Microsoft Windows.
2) conceal my feelings.
3) settle for bullshit answers.
4) keep my hair.
5) math.

Five little-known facts about me:
1) I used to have a pet snake. An Argentine Boa named Lucy. I miss her.
2) I was once the proud owner of a 1988 Yugo.
3) I need lots of alone time.
4) I've had dinner with a Bond girl.
5) I occasionally wear pajamas as if they were regular clothes.

Five (living) people I'd want to have with me if stranded on a desert island:
1) Bono - OK, so I'd be depriving the world -- shoot me. Good heart, great music, plus a mind that would produce some great conversations.
2) Janeane Garofalo - cute, sassy, an appropriate companion for my more bitter moments of tropical exile.
3) Billy Collins - witty, imaginative, could help me see the situation in unusual and delightful ways.
4) Anne Lamott - ditto on the witty, earnest, self-aware, and a bit neurotic. Imagine she and Janeane chatting it up...
5) Brian Greene - I've never really had time to learn string theory, not to mention basic physics in general, so his presence would be instructive.

Five (dead) people I'd want to have with me if stranded on a desert island (provided they weren't dead and all...)
1) Audrey Hepburn - Most beautiful woman EVER. Great accent, too. From what I've read she'd also be inclined to pitch in with huts and latrines.
2) Vincent VanGogh - Another one who could see beauty in unusual ways. Crazy is good on a desert island. And he'd always be up for lending an ear...
3) Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - An appetite for fun, plus I'll bet ya anything he'd be coming up with Bamboo Concertos in short order.
4) Martin Buber - Someone to talk deep with. I have a few questions to follow up on both I and Thou and Good and Evil and we'd have nothing but time.
5) Flannery O'Connor - Wicked-sharp sense of humor, great perspective, deep faith, and imagine how she'd push everyone else's buttons... never a dull moment with Flannery around.

Five people I want to see do this next:
Anyone (if such a person exists) that hasn't done it already.

There ya go. Hope you all are blessed and enriched by the experience.

More blogging now -- Quad One is over. Come back soon.

All About the Music, Baby!

All right, so last Saturday I was hanging out with timbur and p carlson and chattin about life and scifi and... music. Remembering the sheer, unadulterated Velveetafest that was the 80s.

Then I caught up on Ashley's blog, where she links to a search for the top 100 songs of the year you graduated (enter the year in the search field here). The list came up and... whoa-ho-hoooaaa, Nelly.

To my immense chagrin, I can sing at least four bars of 88/100 of them. That's actually kind of sad. Especially since these perennial classics include:

1. Look Away, Chicago
3. Every Rose Has Its Thorn, Poison
9. Baby, I Love Your Way/Freebird, Will To Power
11. Right Here Waiting, Richard Marx
13. Lost In Your Eyes, Debbie Gibson
15. Heaven, Warrant
23. I'll Be There For You, Bon Jovi
32. Eternal Flame, The Bangles
34. When I See You Smile, Bad English
37. When I'm With You, Sheriff
75. Shower Me With Your Love, Surface

The sheer volume of schmalz packed into a mere 365 days beggars the imagination. Add to this the fact that New Kids on the Block held no less than four slots. They tied with another band, but the New Kids only had 1 out of 4 in the top 30, and these dudes had all four. Any guesses? Awww, c'mon... wait... you've got it...

Milli Vanilli.

And you wonder why people wonder about me.

Oh, and yes, Virginia, the "Get to Know Me" post will be coming tomorrow.

An Open Letter to the NWC Homecoming Committee

To whom it may concern:

I am a current student of Northwestern College who commutes from off-campus. In order to pay for school, rent, gas, insurance, ramen noodles, EasyMac, and water, I also work full-time. This particular homecoming weekend, I am working a total of 24 hours, so my time is something of a premium. Today, I had to photocopy a reserve text in the library and ran to campus at my earliest convenience. Leaving the library, to my intense dismay, I ran into the homecoming parade. It took me no less than 50 minutes to leave campus from my parking spot in front of the library.

Having so much time on my hands, I had the opportunity to formulate a few thoughts for your consideration:

1) A parade? The concept has a certain quaint charm, I'll admit, but Northwestern is neither Texas A&M nor Lake Wobegon. What, if I may be so bold as to ask, is the point? Last I checked, our football team is not what one would term a bright star in the universe of collegiate athletics. As Northwestern is, primarily, an academic community, can we not retain for ourselves a few shreds of dignity?

2) Further planning and recruitment may be required. A single fire engine, squadcar, convertible, and 2 SUVs with soap-stained windows and streamer-clad trailers does not constitute a "parade." I mean, come on people, even Courtney Love can manage better than that...

3) If you MUST have a "parade," would it be too much to ask to route the thing through the P.E. Center turnabout for the brunt of their vaudevillean shenanigans to allow a window of free-flowing traffic for those of us who happen to be about legitimate academic business? Such a route would also extend the amount of time allotted to the precious offspring of our alumni. After all, on a straight-line route, the number of tooth-rotting, obesity-promoting tokens of our collegiate esteem cannot even approach the potential quantity that could be offered by burying the P.E. Center walkup in Tootsie Rolls and Smarties.

Still, one could not have asked for a more lovely afternoon to be unexpectedly trapped in the purgatory of freeway traffic on a road that is not even legally considered a street.

Thank you for your service, and I wish you great(er) success in years to come.

Blessings,

Jeff Ostrom

P.S. I'm not bitter.