bee and bird

Once there was a little bee, rather bookish, and only dimly aware of the ways of the world.  The bee was content to buzz around and think of nectar and stamen and all the supple petals in a variegated field of tulips.  He often went to and fro among meadows and fields, partaking of the pollen in myriad blooms.  Each new flower seemed a new oasis to drink and taste and ponder.

One day, perusing a lilac blossom, the bee noticed perched nearby a feathered, curious creature.  A bird.  It was rather unlike the bee, though both made their way though the air with ease.  Our little bee was unsure of what the nearby avian wanted with the lilacs.  It had no way of collecting the delicious pollen, and seemed to be different from the bee in almost every way.  The bee tried to greet the bird by shaking his tail and buzzing a bit, but the bird didn't appear to notice and flew away.

Out in the world of flower, nectar, tree and brush the bee began to notice birds as they flitted from tree to tree and made loud squawks and cheerful chirrups.  They were hard to understand.  Birds didn't wiggle and buzz to one another.  They were beautiful, imposing and scary, baleful.  The bee liked them.  He began to pick up on some of their sounds, noticed the differences in tone and frequency.  Though the bee could not make those sounds, he still tried to greet nearby bees when they lit upon nearby branches.  They did not seem to care.

It was many a day before the bee succeeded in his efforts.  One day he was buzzing with some other bees, doing his little butt wiggle, when a small, songbird perched nearby and took interest.  Her head was black, wings brown, with dull copper breast feathers.  The bird made some of the same wiggles and chirruped.  The bee looked up at the creature that had been an object of fear and worry and mystery.  He waved his butt back at her and made a little warble, like the bird had.  Cocking her head, the robin ruffled her feathers a bit and flew away.

The bird often returned to perch near the bee.  They would trade buzzes, chirps and warbles.  Over time, the two developed a kind of understanding, common movement and sound.  Bee would tell bird of hive life, of dances and work and nectar.  Bird would describe nests and soaring and heights and worms.  Bird did not seem as scary as other birds.  Maybe birds were more like bee than he knew.  They were pulchritudinous and deft and fell and enigmatic.  Sometimes he liked to wiggle in a circle to the birds.
--
I was inspired to write this after reading "Davita's Harp" by Chaim Potok, from the stories of the character Jakob Daw.  My little sister gives good gifts.

Finding God space again

My physical body and motley pile of trappings and belongings have been spirited away from State College for 5 months already.  That went pretty painlessly, though I definitely left it all in the middle of the floor in my parents basement until I had to clear it away for Christmas.  My routine has even made the trip, now that I have work and a schedule that I'm responsible for.  Things look like they're coalescing back to normal on the outside.  On the work side.  On the material side.

If only moving were as simple as transporting collections of atoms.

I'm still moving back emotionally and spiritually.  Those are the parts that give me the most inner turmoil and heartache.  For good reason.

Emotionally
During one of the most intellectually stimulating, stressful, and at times, traumatic periods of my life, I was part of a group of people that were experiencing similar delights, joys and atrocities.  Those bonds don't dissolve (nor would I want them to!), or fade from memory quickly.  The feeling of disjointed connectedness remains, with a physical separation of hundreds of miles.  I feel pangs and memories and aches almost daily.

Friendships change over time and space.  In a way they become windows and views of former places from lofty heights.  The lofty heights of memory, text messages and phone calls don't do friendship justice.  Sharing a cup of coffee or a beer over the phone is...well...inane.  But that is how life forces us to reconcile new places; memories and intermittent contact.  And we drink deeply of the cold, sweet water of reconnection.

Emotionally, I may always straddle the places in life where I've felt and experienced intense emotion.  Everyone does and deals with it in their own ways.  Some ignore the past, some live in the past, and others come to terms with a life of small, constant, distant tugs.  I imagine the latter will always be true for me.  There is too much in the past to forget it, and too much in the future to embrace with open arms.

Spiritually
Perhaps the language of moving and fixed destinations is not appropriate for the topic of a spiritual journey.  However, the setting in any journey does change, and impact the traveler directly, so in that sense I am moving in a different phase of life spiritually.

Life in Penn State Christian Grads (PSCG) was a very stimulating experience.  My head-space was occupied with lofty precipices and even more subterranean lows when it came to questions of faith, meaning and purpose.  There were honest conversations between minds questioning and probing, that received no answers some days and few the next.  Daily struggle was not uncommon, and at times it was exhausting.  Confidence is a quantity that was once prized, but comes to be despicable in many ways.  It seems impossible to return to confidence in anything after a point.  However, despite the unruliness and at times stark contradictory nature of this newer reality, I would never trade this part of my journey.

PSCG is a group of dear friends who cared deeply about each other and still do.  We are scholars from different fields seeking the gospel and life in Jesus, and engaging thoughtfully and honestly with our peers in the hope that they will join us.  We are a missional community.
Throw in the occasional heretical conversation in the "College and Careers" adult bible fellowship that I led at church and you get the mess that I called a spiritual life.   But it took years to cultivate the space for safe, honest questions, and for conversation and dialogue without judgment.  Those opportunities don't materialize from nothing.  God space requires time and effort.

It's taking a while, but I'm finding that space.  Sometimes that space means a small, intimate group during a Sunday night prayer service at the church I grew up in.  At other times it's time spent skyping weekly with two of my closest friends.  God space can be at a brewery for a weekly bible study as easily as it can be at a new church I've found, spending time on Sunday morning in worship.  I'm finding my new God spaces in a new/old place.  Looking forward, I'm excited to see what space I will find in Young Life for eastern Ottawa.  There is space to talk about spiritual things everywhere, it just needs to be cultivated.  YOU can cultivate it.

Biblical womanhood?

[source]

You will be better off reading thoughts on womanhood from a woman's perspective, but I'm a man, so this is as good as I can do (I'll point you to some women though, fear not).

Let's look at one of the quintessential passages on biblical womanhood, often used to define roles, stances and limits.
A first reading of 1 Timothy 2:9-15 might give you the impression that women are to be submissive, silent and deferential to men, if you take it as translated and ignore the context.  It's tempting to stop there and reject women as leaders in the church, particularly if you're a man, because without context that's exactly what Paul (in the Bible, as one of God's inspired authors) is saying.  But context is important.  Here are some examples:

How much less compelling does "the Jungle" by Upton Sinclair become without understanding of the plight of immigrants, wage slavery and the horrors of the meatpacking industry at the time?  What does "1984" mean if you ignore the socialist politics of Europe at the time?  Context means that maybe we can have allegory and symbolism.

Let's look at Paul's statements in verses 11 and 12:

2:11 A woman must learn ¹⁸  quietly with all submissiveness. 2:12 But I do not allow ¹⁹  a woman to teach or exercise authority ²⁰  over a man. She must remain quiet.

I don't know if I like Pauline theology any more...he's starting to sound downright draconian and misogynistic.  I sure wish I knew more about Jewish culture at the turn of the millennium...but wait!  The study note [19] in the NET Bible provides some clarification:

This was a radical and liberating departure from the Jewish view that women were not to learn the law.

Huh.  Not allowed to learn the law at all?  I guess Paul was a bit of a feminist then, eh?  Given that bit of history, maybe Paul qualified his statement in verse 11 with the part in verse 12 about not allowing women to teach or exercise authority because he would have been seen as too radical and not been taken seriously in his letters to Timothy.  If that doesn't seem plausible, let's look look at some more modern examples from American history.

African slave emancipation and eventual civil rights movement

The 13th ammendment was a giant leap.  A giant leap followed by bitter disenfranchisement for people of color throughout the Reconstruction and Jim Crow periods.  In 1896 we even had Plessy vs Ferguson and the beginning of "separate but equal".
Finally in 1964 and 1965 the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts were passed.  Human rights issues take a long time, and we still struggle today with the legacy of this fight.  I find it hard to believe that there would have been widespread acceptance if the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had been passed in 1865.  It would have been too radical.  History seems to support this.

Women's suffrage

Women's suffrage started state by state, beginning with Wyoming in 1869.  In 1917, Alice Paul was jailed for picketing in front of the Whitehouse, but it took 3 more years until on June 4, 1920 the 19th ammendment was approved by the Senate and later ratified.  It started small, in spurts, and took over 50 years of increasing measures of legality to be fully accepted.  Radical at one time.

Were we not talking about Paul and Timothy and biblical womanhood though?
Ok, let's get back to them.  If Paul had said that women and men should be on equal footing with respect to teaching and preaching and positions of authority in the church, how many people (men, since women weren't really people yet) do you think would have listened?  [Preemptive apology for caps.]  WOMEN DIDN'T EVEN GET TO VOTE IN THE UNITED STATES UNTIL 1920!!!  Radical.

If we contextualize Paul's statements, we lose the literal vision of biblical womanhood as "the best plan for your life is to find a good Christian man who will lead your family and provide enough that you can stay home".  What we find instead is a statement of radical liberation for women at the time (...and now).  Radical liberation sounds more like what Jesus taught:

For by grace you are saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.

and:

'Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' The second is: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these.

But don't take my word for it.  Ask a woman what womanhood is for her.  She'll have a better, more informed perspective, impassioned by actual experience as a woman seeking her Savior.  God's plan for her is what womanhood is for her.  That sounds kind of biblical.  Radical.

As far as reading goes: you can start here. And definitely go here (I started here; Rachel Held Evans is da bomb #preachit)!  If you're still reading and interested, there is also this.
A dude wrote this post, which I loved, and it's how I found the 'precious moments' image.

Sloats and Frains: Laufen

Out of physical necessity and boredom, I found myself spending a very cherished parcel of time running along the Selz river (creek) from Ingelheim to Großwinternheim during the summer of 2010.  Of course, I was in terrible shape at the beginning of my internship.  Struggling to keep running, I maintained a slow pace, enough at least to preserve some semblance of a jog until I crossed at the traffic circle and left the town proper.  More out of vanity than anything else, my will was to avoid walking.

If I could, I would go back in a heartbeat to relive the time I spent along that trail during the summer nights.  The air was clear and clean though occasionally thick and schwül before a storm.  I learned quickly that you don't drink Mineralwasser before a run, or you'll have a bad time (too much CO2 was my conjecture), and I sweated so much you'd think I was turning into a raisin.

My runs would begin with a westward walk along Binger Straße, past the Turkish restaurant, book store and motor bike shop.  Just off the main sidewalk, I would begin my run by darting down a small alley and jog along the Realschule parking lot.  The parking lot joined a cobblestone path along the Selz next to the large dome recycling containers that look like Cold War relics and litter German cities, towns and dorfs.

Turning south, the cobblestones tag along playfully with the burbling Flüsschen, and I pass Ingelheimers walking and loafing on the path or playing soccer in the fenced in "soccer courts" ("field" doesn't really describe the woodchip coated, spartan, functional enclosures).  My feet pound the stones and inwardly I groan with frustration initially at my out of shape heart, lungs and legs.  It probably takes me three weeks before I can muster up the strength to make it the whole 4.5 km to GWH, and another two to make it back without stopping.

The first road I cross over leaves the town and opens up into meadows of bright, blooming goldenrod, presided over by the local Bismarckturm.  Neighboring the "soccer courts", numerous families plant large gardens that border the path, with what amounts to a farms-worth of vegetables and cultivated space.  Finally the path crosses the Selz, traversing a traffic circle before heading again south into pastureland.

A last kick of civilization soon blends into scrub and hay fields, accompanied by ripe smells indicating the presence of livestock.  Sheep!  They drape themselves over the landscape, bleating contentedly as I pass them.  Lambs dart away from the fence as I come near, and find some less dangerous grass to chew.

The Selz is clothed in a short, but thick layer of trees.  As the path again approaches the stream, it is hard to ignore the collection of habitations resembling a commune that blends in with the trees.  There are audible sounds of domesticated animals, but I never find out if the settlement is inhabited, or abandoned.  One small cart path leads in, and I am much to timid to explore further than fire furtive glances down into the receding gloom, from my perch on the path.

Leaving the cover of trees again, I pass a small collection of apple trees on the left, and on my right ogle the barns and pastures occupied by horses doing their cantering, trotting and other horsy things.  Rather unexpectedly, the trail shoots uphill and skirts some small jumps for BMX bikes, before gently sloping past the first backyards that welcome me into Großwinternheim.

Slowly I loped longer and faster, until I was doing 9km easy, most nights of the week.  Not bad for a wannabe German raisin.

God's honesty: Parable of the Weeds

I don't usually feel like God speaks to me when I read the Bible.  Not like, "Hey Steve, here's what you need to know about me..."  It's usually a feeling or a sense of new understanding, just not a literal phrase or sentence.

Last night was a different story however, thanks to some great friends and the NET version of Matthew 13:24-30.  I'm not talking something audible, but it was as close as I'm comfortable with experiencing.

The insight for this came from the note in verse 25 on the nature of weeds.  I had always understood weeds in the context of what they look like here in west Michigan, maybe a poke weed or a thistle.  The weed being referred to here though is probably darnel, or ζιζάνιον (zizanion), if you can read Greek (I cannot).

Darnel is a plant that looks very similar to wheat, but is poisonous.  First, this tells me that it's not so easy to separate the good from the bad, and it makes the world a very real place.  Not ideal.  That shouldn't be news to anyone.

My sentence from God came as a clarification to the problem of evil in the world.  It is very easy to look at the desolation and hurt and pain in the world, and ask, "how could there be a God who would let this happen?  Does s/he even care?"  That's a very reasonable question to ask.  I'm not going to give you a proof for why God exists or doesn't, that can't be done, and it frustrates me to no end.  What I will do is tell you something about God, if you believe her/him to exist.  God is honest.

If you believe God exists, then occasionally you will bump into something in the Bible that seems morally questionable if God is God.  If God is love, mercy and kind.  I'm going to ask that you suspend your human perspective on morality, because frankly, you don't have an eternal perspective, or even a 7th dimensional perspective (you can bet I wish for even a 5th dimensional perspective every day).  Don't suspend your idea of morality forever though, you can have it back later, you will need it to remain human.

In verses 28 and 30, God says to me, "I know there is evil, and I know you see it.  I see it too.  But this is my plan, despite how it may not make sense and hurt from your perspective."  He says: "An enemy has done this."  "Let both grow together until the harvest."

In this instance, in this parable, in this story, I hear God saying to me: "I know.  I know.  This is the decision I have made from my perspective, it might not make sense from yours.  You will have to fight to grow in the midst of a weed filled world.  You will struggle to receive the sunlight you need.  You will compete for water with the weeds, but in the end, I know the wheat and I know the darnel.  I'm going to gather you into my barn."

I hear an acknowledgment from God that the world is a confusing place, but that he's letting us grow this way for now:

‘An enemy has done this...in gathering the weeds you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest.'

 I don't understand why s/he's doing it this way, but God isn't hiding it either.  S/he's honest with us about it.

I am a cynical Christian

I am cynical.  I am occasionally bitter.  Despite this, I love people, really love them, even if I hurt deeply and don't do it as well as I'd like.  I fight intellectual elitism in myself, and idealism in churches.  Let me unpack that.

Isn't cynicism bad?  Doesn't it hurt and cause loss of intimacy and trust?

Yes, it can be and it does.  It can be borne of doubt when that doubt is ignored and swept under the rug, or worse, ridiculed.  A doubt that is raised and scorned, or decried as weak faith can bear a crop of cynicism.

Cynicism can be cultivated over an extended period of time if doubts are not shared, or if the individual is not comfortable raising them among their friends or family.  Ignoring the existence of doubts, instead of cultivating and addressing, or even encouraging them can be caustic, especially over time.

Intellectual elitism
Cynicism and intellectual elitism, in particular, can be a response to the anti-intellectualism that is plaguing churches today.  It is part of the religion vs science "debate" and makes a mockery of both, in its misunderstandings of both.  Elitism however, is a poor weapon to fight anti-intellectualism, as it alienates and divides further.

Empathy, dialogue and gentle explication are a far better tool to reach those who feel threatened by "science".  Much of my cynicism and need to be elitist has been curbed by having conversations and dialogue with other Christians about what science is and what it means to me.  The friendship of a Christian in science can often dispel misunderstandings and the belief that the two callings are mutually exclusive.

Of course, dialogue means entering into conversation without expectation of a changed mind/heart/attitude from the other person.  Useful dialogue is often just that--an exchange of ideas that often leads to no change, other than a deeper trust or respect.

Idealism
Idealism is another point of contention that cynics have with the church.  It can be thought of in this way:

“God will never give you more than you can handle.” Some Christians dispense this phrase with such regularity that one would think it comes from Scripture (I think it is actually a distortion of Paul’s words on temptation in 1 Cor. 10:13). The opposite, however, seems to be more biblically true—God at times gives us way more than we can handle in order to drive us into a deeper dependence on him (“. . . we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. . . . But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead”—2 Cor. 1:8-9).

Idealism oozes out of our pulpits in the form of empty platitudes and trite sentimentality. It seeps out of well-meaning lips in hospital rooms and funeral parlors as we stretch for something cheery to say in the face of sickness and death. A great deal of sermon material can only work in safe and sanitized suburbs.

--the Gospel Coalition

It is no wonder that it's hip to be cynical as a pushback to idealism.  Anyone who is honest can see that we don't live in an ideal world.  How often do we pretend that our churches aren't filled with hurting confused people?  We can't hide here either.  Cynicism acknowledges this, but to be useful, it needs to move past it into hope.  Unfortunately, hope is hard.  Hope is hard when there are innocents being killed and raped.  Hope is hard when politics seem like just another vehicle for powerful people to make farcical decisions to advance their careers and names.  Hope is hard.

What now?
Despite the difficulty of hope, I'd rather trade my cynicism for hopeful realism, and embracing the reality of a world and a church that are not ideal.  Because when you're cynical, it's hard to care about solutions.

In case you wonder how dark a journey can be that results in hopeful realism, let me share something that I wrote recently to a friend:

My worry in penning this though is that it is satisfying some dark, human desire to seem realest-of-the-real to those that would read it, and somehow think better of me. For truly, that is what i desperately want. Still and always. This is why grace is difficult and why i distrust myself ever to receive it, because in my heart i know (think) that i don't need it. And I'm terrified that i will always feel this way. Calvinism and evangelicalism and the words of men/friends have no balm for this. I must admit it, i hate (have?) faith. i do not understand it and i do not trust it. i am suspicious of it. Its supposed simplicity and guilelessness seem nearly nefarious. What kind of Christian dares to say or think that? i'm no longer sure. God, this is hard. How does this happen?
...

My conception of faith stems from Hebrews: "Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."  This is problematic, because I find it difficult to be confident in something I'm hoping for.  I guess that's the nature of faith: it must be blind.  I don't know if it's faith that I hate, or if it's the fact that so few Christians have a problem with it.  That, to be a good Christian, you must just be happy about faith, and the deeper your confidence in it the better...it just strikes me as false when I observe blind, unquestioned faith.  I guess it feels like a cop out: "oh, I have faith, therefore I don't have to think about what that means... "Basically what you [my friend] said:

"When people talk about what God is teaching them through doubt, I have never understood that.  Mostly, I wonder how full the glass has to be to tip the scales and "count" as faith."

Yeah! WTF?  I think my problem is excessive cynicism and distrust...that kind of hurts the faith idea too.

 It was a low point for me, but I don't think it's faith that I hate.  Faith is still tough for me, and I hope that at some point it's tough for everyone, because that means you care about getting it right, or at least better.  I still think the answer is Jesus.  It may be a buzzword, but hopeful realism is transforming my cynicism.  Just being able to say that helps.

Jim Wallis says it this way:

Faith enables us to act in hope, despite how things look, and that's what can help make change finally occur and change how things look.

Reading
Is Christian Cynicism a Spiritual Sickness?
Putting Off Cynicism
The Post-Cynical Christian
7 Ways to Stop Being Cynical About Church
Post-Cynical Christianity
On Christian Cynicism
Embracing ‘Hopeful Realism’: Why Cynicism Is a Dead End and Idealism a Farce

The coldest, most delightful wood

Some days after work I just want to read and drink hot apple cider. Yesterday was one of those days. But I'm glad it didn't work out that way. You see, yesterday I got to help my friend usher in a new stage in his life.

It started a week or two ago. He said he'd like help on his engagement and that he'd bought a ring, and it was only a matter of time. I said, "anything!"
That brings us to two days ago, planning for a day later in the week. I would photograph his proposal secretly! Then a day later, in the afternoon, plans change: "can we do this today?"

Engage hyper drive: complete errands on the way home, and pick up lens from a friend with 20 minutes to play around with it. Everything in place finally.

Plans fail immediately, and I lose them on the way there.  Hopefully they don't see me pull in the parking lot.  I stall to make sure I arrive late enough.  Next problem: how do I carry my tripod, camera and the ring box, while xc skiing?  Split-second decision: poles are for the weak.

Let me paint a picture for you.  A tall, gangly, Carhart suit, ski mask wearing man skis along alone clutching a small box, tripod and camera bag.  He hurtles along the trail, up and down hills rather bumpily and without decorum or grace, because he is at least a year out of practice.  Luckily, he meets no one on the trails.

Having reached my destination, I clear snow away to create a small spot out on a bench under a light pole and place the hand-made box down gently, containing a sparkly, shiny diamond ring.

Ninja-mode engage.  I am become the woods.  I am the snowflake that nestles on the logs and leaves and branches.  I am all snowflakes and I am none of them.  Well off the trail, I ditch my skis and settle behind a snow covered, frozen pile of brush.  In between two light-bathed trees lies the snow covered bench of destiny.  My camera and borrowed lens sit atop the tripod, waiting in anxious anticipation.  I take some test footage and admire the beauty that is a lonesome, cold bench in a sea of trees cracking, bending and whining from the cold wind.

I lie in wait for my prey, patting down a bed for myself in the snow.  As they come up the trail, I press record, pray, and lie down, peeking periodically to make sure they're in the frame.

My friend suavely pulls over and begins brushing the snow off the bench making room for his beloved.  They sit, an awkward task with skis and she notices the box.  BAM! I lie in silence, listening to the wind and the trees and the snow crunching.  There is cold, and there is bliss--I don't notice the cold.

Adorable engagement shenanigans occur, and eventually they call to me.  The jig is up, I am discovered, and I greet the exultant couple.  Much later, I treat myself to hot apple cider and a book--Schrödinger's Cake?

Bri

There are many words that I can use to describe a relationship I've had for over 80% of my life. The picture above does a very good job though, without uttering a syllable.

Two boys sit in kayaks under a bluebird sky in the chill August waters of Lake Huron. One is yellow, bright as a banana and similar in shape. The other is bathed in blue, green and yellow, fading twice in a continuum of color.

We constructed sails from a dutch golf set and broom with garbage bags. Matching the creativity in games imagined and played over the years is the competitiveness with which we play them. It's funny how important it becomes to win a game that was conceived of mere seconds ago, but it's been foundational to our friendship over the years. I used to get truly mad at him in middle school.

Never content to just make something, we use our new "sailboats" for sport. Paddling out past the breakers, we align our vessels for shore and pick a large rock as the finish line. The no-paddle rule is in effect as we let the wind carry us and cleverly "steer" with our paddles to arrive on shore first. We're more pushed by the waves than any effect the wind may have had, but it's a clear and definitive victory for one of us. Our sailing prowess is unmatched by the other and to the victor belong the spoils. And the next day comes with seven more invented games with seven more victors. [Note to the reader: the last two sentences are best read dripping in sarcasm.]

As we've grown older our competitive streaks have subsided...somewhat. They'll never be gone completely though, as board games continue to show. I can't stay mad long though. Since we're still friends I presume the same goes for Brü.

Every time we get back together, after being separated by hundreds of miles and hours of interstate, we can pick up right where we left off from. Just writing this makes me yearn to mosey back to Hudsonville and sit in a basement to play games with Brian, Scott and Jeff. Ah well, you can't always get what you want.

“It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emerson in His Journals

Those who ride pandas

For those who ride pandas to battle,
harness something fierce 'neath the saddle.
The black and the white,
they cause such a fright.
Because sometimes you need to kick a pack of wolves to death.

Only seeming to live on bamboo,
whose G.I. tracts are talented: poo.
They might be a blight,
people flee on sight.
Because pandas will knife you to death if you're not careful.

A general once said to his captains,
"A panda did make me these napkins."
His stitches were tight;
they came out just right.
But it turns out that now he just sells refrigerators.

But this poem doesn't make any sense,
pandas aren't even very intense.
Don't bring them to fight,
just buy them a kite.
But they can totally only barely throw a frisbee.

Inspiration credit to Luc LaFreniere

Set to music

0.6 Yparticles

A mole once emerged from her hole.

She rolled out to go on the dole.

Though fat as a slug, she outweighed the bug,

and never got any money from the government.

German reggae: Seeed

I've listened to a few of the songs off Seeed's most recent album, but finally came across this gem a few days ago, a full year after its release. Augenbling. The song jumped into my bones the first time I heard it and I had to immediately buy a physical copy of the music! Gotta support those that make the good stuff :)
I'll be bumping to work with Seeed for the foreseeable future.

It took but a day or so to notice that there is also an English version called "Blink blink". I was pretty impressed to hear how fluid the lyrics are in both versions. The French singer/rapper from Niger, Féfé, is featured on the English version.

Long story short: Seeed is bringing reggae/dancehall to the next level. To be fair, I don't know enough about reggae/dancehall to know what the current level is...but I'm fairly sure this is a paradigm shift.

The English version for those interested:

Sloats and Frains: Genesis

I wake up in my one room apartment with the sun drenching my face, prying my eyelids open. Yesterday was a whirlwind of miles in cars and planes, across timezones and an ocean.

My supervisor, Dr. Heckmann, came by in the evening to make sure that I had arrived and was settled. We went for a bit of a walk, and found a payphone for me to call my family and reassure myself with their voices. I went to sleep feeling more comfortable with the unknown...now that it was a little more known. And Nutella. They bought me some food for the weekend, giving me my first experience with the rich, creamy, chocolatey, smooth Haselnuss perfection that is Nutella. In fact, supper on jam and Nutella sandwiches was not uncommon...

The morning was warm, bright and sunshiny. I leave the apartment a few minutes after 9, to do some of the exploring I had been too tired for the night before. I walk along a stream, over a bridge, along a meadow bursting with yellow wildflowers and past some barns. The path goes over the road into town and is paved with cobblestones, trimmed with cement. The Selz burbles along joyfully before breaking from the path that opens into green, scrubby fields mottled with fluffy, sheepy shapes. The picturesque path will later accompany me on many a run during warm summer nights to Groß-Winternheim and back.

As I walk back into town, St. Remigius' bell tower rings loud and bold, imploring, beseeching and celebrating with parishioners arriving for Pfingsten Mass. The bright, cheery mood fills me too, as I begin to decompress from the terror of exams and the immediacy and rush of a good friend's wedding just days before. There is no rush here. We are on holiday, and I am becoming part of this quiet town, if only for the summer. I glory in my status as local-wannabe.

Song writing/recording

I've been putting together a recording for a little ditty about camping in Mackinaw during years past, that I composed during last summer and fall. I put it together on the ukulele and have the chords figured out as well as most of the lyrics. Some of them need a little polishing and fixing of course. I have the piano chords and inversions figured out and in the computer, so it's just a matter of making sure that I like the tempo, and how the chord progressions sound. I'm getting pretty excited about this "UntitledMackinac" project.

In the last couple days I've also decided to work on a little hiphop/rap project too. Last fall my friend Jenny received a ridiculous voicemail from her dad, caused by a butt dial. The text was pretty funny to read, so I want to set it to a sick (hopefully) beat that I've been working on, and record it as a short rap. I love working on both projects, and I'm ready to be underwhelmed by what I produce...but hey, I've got to start somewhere. It's just hard to find the time to work on them. School is a black hole :)

I received a Behringer UMX-610" midi controller for my birthday, which has been helping, and I've been putting the tracks together using LMMS, the Linux MultiMedia Studio. I may move to a different product in the future, but for now, I'm pretty happy with this setup.

Snark

Photo credit: Mural (Banksy); Aardvark (travelnewsnamibia); Bird on a branch (Dawn Smith); Stars (bitácora de Galileo).
In the dark park sat a lark upon the bark.

Its shadow marked stark against the luminous pockmarked bulwark.

"Hark" remarked the aardvark matriarch set to embark.

"Join me Plutarch, in my arc to the celestial monarch."

Hughes park

Arch linux

I've had to troubleshoot computer issues at work from time to time, and any time I can't handle it I call upon a linux power user who works for our IT guy. He's helped me with installs gone wrong (openSUSE) and when an update resulted in GRUB unable to find the partition table. Now I'm on a Fedora system which should be more stable and has the same libraries and available repositories that I needed. It's also the distribution that the developer of the software I use recommends (I had no experience with it though, thus openSUSE). In any case, we were talking shop about different distributions that we've used, while he was fixing my problems, and he mentioned Arch linux, which piqued my interest.

It's a simple and lightweight distribution (their words) that really teaches you how linux systems/installs work. You need to mount the drives yourself and install the base system, bootloader, users, network and anything else you may want (really useful Life Hacker guide here). One of the best things is that it updates on a rolling release model which is continually upgraded, instead of upgraded by reinstalling for every version.

The first install didn't go well, because I didn't understand exactly how the mounting and base install went. However, the second time through I managed to mount the correct partitions and write the files I needed to the spots that needed them. It was slightly trickier since I'm dual booting with Windows 7 and was installing from a USB key, but I made it work. I also had some issues getting Xorg to work (installed the wrong drivers), but the second time was the charm (Intel drivers). After that it was basically just a matter of installing some fonts and choosing LXDE as my desktop environment.

Eventually my goal is to use this box as an FTP server and be rid of the windows partition completely. I need it for MSPowerPoint in the mean time, so until I can figure out a stable way to display slides I have to keep it. I've been trying to use Wine to install MSPowerPointViewer, but haven't had much success with it yet (guide). It's still very much a work in progress and I'm planning on reformatting the linux partitions I made and trying it again from scratch to get it right the first time.

I'm also still trying to get the hang of the Arch User Repositories for installing things like Packer.

Blast from the CCM past

I stumbled upon a song by the O.C. Supertones from 1999 that I used to listen to on repeat. The song is from their album Chase the Sun.
Nothing catchier than Christian Ska...

Constantly moving...comes to a halt

My roommates and I just completed one of the last parts of our move last night: arranging the kitchen!

It brings to a near-end the saga which began roughly two weeks ago. Our lease ended on July 27 (Saturday), but the new one didn't begin until August 1 (Thursday)...leaving us with no place of our own for a few days.

My dear brother sent me the most uplifting text at the news:

Haha so you're homeless. bummer

Yes, we were homeless. But not to fear, for our new roommate was the fortuitous renter of a townhouse in the same complex we lived in and happened to have a roommate recently vacate.

• Stage 1: Move everything from our place in boxes and other such packing shenanigans, to the empty room on Thursday and Friday nights and cram as much furniture as possible into the interstices while still keeping his place livable for his remaining roommate...mostly successful.


• Stage 2: Apartment preparation and waiting period. We managed to schedule our required carpet cleaning for the morning of the last day we were on the lease, not noticing that we were required to be out and have keys turned over by 10am that day.
  
  After a last minute scramble, we got an extension from our complex until 4pm (latest possible) and had the carpet cleaned just in time. Other things cleaned at the last minute: oven (probably burned out my lungs with the lye in the cleaner and a too-hot oven), fridge, upstairs bathroom, downstairs bathroom (remembered at 3:40pm) and range. We turned in the keys at 3:59pm.
  
  Anything we get back on our deposit will be icing on the cake at this point, since we took the lease over after a few years of damage from the previous tenants (fridge was oil-orange, cabinet doors perpetually greasy etc.) and they left us the deposit money.


• Stage 3: The second move began on August 1, after work. We rented a truck for a few hours, which I had overly much fun driving. It took us just two trips:
  1. large furniture
  2. boxes, boxes, boxes
  with some great help from our new roommate's former roommate.
  
  The lion's share of the move was over at this point, with all of our stuff in the new location (sans a few boxes).

Since then it's been the slow process of clearing floors and re-arranging. My own room was mostly done last Saturday (day following the mass move), and Nate and I had a good start on the kitchen as well.

This brings us to last night (Wednesday, 6 days post move) with the last phase of cabinet filling and utensil placing, mentioned at the start of the post...I'm just so glad it's over and that I can rest when I get home.

Lewis speaks

Its strange to have read a great deal about someone and never heard them speak. Not so strange that it's uncommon, but strange for a figure such as C.S. Lewis. Lewis was a prolific Christian writer and apologist who passed away in 1963. His writing is known by many, but his voice by relatively few.

I found a treasure trove of Lewis audio online though from the Gospel Coalition. If you enjoy his writing and want to hear the apostle to skeptics for yourself I would recommend checking it out.

His accent sounds exactly like what I think of as the prototypical British man in the 1950s. He could just as well be narrating a video clip about some scientific phenomenon or study. I like it.

Goodbye again Grandma Split

I said goodbye to my Grandma Split again this weekend. Home for a wedding, I stopped by her room with my mum and sister, to visit her and Grandpa, who hadn't left her side in days. We talked with Grandpa for an hour or so, and I held her hand and stroked it while listening to her labored breathing. She never opened her eyes, and to be honest I was kind of glad, because the lifeless stare would have been through her eyes, but it wasn't her anymore. I told her I loved her, and that I was back from Pennsylvania to visit her. They said she could hear us, so we talked to her, and with Grandpa too.

Alzheimers had already robbed Grandma of her mind years ago and it had now come back to take her life. It still hasn't quite hit me that she's passed and gone now, but when it does I'll grieve again. I'll grieve for the finality and to know that all of which was her is gone, save what lingers in our memories and the pictures that captured her in time.

I can remember Sunday dinner at their home with the pot roasts, potatoes and gravy, beans and corn with pepper sprinkled over them. I can remember going to her house while mum worked and coloring with her, playing in the den with the shag carpet under her watchful eye while she sometimes played the piano. I remember the camping and the crocheting and the puzzles, crossword and 1000 piece alike. I remember impossibly good baked beans at picnics. I'm thankful for all that I can remember, and I remember grieving with her when memory became hard.

Hers was the story of a dutch girl from Iowa who moved with her family to Grand Rapids and went to Grand Rapids Christian HS when it was the only 'Christian High' in the area and so deserved the moniker. A beautiful young Maliepaard bride, she married my dashing Grandpa and started a family, raising four children and knowing the heartbreak of losing another. Not an extraordinary story, but a true story and a good story. Her story is of faithfulness, faith and family that she carried on her back in an unassuming manner. Her story is echoed and carried on in the hearts of all the honeybunches that she had and held and loved, and who loved her back, and in Grandpa's heart for over 60 years.

Grandma won't get posthumous awards or prizes (as far as I know). Her quiet story is one of many like it but that doesn't make it any less unique or powerful.

Her confusion is gone now. Grandma's not concerned about when she'll go home, or about where home is any more. She is home now. Her mind is at rest with the knowledge of her Savior and she's in his presence. Her mind isn't worn and torn anymore--it's been fixed and renewed.

We love you Grandma and we miss you. We're glad you have your mind back and that it's better than it ever was. We love you bunches and we remember you as the vibrant, creative woman of God you were always meant to be.


I was able to get the audio of her funeral service in which I read this. It was beautiful and it's still a little hard for me to listen to, but it means a lot, so I think it's worth sharing. My cousin plays the piano starting at 22:20. I try my best to read this post at 24:55 and my brother and sister play piano and viola at 28:25.

The north lawn was a letdown

I saw the President's house on Saturday for the first time in person. I was not impressed.

This is roughly what I saw (mouse-over for expectation):


I guess the north lawn is fine, but I was expecting the south lawn, and not to see a street sweeper on the driveway...It all seemed very pedestrian and not suited for a person of the presidential station. Ah well, all things considered, we put the Executive and family up pretty well.

I learned earlier today that the official residence of the South Korean head of state is called the Blue House (Cheongwadae is literally: pavilion of blue tiles). Pretty cool I guess. The grounds are hella tight (below):

Guilty pleasures on repeat

So...I have no shame, and wanted to share it.

My anthems the last couple of days have been 22 by Taylor Swift, Falling in Love by 2NE1 and Bloom by Ga-In.

I dare you to tell me these songs aren't hooky...ridiculously so. And to be honest, I've needed some upbeat music lately.

Also, who's ever heard a Kpop-Reggae-Hiphop track lately that was better than Falling in Love? Ok, it might be the first of its kind.

This strikes me as something that I shouldn't share...I'll be over there fighting a shark to prove I'm still a man, if you need me.

Hiphop recommendations Summer 2013 [Part 2]

My favorites don't really have a theme, don't come from one language, and aren't all that alike. But they're some of my favorites. And they're not even all hiphop. Seeed is reggae/dancehall, for example. I don't put much stake in genre designations though since bands can be described in so many different ways (and hate being pegged to whatever genre is generally agreed upon that they are anyway).

I've been compiling some of my favorite songs for years now really, but it's time to write a little post about them and why they appeal to me. I envision this as a series moving forward that I'll update when I hit 7 or 8 new songs I've discovered. Here is the second part of the first installment (Part One):

10. Cali Swag District -- Teach Me How to Dougie (2011)
    

    This is a perfect dance number, dougie or not. The west coast knows how to draw the females and make the dudes jealous, that much is certain :P. The song and concept are pretty simple, but it really makes me want to dougie...
    The actual dance is an enigma to me, not really surprisingly I suppose. C-Smoove and Yung make it look so easy and effortless. I wouldn't dream of messin' with Bubba's dougie.

11. Lupe Fiasco ft. Talib Kweli -- After All (2008)
    

    Lupe put this out as part of a mixtape with a ton of collaborations. For some reason this track feels a little overproduced, but it ends up working on the whole. The lyrics are pretty deep and draw on a lot of Biblical imagery. I interpret it as a foray into how people derive meaning, drawing on his own thoughts on death and "the end."
    
    LF is a brilliant lyricist and I particularly enjoyed his work on this track, and on his album Lasers.

12. The Coup -- Cars & Shoes (1998)
    

    This seems to be a little deviant from the Coup's typical political rapping, but who cares, because it's hilarious.
    
    Boots expounds on the fact that though his car is a complete lemon, you can walk or you can get in...his car is still better than your shoes, since you don't have one. The jazz flute really completes the delight that I draw from listening to the hilarious lyrics of this track and its über-funky beat. You might put your foot through the floor, might have to use your shoulder to close the door, but my car is still better than your/my shoes.

13. A Tribe Called Quest -- Can I Kick It? (1990)
    

    The Tribe is one of my favorite groups as mentioned before. I think the obvious answer to this song is, "Yes!"
    
    This track is the epitome of early 90's rap with dat funky beat. The music video has charm in spades. It just seems right that Phife Dawg and Q-Tip would just be hanging around, spittin' and asking the same question over and over...yes, yes you can kick it. Please, please, please continue kickin' it.

14. Macklemore & Ryan Lewis -- Thrift Shop ft. Wanz (2012)
    

    My friend and former housemate Adam turned me on to this in December 2012 when I was back home on vacation. At that point it had already been out for a few months (August 28 debut).
    
    It's got mad hooks, a lively sax part, it's a tongue in cheek indictment of consumerism and the beat reminds me of the Fresh Prince theme song. What's not to love? The man can rap, teach and entertain. Haggerty even uses his music to support causes like equal marriage rights, atypical in the rap/hiphop scene.

15. The Coup -- The Guillotine (2012)
    

    Boots is rapping about the power the people have to take down the ruling class, alluding heavily to the French Revolution. He's been clear about his views as a communist, and in search of those pulling the strings behind the Oz-like curtain. He goes after the puppet masters in the track and music video with some very cool imagery.
    
    My favorite magazine, Wired, did an interview with Riley when the video debuted, talking about how the themes of the song fit with his involvement in the Occupy movement.

16. A Tribe Called Quest -- Bonita Applebum (1990)
    

    It's difficult not to include a couple songs from the Tribe on any list...so why fight it.
    
    Bonita is one of the Tribe's well known hits, about a very shapely and seemingly specific young woman.
    
    My favorite line from Q-Tip in this is, "Chairman of the board, chief of affections." The poor Tip seems so smitten that, despite his superficial pleading and desire, I just hope she puts him on.

17. Urbanize (de) -- Glaub an Dich (2008)
    

    This track is ridiculously positive. It repeats that no matter what the world does to you or throws at you, you're still believed in, and you still got this! You've nothing to lose, have courage. :) Sometimes it's nice to hear folks rapping about more than just how awesome they are.

18. Ludacris -- Get Back (2004)
    

    This is a guilty pleasure of mine. I can distinctly remember walking home in high school, after Science Olympiad with this running through my head. I was a pretty angsty teen, so this was probably my anthem, being applied to jocks or something like that.
    
    The song isn't very compelling, since Luda appears to be merely expressing annoyance at yuppies in the club, since he's soooo cool. Kudos to him for doing this ridiculous MTV video with the huge hands. At very least it's a nostalgia enabler.

Head to Part One if you're interested.

Yesterday...

all my troubles seemed to never leave
now it looks as though they've partly gone
Oh, I believe in each new day.

It was kind of comically hilarious how badly yesterday went. It started with a meeting in the morning, frenetic work in the afternoon, couldn't see my girlfriend, was punctuated with an awesome respite celebrating a birthday, then sunk to a super-low immediately before bed, when I realized that I had to present at group meeting in the morning, and hadn't prepared anything yet...

I fell asleep dreading the early morning prep.

The prep came, the prep went, and the presentation went better than expected.

I'm alive, no worse for the wear, and here's a delightful video you should watch.

Lazy man changes bike tube!

Last October I was riding my bike to campus, like I had finally gotten in the habit of, when my rear tube popped due to puncture, going up a hill.

Fast-forward over many months of laziness to this evening, July 7, 2013 (I finally went to the bike shop last week and picked up a couple of tubes and borrowed some tire levers from an office-mate this week). I was ready, if I wanted to actually take the time. Strangely, I had never changed my own bike tube before, despite having toured Michigan by bike on the Five UP route of the DALMAC in 2010.

It had actually been hanging over me for a while, that pesky little fact of ineptitude in bike repair. No matter though. With some extra time on a quiet Sunday evening, punctuated by the patter of rain on my back porch, I got to work. To youtube!

Inexperience and laziness had conspired to deprive me of many cycling moons...but that ended tonight thanks to the amazing and oh-so-practical video embedded below.

Lucius -- How Loud Your Heart Gets

Radiolab was at the Solid Sound Festival recently and discovered the Brooklyn based band Lucius, which they shared in a recent update to the podcast.

Give them a listen, they're fantastic and soulful and only have one mustache, to their credit, as far as I can tell.

UPDATE: i just had the most lovely opportunity to see them at Calvin last night (5/3/19 sponsored by SAO) and they were as wonderful, talented, and mesmerizing in person. didn't even know they were going to play there but Paula snagged a ticket at the last minute and invited me. Peter played a little Metallica while Jess was talking during an intro and it was freaking adorable.

Hiphop recommendations Summer 2013 [Part 1]

My current favorites don't really have a theme, don't come from one language, and aren't all that alike. But they're my favorites nonetheless. And they're not even all hiphop. Seeed is reggae/dancehall, for example. I don't put much stake in genre designations though since bands can be described in so many different ways (and hate being pegged to whatever genre is generally agreed upon that they are anyway).

I've been compiling some of my favorite songs for years now really, but it's time to write a little post about them and why they appeal to me. I envision this as a series moving forward that I'll update when I hit 7 or 8 new songs I've discovered. Here is part 1 of the first installment (Part Two):

1. Rammellzee vs K-Rob -- Beat Bop (1983)
   

   I came across this song more recently, on an episode of Bullseye with Jesse Thorn and Andrew Noz (#8 is also from this episode). This track is seminal and has a story concerning an argument between two graffiti artists, which you can get from wikipedia if you're interested. The thing I love about it initially is the unusual syncopation and eclectic beat borrowing from disco.
   
   Digging into the lyrics we hear K-Rob first, rapping about life in New York city and the "moral joke" that some make out of life. He speaks in his verses about the prospects for young people and the pervasiveness of crime. Yet despite all the prostitution, violence, gang life and substance abuse Rob mentions, he concludes hopefully that "it's not too late to straighten up so give [him] a break."
   
   Rammellzee on the other hand plays the role of a pimp and represents the darker side of New York life. His verses are seemingly much less organized, though still strongly thematic. Ram is constantly drawing attention to his prowess as a lyricist and street cred though in a very scattered, battle-esque fashion, fitting for his rivalry with Jean-Michel Basquiat. His stream-of-consciousness style contrasts with K-Rob's verses, gives the track a twist and lets the listener decide for themselves what to make of the interplay between the two.

2. Eric B. & Rakim -- Paid in Full (1987)
   

   I'm not sure where I heard this one first. My guess is from Bullseye or the Sound of Young America, but I can't find a reference to it anywhere on MaxFun, so I'm going to attribute it to a random youtube related video find.
   
   I really like Paid in Full because of the large variety that it samples from. It sounds like "World" music, yet has a sweet 80's beat circulating throughout and grounding the lyrics. It feels like a complete cultural experience, more than just a song. Plus, you've got Rakim spitting.

3. A Tribe Called Quest -- Check the Rhime (1991)
   

   I originally got into the Tribe from listening to an interview by Jesse Thorn (again) with Michael Rapaport, who made a documentary about the group.
   
   This was one of the first Tribe songs I listened to over and over again. The track opens with a jazzy riff, into a discourse between Q-Tip and Phife that's not overstated, and expounds on the lyricism that sets them apart from other MCs. "So just clean out your ears and just check the word."
   
   [Michael Rapaport interview]
   

4. The Cool Kids -- Mikey Rocks (2008)
   

   Mikey Rocks was my one of my first forays into rap on my own. One of my college roommates heard me listening to it one day and turned me on to Nas, B.I.G. and a host of other amazing MCs and hiphop artists.
   
   At the time, Mikey Rocks had one of the simplest yet most intriguing beats that I had heard, which is what drew me to it. It drips with distortion and gives Reed and Ingersoll ample shelf space to deposit some intricate rhymes.

5. Killer Mike -- Reagan (2012)
   

   I got into Killer Mike when my cousin Matt (I love his taste in music, so I usually check out anything he's listening to) mentioned that he was coming, or had done a show in Grand Rapids (my hometown). He had a longer list of bands, but Killer Mike appealed to me most, based off the tracks from those artists I listened to.
   
   Killer Mike is often called a political or even hyper-political rapper. Mike himself says,

   "I’m a social commentator and at times people have politicized the things I say, but I don’t care too much for any political party. I care about people."

   I would tend to agree with him. His rapping in Reagan is very political, but he comes out against both sides, criticizing Reagan, the Bushes, Clinton and Obama for attacking Qaddafi and for being pawns in the hands of those that hold the real power.
   
   Conspiracy theories notwithstanding, this song is how I learned about the Iran-Contra affair (gulp), so it may be worth a listen on that fact alone. The lyrics punch, carried with a beat that builds in complexity and depth...and conspiracy.

6. Seeed -- Dickes B [de] (2001)
   

   I first heard this song in my German 101 class in college. Peter Fox later became my favorite German musician. I love the work he does with Seeed as well.
   
   He sings/raps about his love of Berlin on this track--the dark, rough beauty of the concrete city. It truly is a beautiful place, in its own unique "concrete jungle" way, and this song does justice to the artists, people and culture that call it home.

7. Talib Kweli -- Ms. Hill (2005)
   

   Ms. Hill has a very R&B feel. It also samples Ben Kweller pretty heavily without giving credit...oops.
   
   Kweli is heavily supportive of Lauryn Hill in this album, while still poking fun at some of the things she's said and done (insisting on being called Ms. Hill). He chronicles some of the important moments in her life on tour and expresses concern, wishing he could be there to help her. It was written at a pretty low point in Hill's life; the positivity is in stark contrast to the criticism she was receiving at the time from Fugees bandmates and for her erratic behavior on tour.
   
   The song is technically from a mixtape, though it was pretty widely distributed.

8. DJ Quik ft. Ludacris -- Pacific Coast (remix) (2005)
   

   I'm not going to even try to analyze this one, because Jesse and Andrew Noz already have better than I could due to their knowledge of the scene.
   
   I do like the very West-coast feel of the track, and Quik's descriptive, darker version of L.A. It's very real.

9. Urbanize (de) -- Warten auf Dich [de] (2007)
   

   This track has a very different sound from the rest that I've listed. It's very melancholy and about someone pining after their lover/partner. They'll always be there waiting.
   
   Is this track a little sappy? Yes. Do I care? Not so much. Sometimes you need a corny sappy song. This is that song.
   
   Also, Urbanize is pretty on point with their fan interactions. I sent their page a facebook message (below) asking who the female vocalist was in "Warten auf Dich" since they've worked with a couple of them, but nothing is said about anyone at the beginning of their career.
   

   Ich hab, bitte, eine Frage fuer euch ueber "Warten auf Dich."
   Wer singt mit euch? War's Candy Hammerschmidt, oder?
   Vielen, vielen Dank. Finde euch ganz toll!
   Von U.S.,
   Steve

   Roman sent me a very nice response (below) within 2 hours!
   

   Warten auf Dich war nicht Candy, nein.
   In der Pitchversion war's ich selbst (Roman), in der Vocal Version eine Sängerin, aber nicht Candy.
   Vielen Dank für deine Mail, ist toll sowas zu lesen :)
   LG Roman

   He didn't give her identity, but confirmed that it was neither of the two well known singers, so my guess is she was a background singer that the producer Martin de Vries brought in after their original single received chart attention. Kudos to Urbanize. LG an euch alle.

Head over to Part Two for the second half.

I'm no fisherman, but I'd love to be fishing, man

This memory of mine does not take place at Lake of the Clouds, pictured above. That lake is some miles west, in the Porkies.

The point of fishing is rarely ever about the fish themselves. Granted, the taste of pan-fish in the fryer after a long day is enough for me to toy with remaining north of the Bridge for the rest of my days. Expansive, clean, clear woodlands lie in the U.P., constantly calling to trolls such as myself.

One of many chances I've been given to explore the exquisite north was during high school, on a fishing trip with a good friend of mine and his father. Outside of traveling and camping with my family I hadn't spent much time with friends or classmates on trips. The feeling of being invited was fantastic in itself, pristine location notwithstanding.

Typically, when traveling long distances, my constant companion was the Gameboy Advance--an electronic siren. Our drive through the lower peninsula consisted of copious amounts of Advance Wars 2 and Super Smash Bros. thanks to a robust cigarette lighter. This combo got us through much of the nondescript farmland in mid-Michigan. Until you get roundabout Cadillac, there's not much special to observe on the interstate, but boy-o does it increase in majesty northwards. There is something magical about the drive up north. I've done it with many people over the years: family and friends, during the summer, winter and spring, but each time it feels like I'm going back to a place of special belonging, where more exists than can be observed. The unseen is the history and lore, the French, Natives and British, our family's camping over twenty years, the experiences that pile high and anew, during each unique foray...and the Gameboy.

The energy, building in the aether, climaxes at a very specific point, some miles south of the peninsular apex. Necks crane, non-driving activity stops and eyes strain to behold the sight of sights. We've been trained over the years for one task alone--to see the Bridge first. I have it down to which overpass I need to start paying attention at, and wait patiently for this concrete signpost to show me the way to victory. It rarely fails (provided you remember which overpass it is). I remember craning to see the bridge on this particular trip and being overzealous in my prediction of when it would appear. So anxious to show that I knew the area well, I fell flat on my face. The feeling faded quickly though, because while I was wrong, we were still on the way north.

We passed through the city fairly quickly, stopping briefly for some KFC, before our passage over the deep-emerald, diamond encrusted waters that are the Straits. The shoreline is rocky and sandy, beige in color--clean and transparent, sand covered over completely by myriad stones. It deepens near the first tower, changing from jade to malachite and back again, passing over the span, beneath which barges and freighters travel on their watery highway.

The land rises quickly into St. Ignace proper, the last bastion of civilization and ubiquitous fast-food, before the vast nothing, dotted by towns named after French explorers, missionaries and colonialists. Mere minutes on the road and the city is left behind, miles of pine bordered highway ahead to gaze at, and wildlife to scan for. The trees rise as sentinels along the road, home to bird nests and cover for deer to bed under during the heat of the afternoon.

Once you're in the U.P. and driving along, the miles tend to look alike, and you drive along very, very straight stretches of concrete. The car sets a constant, ceaseless beat as the tires pass over each separate segment of road. There's very little to cause the road to bend along its trajectory. The occasional lake and pond will cause some deviation, but little else is in the way of whatever destination you might have in mind. And it's flat. Until you meet the Porcupine Mountains in the west, you might confuse the U.P. for a Nebraska, producing large Christmas trees instead of corn and grains.

Towns (more properly villages) dot the road, appearing just when you think you had already passed the last bit of tamed land in the world an hour ago. Many are merely collections of hunting and fishing cabins, but true Yoopers you will find in and among those who call civilization in the south home.

We walked into a tiny diner in town to "pay da Yooper who mows da lawn in da summer, before headin' to da house, eh?". My friend's dad asked to whom he owed money, and the whole diner lit up, each man there making the same claim to the money. There were no women if I remember correctly. Yooper women are like the Entwives, they cannot be found.

We could have been doing anything at all in the U.P. for those few days. It so happens that of fishing, hiking, disc golfing, biking, swimming, canoeing or any of a host of pursuits common to the area in the summer, we had chosen to fish. Fishing, of the sort we did, consisted of sitting in a boat on a beautiful lake all day (often falling asleep), in the sun and in the shade, waiting for bluegill, bass and other sun/panfish to happen upon our lines. We would routinely bring in 15-30 fish per outing, from the littler lakes, and have delicious fried supper of them at night. I can't underscore enough how delicious some fresh perch, bluegill and bass taste, after you've spent the day catching them on an inland lake in the U.P. with tall pines rising up next to you on shore, and a fresh breeze cooling your sweat covered face on a sunny afternoon.

The spruce, jack and white pines unfurl their spiny umbrellas and carpet the ground with prickly rust that feels soft beneath your feet. It's carpet for a king and queen and whole court of woodland creatures.

The big lake has fish in abundance as well, and different customs by which she's approached and fished in. We go north to Superior for the day to catch walleye in a bay near the Keweenaw peninsula. Walleye are a completely different animal from the small panfish we were hunting before. They're larger and live nearer the bottom, in deep water. Not caught merely by dropping down a line and hoping they'll see it, we troll for them. Our boat constantly, slowly, smoothly moves, back and forth across the water. The surface is grey, like the clouds above. The overcast sky is welcome to burned skin, though the life preservers still chafe, even over shirted backs. Our lines go deep, weighted by a variety of sinkers in all sizes and shapes, to keep the thin translucent cord in the deep water. Again, I fall asleep. At the time I'm a little ashamed to be falling asleep, but my future self wishes to be back there, asleep in the boat, floating on one of the greatest lakes, without a care.

My friend catches a walleye that day. It's exciting! The fish is much greater in size and feisty on the line. It took a few tense minutes of fighting and clever line work to reel in and must have been 5 feet long! The aquatic craniate's will is not honored that day and we pull it into the net alongside the boat...success! (In addition to the success that having the time to spend fishing for fun already is.) We spend hours out on the water, but have only one big hit, one dose of excitement to punctuate the wonderful monotony. His dad later filets the finned beast to freeze at home for delectable winter meals.

After a few days, our time north comes to a close and we must leave. We must go back to our lives and our jobs, the suburbs and the cities, the cars and the noise. However, no matter how far south one may go, the North, her fish, her timber and her lakes ceaselessly beckon.

the day when everything fails

That day sneaks up on you in seeming delight. It finds you after you've actually eaten breakfast, maybe worked out a bit at home. The day lies in wait above your head as you sit in group meeting, giving advice to a new graduate student, about their candidacy presentation they'll give in August.

First, the air conditioner isn't working in the cell culture room. "No matter" you think, we'll just flip the breaker like usual. "Aha!" shouts the day, "not so easily, this time."

"Well" you muse, "maybe I can use the hoods later if the humidity decreases..." Responding before you can catch your breath, the refrigerator/freezer cries out "I'M NOT GOING TO WORK TODAY!! YOU NEED TO EMPTY ME AND LET ME THAW! H4H4H4!"

That escalated quickly...suddenly a day of work turns into damage control. "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!" you shout, as your feet leave the ground, leaping into the air from atop the precipice of productivity. And you pray for an updraft. And wings. Pray for the wings first.