back-to-back… that might be too much…

But man, have I got something for you!

I was thinking of this issue anyway, and it came up as I was looking on Facebook (new wedding photos.  There is no man that looks bad in a tuxedo).

This was the advertisement I saw:

Alright, there are a couple things about this:

1. If being lazy and rich would require me to look like that guy, I’m out.  I’ll take hard-working and poor.
2. $1000 a day, for filling out surveys?  We all know that’s obviously the catch, and hence why this is RIDICULOUS.
3. But yet it finds airtime on Facebook, which, relatively of course, is reputable?

something of an update

So yeah.  Sorry about my extended absence.  It’s not that I haven’t thought about blogging or anything.  It’s that this hasn’t been a priority of late.  Which it should be, mostly because it helps me think in a more stripped down sort of way.

And if what I’ve seen in culture is any example, people for some reason love hearing other people’s thoughts.

So, the 10 of you who still read my blog, let me “drop some knowledge” if you will.

1. I am going to Ohio State in the fall to pursue Urban Planning: I was accepted to Penn and OSU, and chose OSU on account it’s $40,000 cheaper and encourages internships (theoretical knowledge + pragmatic experience = best learning in my opinion), but it’s for some reason this move is more daunting than any other.  I think because I’ve been in Columbus a grand total of, oh, 48 hours, and to commit to being someplace for 2 years seems daunting.  But it isn’t much different than Erie, three years ago.  It just all feels different.  There’s something about not being thrusted out of something that makes it harder to go.   I didn’t have to leave Gannon.  No one else is.  It’s just me.  But I know, to the best of my knowledge, that this is what I’m supposed to do, what God wants.  And I have to do what I’ve done before - take a few steps in faithful service every day, and I will be fine.
2. I am madly in love with Melissa Keen: She knows it, too.  And I know it.  We’ve been dating about 7 months, and I don’t see an end in sight.  Why?  Well, we just click.  There’s something nice about meeting someone who thinks your idiosyncrasies are cute, and well, you find theirs adorable too.  Sure, we’ve argued about things, I got mad at her (well, like half mad, once, for like 30 seconds), she’s gotten mad at me, but after all of it, we seem to grow.  I keep thinking to myself “this is how it’s supposed to be, right?” Well, I think so, minus the she’s in Philly/I’m going to be in Columbus/dang it that’s 9 hours away(but1:30hoursonaplaneGOSOUTHWEST!)/still we’re too far away thing.  But we will be together.  This distance is temporary.  Someday, if we stay together, we will live next to each other, and then we’ll live in the same house.  On days that she feels much too far, this is a comforting thought.  Plus, a reminder that there are seasons for everything under the sun, and this time apart only helps us not take for granted when we are together, and not take for granted all the fundamental things that sustain a good relationship - communication, deep appreciation for each other, and little things that show that you love someone.  So hey, Melissa?  If you read this, I love you.  So much.
3. Phil Kondas is married.  Wow.
4. I have a Master’s Degree in Higher Education (almost): I’ve completed all the requirements save about 12 pages of work.  I’ve never struggled with something more in my life.  A few pages on my thesis and a paper about worldview.  How about that.  I’ve already written better than 500 words of junk on my blog, which would easily fill a page two pages in an essay.  Which leads me to believe that I’m being lame, and should be writing my thesis.  Instead I’m writing here.
5. I still think about subjects.  I’ll start writing about those again soon.
6. Head, heart, hands was one of the most enjoyable things I did at Gannon.

Anyway, I think that’s it for now.  I’ll write my Methodology and some of my Findings tonight.  Let’s say I won’t wait multiple months before putting something on here again, ok?

head, heart, hands: american slavery

27,000,000 people right now as we speak are slaves in the world.

27,000,000. That’s a lot. Texas has somewhere around 23,000,000 people. That means that the entirety of Texas plus Kentucky are enslaved somewhere around the world. They’re enslaved in the sex trade, they’re enslaved in the fields, and they’re enslaved in restaurants all over, and in fact right in front of us.

This is something that shocks me. To live in 2008 and to have all of the gifts and benefits that we have, and there’s people right next to me that very well might be unable to be free. That’s wild.

It begins to make me wonder about my freedom. I think that I’m free. I woke up this morning, got breakfast, wrote this article, went to lunch, did some more work, met with some people, and later I’ll do more work and go to bed. This is my decision; I could do nothing today if I wanted to, and it’s my choice.

And I suppose it’s become my choice to sell myself, too. This morning, when I had coffee, it was Starbucks coffee. I went to lunch at Bob Evans. I’m wearing an Old Navy Sweater and Jeans. I’m addicted to selling myself to things that I want and I like.

This is not to minimize the current amount of slavery, but I really wonder if, ultimately, any of us are really free. How many of us aren’t bonded by something else.

I graduated from Grove City College with a degree with Marketing, and if there’s something I remember most in our discussions there about being a good marketer, it was that if we kept going, we’d be given a lot of power. We’d have a power of influence in people’s lives. An influence in a part of people’s lives that’s particularly important – your money and what you want. The average American is bombarded by 3,000 advertisements a day, or roughly one every 20 waking seconds. My job, as a marketer, is to make my 20 seconds stand out in your mind the most. If you want my product, you’ll buy it, and I’ll make money, find products I want and buy them from another marketer.

What enslaves us to this system, I think, is that we really don’t need half of the stuff we have, we just think we do. I know this to be true on a personal level, as my emergency food supply also known as my love handles are testament to. Marketers, as part of the equation, make me believe my wants are absolute needs, and I, like lamb to the slaughter, gladly put my money down to take what they’re selling. I even know they’re doing this, yet if it’s sexy and sleek and makes me feel better, I’ll take it.

This last week I just got back from New York City, and Times Square. Over and over again, the people with me commented on how what a den of consumerism it is. So many towering, luminous lights telling me I need WaMu, CNN, and Avenue Q. Meanwhile, there’s 27,000,000 people enslaved. I wonder if one of those pre-teen girls enslaved right now in Indonesia in the sex trade were brought to Times Square if she’d be so impressed with Washington Mutual, or if she’d just be happy that she was standing on 46th and Broadway free.

In my mind, the saddest state of slavery are those who are enslaved and don’t even know it.

the God sessions, vol i

Head, Heart, Hands: God

So for the last semester and the beginning of the semester, I’m written about a lot of different things. I like that. There’s a lot of things worth talking about. Whether we talk about riding a bus, dating someone, breaking up with someone, getting mad about laundry, it’s all about life, and the pursuit of living it well. In fact, there’s isn’t much I haven’t talked about, except perhaps one thing you’d expect me to talk about: God.

This was intentional. It wasn’t like I left my Jesus bias at home when I wrote to you. In fact, I think I wrote about God each time I wrote in the Knight, but I didn’t feel it necessary to make mention of Him. That’s one of my favorite things about God, actually, that I think He’s just as obvious in the times you don’t see Him – but that’s another article, and I don’t want to give any of you too much.

Anyway, so I made the decision over the next few weeks to talk about God a little more overtly. But, before I get into some of things I want to talk about, I want to make some ground rules.

First, by and large, when I write to you, I’m not going to try to “convert” you to or from anything. If you are going to choose to make some drastic lifestyle change from a few hundred words in a University newspaper, I’d rather it not be mine. Instead, I’m going try to give you some perspective.

Some of you have been doing the Jesus thing for many years, and that’s great. I can give you perspective from someone who’s right there with you. Maybe you’ve started to wonder how God fits into your daily purchases: does God care about your toilet paper purchase, for instance. Important, I know.

Some of you have been doing the Jesus thing for just a little, and that’s great, too. I can give you some perspective from someone who’s been doing this a little longer, and maybe took the same path you did. Maybe you’ve started to wonder how God fits into your daily purchases, too: does God really care about whether I get five or fifteen beers, for instances. Also important.

Finally, someone of you aren’t doing the Jesus thing. Sometimes it doesn’t fit your worldview, sometimes you were really hurt from someone who said they loved God, but it didn’t seem to add up in their actions. I can give you some perspective from someone who really does love this God person, but loves you too, and would love nothing more than just sit and talk to you about what you think about God. You might not wonder how God fits in your daily purchases, but at least maybe you wonder why it matters to someone else. This is also important.

If you have been hurt by someone who a Christian, let me say I’m sorry, too. Christians can be hurtful and petty and silly. It’s part of being human, unfortunately.

Finally, let me say that I’m not here to necessarily to say what you want to hear. I hope you’re happy after reading what I said, but ultimately I don’t have the time or energy to placate you. Nor do I want to. So it’s possible you love God, too, and still be mad at me. That’s fine. Facebook me and let me know. I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll talk. I guarantee it.

riding the bus

I like to ride the bus. Erie, for a mid-sized city, does a good job creating bus routes that go to important places. The M buses, for example, all go to the mall from Perry Square, and the 30 bus goes from Perry Square to Giant Eagle on 12^th Street. Often, if I’m not on a schedule, I like to take the bus to get my groceries and relax at Panera when I need to read.

When I ride the bus, I don’t see many of you. In fact, I hardly see anyone like me on the bus, either. It turns out most white guys in their mid-20s with a car don’t choose to ride the bus. Inevitably, then, the people who ride the bus in Erie are those who ride it out of necessity. Maybe the person in the first seat doesn’t have a car. The woman in the back can’t afford the car she has, and the guy next to you only has one car and his wife is using it. In any of those cases, something makes it impossible for them to use anything else but their car.

That doesn’t mean they’re poor, though. Right? I mean, many of you don’t have cars, and college students in America have the most expendable income of just about anyone in the world. I’m not poor, either. I own a car, a laptop, a TV, a fancy cell phone, and I have a good job that pays for all of it.

A couple of weeks ago, I was coming back from Giant Eagle on the 30 bus. The bus was turning off of 10^th Street onto State Street, and looked to my right and saw the new Erie Bank. Inside was a party celebrating the opening, and the individuals inside were the type of folks you’d expect to be at a grand opening of a bank: older gentleman in nice suits with pretty wives with champagne flutes in their hands. They stood in circles of three or four, and seemed politely interested in each other’s conversations, although not completely engrossed, either. Other people were walking around with hors d’oeuvres, doing their jobs and diligently as possible. As I sat in the bus, however, I noticed that not one of those guests looked outside. They didn’t need care about the world outside of their bank party: everything they needed was right there.

Then I looked to the people I was riding with. Each one of them had their eyes affixed on the bank scene. Sure, it could have been the thing to look at and a stop light, but the stares were deeper than that. Less of a desire of wanting to be in the bank, but more of wanting the ability to be in that bank in they choose to. Yet, they were separated, and sitting on the bus, it was pronounced. Between me and a man in the bank were the bus window, a good 10 feet of space outside, and another large window. So many barriers to people just like me, but totally different from me as well.

In just a few seconds the bus turned, and everyone went back to looking at what they were looking at before.

on ben folds, travis stevens, and their last legacy in my life

Travis introduced me to this album.  I’m a big Ben Folds fan, but at the time had never heard about his album Fear of Pop, Vol. 1.  It’s this side project he made in the 90s while starting out with the 5 (I think their self titled had just been released… maybe Naked Baby Photos too… I’m not too sure).  Anyway, it was as if Ben had a month and nothing to do, and made one gem of an album.

My favorite song?  A William Shatner/BF collaboration.  So priceless.  Here are the lyrics:

In Love

Original Artist: Ben Folds

I remember the night we met,
That night we sat entwined,
Under summer skies,
I looked into your eyes,
And you looked into mine.

You said “You’re not like the rest”,
And I nodded.
“No one understands me” you said,
And I nodded once again as if to agree,
That all men are indeed the same,
Somehow, you say, I was different.

For months on end I maintained a veneer of sincere interest,
As if I was listening as you relived every page of self-help and new age that you’d read,
And I went in for the kill,
I’d read the same books,
I learned to ape the motions of a sensitive human being,
And we were oh so happy,
But you found things to fix,
And I knew it was time to move on.

So now you have me completely figured out,
You feel sorry for me,
I can’t express my feelings,
I can’t tell the truth,
We are all alike,
At puberty I was sworn to secrecy by the international brotherhood of lying fickle males,
I can’t tell you anything,
And I can’t commit,
You’re right,
I can’t commit to you.

I will always treasure our time together,
I don’t feel enough of anything to harbour the kind of disdain that you’ll maintain,
You painted me into what you wanted to see,
That’s fine,
But you will never know me.

well, i’m not sure who i’m going to vote for yet…

…but I’m sure it won’t be Rudy Giuliani. Not only did I not like him in the debates after Iowa, but this might have done it:

Really? I mean, REALLY? You could have said “Yeah, when I divorced my wife that was hard”, but instead it was 9/11.

I’m getting more and more frustrated at the fact that the whole 9/11 thing has become nothing but parody. It’s one half Rudy’s fault and one half ours. First, Rudy has become a caricature. He’s playing the same thing over and over and over, showing that he’s the man who helped NYC through 9/11. Don’t get me wrong, he did a fine job, but consider all the help he had. Ray Nagin won’t be saying “Katrina, Katrina, Katrina”, and here’s the reason in his own words:

We authorized $8 billion to go to Iraq, lickity split. After 9/11, we gave the President unlimited powers, lickity split, to take care of New York and other places.

You mean to tell me that a place where most of your oil is coming through, a place so unique that when you mention “New Orleans” anywhere around the world, everybody’s eyes light up. You mean to tell me that a place where you probably have thousands of people who have died and thousands more are dying every day, we can’t get figure out a way to authorize the resources that we need.

I mean, I’m not one of those drug addicts. I am thinking very clearly. And I don’t know whose problem it is; I don’t know if it’s the governor’s problem or if it’s the President’s problem, but somebody needs to get their ass on a plane and sit down the two of them and figure this thing out right now.

Exactly. Rudy was given so many opportunities that he could have done nothing and still have been proclaimed as a hero. As a result, he’s running on that alone.

The worst part, though, is that we, as Americans have given him to think that’s a good idea. We want that caricature. Have we really slipped so far as to say “well, Mayor of NYC during 9/11 = good president”?

As I think about it, there seems to be two diverging cultures: the one that refuses to think, and the one that is cynical… I think the natural reactions from the last 6 years of 9/11 and the war in Iraq.

Anyway, before this becomes rambling, one more thing. Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert may be the best they’ve ever been right now, because it’s them. What I love most about Jon Stewart (if you’ve ever read this blog before, you know I love the guy), are the things he says outside of his show. Now, it’s just him, and he’s downright sardonic. Angry in the best way possible.

As much as I love the message of hope and change that Obama Obama and Edwards Democrats everyone is giving now, I think I still need to have someone who tells me that this world is still a little ridiculous.

Put another way, I love God a lot a lot a lot… but have you seen the platypus? Freaking crazy!

I’m going to try to write twice a week.

peace,

a

things seen and heard while working on a paper at starbucks, volume i

• Woman who had moon boots on walking as though there were six inches of snow at every step
• Child who exclaimed “that fire alarm!  It’s the same we have at our school!”
• A woman walk past me with a stroller, and then come back past me on the street without a stroller.
• Businessmen with audacious hats, including a Santa cap (who I just saw walk past me twice) as well as a really tacky wool cap.
• One of my students connecting with one of the older men I always see in here (Phil is his name).  It’s really loving, and not in a way that would creep you out.  Sort of like a grandfather to a granddaughter.
• A guy attempting to be flirtatious with the barista with a santa’s cap up.  It was a miserable attempt.
• The student mentioned didn’t recognize me.  I think it’s the facial hair.
• Phil saw someone else, and it turns out this other guy has a wife. Phil was overjoyed by it, because the man who was married didn’t seem like someone who would readily be married.

i hate ipods, vol ii

So last week, for what it probably the first time, I kind of got mean. Well, maybe not mean, I suppose. More like I just say as many sweet, inspirational things as I usually try to. When you open up to page 5 or 6, I want you to feel like every week there’s a guy there who is going to help you see things a little more brightly, a little more healthy, and maybe you become a little better as a result.

Last week, however, sparked something in me that I want to talk about for one more week, and then I’ll probably get back to more appealing topics, like finishing what I was going to talk about regarding grad schools.

We live in one of the most connected societies ever. If I had to get a hold of you for whatever reason, I have all sorts of options: I could write you here in the Knight, I could Facebook you, I could blog you, I could text you, I could email you, I could even send you a letter (but who does that any more).

Ironically, none of these require any sort of physical contact, which then makes me think that while we’re the most connected societies ever, we’re also one of the least connected. Which then makes me think about the iPod problem.

When I see more ears plugged with iPod than not, I can’t help but feel we’re destroying the last real places where we can contact each other: when we’re literally face to face. Again, this is not to say that I don’t love what any MP3 player can offer its owner. In an ironic twist of fate, I thought I had lost my iPod coming home from Philadelphia, but it turned out that it was just in my luggage. But still, I was a little sad. After all, I spent almost $200 on that device, and I have a hard time running without it.

It’s just at times I wonder if the one thing we want is the one thing we run away from. When I talk to my residents, my friends, and some of you folks out there, I sense the one thing you’re looking for is someone to listen to you. A friend. Someone to play racquetball with on Sunday afternoons, and maybe grab a beer and talk about life with. If I had a dollar for each person who has confided in my they’d like to get married sooner rather than later in order to share special moments and intimacy with I could retire now. That’s not even a joke.

People want to feel valued. Special. Last I knew, however, that meant actually talking to people. Not Facebooking them. Not blogging with them. It means face-to-face conversation beyond last weekend’s party.

These people are walking past you every day. Real connections are slipping by our hands because we’d rather draw into ourselves, disappearing from the world, when deep down, if we were honest, we rather talk to someone about how our day is going.

So I’ll make you all a deal. Next Tuesday, December 11^th, I’ll be sitting in Waldron at noon. Talk to me. I will ask you how your day is. I will find out something I don’t know about you. And I’ll connect with you. After all, I asked you to connect with someone instead of your iPod this Christmas. I’m making it easy on you.

i hate ipods, vol i

Welcome back my friends. As you’re getting settled again, for the second article in a row I’m writing from a train, going to a grad school, this time it’s the University of Pennsylvania and Ohio State back to back. I’m enjoying the scenery of industrial Pennsylvania, one coal field at a time.

And at times, that’s all I want to do. Just enjoy the scenery. But there are so many people. I decided for some reason (I blame it on having to board the train at 7:20 in the morning) to sit with in a four person area, meaning the two seats in my row face the people in front of me, which ultimately means instead of one person I now have to contend with three people, sitting no more than three feet away from me. Believe me when I say it doesn’t do much for the intimacy thing.

So right now, at two in the afternoon on Monday, I have three people around me: NYU journalism girl, Miami man, and Richmond. NYU journalism girl’s name is Amanda, but that’s the best I can remember.

Right now, if I were not writing this article about what I’m writing about, I’m fairly sure I’d love my headphones in, and draw into myself. There’s something much more secure and less vulnerable in putting my headphones in and being by myself. And that seems to be more and more what our culture wants from us, isn’t it? We should be more secure. We should be less vulnerable. The more we’re able to close up into ourselves, the better we are.

I see us doing that all the time at Gannon. Last week, when I was sitting on AJ’s Way as part of Box City, more people than I can remember navigated their way through the walkway via their iPods. It was as though they were ghosts, floating through the boxes as if they didn’t exist.

I find myself more frustrated by this day by day. And the reason why is seated around me. In the half hour I’ve been pecking away at this article, I’ve shared moments that I couldn’t have shared alone. I made eye contact with Amanda as Miami man asked Richmond man about his guitar, and if he had calluses on his hands. Miami man also glues his CDs together, making two-sided CDs in his player. Amanda went to Seton Hill and finds the transition to NYU difficult at times. Richmond wants to see his favorite band, Disco Biscuits, in Philadelphia but doesn’t have a car. It broke down in Maryland, and now he’s on the train.

I only have fifty minutes with these people, but I shared something with them. I lived life together with them and feel I’ve made 3 new friends, even if they are only single-serving friends.

You, my friends, have four years here, and yet many of you find it more worth your time to engage with pieces of silicon and aluminum than even so much as comment regarding the weather to the people you are paying to live with.

Try, as we approach Christmas, to talk to someone new. Take out your earbuds. There’s a world that is waiting for your ears. One that is more satisfying and real than the latest Radiohead album, and one that will mean more to you that the status your Nano brings.

And I promise that your iPod will be there. What I can’t promise is whether the people you choose to pass by will be.

thoughtful next steps

Usually when I write these articles, they’re idealistic and theoretical. Very rarely do I talk about pragmatic issues. This is for a purpose. While I’ve done plenty of things in my life and am always willing to give you advice, your situation is different than mine. I don’t know where you’ve come from, what you’re doing, and where you’re going. We all have similar ideals, however, and all deal with similar theories – the idea of growing through college, the theory of proper partying. However, I’m going to depart from that this week.

As I write this, I’m on a train between Boston and Albany, after being at Harvard for their Urban Planning open house. First, for those of you who may accuse me of being pretentious, let me assuage your concerns by saying I wasn’t more impressed than I think I should have been at the very first college in America. It looked like buildings, students, and professors. People were in sweatpants, going to class. While I may have seen a little more Burberry and Prada, I think that’s just part of being on the East Coast.

This whole grad school selection thing is a pain, let me tell you. First, I have to go to four schools because it’s good to diversify your options. Then I have to take the nigh-$200 GRE which I might bomb and then feel like an idiot over, and then applications at $75 a pop when hey, I don’t even spend $75 on groceries on a regular basis. Which means I’m going to eat more rice because I want to go to a school for urban planning.

I still find it worthwhile though, because it’s helping me take reasonable and thoughtful steps about my future. Last week I talked about struggle, and this grad school selection on top of work on top of another master’s degree is a struggle. If I’m being consistent with my convictions, then I’m making some sort of worthwhile progress as a result of my struggles. I think this hard work sets me up to do something that I’m supposed to be doing later. While I can’t assume that I have any right to control the complete trajectory of my life, I also can’t assume that my trajectory is just going to aim itself.

So I went to Harvard, and I liked it. It’s my far reach school of the four, and I think if accepted I could actually thrive there. I don’t think I’ve wasted any money on the train ride (as an aside, if you have the option to take a train somewhere, do it. It’s worth every penny, and the country side at ground level at 80mph is much more gratifying that 35,000 ft at Mach 1), and certainly not in networking and understanding my process more.

I’ll get into more of the pragmatic information for you next week, but I want to leave you with something, especially for those of you in this same hunt I am: this is worth your time. The search means something, the work is worth something. These processes have a way of refining us and helping us make meaning of our aforementioned trajectories. Even if I don’t go to Harvard, I’ve provided my life a better set of coordinates. This trip may have been the difference between landing softly or violently. In my mind, a soft landing is worth a 13 hour train ride.

you gannon people will laugh

Jesse and Ricardo are in Starbucks with me right now (and I think I’m hijacking someone’s wireless connection right now…) and arguing about Sacred Scripture work.   David, Elijah, Ahab, Jezebel… just arguing.

Is that all they do?  I feel like it is.

Anyway, they always make me smile.

much peace.

i became a little emotional over this one

I always enjoy posting PostSecret cards, and this one made me really happy:

I’m more and more convinced that if I don’t live my life serving people, I’m going to feel empty.  That’s melodramatic, but y’know, I have a gift at melodramaticism.

 

peace.

for the loyalists

So lately all I’ve been posting are my head, heart, and hands articles, which is a marked improvement from what I was doing, but I’ve been extremely inconsistent (or, if you look over the course of my blog, really consistent) in posting, and I’m sorry.  I had a gilded age there for awhile.

So this is for you who actually read this because you want to, not because it’s in a newspaper.

Gregg wanted to me journal about my life right now in my private journal, and each time I tried I felt nothing worth writing down.  This is usually the case when I have to write somewhere outside of my blog when it comes to me.  Ironically, I feel more comfortable speaking my life into the anonymity of the Internet rather than the privacy of my own journal… perhaps I missed my calling to journalism?

Here’s how I sum up where I am right now: I’m a senior in college all over again, but I feel like the stakes are 100 times higher.  When I decided on the CCO and Gannon, I had no fear of the next year.  I just assumed things would get worked out, and the did.  This time around, however, I have fear of things: what happens if I bomb the GRE?  What happens if I don’t get accepted into any of the schools I’m applying to?  How will I pay for it?  What am I going to do from May to August?

I don’t want to live a boring life.  As I’ve sat here and thought and prayed and reflected all week, there’s the answer.  I don’t want to live a podunk’d life.  It’s not that I’m craving to become extreme, but I fight so hard against my life becoming suburban tranquility, which in my mind is really just numbing oneself from the world even merely outside ones house (this, by the way, is not meant to be taken personally, lest you find it describes you).

I’ve also been thinking a lot about the way God loves us and how we should love ourselves that way.  And I wonder how much these two things become related.  As in, I wonder how much do I not want a podunk’d life because it gives me identity which I could get from God if I let Him.  That’s not a complete explanation though, because I’ve been thinking about many of the ideas I have now that I want to do for years.

I guess I don’t want to screw up and be wrong.  I don’t want to fail, and I certainly don’t want to be told that I’m a failure.  I’m coming at my life right now like I have something to prove to everyone.  How much am I going to miss if I keep trying to prove something?  How much am I going to not enjoy because I’m defending myself to myself?

I want to take steps with God and allow Him to put me faithfully in a position to serve.  I want to serve the poor in the city.  There are moments I see that being done with a Degree in Urban Planning.  At times I see that being done with a Seminary Degree and a church in the inner city.  At times I see a year doing Mission Year.  At times I see Teach for America.

Okay.  That’s enough for tonight.  Suffice it to say for the rest of my CCO buddies who are on the threshold of being done, I understand.

head, heart, hands: the price of illegal parking

So I would say almost the entire time I’ve been writing to you this year, I’ve tried to be as honest with you as possible. If I’m not, I will at some point expose myself as a liar, and you’ll end up not reading, and then I’m wasting a good hour of my life doing something that no one will see. I’ll write in my journal or play guitar or practice my interpretative dance moves instead. My hope is authenticity will keep you reading.

All of this to say that I have a doozie for you this week.

Walker Apartments were I am the RD is on the corner of 7th and Peach Streets, and right across from me is a parking deck. Now, I already have parking on 5th street, but days like we had last week with driving rain make the deck significantly more appealing. So usually I pick the deck over my own spot. While this seems like a perfect solution, as it normally is with life, there is a catch – to not have to pay, I can only leave the deck at night, typically past 9, and on the weekends. Most of the time that’s not a problem, but this Friday I needed to leave to get something at the mall and then some lunch.

For each day I’m in there, I am supposed to pay $10, unless I don’t have a ticket, then in which case it’s only $10 maximum. Most of the time (and here’s where the transparency and honesty comes in) I just never seem to be able to find my ticket. Sure, occasionally I may find it in a cup holder 10 seconds after I leave, but how awkward is it to go back and say you found it?

Friday was different though. I felt guilty. I have one of those consciences that will wake me up in the middle of the night. There were nights when I was younger that I would wake up my parents to tell them something I’d done that day that I completely got away with. Weird, I know.

So on this Friday, I decided to give $20. I couldn’t remember if it was quite the full amount, but hey, $20 and I have a clear conscience and I don’t have to think another thing of it. As I approached the man at the gate I felt nervous. No joke. As if he was going to yell at me for giving him what I was supposed to. Well, I explained my dilemma:

“Good morning sir. Oh, I’m doing well! Yes, see, here’s the problem: I looked all over for my card, and I just couldn’t find it. I know I’ve been in here for two days, so here’s $20 dollars.”

The man looked at me strangely, as if it was going to be a problem to do, which he assured me it wouldn’t be. Soon, he looks at me and says “well, hey, I’ll let you out for $5”, gives me $15 dollars change, and manually lets me out.

I win.

Oh no. I lost. I lost so badly. I looked up to Heaven and said “Okay, God, you win”, especially after the man in the booth then said to me “Remember that I let you out of here for $5”. Nothing perpetuates a guilty feeling quite so well as getting away with a scheme better than you thought. I thought I was doing the right thing and had no satisfaction.

Nothing perpetuates a guilty feeling quite so well as trying just to eliminate a guilty feeling.

head, heart, hands: the answers to love

For the past two weeks I’ve been forcing down your throat a steady diet of everything I’ve ever thought about relationships, and so far no one’s complained (or maybe you have complained a lot, but I haven’t heard it yet).

But I realized there’s no resolution.  There’s nothing that leaves you something worth writing anyone home to.  In fact, when I read back to my last two editorials, the summaries could be “our relationships are lousy” and “I dated some bullet-points last semester”.

Let me try to assuage your concerns.  I do have some resolution this week.

At the same time I debuted my Love List, I also tried to figure out what made a good relationship work.  To that end, I came down with three characteristics.

First, I think personalities play a lot into things.  Two people need to have personalities that are similar enough to agree on foundations, and different enough to be interesting.  I couldn’t deal with dating another Adam Anderson.  I’m enough for myself.  I don’t think I could deal with the “Anti-Adam Anderson”, either.  A 25-75% Adam Anderson would be nice.

Secondly, chemistry is important, too.  I’d like to enjoy the person I’m with for some reason that’s beyond explanation.  People have a sense we’re together regardless of the personal displays of affection.  You all know what I’m talking about.  It’s the mysterious “X-Factor”.

Finally, I think timing matters.  Dating someone while they’re dating someone else?  Cheating.  Dating right after they broke up with someone?  Rebound.  Try dating someone you’ve known for while?  Oh, dear friend, chances are you will be banished into the Friend Zone, never to return.  There is a window that makes relationships blossom.

So that’s it right?  Personality, Chemistry, Timing.

Ready, Set, Go.

Well, no.  Otherwise we’d all be married by now.

Over the last two weeks, as I’ve been writing this, I’ve been reminded of my lack of ability to control life.  I don’t have any control over the cars speeding down Peach Street, the cranes working on Beyer, the Police next door and a wild shootout that could happen, global warming, or Iran’s nuclear stockpile.  I could die the second I walk out of the door.

How did I ever think I could control relationships, then?  As much as I’d like to from time to time, I can’t make you into someone I want you to be.  I’m stuck with you as you are.  As evidenced by the whole death trap outside my apartment, I can’t control timing, and I can’t even explain chemistry well, let alone control it.

You and I, dear people of Gannon University, will never be able to control a relationship.  The best we can do is put ourselves in places that will allow the right thing to happen at the right time.  I can only be myself and figure everything will get worked out, because I really don’t have the time to stress over things I can’t do anything about.

I feel like you don’t have the time either.  So stop worrying.  You’re great right now.  We all have to walk out of our rooms and face potential doom.  In two years, I’ve made it wherever I’ve needed to go. 

You will, too.

head, heart, hands: the unfulfilled love list

In June of 2006, I debuted “The List”. What’s “The List”?

I don’t mean to be stereotypical, but I’ve noticed girls will have about 15-20 things (I think my girlfriend in college had 20 or so) that they need in a guy, and guys will basically say “human and female”.

That being said, I really tried to come up with a decent list. I had five things that had to do with faith, a little something about NPR, and probably something about at least liking how they looked a little bit.

Then about six months later I met Jean. She was a sweetheart, and laughed when I told a joke, even when I knew it was bad. We went to church together, and I can remember at least one good debate about Darfur, and another about the long term implications of the war in Iraq on the economy. Hot, I know. She owned an exercise bike and used it periodically. She also owned her own duplex in Cleveland, and had a good paying job as a Hospice Nurse. She was five-for-five on “The List” for those of you keeping score at home.

The past tense of the previous paragraphs is a clear foreshadow, however. Six months after meeting Jean, we broke up. The girl who batted a perfect 1.000 eventually struck out. She blamed it on stress, on not being ready for a relationship.

The worse part was it was a good relationship. We didn’t fight, we didn’t have sex, and I made her parents laugh.

I even made mixtapes for her brother. Yeah. Mixtapes.

You have a Jean too. You also have your list. Maybe he has to be at least 6’1”. Maybe she needs to run a mile under 7:30. Maybe you’ve got to be able to read Russian Orthodox theology in its native tongue. And then someone comes and its as if he or she already had your list memorized.

Then before you know it, somehow you’re talking about lack of trust, some stupid thing you said that you know you didn’t mean and it still somehow came out of your mouth, and probably forgetting some semi-important date like her mom’s birthday, and it’s over.

But it was “The List”. The perfect-10 list.

In the couple months after the breakup, if there’s something I’ve learned is that the worst thing I could have done is have that list. What good person has ever been reduced to five qualities? What good relationship has ever been built around five paltry characteristics?

In my more honest moments, I wonder whether I wanted my 5-for-5 Jean so badly that I might not have even met the real Jean. Maybe the real Jean did compliment me well. Maybe she was the worst thing that could have happened to me. I’ll never know.

I think I’ve got one more week of relationship talk in me, but in the meantime, you know that notebook that you have? Yeah. That one. Tear out that page – the one in the front. I can’t help but think the person you’ve wanted is going to be much bigger than that page.

head, heart, hands: making out (pt i)

               I’m a big fan of dating, relationships, and everything in between.  I have been ever since I was a kid.  I wasn’t the kid who made fun of girls, pushing them in the sandbox and accusing them of a cootie infestation.  Oh, no.  I was the one writing sweet, sweet poetry to them:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
It’s be cool
To sit on the swing with you.

                The older I got, the more profound in my professions of love I became: I gave girls roses instead of commenting on their color.  Instead of sitting on a swing, it was the cafeteria eating lunch together. 

                For a long time, I think I was significantly more interested in the concept of relationships that really having one.  I love love.  I love the attention it brings.  I wanted to be the kid with the steady Homecoming and Prom date, never having to scramble to get a girl two years younger than me to begrudgingly accompany me to the dance (Autumn Lotze and Jenny Horst, yes, both sophomores).

                Clearly, let’s not forget about making out.  I’m not even talking about the first kiss, as beautiful as it is. 

It’s the hooking up! 

The chance to kiss someone for an extended period of time! 

                All of this came to my mind as I heard the song “Call Me When You Get This” by Corinne Bailey Rae.  Over an ample string arrangement and great R&B groove, Rae sings about what about the man she loves (she’s married, so unfortunately it’s not about me).  Each time I hear this song, I get emotional.  As in fuzzy and sweet inside emotional.  Swinging on a first grade swingset fuzzy.  Read this:

I just wanted to know what it was like, what’s it really like to be loved?
These little volcanoes came as a surprise to me.
I never thought I could be this way…
Now I just want you to know, how I’m touched deep in my soul.
Just being with you.

It grieves me, friends, when I hear your stories about your relationships, because they don’t seem anything like this.  My relationships aren’t even like this.  The best I have are clichéd quatrains.  Hearing this song grieves me, because it seems like Rae understands something about her object of affection beyond what I’ve experienced.  I hear it in her voice.

It seems we’ve become far to willing to settle for small yet guaranteed pleasure of right now, instead of hoping for the grand pleasure of later.  Sure, making out’s great, but the walk back to your place the morning after isn’t.  Something tells me what Corinne Bailey Rae has (with what I assume is her husband) won’t lead to that walk of shame.  It’s something more, something that, unfortunately, won’t fit in this week’s column.  That might be part of the problem in the end. 

We want the answer for love in 500 words or less.

head, heart, hands ii: entitlement

Friday I had to do some laundry. I hate doing laundry. It’s one of those things I recognize has to be done in order to be an effective member of society, and that’s it. Laundry happens for purely functional reasons.

I figured I’d check on my clothes in the dryer fifteen minutes before they were due, because sometimes if I’m lucky it finishes early. Friday, though, it wasn’t done. In fact, it was even in the dryer anymore. It was strewn on top, wet and wrinkled. Inside the dryer were about two washcloths, a couple pair of underwear and a sock or two. Now, I’m not typically a guy who gets angry. I actually yelled at the dryer. Unfortunately, the dryer didn’t fight back, and I was left to carry my now musty clothing upstairs.

I thought to myself “who thinks they are entitled to take someone else’s laundry out whenever he or she feels like it?”

Entitlement.

We live in a society that thrives on entitlement. I’m entitled to this job I have. I’m entitled to go out on Friday and spend my money, do things to and with my body, hang out with who I want, when I want, how I want. After all, I earned it, right? I’m entitled to tell whomever whatever because I’m entitled to my opinion. I’m also entitled to bail on anything I don’t want to do, because I’m entitled to happiness as often as possible.

While we’re on the subject, I’m clearly entitled to your kindness and grace when I do what I want.

Yet somehow this doesn’t connect. This is the irony of entitlement. Deep down, I want to do what I want, but I don’t necessarily like when everyone else does what they want. Ultimately, entitlement runs cross-purposes with grace. And while I don’t have the statistics, I can’t help but think some of the biggest conflicts I’ve seen in my time at Gannon have been caused by allowing a desire for entitlement get in the way of reaching out and giving someone just a bit of grace.

You and I see everyday. Turn on the news. Pick up the newspaper. Walk down the street. Fight with your roommate. I promise you somewhere along the line, you will see entitlement at its worst.

I’m not against good things, don’t get me wrong. As I’m getting older, however, I’m finding out that I’m really not that much more special than the person next to me. Or, maybe put more appropriately, the person next to me is just as special and as I am. You, Mr. or Ms. Reader-of-my-article, mean just as much to me as I do. Or at least I’m doing all I can to make sure you do.

So if you need to use a dryer with my clothes in, just fold my laundry. I would have felt really cared for, and the dryer wouldn’t have been yelled at. It didn’t deserve it, really. And for as much as I hate laundry, ten folded shirts would have been the most graceful thing anyone could do.

head, heart, hands

So I’m writing for the Gannon Knight this year a staff editorial called “Head, Heart, Hands”. I’m going to put the unedited article up here weekly so you all can peruse and give me feedback.

peace.

Head.

Heart.

Hands.

I have them all. You’ve got them, too. I promise. Take a look in a mirror. Put your finger on your wrist and press down a little bit. Feel that beating? Yes. A guarantee that you, indeed, have a pulse, which means you have a heart as well.

This also means, obviously, that what I’m writing to you now is incredibly applicable to your life, as you possess a head, a heart, and hands.

The problem is trying to connect them together. How do we, for instance, care about something so much that not only can we reason through it, but we want to do something about it?

In other words, we feel it in our hearts, think it with our heads, and work with our hands to do something with it.

Over the next year, I hope we get a chance to think about these issues together. I feel really lucky to have a chance to write in the Knight each week about this stuff. So, ahead of time, thanks for letting me use your precious reading time. Hopefully I won’t disappoint.

I want to make sure to set some ground rules for you, too. That way I’m being held accountable to something, and you have something to expect every week:

· You’re my friend, even if we’ve never met. Even if you don’t like me. It’s okay. I’m still going to treat you like my friend, because I can’t think of any other way to treat you. You’re special. You mean something to me. You have great things to talk about, and are very thoughtful.

· The honest truth is that I don’t really know that much more than you. I’m just a normal guy doing a job as an ARD and Resident Campus Minister. I go on rounds, I oversee Faith Sharing Groups, run programs, sing in mass, and I make mistakes in all of them. More often than I’d probably like to admit. The only difference between you and me is that I’ve got a couple more years of being a normal guy. The experience has been indispensable. That’s what I want to share with you.

· Finally, I have a real dedication to figuring how my emotions, my intellect, and my volition can all work for the same purpose. I think living a consistent and unified life makes sense. If I’m going to life something consistently, I want it to mean something to me. I think you feel the same way.

So stick with me this year. This world’s great, and worth talking about. If you see me in the hallway and want to talk what I say, I’ll buy you some coffee and we’ll talk. Expect me to ask you what you think, feel, and what to do about it, though. After all… that’s what happens when you have a head, heart, and hands.

new poetry

When you walk across ice
I said
Hold my hand.

At best we stay upright and shuffle
And at worst you fall on me.

That’s the way things work.

I never promised ease,
And if I could burn through everything beneath where I stand
I would. You knew that.

Upright.
Frozen.

so the real reason i’ve haven’t been writing…

…is because I haven’t really had much to say lately, it feels like.  And I feel bad because I know there are people visiting, and I haven’t really done much in about a month.  But, the school year is in, and I feel like I’ve become scheduled again.  I hate to admit it, but I love the richness that a schedule provides.  I have time to do things, ironically.  This summer, I found myself putzing around because I could.

Anyway, it’s past midnight, and I’m on this really sweet midnight to 8 sleep schedule and I don’t want to mess that up too much.  I want to write more to all of you, because where I am now in August is not where I was in May.  I remember saying to folks “this summer will shake out a lot of questions I have in my head”, and that’s true, although I still have a bevy of questions left to answer, such as where do I really want to go next year, how do I keep writing papers bimonthly until December, how do I do this stupid FAFSA form, how do I find energy after 2 years of the same job, all of that.

If there’s one thing I am learning though that I want to share as at least an earmark for later is I’m learning nearly by progressive epiphany (if there even is such thing) is living in the present moment and not to strive too far ahead or reflect too far behind.  It’s so biblical, and is being drawn out into real life through Fr. George and some other events over the last month.  God sincerely wants me here today.  And it doesn’t really matter what the successes and failures are, because they’re going to come to me regardless… instead, I need to wait on God to enter through me in both and follow Him obediently.  I’ll make sure to write more about that later.

Oh!  And I’m training for a marathon.  There’s some levity for you.

peace.

why i’m not writing…

…because I’m watching Flight of the Conchords.

Imagine a Ricky Gervais show with a band.  This is FotC.  For your enjoying… here’s “Rhymenocerous vs. Hiphopapottamus”

…forgive the language.  But the Kiwi’s are worth all of it.

peace.

Where I’m going to be this weekend:

Pittsburgh on Friday!

 

Ocean City, NJ Saturday, Sunday, Monday!

 

 

Talk to you all when I get back.

Home.

I’m trying the Windows Live Write Beta 2 for my blog, and I found this nifty little feature.

 

By the way, this afternoon and evening I’m going here:

 

Talk to you all later on.