My freshman roommate in college was this girl named Joanna, a very normal girl who wasn't exactly sure what to do with me, the one who dyed her short hair blue and wore Chuck Taylors. Before we met face-to-face, I made her a mix tape so she'd know what kind of music I liked; soon after we started rooming together, she returned it to me with pursed lips and a terse, "Thanks, but it's not my style."
Playlist:
SIDE A
1. Heather Nova: London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do)
2. Remy Zero: Gramarye
3. Screeching Weasel: Cool Kids
4. Paula Cole: Saturn Girl
5. Dave McCants: Psalm 27
6. Linda Ronstadt: Adonde Voy
7. Jewel: Life Uncommon
8. Mike Scott: Bring 'em All In
9. All Star United: Thank You, Goodnight
10. Smashing Pumpkins: To Sheila
11. Tabitha Fair: Psalm 24
12. Frifot: Stars/The Glutton
SIDE B
1. O.C. Supertones: Supertones
2. Insyderz: Awesome God
3. Belly: Judas My Heart
4. Supercalifragilisticexpialidotious
5. MXPX: Do Your Feet Hurt?
6. Des'ree: Kissing You
7. Ani DiFranco: 32 Flavors
8. Jewel: Gloria
9. Waterdeep: Holy
10. Five Iron Frenzy: Handbook for the Sellout
11. 7 Seconds: 99 Red Balloons
12. Tori Amos: Pretty Good Year
13. Nada Surf: Popular
What I want to know is, how could she not appreciate all that sweet Christian ska mixed in with punk rock and 90s alternative music? I mean, what is there possibly not to like?
Last week I borrowed a tape player from work so I could go through this tape and a stack of others to decide if any of them are worth salvaging (i.e. buying digital copies of).
Man, I sure hope I get a lot of iTunes gift cards for my birthday . . .
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Of Love, Ice Cream, and Dim Sum: Notes from New York
I had originally planned to visit my friends in New York back in February, but after six hours of waiting in the airport, on and off the airplane twice, my flight was canceled and my money returned. I was so afraid of being massively disappointed again that I didn't let myself get too excited about planning the next trip. I half-expected that flight to get canceled as well; happily, it didn't.
During my first New York trip in 2010, I was able to check a lot of tourist attractions off my list: seeing the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square, Wall Street, Central Park, the 9/11 Memorial, museums, museums, museums. I had a fantastic time, but I was intimidated by the big city and never quite felt like I got out of the tourist bubble. I still don't think I could live there, but I know I am much more confident about visiting the big city now than I used to be (what with having navigated Tokyo and all). The only things I really wanted to do this go-round was eat, shop, and walk around. And that's what we did.
I arrived at LaGuardia Airport at 8:30 on Thursday morning, took a taxi to Casey's apartment in Harlem, and we immediately began our day. By 2:00, when I went to visit another friend in Midtown Manhattan, I had already savored the cream cheese and lox bagel I had long been anticipating, taken a stroll through Central Park in the gray mist, wandered happily through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and walked 33 blocks down 5th Avenue.
During my first New York trip in 2010, I was able to check a lot of tourist attractions off my list: seeing the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square, Wall Street, Central Park, the 9/11 Memorial, museums, museums, museums. I had a fantastic time, but I was intimidated by the big city and never quite felt like I got out of the tourist bubble. I still don't think I could live there, but I know I am much more confident about visiting the big city now than I used to be (what with having navigated Tokyo and all). The only things I really wanted to do this go-round was eat, shop, and walk around. And that's what we did.
I arrived at LaGuardia Airport at 8:30 on Thursday morning, took a taxi to Casey's apartment in Harlem, and we immediately began our day. By 2:00, when I went to visit another friend in Midtown Manhattan, I had already savored the cream cheese and lox bagel I had long been anticipating, taken a stroll through Central Park in the gray mist, wandered happily through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and walked 33 blocks down 5th Avenue.
(View from Central Park)
I've been watching a lot of 30 Rock on Netflix recently and wanted to see where the opening sequence was filmed. Michael took me to Rockefeller Plaza (just a few blocks from his office) and waited patiently for me to take pictures of the flags, the statue, the buildings, and anything else I deemed photo-worthy. Later, we ate burgers (go figure) at Bill's Bar and Burger, had high-class coffee at a high-class coffee shop, and nibbled on champagne truffles from a fancy chocolatier.
New York reminds me of Japan, or maybe it's just that I can go to places in New York that I have never visited outside of Japan, like Uniqlo or Muji I felt so excited to visit these stores again after almost two years without them. Thanks to Michael and Casey for their patience as I exclaimed over each individual item and took pictures of racks of white dishes with the same gusto I had when taking pictures of Chagall paintings. (I'm pretty confident that I took more pictures in Muji than I did at the MOMA.) It just thrills me to be able to experience those Japan-moments this side of the Pacific.
Continuing with the Japanese, Casey took me to a ramen shop for lunch on Friday, where the owners shouted a firm "arigatou gozaimashita!" after we ate, and to Chinatown for dinner on Saturday, where I ate more plates of dim sum than was healthy. But I definitely got my fill of the food I was looking for. I had also been hankering for a hot deli sandwich (there's something about having delis on every corner that I find endearing) and was able to get one for lunch.
The rest of my time in New York was spent wandering around Dumbo (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) in Brooklyn (eating ice cream and helping Argentinean tourists understand the menu), shopping at Goodwill, drinking whiskey at a pretentious whiskey bar, and hanging out with some of Casey's beautiful friends at Eataly on 5th Avenue.
The one downside to my trip was deciding to reconnect with an old acquaintance for the first time in four years: he kept me out bar-hopping with his friends until 4:00 a.m. Drunk folk trying to dance in a loud bar with bad music aren't all that fun to be around even when I've been drinking, too; I hardly drank at all that night and was ready to go home by twelve. I was struck by the loneliness that I saw: one guy (who introduced himself to me twice in his drunken stupor) told me he had just moved to Brooklyn from California and went out by himself at night trying to meet people. He made me sad.
I appreciate having awesome friends who live in awesome places, who can show me around the city from an insider's point of view. I enjoyed this trip a lot because even though I was carrying around a mental to-do list of places to go and things to see, it still felt relaxed. Maybe that's because I put more emphasis on hanging out with my friends than actually doing stuff. Like they say, it's not where you are but who you're with. Lots of love.
Continuing with the Japanese, Casey took me to a ramen shop for lunch on Friday, where the owners shouted a firm "arigatou gozaimashita!" after we ate, and to Chinatown for dinner on Saturday, where I ate more plates of dim sum than was healthy. But I definitely got my fill of the food I was looking for. I had also been hankering for a hot deli sandwich (there's something about having delis on every corner that I find endearing) and was able to get one for lunch.
The rest of my time in New York was spent wandering around Dumbo (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) in Brooklyn (eating ice cream and helping Argentinean tourists understand the menu), shopping at Goodwill, drinking whiskey at a pretentious whiskey bar, and hanging out with some of Casey's beautiful friends at Eataly on 5th Avenue.
The one downside to my trip was deciding to reconnect with an old acquaintance for the first time in four years: he kept me out bar-hopping with his friends until 4:00 a.m. Drunk folk trying to dance in a loud bar with bad music aren't all that fun to be around even when I've been drinking, too; I hardly drank at all that night and was ready to go home by twelve. I was struck by the loneliness that I saw: one guy (who introduced himself to me twice in his drunken stupor) told me he had just moved to Brooklyn from California and went out by himself at night trying to meet people. He made me sad.
I appreciate having awesome friends who live in awesome places, who can show me around the city from an insider's point of view. I enjoyed this trip a lot because even though I was carrying around a mental to-do list of places to go and things to see, it still felt relaxed. Maybe that's because I put more emphasis on hanging out with my friends than actually doing stuff. Like they say, it's not where you are but who you're with. Lots of love.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Last Day of Lent. Confirmation Tomorrow.
There has never been a time in my history when Easter has meant so much to me. I've usually greeted Lent (the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Holy Saturday) in years past with either apathy ("I'm not Catholic so I don't care about it") or half-heartedness ("I'll try to give up X and we'll see if I can actually do it or not . . . "). But this year, knowing that Confirmation, Eucharist, and new life await me on Easter Sunday, I jumped into Lent with both feet: Mass every Sunday, RCIA class every Monday, daily readings, morning prayer, evening prayer, etc. etc. etc. And here it is, six and a half weeks later . . . . and Lent is over. Tomorrow is Easter Day.
I asked myself in early March how I was going to be different after celebrating Lent. Spending so much time in silence, meditating, reading, or simply feeling stuck in my head, have definitely helped me come nearer to God. I even had a few epiphanies along the way--most of them along the lines of, "You are not the only person who ever suffers, you know. Try listening to other people more."
The one thing that I didn't really expect to feel--but that may not be all that surprising--was something akin to exhaustion. Towards the end of Lent, I started feeling so sick of being contemplative, sick of thinking about penitential things, sick almost to the point of resentment. I'd look at the stack of things I was "supposed" to read for the day (self-assigned, of course; no one told me to read them), and feel like giving up.
I don't think it's just me who felt this way, though. A few weeks ago, I was having a similar conversation with one of my friends from RCIA. She, too, gives herself a checklist of things to do to be more spiritual: "Before you go to work today, go take a walk in the woods, meditate, come back, do some yoga, and read the Bible." Those are healthy things. But she--like me--tends to view them at times as things to get through instead of things to enjoy, and that's when they lose their meaning.
I don't want to feel obligated to seek God; I want to seek God because my heart compels me to. Sometimes I set the bar so high for myself that I can't do it all. But that way leads to despair. I have come to the conclusion that it is just as authentic and valid--and maybe even more so?--to approach God with empty hands and an open heart. Like our Psalmist friend wrote, "You do not delight in sacrifice, otherwise I would give it . . . " (Psalm 51:17) God would rather see our authentic selves. So I think my struggle to do the right thing should involve more sitting in silence and less frenzied labor.
This is not to say I feel my time spent in prayer, fasting, and charity was spent in vain. Far from it. I have been blessed beyond imagining. Lent is a glorious time for self-analysis, -reflection, -discipline, and -denial. And honestly, I've been too excited thinking about Easter Sunday to really be properly sad during Holy Week. I am immensely grateful for the experience of Lent and for this time of preparation leading up to Easter Day.
Tomorrow at 1:30 p.m. I'll be officially accepted into the Catholic Church. I'll be confirmed and take my first Holy Communion (time to edit this one, huh). I am also thrilled beyond belief that even though none of my family lives nearby, six--count 'em, SIX--of my good friends in Raleigh are coming to the service to cheer me on! It makes me so happy to feel such tangible support from them. (I appreciate everyone else's love from afar, too!) It's been an exciting journey, and tomorrow is just the beginning. Feliz Pascua!
I asked myself in early March how I was going to be different after celebrating Lent. Spending so much time in silence, meditating, reading, or simply feeling stuck in my head, have definitely helped me come nearer to God. I even had a few epiphanies along the way--most of them along the lines of, "You are not the only person who ever suffers, you know. Try listening to other people more."
The one thing that I didn't really expect to feel--but that may not be all that surprising--was something akin to exhaustion. Towards the end of Lent, I started feeling so sick of being contemplative, sick of thinking about penitential things, sick almost to the point of resentment. I'd look at the stack of things I was "supposed" to read for the day (self-assigned, of course; no one told me to read them), and feel like giving up.
I don't think it's just me who felt this way, though. A few weeks ago, I was having a similar conversation with one of my friends from RCIA. She, too, gives herself a checklist of things to do to be more spiritual: "Before you go to work today, go take a walk in the woods, meditate, come back, do some yoga, and read the Bible." Those are healthy things. But she--like me--tends to view them at times as things to get through instead of things to enjoy, and that's when they lose their meaning.
I don't want to feel obligated to seek God; I want to seek God because my heart compels me to. Sometimes I set the bar so high for myself that I can't do it all. But that way leads to despair. I have come to the conclusion that it is just as authentic and valid--and maybe even more so?--to approach God with empty hands and an open heart. Like our Psalmist friend wrote, "You do not delight in sacrifice, otherwise I would give it . . . " (Psalm 51:17) God would rather see our authentic selves. So I think my struggle to do the right thing should involve more sitting in silence and less frenzied labor.
This is not to say I feel my time spent in prayer, fasting, and charity was spent in vain. Far from it. I have been blessed beyond imagining. Lent is a glorious time for self-analysis, -reflection, -discipline, and -denial. And honestly, I've been too excited thinking about Easter Sunday to really be properly sad during Holy Week. I am immensely grateful for the experience of Lent and for this time of preparation leading up to Easter Day.
Tomorrow at 1:30 p.m. I'll be officially accepted into the Catholic Church. I'll be confirmed and take my first Holy Communion (time to edit this one, huh). I am also thrilled beyond belief that even though none of my family lives nearby, six--count 'em, SIX--of my good friends in Raleigh are coming to the service to cheer me on! It makes me so happy to feel such tangible support from them. (I appreciate everyone else's love from afar, too!) It's been an exciting journey, and tomorrow is just the beginning. Feliz Pascua!
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Why I'm Becoming a Catholic
(without any theology)
Nope, not because of my previous post. I said Catholic, not a nun. And not because Jenny is, because even though my sis has been after me to convert for the past umpteen years -- well, nine -- I've never given it a serious thought until recently. These kinds of decisions you have to make on your own.
It's been a long, arduous struggle for me these past few years. Spiritually-religiously, I mean. Back in 2009, I kind of lost everything I'd grown up with and it took until late 2012 to even think about wanting to find it again.
But once I got started, it came in earnest. I finally understood what the Psalmist meant when he wrote as the deer thirsts for water, so my soul thirsts for you, O God. I was thirsty like I'd never been before. Like I never knew I could be. Like I never knew anyone could be, for real. But I was.
It was a search for Something Real. Neither the superficial God loves you nor the intense God hates you theologies resonated with me. I wanted the Real Deal. I wanted Experience and Assurance.
This is the time when I was devouring all kinds of religious texts, discussing matters of life/death/salvation with anyone who would listen, meeting with my pastor outside of church, reading encyclopedia articles of World Religions, and anything else I could do to soak up answers to all the questions I had. And of course, meditating and praying, even though for a while there my prayers started off something like, "God, I don't know Who You are or What You are, or even if You're there and listening to me . . ." But I still prayed, and got closer and closer to what I was searching for.
Funny, though, how even though I was becoming more Connected to Divine Love (to use Doug Hammack's terminology), I still felt like something was missing. I wanted a meal that would satisfy my insatiable spiritual hunger, but I was only being offered snacks (do you like this church-as-restaurant analogy? Yeah.). I was out of the Pit I had been in for years, but I was just standing there on the edge of it, unmoving. I wasn't going anywhere. I had faith, I had light. But I lacked something deeper. I lacked substance.
You know who has a monopoly on substantial Christian theology?
Catholics.
So, finally, this past December, I decided that I'd do it. To give Jenny the credit due her, she was the one who nudged me to take the first step of emailing the person I'd have to talk to in order to enroll in RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) classes at the Franciscan church near my house. Who knows how long I would have sat around complaining if she hadn't looked it up for me.
As soon as the priest opened my first class sitting in a chair in front of our group, closing his eyes and telling us to "breathe deeply and get in touch with your soul," before launching into an explanation of the changes of Vatican II, I knew I was in the right place. Here, the contemplative meets the common. Every class is full not of abstract, dull teaching, but practical, spirit-filled wisdom. I can't get enough.
So now I'm an official candidate for full communion in the Catholic church. Last Saturday was the official Rite of Presentation -- a beautiful experience where I received the sign of the Cross over all of me ("your eyes, that you would see goodness....your ears, that you would receive truth....your hands, that you would do good works...") and stated my intention in front of everyone. I'm planning on joining officially at Easter.
I don't think the Catholic church has all the answers. And I still have unanswered questions about Christianity in general. But I am satisfied that I am doing the right thing. It has been a long, hard journey to make this decision, but now that it's mine, I own it completely and feel very peaceful about it. I wonder where else it will take me . . .
[God said]: I will lead the blind on their journey;
by paths unknown I will guide them.
I will turn darkness into light before them,
and make crooked ways straight.
These things I do for them,
and I will not forsake them.
-Isaiah 42:16
Nope, not because of my previous post. I said Catholic, not a nun. And not because Jenny is, because even though my sis has been after me to convert for the past umpteen years -- well, nine -- I've never given it a serious thought until recently. These kinds of decisions you have to make on your own.
It's been a long, arduous struggle for me these past few years. Spiritually-religiously, I mean. Back in 2009, I kind of lost everything I'd grown up with and it took until late 2012 to even think about wanting to find it again.
But once I got started, it came in earnest. I finally understood what the Psalmist meant when he wrote as the deer thirsts for water, so my soul thirsts for you, O God. I was thirsty like I'd never been before. Like I never knew I could be. Like I never knew anyone could be, for real. But I was.
It was a search for Something Real. Neither the superficial God loves you nor the intense God hates you theologies resonated with me. I wanted the Real Deal. I wanted Experience and Assurance.
This is the time when I was devouring all kinds of religious texts, discussing matters of life/death/salvation with anyone who would listen, meeting with my pastor outside of church, reading encyclopedia articles of World Religions, and anything else I could do to soak up answers to all the questions I had. And of course, meditating and praying, even though for a while there my prayers started off something like, "God, I don't know Who You are or What You are, or even if You're there and listening to me . . ." But I still prayed, and got closer and closer to what I was searching for.
Funny, though, how even though I was becoming more Connected to Divine Love (to use Doug Hammack's terminology), I still felt like something was missing. I wanted a meal that would satisfy my insatiable spiritual hunger, but I was only being offered snacks (do you like this church-as-restaurant analogy? Yeah.). I was out of the Pit I had been in for years, but I was just standing there on the edge of it, unmoving. I wasn't going anywhere. I had faith, I had light. But I lacked something deeper. I lacked substance.
You know who has a monopoly on substantial Christian theology?
Catholics.
So, finally, this past December, I decided that I'd do it. To give Jenny the credit due her, she was the one who nudged me to take the first step of emailing the person I'd have to talk to in order to enroll in RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) classes at the Franciscan church near my house. Who knows how long I would have sat around complaining if she hadn't looked it up for me.
As soon as the priest opened my first class sitting in a chair in front of our group, closing his eyes and telling us to "breathe deeply and get in touch with your soul," before launching into an explanation of the changes of Vatican II, I knew I was in the right place. Here, the contemplative meets the common. Every class is full not of abstract, dull teaching, but practical, spirit-filled wisdom. I can't get enough.
So now I'm an official candidate for full communion in the Catholic church. Last Saturday was the official Rite of Presentation -- a beautiful experience where I received the sign of the Cross over all of me ("your eyes, that you would see goodness....your ears, that you would receive truth....your hands, that you would do good works...") and stated my intention in front of everyone. I'm planning on joining officially at Easter.
I don't think the Catholic church has all the answers. And I still have unanswered questions about Christianity in general. But I am satisfied that I am doing the right thing. It has been a long, hard journey to make this decision, but now that it's mine, I own it completely and feel very peaceful about it. I wonder where else it will take me . . .
[God said]: I will lead the blind on their journey;
by paths unknown I will guide them.
I will turn darkness into light before them,
and make crooked ways straight.
These things I do for them,
and I will not forsake them.
-Isaiah 42:16
Friday, January 24, 2014
January
The following is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DAY ONE: Hit him.
Cry. Punch the wall. Cry some more. Throw out everything that even remotely
reminds you of him. Wish you could move apartments. Delete him from Facebook. Cry
again. Finally curl up on the couch with a blanket and watch 8 episodes of 30 Rock back-to-back, feeling sick.
Sleep poorly. Wake up often.
DAY TWO: Cry
again. Get mad. Write an angry letter and shred it. Cry again. Tell all your
friends he’s an asshole. Add, “that fucker” every time you say his name. Run 3
miles. Delete all of his pictures and block his email. Look up “How to get over
someone” online and read obsessively.
DAY THREE: Step
back. Analyze. Try to understand his point of view. Fail. Sing along loudly with
Ani DiFranco’s “Untouchable Face” on repeat at the highest volume possible.
DAY FOUR: Dye
your hair. Rearrange your living room. Go
for a walk. Write poetry. Get a text from him: Can we talk? Not yet.
DAY FIVE: Talk
for an hour. Listen to his explanation. Realize you misunderstood some things. Realize
you both fucked up. Realize that’s still no excuse. Express regret that it
didn’t work out. Mention the possibility of being friends again sometime in the
future. Say goodbye. Hang up. Stare blankly at your phone.
DAY SEVEN: Avoid all
romantic music. Hit “skip”
constantly on iTunes and Pandora. Have a constant “him-him-him” feed in the
back of your mind. Hash and rehash what happened. Watch a movie and think, “That
actor looks like him . . . ”
DAY EIGHT: Week
One. You’re biting your nails again.
DAY ELEVEN: Go
out with girlfriends. Drink. Almost text him. Don’t. Congratulate yourself on
your self-control.
DAY TWELVE: Relapse.
Talk about him with mutual friends. Miss him suddenly, physically, painfully. Keep
it together until the door closes after them. Fall sobbing on the floor. Listen
to the Helio Sequence sing “Lately” three times. Put “buy tissue” on your
shopping list.
DAY FOURTEEN: Catch
up with an old friend. Relive the situation. See where you went wrong. See
where he went wrong. Get indignantly angry again at the whole thing.
DAY FIFTEEN: Week
Two. Think mean thoughts. “My life without him is better than my life with
him.” “I might never want to be
friends again.” Flip off any car you see with the license plate of the state
he’s from.
DAY SIXTEEN: Listen
to “Me Voy” by Julieta Venegas over and over again. Skip “Limón y Sal.” Fantasize about sending him a mix CD in the mail. Ruin, The Pierces. The Rat,
The Walkmen. Immediately reject that idea. Promise yourself this is the last
time you get so one-sidedly crazy about someone. Promise. Promise. Promise.
DAY SEVENTEEN: Start
getting tired of being angry and hurt. Starting looking objectively at the
situation. Realize that not being together is best in the long run. Know that a
better future awaits.
DAY EIGHTEEN: He
accidentally calls. You don’t flip out. Not too much.
DAY NINETEEN: You’re
both on a Facebook group message. See his name. Stay calm.
DAY TWENTY-TWO: Week
Three. Drive past his apartment complex on the way to another friend’s house. Don't
pay attention to where the turn-off is. Don’t even realize.
DAY TWENTY-THREE: Suppose
it’s not going to take 31 days after all. Click, “Post.”
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Advice from Father Zossima
"Love all God's creation, the whole and every grain in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love . . . Kiss the earth and love it with an unceasing, consuming love. Love all men, love everything. Seek that rapture and ecstasy . . . Don't be ashamed of that ecstasy, prize it, for it is a gift of God and a great one [.]"
(F. Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnett)
Thursday, January 2, 2014
2014
There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—
A time to give birth and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
A time to kill and a time to heal;
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost;
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;
A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate;
A time for war and a time for peace.
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