Professors at Ball State harped considerably about sticking to what is newsworthy when writing a piece for newspaper or magazine, and now the internets. For as much consideration as I gave this, and effort to save my grades and in the long term, my degree, I hated it very much. Yet, as I'm about to wail on about car wrecks and shirtless trips through the salt flats of Utah, I must skip over the face of my absence, which is not newsworthy at all.
Supposing I begin at the the most logical point and carry on thereafter to make the most sense of the situation, I'd have to begin with my departure nearly 2 weeks ago from the City of false-Angels toward my first destination; Sacramento. I was Joel Chodakowski's +1, a feat not to be taken lightly. For Joel is a dear friend, and one of the best that I know. Apart from fraternal love, I would like to explain the setting of the wedding; 11 groomsmen, 11 bridesmaids, basketball gymnasium/church, etc.
Following my time in Sacramento I set sail across the Sierras, tasted a bit of Truckee at midnight in July (43 degrees) and sped on through California, sleeping for the 4th time in the parking lot of the first casino exit outside Reno, in Nevada.
That morning I arose, used the restroom as slot machines buzzed, smoke saturated my jacket and Denny's beckoned but didn't win. By 4:30 pacific time I was on my way.
The highlight of the trip wasn't the 97 Sable with the power steering going out, or the 1100 mile trek to Fort Collins, it was the numbing 100+ heat of the salt flats in Western Utah. You know the place. It's where the speed limit signs read '75' and it's supposed to take 48 seconds to finish a mile, and your dripping in sweat with the AC on and the windows rolled up.
I drove the stretch through Utah with temps touching 100, no shirt, or shoes on, eating limes and listening to Bob Dylan as few passed. but those who did slide by stared in amazement at how some hillbilly with an Indiana plate could use a pocket knife - found in the street of Arlington, TX - to cut limes, with his foot on the dash and stay on I-80.
Arriving late into Fort Collins I met Mark and Sarah at CB Potts, a brewpub with a great cheeseburger fashioned with whole fried eggs.
I spent the ensuing week meeting with Campus Crusade missionaries, campus ministers and all types of cool people at our small MATS booth in the ministry-fair tent. It was a blast to run into some of the people I had talked to via email and on the phone, see their kids and enjoy a lot of laughs.
Another highlight to the week was on Sunday as Mark, Sarah and I trekked up Mt Grays and Torreys - both 14,000 foot peaks - before descending with tired calves and sore feet. We also had a great time touring New Belgium Brewery, the home of Fat Tire.
Coming home to LA was a bit sad, as I noticed how I missed my friends back home and the fun I have being around people I love. I was fired up by the conference, but the minute I got back to LA I felt overwhelmed with the task at hand and the fear of missing those who just don't sound the same on the telephone, as they do in person.
Wednesday i pulled back into our little town here, and I changed and made my way to trivia in Santa Monica. We enjoyed some laughs, as Kyle invited his sister to join who has been in LA from Indiana.
After trivia Kyle, Sarah, and I were to meet a small Mexican place for some late night tacos. They left before I, and weren't there when i pulled in. Knowing how I'm not great with West-LA I began to worry and thought back about the trip over before I realized I swerved around a wrecked car to exit before units arrived to trap me in.
Instant panic.
I jumped back in the car, thinking how I didn't even look to see what type of car was on the shoulder - front-end smashed. I circled around, slipped down Venice as quick as I could and got back on the 10. Inching my way forward I came up the ramp to Overland, where I'd been not 30 minutes before. There on the shoulder was the burnt remains of Kyles car, Indiana-plate emblazoned and empty. Instantly I jumped out of my car and looked back as a California highway patrol officer walked up to me. Instantly the individual who'd sworn to 'serve and protect' began to take on more of the motto: 'to harass and belittle'. "Why do you have Indiana plates?!" "Where are you coming from?!" "Where were they coming from!?" "Why isn't this car registered in California?!"
All questions with no regard for my questions regarding where my friends may be, and if they were well.
I finally got an answer and I tracked down Kyle, being interrogated on the sidewalk with the usual DUI screening. Unreal.
After about 5 minutes of interrupted explanation of my position and the uniqueness of our business I conceded to their light-understanding of cross state commerce and walked away. I picked Kyle and Sarah up after the power-trippers sped off and took them home. Thankfully, they were safe.
Monday 1 August 2011
Tuesday 12 July 2011
Roofing Day
No, that is not the sound of a mud slide or earthquake, it's the roofers tearing off and pounding as though they are digging toward me.
I haven't been able to talk much on the state of affairs at 3411 London Street, and my interpretation of the supernatural isn't very developed, either. In other words, my roommate is cool and quiet, loves to tip-toe around and pet her cat. But, there are things I'm not sure of, that I think need addressing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticising, merely observing.
Yesterday, as I walked in from swimming; an event I'd like to forget for the sheer pain my legs have been under. Cramping, it seems happens to us when we get older. And having not swam consistently, since high school, it's a new thing for me. Anyway, I walk in and there she is: huddled over the paper bowl, filling it one by one with sun chips and a mysterious under-morsel. And, that's it. That's the only thing I've seen her eat; Sun Chips. We talked a few weeks ago of her arm ailment and about finding the proper container for the Sun Chips, which we all know are the cornerstone of any vitamin enriching diet. She told me she couldn't lift or twist with her right arm, either due to atrophy or malnutrition, or both, and that she had found the perfect container to keep her chips from becoming stale, opened needing only one arm. Fantastic invention, I say. Right up there with the light bulb and pop tarts. As if she should need a container to place her Sun Chip bags, as she moves through them quickly enough that one armed twisting of the half-empty bag would probably seal them sufficiently and prevent staleness. Or, maybe I'm wrong, and there aren't enough opportunities to shop away your unemployment check than by paying $25 for a Sun Chip container.
Speaking of that, I'm becoming constantly more at odds with the 'system' in this country and the entitlements some people tend to assume are rightfully theirs, while doing nothing but hitting the snooze button 15 times, before going to Crate and Barrel to find containers that will fit under your bed. That's all I'm going to say on that.
In other news, I've now passed the threshold of being miserable and having to stop during a run, to running the entire run without stopping and then being miserable. The pain is lovely. I think I'll have more today.
As I said, the roofers are hammering and digging away, taking much more care than it sounds like from down here. It's certainly not an archeological exercise.
I have a big meeting tomorrow at the Dream Center, hoping to seal up some deals and move some big vans to help the needy up on the hill. I'm leaving Thursday for a wedding in Sacramento, to by my friend Joel's +1, as I said. And then it's off to Colorado and the CSU conference.
Oh, so last night, I'm walking into the entrance of Echo Park Deep pool, where I do lap swimming and leg cramping. A wonderful young lady with punk tattoos across the base of her neck and on her arms, looked at me, I look at her and I think; is this the moment?! And then she speaks, "would you jump my car?"
(Exhale; then and now)
"I've been asking for 30 minutes and no one is even acknowledging me," she said. Which seems about right, considering I'm usually the only native-English speaker in the complex which hosts hundreds at any of the given open-swim hours.
I smiled and said 'sure' and ran over to my van and hooked backed it in so I could give her a jump. We talked for a while, as her battery was completely dead. She was from Boston, but now lived here with her boyfriend and was ready to head back to the East Coast for reasons such as this. She assumed most people aren't openly friendly here, and I said she was about right. I told her I was from Indiana and she was amazed I'd lasted more than a month. As the battery charged, I thought how cool my new friend was and that we should hang out, listen to some of the Casualties or Pavement and go to a vegan restaurant. But, then her car started and she was off to home. She thanked me, I nodded and then joined the queue to swim, once again.
Later, I came back and watched a documentary about religious bonds held in Jerusalem and then drifted off to sleep, where I dreamed of the inner desires of my subconscious. And funny enough, none of dreams included Sun Chips.
I haven't been able to talk much on the state of affairs at 3411 London Street, and my interpretation of the supernatural isn't very developed, either. In other words, my roommate is cool and quiet, loves to tip-toe around and pet her cat. But, there are things I'm not sure of, that I think need addressing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticising, merely observing.
Yesterday, as I walked in from swimming; an event I'd like to forget for the sheer pain my legs have been under. Cramping, it seems happens to us when we get older. And having not swam consistently, since high school, it's a new thing for me. Anyway, I walk in and there she is: huddled over the paper bowl, filling it one by one with sun chips and a mysterious under-morsel. And, that's it. That's the only thing I've seen her eat; Sun Chips. We talked a few weeks ago of her arm ailment and about finding the proper container for the Sun Chips, which we all know are the cornerstone of any vitamin enriching diet. She told me she couldn't lift or twist with her right arm, either due to atrophy or malnutrition, or both, and that she had found the perfect container to keep her chips from becoming stale, opened needing only one arm. Fantastic invention, I say. Right up there with the light bulb and pop tarts. As if she should need a container to place her Sun Chip bags, as she moves through them quickly enough that one armed twisting of the half-empty bag would probably seal them sufficiently and prevent staleness. Or, maybe I'm wrong, and there aren't enough opportunities to shop away your unemployment check than by paying $25 for a Sun Chip container.
Speaking of that, I'm becoming constantly more at odds with the 'system' in this country and the entitlements some people tend to assume are rightfully theirs, while doing nothing but hitting the snooze button 15 times, before going to Crate and Barrel to find containers that will fit under your bed. That's all I'm going to say on that.
In other news, I've now passed the threshold of being miserable and having to stop during a run, to running the entire run without stopping and then being miserable. The pain is lovely. I think I'll have more today.
As I said, the roofers are hammering and digging away, taking much more care than it sounds like from down here. It's certainly not an archeological exercise.
I have a big meeting tomorrow at the Dream Center, hoping to seal up some deals and move some big vans to help the needy up on the hill. I'm leaving Thursday for a wedding in Sacramento, to by my friend Joel's +1, as I said. And then it's off to Colorado and the CSU conference.
Oh, so last night, I'm walking into the entrance of Echo Park Deep pool, where I do lap swimming and leg cramping. A wonderful young lady with punk tattoos across the base of her neck and on her arms, looked at me, I look at her and I think; is this the moment?! And then she speaks, "would you jump my car?"
(Exhale; then and now)
"I've been asking for 30 minutes and no one is even acknowledging me," she said. Which seems about right, considering I'm usually the only native-English speaker in the complex which hosts hundreds at any of the given open-swim hours.
I smiled and said 'sure' and ran over to my van and hooked backed it in so I could give her a jump. We talked for a while, as her battery was completely dead. She was from Boston, but now lived here with her boyfriend and was ready to head back to the East Coast for reasons such as this. She assumed most people aren't openly friendly here, and I said she was about right. I told her I was from Indiana and she was amazed I'd lasted more than a month. As the battery charged, I thought how cool my new friend was and that we should hang out, listen to some of the Casualties or Pavement and go to a vegan restaurant. But, then her car started and she was off to home. She thanked me, I nodded and then joined the queue to swim, once again.
Later, I came back and watched a documentary about religious bonds held in Jerusalem and then drifted off to sleep, where I dreamed of the inner desires of my subconscious. And funny enough, none of dreams included Sun Chips.
Sunday 10 July 2011
Fighting
Laying awake; can't sleep and haven't for a few weeks now, I find myself worried, praying for no worry and anxious still. Though the bible and commonsense teaches worry as wrong, anxiety as an enemy, it's something we should strive for?!
Yes, indeed. As I've chosen the road fruited of anxiety and worry, I've come to understand that I've lived a life of concern in a couple years. Before you criticize, remember that lives are subjective and experiences even more. After all, we all have things we concern ourselves with and things with which we struggle. Mine, in my post-college days has been worry and anxiety.
Back to the idea that we should strive for a foggy picture of making next months rent, or eating next week; indeed our lives, if set by the teachings of Christ would be much like this. And that is why in the past few years I've grown to hate excess, not the people who embrace it, but rather, and remember, the power of excess over their lives.
Lewis said in a round about way, I'm paraphrasing, that if we are comfortable and know from where our next meal is coming, or in modern terms, our rent payment; then we have to much and aren't giving enough. Yet, I see in the spirit of America an attitude quite contrary to this understanding we all acknowledge in church each Sunday.
Keep in mind, as I speak, I am no better than many, but feel called to bring about the reality that we all have too much, don't give enough and there are many that could give much much more.
Do what you feel called to do. But, yet as doctrines are tweaked through the centuries, we see things that benefit the 'called' and the dogmatic translators of the word.
In that regard, I have begun to lose sleep, worrying about my situation and how I will make it, in a few months; obviously much further off than anyone should worry. For it is just money, and I am prideful in one sense that I've made steps to treat it as such, give it away within 'reason' and attempt to not worry in the process. However, there are many games at play, and without feeling just in my causes, not being successful in said causes, worry becomes justified until it consumes and i feel at ease with nothing.
But with a prudent and rational mind, I know I will be fine. Within the worst moments of our lives, they are never as bad as the fears we create of them, which cause worry and anxiety. At least in my experiences. Take getting kicked out of an apartment for failing to make rent payments. A rational and aware mind would see that coming, act upon the situation prior to it's happening and do what they could to make the situation go away, at least for another month. This type of person, we'll call A has the fear of worry, anxiety and uses them as tools to be extra aware; making himself worrisome and glazed at times, but nonetheless efficient at making things happen. Person B, who never worries, is stuck in the same situation is late on rent and then is kicked out, as a result of not creating a better situation with what efforts he could, still doesn't worry. Yet, both find themselves in the same place if person A doesn't make it happen. Therefore, what does the worrying get you, but feeling miserable all the time?
Perhaps, I'm attempting to counsel myself.
But, honestly, things are going to be fine. And my worries spring from concerns of being successful to those, and especially, for those around me. I want to do good for people, and when my efforts yield little, from what I can see, I begin to think myself insufficient to those around me.
However, today I find myself in L.A., rich in some regards, poor in others, yet, in L.A. a place I never thought I'd say I could live. And, I'm living. Albeit, not as some would like; 11 by 7 room, no discretionary income, granola for breakfast and rice and beans for dinner. But I like it.
I have to make right of some effort this week, and hopefully spread some love to those for which I hope to serve. I am excited with what plan has been laid out before me and i only pray that I can use my talents for a higher sense and to a greater degree. I am struggling, no doubt, with forgiving myself for past wrongs, and even more in that to those I've wronged I get no response. I pray for these things and to be a good person every moment to everyone around me.
I have been thinking about treating myself better. Thinking of myself higher and, as a result, having more confidence in the things of which I've been blessed. Reading a lot lately has helped, swimming and running too.
This will be a short week and then I'm off to Sacramento to see my friend Joel, and be his plus-1 at a wedding of a friend. Then off to Denver, and Ft. Collins to a conference and to see some mountains. Pray for safe travels, my friends. I'll be praying for you and yours.
Yes, indeed. As I've chosen the road fruited of anxiety and worry, I've come to understand that I've lived a life of concern in a couple years. Before you criticize, remember that lives are subjective and experiences even more. After all, we all have things we concern ourselves with and things with which we struggle. Mine, in my post-college days has been worry and anxiety.
Back to the idea that we should strive for a foggy picture of making next months rent, or eating next week; indeed our lives, if set by the teachings of Christ would be much like this. And that is why in the past few years I've grown to hate excess, not the people who embrace it, but rather, and remember, the power of excess over their lives.
Lewis said in a round about way, I'm paraphrasing, that if we are comfortable and know from where our next meal is coming, or in modern terms, our rent payment; then we have to much and aren't giving enough. Yet, I see in the spirit of America an attitude quite contrary to this understanding we all acknowledge in church each Sunday.
Keep in mind, as I speak, I am no better than many, but feel called to bring about the reality that we all have too much, don't give enough and there are many that could give much much more.
Do what you feel called to do. But, yet as doctrines are tweaked through the centuries, we see things that benefit the 'called' and the dogmatic translators of the word.
In that regard, I have begun to lose sleep, worrying about my situation and how I will make it, in a few months; obviously much further off than anyone should worry. For it is just money, and I am prideful in one sense that I've made steps to treat it as such, give it away within 'reason' and attempt to not worry in the process. However, there are many games at play, and without feeling just in my causes, not being successful in said causes, worry becomes justified until it consumes and i feel at ease with nothing.
But with a prudent and rational mind, I know I will be fine. Within the worst moments of our lives, they are never as bad as the fears we create of them, which cause worry and anxiety. At least in my experiences. Take getting kicked out of an apartment for failing to make rent payments. A rational and aware mind would see that coming, act upon the situation prior to it's happening and do what they could to make the situation go away, at least for another month. This type of person, we'll call A has the fear of worry, anxiety and uses them as tools to be extra aware; making himself worrisome and glazed at times, but nonetheless efficient at making things happen. Person B, who never worries, is stuck in the same situation is late on rent and then is kicked out, as a result of not creating a better situation with what efforts he could, still doesn't worry. Yet, both find themselves in the same place if person A doesn't make it happen. Therefore, what does the worrying get you, but feeling miserable all the time?
Perhaps, I'm attempting to counsel myself.
But, honestly, things are going to be fine. And my worries spring from concerns of being successful to those, and especially, for those around me. I want to do good for people, and when my efforts yield little, from what I can see, I begin to think myself insufficient to those around me.
However, today I find myself in L.A., rich in some regards, poor in others, yet, in L.A. a place I never thought I'd say I could live. And, I'm living. Albeit, not as some would like; 11 by 7 room, no discretionary income, granola for breakfast and rice and beans for dinner. But I like it.
I have to make right of some effort this week, and hopefully spread some love to those for which I hope to serve. I am excited with what plan has been laid out before me and i only pray that I can use my talents for a higher sense and to a greater degree. I am struggling, no doubt, with forgiving myself for past wrongs, and even more in that to those I've wronged I get no response. I pray for these things and to be a good person every moment to everyone around me.
I have been thinking about treating myself better. Thinking of myself higher and, as a result, having more confidence in the things of which I've been blessed. Reading a lot lately has helped, swimming and running too.
This will be a short week and then I'm off to Sacramento to see my friend Joel, and be his plus-1 at a wedding of a friend. Then off to Denver, and Ft. Collins to a conference and to see some mountains. Pray for safe travels, my friends. I'll be praying for you and yours.
Friday 8 July 2011
Dated
Where did I leave off? Oh yes, Chicken Tandoori and something about flat tires. So, the last couple days have been quite productive and I've managed to keep my head above water, and will continue to, as long as I eat like a possum and drink vitamin D milk.
The giant think-tank, known as Echo Park Deep Pool is where I've been able to clear my mind, and most certainly not my ears, and begin the quest toward figuring out what's wrong with me and rationalizing it to make into at least a short story. Last night I swam hard and fast, but found myself in the intermediate lane with another fast swimmer while the 'fast' lane was full of intermediate and slow-lane swimmers. Nonetheless I did my 3050 yards and felt very good swimming butterfly for the first time, in well, probably forever. Then again, it wasn't Jason Whitney telling us to do 3-200s butterfly, but who's counting.
After swimming I made my way to the Vermont Ralph's store - Kroger in California - to buy some, well, food. I felt terrible as I left, and as I left Target in Chino today, telling a homeless person I couldn't spare change, when I darn-well could have. I brewed in the van for a few minutes, and then took off asking for forgiveness for being greedy and wishing I could do more; knowing I can, but haven't.
And perhaps I've becoming more thoughtful - in a sense of thinking, not charity, though I wish I could do better in context - as I get older, and more mindful of actions and language. Like today, I noticed instantly as someone cut me off, as people and cars scattered about at the dusty-auto auction in Miro Loma, that I felt a bit of anger and hostility. Instantly, I took note of the response and condemned myself, wishing I didn't have to react that way; albeit internally, but thoughts can be just as damaging, and sometimes more, than actions. No lesson here, but I urge you to try to think about your reactions when things happen that are unpleasent and trivial. Because most things that we react to, are trivial but our responses are not.
I've been reading C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity, again and feeling quite a pull to verses through daily liturgy passages. For instance the other day, Lewis's quote: "
The giant think-tank, known as Echo Park Deep Pool is where I've been able to clear my mind, and most certainly not my ears, and begin the quest toward figuring out what's wrong with me and rationalizing it to make into at least a short story. Last night I swam hard and fast, but found myself in the intermediate lane with another fast swimmer while the 'fast' lane was full of intermediate and slow-lane swimmers. Nonetheless I did my 3050 yards and felt very good swimming butterfly for the first time, in well, probably forever. Then again, it wasn't Jason Whitney telling us to do 3-200s butterfly, but who's counting.
After swimming I made my way to the Vermont Ralph's store - Kroger in California - to buy some, well, food. I felt terrible as I left, and as I left Target in Chino today, telling a homeless person I couldn't spare change, when I darn-well could have. I brewed in the van for a few minutes, and then took off asking for forgiveness for being greedy and wishing I could do more; knowing I can, but haven't.
And perhaps I've becoming more thoughtful - in a sense of thinking, not charity, though I wish I could do better in context - as I get older, and more mindful of actions and language. Like today, I noticed instantly as someone cut me off, as people and cars scattered about at the dusty-auto auction in Miro Loma, that I felt a bit of anger and hostility. Instantly, I took note of the response and condemned myself, wishing I didn't have to react that way; albeit internally, but thoughts can be just as damaging, and sometimes more, than actions. No lesson here, but I urge you to try to think about your reactions when things happen that are unpleasent and trivial. Because most things that we react to, are trivial but our responses are not.
I've been reading C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity, again and feeling quite a pull to verses through daily liturgy passages. For instance the other day, Lewis's quote: "
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Echo Park Pool, Flat Tires, Tree Cutters and Angry Swimmers
Today was productive, and productivity breeds peace and peace apparently makes itself known with sore shoulders and stomach.
Two nights ago - July 4 - I made the monumental climb up the Baldwin Hill to watch the fireworks in the L.A. valley. In the meantime, aside from completely draining myself climbing the steps which I referred to as being 'Roman-esque', I aprently pulled a muscle in my stomach and feel like I did an ab workout from 7 years ago.
Following dropping off some material informing the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles at St. Paul's Cathedral - not that St. Paul's Cathedral - I made my way to discount tire because I have a tire issue on the minivan and I think it's a bent rim or a rat has been chewing on the valve stem.
My worse concerns were realized when the tire store representative told me I had side wear and that I should start with the rim. We then talked for a few minutes, I explained who I was and what I was doing in L.A.; land of the body bags. I told him I was looking for good places to bring cars to be fixed, saftied and all that jazz, minus the music. He said he was the man and that he 'knew people' to fix dents and apparently get rid of anything that fit into a 6' black trash bag.
Later I stopped by St. Francis church and school, dropped some material and said a short prayer before heading back down Sunset Blvd and to the Dream Center.
If you know nothing of the Dream Center, they are big business and apparently for the betterment of the kingdom. They made national headlines with this story, reported in 2005 in the wake - no pun intended - of the Hurricane Katrina disaster.
I want a meeting with their leader, the Rev. Matthew Barnett.
Following a short talk with a secretary, I made my way home, back down Belville, left on Silverlake Blvd and right on London Street.
Returning to 3411, I found the tree cutters who were to be at the house at 8 a.m. had just arrived, right on time at 2 p.m.
The noise was obnoxious and tonight, I took a walk through the backyard following the intented deforestation project to find that they hadn't done anything noticeable and didn't leave until I returned at 6 p.m. from the Echo Park library.
Prior to returning to find the tree cutters, as they are now referred to in LA, I made my way to the Echo Park deep pool to swim some laps and apparently be bowled over by the gorgeous attendant behind the small window. I took my $2.50 in change, lied about being a lifeguard and coughed incessantly to remove the lump in my throat from what I had just witnessed. Focus, Nathan.
I changed, and took the equivalent of a cold shower; a 2500 yard session laps in the pool. Apparently in the process of excercising and sore-ing my shoulders, I did a flip turn and pissed off a small man in my lane who belonged more in the intermediate lane, than the fast lane.
After struggling to climb out of the pool, and changing next to the man I kept hearing him saying a dirty word in Spanish, glaring at me with his suit pants rolled up and a collection of wadded paper towls he was using to dry his face and neck, scattered about.
I gave him one last smile, glanced through the window to mercilessly find the beautiful creature facing the other direction allowing my quick escape to the Echo Park library.
This evening I made Chicken Tandoori, asparagus, steamed cauliflower and salad.
Presently I am sore, tired and fulfilled that I actually made a good effort today and feel happy about it. It is a bit stuffy in my room, but I'll deal, read my new book and play one last round of Words.
Two nights ago - July 4 - I made the monumental climb up the Baldwin Hill to watch the fireworks in the L.A. valley. In the meantime, aside from completely draining myself climbing the steps which I referred to as being 'Roman-esque', I aprently pulled a muscle in my stomach and feel like I did an ab workout from 7 years ago.
Following dropping off some material informing the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles at St. Paul's Cathedral - not that St. Paul's Cathedral - I made my way to discount tire because I have a tire issue on the minivan and I think it's a bent rim or a rat has been chewing on the valve stem.
My worse concerns were realized when the tire store representative told me I had side wear and that I should start with the rim. We then talked for a few minutes, I explained who I was and what I was doing in L.A.; land of the body bags. I told him I was looking for good places to bring cars to be fixed, saftied and all that jazz, minus the music. He said he was the man and that he 'knew people' to fix dents and apparently get rid of anything that fit into a 6' black trash bag.
Later I stopped by St. Francis church and school, dropped some material and said a short prayer before heading back down Sunset Blvd and to the Dream Center.
If you know nothing of the Dream Center, they are big business and apparently for the betterment of the kingdom. They made national headlines with this story, reported in 2005 in the wake - no pun intended - of the Hurricane Katrina disaster.
I want a meeting with their leader, the Rev. Matthew Barnett.
Following a short talk with a secretary, I made my way home, back down Belville, left on Silverlake Blvd and right on London Street.
Returning to 3411, I found the tree cutters who were to be at the house at 8 a.m. had just arrived, right on time at 2 p.m.
The noise was obnoxious and tonight, I took a walk through the backyard following the intented deforestation project to find that they hadn't done anything noticeable and didn't leave until I returned at 6 p.m. from the Echo Park library.
Prior to returning to find the tree cutters, as they are now referred to in LA, I made my way to the Echo Park deep pool to swim some laps and apparently be bowled over by the gorgeous attendant behind the small window. I took my $2.50 in change, lied about being a lifeguard and coughed incessantly to remove the lump in my throat from what I had just witnessed. Focus, Nathan.
I changed, and took the equivalent of a cold shower; a 2500 yard session laps in the pool. Apparently in the process of excercising and sore-ing my shoulders, I did a flip turn and pissed off a small man in my lane who belonged more in the intermediate lane, than the fast lane.
After struggling to climb out of the pool, and changing next to the man I kept hearing him saying a dirty word in Spanish, glaring at me with his suit pants rolled up and a collection of wadded paper towls he was using to dry his face and neck, scattered about.
I gave him one last smile, glanced through the window to mercilessly find the beautiful creature facing the other direction allowing my quick escape to the Echo Park library.
This evening I made Chicken Tandoori, asparagus, steamed cauliflower and salad.
Presently I am sore, tired and fulfilled that I actually made a good effort today and feel happy about it. It is a bit stuffy in my room, but I'll deal, read my new book and play one last round of Words.
Tuesday 5 July 2011
A Month in, miss home
This evening I was sitting on the front porch reading and playing Words With Friends, when a package arrived from home. Return-addressed: 32 Waterfall Road, I instantly became weepy and went inside to see the contents. What's worse than feeling as if you're going to cry, is knowing that you've done it twice in the same day!
And, it's not the idea of a package, it's the fact that I knew I'd miss home but i thought I'd feel more purpose here, by now. Things are going okay, and that's all i can say, right now. The vacation is over, and it's time to produce and all I'm getting is missed calls and criticism.
I want to be successful in what I do, and especially for others. Right now I don't feel as if I'm contributing at all, as I've felt in all jobs I've had. And I don't care for it.
I am not losing faith, however. I am willing to press on, but this blog is to be of full disclosure and I can't pretend as if everything is perfect here in Angel town. So, for those at home I pray you're patience and I hope that I don't let you down. Keep me in your thoughts as you're in mine, constantly.
Tomorrow will be a good day :)
And, it's not the idea of a package, it's the fact that I knew I'd miss home but i thought I'd feel more purpose here, by now. Things are going okay, and that's all i can say, right now. The vacation is over, and it's time to produce and all I'm getting is missed calls and criticism.
I want to be successful in what I do, and especially for others. Right now I don't feel as if I'm contributing at all, as I've felt in all jobs I've had. And I don't care for it.
I am not losing faith, however. I am willing to press on, but this blog is to be of full disclosure and I can't pretend as if everything is perfect here in Angel town. So, for those at home I pray you're patience and I hope that I don't let you down. Keep me in your thoughts as you're in mine, constantly.
Tomorrow will be a good day :)
LA DAY 32 or something like that
I can feel it pulling, as the traffic is a vein of progress the city's heat and substance is draining.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here. Most of what I write won't apear as such, but it's observation that gets people down, subconsciously in most cases.
So, the red wine helps to write and when you get up at 8:30 or 9 a.m. contact to the outside world, aka EST peeps is skewed, so it gives you limited time to interact before divulging into the world of no touching or talking.
Today I've made some progress; praying before work, eating a breakfast bar and organizing my thoughts for what looks like a week ahead of business if I allow it to be. My room is trashed and most of my favorite shirts are dirty. I nearly lost Mr. Red when The Road to Serfdom, teaming with Dramatic Opinions of G.B. Shaw fell and toppled the innocent bobblehead.
Lately I'm doing what I didn't want to have to do, by avoiding people. I wait for silence and then I spring to the kitchen and back, as if this is college and I'm trying not to awaken my roommate. The problem is, I worried little about that when i was 19 years old, living in the dorms and my writing was a modern-era horror. Seriously, i go back and read things I wrote a few years ago and what little I've produced in that time, has at least refined the ability to use punctuation. And, the topics are all void of cerebral balance and observation. It's sick to read and makes me depressed to think it was me, quill in hand and handicapped by my own in-development.
So, I'm on a confidence building train, today. I need to work on my idea for my novel, so I can make $1 million and call it a day. The story would be about me, as I've learned that's all i know! The majority of people in my life the past 10 years have either let me know of this fact through their actions or, in very rare cases, told me bluntly. Therefore, in the order of all things great I shall begin composing a mockery of my situation, my characteristics and take notes in the meantime.
Check back in in a few months, I'll be working on it.
Seriously.
This week I need goals, and not like silly attainable goals; goals that are intent to not-be-reached because those are always the goals I daydream about. We all know I dream little at night and what I do dream about, are longings and I thank God I can decipher this fact and recognize the problem.
So, I want to create this outline of what i'm set to tell through this so-called novel. Full disclosure is the name of the game, and although i've yet to start, I feel I may have to move toward anonymity and say that I never produced the novel at all, pull up to your house in 'my' brand new Mercedes convertible and say that it's for a missionary with very little luggage; never acknowledging that the NY Time best-seller is my own under an alias of some Portuguese. recluse. Therein lies the problem of creating the next great-American novel. I suppose I'll disclose that in my memoirs, to be released and dedicated to said Portuguese-recluse posthumous to both of us. And there being just, me.
Tonight I'll do what I do. Probably walk to the liquor store, buy the cheapest Carmenere or Malbec, walk back and read one of the toppling books for 15 minutes or so and then play words with friends. Some life I've.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here. Most of what I write won't apear as such, but it's observation that gets people down, subconsciously in most cases.
So, the red wine helps to write and when you get up at 8:30 or 9 a.m. contact to the outside world, aka EST peeps is skewed, so it gives you limited time to interact before divulging into the world of no touching or talking.
Today I've made some progress; praying before work, eating a breakfast bar and organizing my thoughts for what looks like a week ahead of business if I allow it to be. My room is trashed and most of my favorite shirts are dirty. I nearly lost Mr. Red when The Road to Serfdom, teaming with Dramatic Opinions of G.B. Shaw fell and toppled the innocent bobblehead.
Lately I'm doing what I didn't want to have to do, by avoiding people. I wait for silence and then I spring to the kitchen and back, as if this is college and I'm trying not to awaken my roommate. The problem is, I worried little about that when i was 19 years old, living in the dorms and my writing was a modern-era horror. Seriously, i go back and read things I wrote a few years ago and what little I've produced in that time, has at least refined the ability to use punctuation. And, the topics are all void of cerebral balance and observation. It's sick to read and makes me depressed to think it was me, quill in hand and handicapped by my own in-development.
So, I'm on a confidence building train, today. I need to work on my idea for my novel, so I can make $1 million and call it a day. The story would be about me, as I've learned that's all i know! The majority of people in my life the past 10 years have either let me know of this fact through their actions or, in very rare cases, told me bluntly. Therefore, in the order of all things great I shall begin composing a mockery of my situation, my characteristics and take notes in the meantime.
Check back in in a few months, I'll be working on it.
Seriously.
This week I need goals, and not like silly attainable goals; goals that are intent to not-be-reached because those are always the goals I daydream about. We all know I dream little at night and what I do dream about, are longings and I thank God I can decipher this fact and recognize the problem.
So, I want to create this outline of what i'm set to tell through this so-called novel. Full disclosure is the name of the game, and although i've yet to start, I feel I may have to move toward anonymity and say that I never produced the novel at all, pull up to your house in 'my' brand new Mercedes convertible and say that it's for a missionary with very little luggage; never acknowledging that the NY Time best-seller is my own under an alias of some Portuguese. recluse. Therein lies the problem of creating the next great-American novel. I suppose I'll disclose that in my memoirs, to be released and dedicated to said Portuguese-recluse posthumous to both of us. And there being just, me.
Tonight I'll do what I do. Probably walk to the liquor store, buy the cheapest Carmenere or Malbec, walk back and read one of the toppling books for 15 minutes or so and then play words with friends. Some life I've.
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