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.
Month
Anxiety has it's qualities, but for the most part it's debilitating, ruthless and blinding.
Settling in was easy, but a wave of cautionary aura and surrealism still lingers.
The last couple weeks I've done the So Cal thing. Drove to San Diego and had a wonderful time with a wonderful friend and her family. We spent the evening walking down the beach at Coronado, and then a Padres game.
The following day we spent time in Poway, the City in the Country, and then had dinner before watching the sunset off Delmar beach.
I was recharged, ready to go and excited to come back to L.A. A few days past and I was back to where I began, and back to setting: Indianapolis, late-January 2011. Terrible stuff.
This week, I pray observation returns and I've granted a bit of grace to be productive and squeeze a bit of self-worth through work, for without that I wonder what I'm doing here.
This week I want to write and I want it to be good. I have a meeting with a local news outlet. I have a lot of work to legitimize myself to myself, with MATS. I want to swim every day. And, i want to be able to take a breath, relax and enjoy the moments I hold dear.
Settling in was easy, but a wave of cautionary aura and surrealism still lingers.
The last couple weeks I've done the So Cal thing. Drove to San Diego and had a wonderful time with a wonderful friend and her family. We spent the evening walking down the beach at Coronado, and then a Padres game.
The following day we spent time in Poway, the City in the Country, and then had dinner before watching the sunset off Delmar beach.
I was recharged, ready to go and excited to come back to L.A. A few days past and I was back to where I began, and back to setting: Indianapolis, late-January 2011. Terrible stuff.
This week, I pray observation returns and I've granted a bit of grace to be productive and squeeze a bit of self-worth through work, for without that I wonder what I'm doing here.
This week I want to write and I want it to be good. I have a meeting with a local news outlet. I have a lot of work to legitimize myself to myself, with MATS. I want to swim every day. And, i want to be able to take a breath, relax and enjoy the moments I hold dear.
Friday 24 June 2011
LA Day 14
Wednesday I awoke and became quite productive; made some phone calls, drank some coffee and silently rooted on the homeless people wandering the street with their Ralph's grocery carts full of recycleables, pulled from bins in front of houses on London.
I set up some meetings, got some administrators to email well-written and genuine introductions of MATS and how we serve those in ministry.
In the afternoon I ran again; making 5 days in a row. This time to Echo Park, past the umbrella-donned fruit stand, the pot smokers laying on the grass, and the half-naked homeless lady picking scabs off her back, paying no mind to me or I to her.
Runs require showers, but don't require laundry as I currently wear the shirt once dripping in sweat now dry, from that run. Therefore, I showered and met my friends Kyle and Katie for trivia night at Ye Olde Kings Head in Santa Monica, within site of the Pier and the Pacific.
Topics of trivia are always amusing, as the Greater-LA area holds it's collective breath and certainly not their vulgar tongues for the closing of the 405 freeway in mid-July. "Car-mageddon" is what they are calling the closing of, perhaps, the most-busy stretch of interstate in the country for construction the weekend of July 15-17. News outlets, entertainment moguls and even homeless people in Santa Monica are talking about what might be, the end of West Los Angeles.
During the drink round, where one team gets a free round of beers for having the most-quirky and collectively-shocking rebuttle to the topic, the emcee asked: "what could happen in LA that is worse than carmageddon?"
Instantly a wise-guy from the back shouted: "TWO CARMAGEDDONS!"
All the answers were bland, and honestly I don't believe anyone won drinks this go-around.
Thursday, I awoke early, drank coffee and hopped on the 101 to the 10 to the auction in Fontana; desert land, still considered LA-area.
At last I felt back in my element, car auctions, shady dealers and free donuts to whoever is faster than the fat guy banking on the deep-fried dough. Manheim Southern California had free bananas and apples at the door and was insistent to check ID every time you walked through the doors.
I made it to the other two major auctions in the area, soon after, but didn't eat In-N-Out, as I would have liked.
Last night I went back to Culver, dropped Kyle's phone off to him which he left in the car the night prior and watched an episode of Game of Thrones, a new series based on some books by George R. R. Martin, yes two 'Rs'.
Tonight I'm going to try and run or swim, or find the next best thing to fishing in the LA river. Any takers to that idea?
I set up some meetings, got some administrators to email well-written and genuine introductions of MATS and how we serve those in ministry.
In the afternoon I ran again; making 5 days in a row. This time to Echo Park, past the umbrella-donned fruit stand, the pot smokers laying on the grass, and the half-naked homeless lady picking scabs off her back, paying no mind to me or I to her.
Runs require showers, but don't require laundry as I currently wear the shirt once dripping in sweat now dry, from that run. Therefore, I showered and met my friends Kyle and Katie for trivia night at Ye Olde Kings Head in Santa Monica, within site of the Pier and the Pacific.
Topics of trivia are always amusing, as the Greater-LA area holds it's collective breath and certainly not their vulgar tongues for the closing of the 405 freeway in mid-July. "Car-mageddon" is what they are calling the closing of, perhaps, the most-busy stretch of interstate in the country for construction the weekend of July 15-17. News outlets, entertainment moguls and even homeless people in Santa Monica are talking about what might be, the end of West Los Angeles.
During the drink round, where one team gets a free round of beers for having the most-quirky and collectively-shocking rebuttle to the topic, the emcee asked: "what could happen in LA that is worse than carmageddon?"
Instantly a wise-guy from the back shouted: "TWO CARMAGEDDONS!"
All the answers were bland, and honestly I don't believe anyone won drinks this go-around.
Thursday, I awoke early, drank coffee and hopped on the 101 to the 10 to the auction in Fontana; desert land, still considered LA-area.
At last I felt back in my element, car auctions, shady dealers and free donuts to whoever is faster than the fat guy banking on the deep-fried dough. Manheim Southern California had free bananas and apples at the door and was insistent to check ID every time you walked through the doors.
I made it to the other two major auctions in the area, soon after, but didn't eat In-N-Out, as I would have liked.
Last night I went back to Culver, dropped Kyle's phone off to him which he left in the car the night prior and watched an episode of Game of Thrones, a new series based on some books by George R. R. Martin, yes two 'Rs'.
Tonight I'm going to try and run or swim, or find the next best thing to fishing in the LA river. Any takers to that idea?
Tuesday 21 June 2011
LA Day 12
A day was full of work, mixed nuts, and a treacherous set of lunges by the Silverlake reservoir; oh bliss.
Today I had the chutzpah to give a few more missions organizations a call, tell them about MATS and how great I look in plaid dress pants. Okay, part of that is true. But after my splendid salad of Atwater Village lettuce and radishes and cucumbers, I took a rest, read some news and then went on a run.
After finishing a call with the president of a major missions organization, all I could think about is how he had the same first name of a peculiar individual, known as my uncle Loren. I went about telling about our connections and what we could do, and how I'd love to meet, and in the meantime he stopped me and said: "it'd be a pleasure to sit down and talk...how does July 20th sound?"
It sounded great.
I stripped out of my faded Chicago Bulls shorts for running shorts and hanes briefs, locked the door in the back and took off for Silver Lake reservoir, determined to make it on this day. I came close, but stopped outside the Silver Lake community center, stripped my shirt off to expose my whiteness and stopped to read the side of a Hispanic snow-cone truck.
That's the funny thing about LA; you have no idea what half the text in the entire city means but it makes you feel better because most the 5 million other people don't have a clue either. It's like one big confused mess in the middle of what should be a paradise, but is overrun with traffic and helicopters and restaurants on every corner claiming to have the best tacos or burger.
An observational journalist could make a killing in this town, if anyone paid to read good work, which they don't.
So I ran until I was at least 3/4 around the reservoir, along the tan dirt sidewalk circumventing the fenced reservoir. I felt like death, but I was determined to push myself as I used to enjoy, but now feel both too old and out-of-shape to do. I crossed the snake-like street, avoiding a motorcycle and an overpriced woman-lead dog, and happened upon the brilliant idea of doing some lunges.
I began: 1, 2, 3...and made it to ten and took 25 steps and, again: 1, 2, 3...10!
The fun had just begun, when I thought: "I'll just start running!"
No, the pain in my newly-stretched thighs was too much and I'm sure I looked like a heart-attack victim or a recently-shot white tail deer, as I nearly hit the deck from pain while my legs and my heart said to each other: "where has this been in 3 years, and why now?!"
I got my whits and started running, eventually and all the way home like the third little pig.
Tonight I made myself some spicy, but delicious chicken fajitas, ruined the rice which became compost and then hung out with a buddy for a bit before he decided he had to go.
All is good in the hood, if you live in Silver Lake, LA. If you don't, you should. Or, you should just stay where you are, because there are too many people crammed on this street, and in this city.
Monday 20 June 2011
LA Day
Now, I have to be honest what frightened me more wasn't the man stretching in darkness, face lit only by the LED street lights of East LA. No, it was the height at which he had his leg stretched, nearly to his chin upon a white-painted wall of concrete block.
Walking home, down Elysian, then Sunset, then Echo Park; a car awaited, a faithful steed to take me through the flowing 101 freeway to my newest home.
Today was my first day of real work, and though I'm overwhelmed with the prospect of development, there is quite a bit of prospect. Awaking later than I used to, though it was only 7:30 a.m., I made my way down the two-wrung bed ladder to my desk, upon which I found little to be answered and even less to send.
I've created quite a good work and living space, and now that my roommate and I talk every third interaction it's beginning to feel like home. I scraped the chicken grease from the frying pan; remains of a hot and oily mess that stained my Cococay shirt and the pit of my stomach. I made off with eight cups of coffee this morning, instead of the usual 10, and raisin bran for breakfast.
The morning was full of profiling mission and ministry organizations, making lists and checking them thrice. I've been needing a lamp, because nothing makes work like a well-lit room, so Hollywood's Goodwill called and I answered. I contemplated on a Banana Republic shirt, once, twice and three times didn't get it done; escaped with the shadeless lamp and out into the horror that is 72 degrees, sunny and hardly a bit of humidity.
5:30 p.m.
I decide that rather than reading, I'd find a ticket to the Dodger game. I perused vastness that is Craigslist, made two phone calls and met a dude on a bicycle in front of a liquor store on Sunset Blvd. near Aroma restaurant; you know the place. He said he wanted to go, but sold me two tickets for $10 and made off down the street. At that moment I wondered: were these printed off tickets sold by a guy named Rick, labeled with the name Jason, legit? So, I did what I do best; worry.
I parked at Echo Park to avoid traffic, parking cost and because I don't know the lay of the land well enough, yet. Prior to the oncoming parallel parking adventure, I noticed a man screaming obscenities across the street, fly zipped down, peeing on a 6' electrical box at the corner of Park and Glendale. I was sitting at what became one of the longest red lights of my life, as he finished, continued to scream and then pleaded with me to give him a ride to 6th and Olive. I declined multiple times as he continued to approach and the light continued it's rojo state.
"I'm a surgeon assistant, bro!"
"I really can't," I lied.
"It's just right down there," he pointed and finished zipping up, as I thought: if it's just down there and you're empty then just walk.
Meanwhile, the light continued to stay red and I began wondering if I should roll up my window and/or fly through the light as I could nearly feel the surgeon assistants breath in my face.
Green.
I took off, said good bye, parked and made my way down Echo Park toward Dodger Stadium.
The game was nice, but the evening was more. Dodger fans are loud and we all saw Clayton Kershaw throw a two-hit shutout.
Sunday 19 June 2011
Lazy Sunday
Routine has yet to happen, but tomorrow is Monday and the thought of the day screams for normalcy and idiosyncdom of the weekend to vanish.
So, I find myself drinking Shiraz and eating radishes - the very radishes i've become obsessed with from Atwater Village's farmer's market. Laced with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette, you have organic-branded heaven, or something served there.
And it's funny how Shiraz is trumped by Carmenere and radishes by apples, but I remain to choose the latter and don't think twice.
I made my way this morning to church at Our Mother of Good Counsel, again; two weeks in a row. I shook hands with the priest, ate a scone and made off with a cup of coffee in a styrafoam cup, of which I'm against.
(mariachi band going on 3 hours across the street)
Afterwards, I made my way to Atwater Village to the farmer's market, serving the best radishes anyone could ask for. I bought none, because of my reserved supply at 3411 London Street. Funny how life takes you places, you discover things, eat foods and realize; I never once even thought to like this or that. That's kind of like me and radishes, or me and LA; I never once thought I'd like it.
Never even once thought about it.
So, I find myself drinking Shiraz and eating radishes - the very radishes i've become obsessed with from Atwater Village's farmer's market. Laced with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette, you have organic-branded heaven, or something served there.
And it's funny how Shiraz is trumped by Carmenere and radishes by apples, but I remain to choose the latter and don't think twice.
I made my way this morning to church at Our Mother of Good Counsel, again; two weeks in a row. I shook hands with the priest, ate a scone and made off with a cup of coffee in a styrafoam cup, of which I'm against.
(mariachi band going on 3 hours across the street)
Afterwards, I made my way to Atwater Village to the farmer's market, serving the best radishes anyone could ask for. I bought none, because of my reserved supply at 3411 London Street. Funny how life takes you places, you discover things, eat foods and realize; I never once even thought to like this or that. That's kind of like me and radishes, or me and LA; I never once thought I'd like it.
Never even once thought about it.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Update
Full disclosure could be the name of this blog, but for now I'll leave it at what it is.
The initial idea of coming to California was met with little more than suspicion and doubt. After a while the idea flourished into a reality, then a plan and then a move. Why would I want to go became: how will I make this work?
So, basically I'm here to start a new branch of the very-trusting company for which I work. I'm indebted to create contacts, network and eventually begin selling to those who wouldn't have been reachable before. MATS works and sells to people in ministries, and the good thing going to LA is that there are a lot of people, and as a result, a lot of ministries; some have yet to be discovered.
I'm starting to create goals, because without goals and dreams we have little to shoot at and for. If I sit in this chair and go about my day as it hits me, I'll have no drive and therefore will progress very little, on a day-to-day basis.
Therefore, my goals will be as follows (101-traffic buzzing in my ear):
1. Establish myself within a given community, whether it be church, Young Life or some other organization with mission-based directives.
2. Establish a foothold into networks, and utilize the networks to my advantage, in effect, to allow all ministries in the greater-LA area to know about MATS.
3. Create an efficient system, leaving room to evolve as jobs and focuses will change.
4. Get back in shape.
5. Begin writing again, and don't let up.
Those sound quite broad, but worthy of consideration. The difference in my time here, is that it will all have to be self-infused and motivated solely by my inner-most, not someone else. Drive is often something I lack and though I know how to drive, and drive well, I'll need to pick up some 'drive' on my next trick down the 101.
Today, I'm not sure what to do, but my faults in the past have been that I'm not utilizing my time as I should, because I don't know where to start and/or what will bring me happiness in a given day. Which makes me think I need to add another goal:
6. Establish a checklist/goal sheet for each day, including a food menu to alleviate worry and/or unneeded stress.
I need to getting moving today, because it's already 1 p.m. and I've lots to do.
The initial idea of coming to California was met with little more than suspicion and doubt. After a while the idea flourished into a reality, then a plan and then a move. Why would I want to go became: how will I make this work?
So, basically I'm here to start a new branch of the very-trusting company for which I work. I'm indebted to create contacts, network and eventually begin selling to those who wouldn't have been reachable before. MATS works and sells to people in ministries, and the good thing going to LA is that there are a lot of people, and as a result, a lot of ministries; some have yet to be discovered.
I'm starting to create goals, because without goals and dreams we have little to shoot at and for. If I sit in this chair and go about my day as it hits me, I'll have no drive and therefore will progress very little, on a day-to-day basis.
Therefore, my goals will be as follows (101-traffic buzzing in my ear):
1. Establish myself within a given community, whether it be church, Young Life or some other organization with mission-based directives.
2. Establish a foothold into networks, and utilize the networks to my advantage, in effect, to allow all ministries in the greater-LA area to know about MATS.
3. Create an efficient system, leaving room to evolve as jobs and focuses will change.
4. Get back in shape.
5. Begin writing again, and don't let up.
Those sound quite broad, but worthy of consideration. The difference in my time here, is that it will all have to be self-infused and motivated solely by my inner-most, not someone else. Drive is often something I lack and though I know how to drive, and drive well, I'll need to pick up some 'drive' on my next trick down the 101.
Today, I'm not sure what to do, but my faults in the past have been that I'm not utilizing my time as I should, because I don't know where to start and/or what will bring me happiness in a given day. Which makes me think I need to add another goal:
6. Establish a checklist/goal sheet for each day, including a food menu to alleviate worry and/or unneeded stress.
I need to getting moving today, because it's already 1 p.m. and I've lots to do.
Friday 17 June 2011
LA adventure
So, I made it.
I had my doubts; continue to, but I'm here, nonetheless, and here for a reason.
To set it straight, I'm in Los Angeles. It's a journey I reasoned with and for, and now find myself in the middle of. I'm glad to be here, and hoping for some answers to questions yet to be asked.
This afternoon, I took a trip back to Culver City to get the desk I now write upon; discovered amongst faded ox paintings and broken-down shoes in a consignment store run and, I'm assuming, owned by a Chinese-American lady and her Cuban-American husband. The desk is small, but sufficient. My computer is flanked by my pen/pencil/paperclip chest and vintage globe - displaying USSR in all it's glory.
My room is small, but again, sufficient. It holds my things, isn't well-lit, but has view of a banana tree which pokes into the screen of my window. It needs cut back to allow more light, but I'm writing at this moment.
Yes, a true experience in growing up the old-fashioned way; boy goes to the city knowing his art, but not practicing it, get's stuck in traffic trying to get the grocery store and makes tuna-salad sandwiches with just mayo and cucumbers, on white bread of course.
I have a big job ahead of me, and while street parking seems to be a worry on my mind, I know more immediate is finding in-roads to potential MATS clients. It's weird going at it alone. But, I know in due time, alone won't be around anymore but, rather, echoes of how observations evolved from sun-blocking banana trees to social engagements and church-involved mission gatherings.
Hope all is well back in Indiana. I'm fine here, a bit uneasy and overwhelmed, but fine.
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