Intense Moments, Part Two

Hello again - like I'd predicted, this study-free time is really aiding my blogging output... So, here's another moment I remember vividly and I think might be worth a story. Here we go:

(this image courtesy of www.virgilelliot.com)

Darkness. Giggles. The rustling of bedclothes, the sounds of breathing, my own and that of six or seven other teenage kids. We're all about sixteen years old, two girls and a bunch of boys away on a weekend retreat with two grown-up "tent leaders" who've long gone to bed. It's Saturday night around midnight. The boys' bedroom has a row of six bunkbeds lined up side by side, and it is on top of this large sleeping area that we're all gathered. What with hormones flying around and everyone keen for adventure, the girls have slipped over from their room and, among much excited whispering, laughs and teasing, joined the boys in bed. I'm over on the far side of the bed, and next to me is Emily, the only one in our group who's already "going regular" with a partner. Emily is the group outsider - though of our age, she doesn't go to the same school as most of us, she lives in the poorer part of our small town and her clothes and appearance are downmarket and disheveled. There has been the odd moment of tension between her and other group members during the day and, to be honest, I think none of us boys is as excited to have her with us as we are about sweet, popular, fragrant Violet's presence near the other end of the bed. However, this is puberty and there's lots of testosterone (and some estrogen) mingling with the adrenalin in the warm, musty air above the bed. While the laughs, occasional squealing and merriment continue on Violet's side, both Emily and I are being quiet, pretending to sleep as we're clearly missing out on the exciting action. Then, a strange and unexpected thing happens: Emily, maybe on the verges of dozing off, turns on her side, her arm falling across my chest, her face suddenly close to me, locks of her bushy hair tickling my nose.

(this image courtesy of www.ftloose.org)

I'm stunned and lie rigid for several seconds, my heart thumping, unsure of what to do. On one hand, I'm repulsed and even a little scared - after all, I'm not particularly attracted to Emily and feel a teenager's fear of ridicule if the group finds out I'm "shacking up" with her. Also, there's a smell of stale smoke from her hair that is making me twitch with discomfort. But still, regardless of all this turn-off, I'm feeling urges stirring deep inside me (not to mention in my loins) that I've never felt before. Don't get me wrong - my, err, masculinity is intact and has been causing me all the trouble and awkward pleasure that accompanies my age. However, I've never been this close to a woman, this near her body, her lips before and I feel myself being pulled in by a magic that is new to me, something dark and scary, yet strangely natural. I can feel Emily's breathing make her chest rise and fall, her body heat washing over me in waves that leave my head spinning. Eventually, I find the courage to turn from lying on my back to a position facing her. Thoughts race through my mind: what am I doing? Where does this attraction come from? Can the others hear my pounding heart, the noises our movements have made? What will happen next?

(this one courtesy of www.stevenapolis.blogspot.com)

With a sigh, Emily turns a bit more and snuggles her head against my chest. I'm not sure whether she's asleep at this point, or whether she's conscious of what she's doing to me. Surely this must be intentional - how could it not be? The sound of my own pulse is booming in my ears. Without even thinking or knowing what I'm doing, my right knee, pressed lightly against her legs, begins curling upwards, my thigh thrusting gently between her legs. She gives a little; we're fully embracing now and my mind has gone into complete overload. I'm seeing fireworks and my stomach is doing funny rollercoaster motions inside me. I don't even know what I'm doing - that's what surprises me most in hindsight. This may sound stupid, but if I say that I had no idea where my leg movement was heading or why that should be related to my excitement, be assured that I'm not lying. Again, Emily sighs, this time against my chest - I feel her breast rising before the sound comes out. I'm on fire, set alight by something I've never encountered but which has taken me over before I even know it's name. Little flames are licking their way up and down my lower belly and my breathing is so rushed that I'm sure the others MUST have noticed by now and are listening. Amazingly, I'm beyond caring at this point - I want to go wherever this road takes me, and I want to go there now. I'm aware enough to notice that Emily's breath, like mine, is laboured. Then, all of a sudden, it's all over - with a jerk, Emily's head comes up, she hisses "what are you doing with your leg?" and turns away from me.

(this image courtesy of www.flickr.com, says Google)

I'm stunned, left panting in the dark with no warning, no clue of what's going on, no-one to tell me what just happened. Later in the night, Emily turns my way again, but I push her away and try to sleep. To my relief, I find out next morning that it seems nobody heard me, or "us", or whatever it was. I'm still ripped and torn with guilt - I don't know what to make of my own or Emily's behaviour, I'm repulsed at my own actions and completely befuddled as to what this all means. A talk with one of the two group leaders whom I love and respect doesn't help - maybe it's because I'm too self-conscious to go into details about how I feel. I want someone, ideally a man, to tell me what this riptide of primal instinct means, whether it's normal for someone of my age, or whether I have reason to be ashamed. Unfortunately, I fail to find understanding and come away confused and unhappy. Not a perfect start to my manhood, then (no, I didn't become a man that night, though I felt as if I had at the time - after all, it was my first real exposure to the passion of love-making). Telling you, my readers, this story, has been an interesting experience, however, and surely that makes the memory worthwhile? I hope so... (BTW, neither Emily nor Violet have been given their real names - after all, my own mother sometimes reads my posts!)

Intense Moments, Part One

...here we are again. My topic for today's post is driven in part by all the amazingly forthright, honest blogging that has been going on recently among the people I read regularly. Wendz, it's the little things, Kaat (the other blog), Shelley Rayedeane, you inspire me. I admire your resolve and am trying to learn from it. So, I'm trying to think of ways I can tell you more about me, who I am, etc. And one way I came up with is this, to share some of my life's "crunch time" moments thus far, be they positive and uplifting experiences or otherwise. Starting off, here's one moment (Wendz-inspired again!!!) I shall never, ever forget. In fact, I dream of it regularly ever since...

(this image courtesy of www.jaars.org)

The Porter PC 6's side door slides open, letting a sudden blast of cold air into the tiny cabin crammed with bodies. Take-off was at a summery 26 degrees centigrade - up here, we're down to a cool 14, which feels positively arctic in comparison. I'm kneeling on the cabin floor, head almost touching the ceiling, the harness belts across my chest, shoulders and belly pulling me painfully back against Sam, my instructor, who is cool as ice outwardly, though I can feel his pulse quickening as things start happening. The moment the door went back, three to five guys leapt out, but as Sam has been ordering me around, I've not had time to focus on them. Now, fully belted up and ready, I'm told to move forward through the increasingly emptier cabin on my knees, pulling Sam behind me in an awkward sort of conga motion. As we near the door, my mate Andy (whose stag do this is) sits in the doorway, gives a nervous thumbs-up to the cameraman clinging to the wing strut outside, then leans forward and is gone. Being nearer the door now, I can actually see what happens, and it robs me of all thought except blank terror. Quicker than my eyes can follow, he and his instructor have vanished, become a colourful speck somewhere way below me, then they're gone from view, all in a matter of one or two seconds. Suddenly, the realisation of what I'm about to do hits me like a ton of bricks. I guess the build-up to the event - organising the jump, re-scheduling it at short notice, organising a pre-event meeting with Sam, getting transport for all of Andy's mates, etc. has really helped me to not think about the jump itself. Even the training session this morning somehow failed to make me register just what this is all about. My throat constricts and it's all I can do not to scream. My hands are up at my neck, unable to claw at anything, as ordered by Sam. Oh my God.

(this image courtesy of www.codinghorror.com)

We're alongside the door now and I note how, even kneeling, I'm too tall to fit through. Andy, who's over six foot tall, went out feet first, sitting on the ledge for a moment with his instructor before jumping, but Sam, maybe anticipating my nervousness, has other plans. I'm ordered to duck my head down, then stick my left knee out of the plane into thin air and plunk it down on the plane's running board just below the door. I'm dumbstruck, but try to follow orders anyway. As I lower my head, I can't help noticing that the familiar landscape 4000 metres below me is shrouded by some light clouds. Oh gosh, we're even higher than the clouds! Panic strikes as I lurch out into what is effectively thin air, and I can't help but grab the top of the doorframe as my knee fumbles for the sill. Sam whips my hand away with an angry motion (okay, maybe he wasn't angry, but that's how it felt at the time). Cripes, this is uncomfortable - I'm half in, half out of a tiny airplane with miles of thin air below me and an instructor who's exchanging pleasantries with the pilot and the other divers still to go, including two cameramen who are hanging, grinning, off the side of the plane. My head is stretched back hard as ordered, hands up at my neck as I'm told to grin and give the cameras a thumbs-up. Then, with my head still back, Sam tells me he'll count to three, then go. Moments later, at two-and-a-bit, we're suddenly out of the plane with a jerk, falling as my stomach does an amplified version of that jerk you get when cresting a hump on a roller-coaster. I've instinctively kicked my legs backwards and up like I was told to, back arched. Still, we go through an almost complete somersault before righting ourselves awkwardly in the horizontal position we practiced all morning. My eyes fill with earth, then sky (my head's still back) as I stifle yet another yelp. This is sensory overload - despite the overalls, I'm freezing cold as we accelerate relentlessly towards the ground. Every time I catch a glimpse of terra firma from the corner of my eye, it seems to have come so much closer that I expect us to pull the 'chute any moment now. Meanwhile, I'm gagging on the cold air that's rushing into my nostrils and mouth, threatening to choke as I try my best to control my breathing. My mouth is wide open, both in shock and in an attempt to exhale better - it's not the intake of breath, it's getting the air back out that's hard work at what I find out later is in excess of 150 mph (254 km/h - we even have a speedo "on board"). Sam is tapping my shoulder now, pulling my arms out of their position and into a way more comfortable "wings-out" stance. As I begin to relax (and look down - after all, I want to see where we're going, what this familiar piece of Germany looks like from the air, etc.), someone suddenly pulls on my arm and pushes my head back up again. Jens, our cameraman, has arrived in position right next to us and motions me to smile and do a thumbs-up for the camera. His helmet cam is using the wrong type of lense, but I we don't find that out until later on the ground. Sam and I perform a few spins for him (the tiny brake 'chute dragging behind us means we can easily circle around our own plummet axis, which is fun but a little too fast for my liking), then I'm told to put my hands back in and brace myself. What, already? I've only just started relaxing!

(this image courtesy of www.pacific-skydiving.com)

Moments later, I do the perfect impression of a marionet whose strings have snapped as the 'chute comes out with what sounds like a supersonic bang. Despite myself, my head is thrown forwards, my legs and arms flail downwards and I feel a huge rush of blood down from my head and upper body into my legs. Simultaneously, the belts on my thighs (around my crotch) seem to tighten up as gravity fights the increased drag the canopy above us is creating. Oww! The term "pants on fire" springs to my addled mind. Meanwhile, Sam is talking again, asking whether I'm okay, telling me to reach up and grab the chute's steering lines. "I'm okay, thanks", is all I can manage rather weakly (fortunately, Sam's American, so using my mother tongue is alright) as things finally begin to calm down. The ground has come rather a lot closer than it was before - I can discern individual cars on the nearby autobahn, I can see a town somewhere below me that I think I recognise. Squirming, I try my best to ease the pressure on my privates and allow some of the blood in my legs to flow back upwards. It doesn't work - I can feel myself on the verge of fainting and tell Sam so as black curtains try to close before my open eyes. Pro that he is, Sam immediately starts taking action, making me stand on his feet and losening the belts on my thighs slightly. Unfortunately, his next command makes me want to throw up within seconds - I'm told to pull down on my right-hand guide line as hard as I can. I do and immediately, the whole world starts spinning around me as we swing in a tight circle. This is awful - there are no visual orientation points I can make out by which to reference what is happening, and this makes my stomach lurch. Sam gives out a muted curse as I warn him what's about to happen - I don't know why at this point, but as he tells me later, this is a very common occurance and unfortunately, he's only just discovered he forgot to pack a barf bag for me. I'm terribly embarrassed as my body convulses against his and my breakfast is dispersed upon the landscape below us, but there's nothing I can do and Sam reassures me that it's okay (my admiration for him is immeasurable at this point already. I honestly don't think there could be a better instructor for a novice like me. He's doing great - it's not his fault his charge is being such a wuss.). Finally, one empty stomach and several more sickening spins later, I can see us homing in on the landing circle (a large pit full of gravel) in a graceful arc. My legs still feel leaden at this point, so much so that I fail to obey Sam's command to pull them up towards me. We manage a fairly gentle landing anyway and relief floods through me as Sam unbuckles me and turns to attend to the parachute. Andy and the two mates who did the jump before us are there patting me on the back as in kneel on all fours, intestines still heaving, my jump suit in a horrible mess. God, I'm so glad to be alive right now. We make it up and out of the pit and the guys kindly walk back to base with me (the van that usually does the transfer has deemed me untransportable due to the smell). All kinds of emotions rush in - a feeling of triumph at having made it, shame at having made a prat of myself, a deep calm as I realise I'm alive and have done something I shall be able to bore my grandchildren with, something other people would have been scared to do.

(this image courtesy of www.facilities.upenn.edu, clearly not the jump zone we used)

All in all the day ends well for me (not for the future bridegroom, who has a massive row with his fiancee upon coming home. They still got married, though, and are very happy together, I'm glad to report), but I'm left with various impressions that together make me very suspicious of skydiving as a sport. Everyone has said that it's a Marmite thing (love it or hate it), but what I found most worrying wasn't the sport, it was the people I met who do this on a regular basis. With the notable exception of Sam (of whom I'm extremely unwilling to speak badly. He was ace - a quiet, thorough and gentle instructor, truly professional and friendly at all times), most of the guys (and girls) at the jump base reminded me of every adrenaline junkie I've ever met, except that these people spoke openly of taunting death, taking their fate into their own hands as they aimed for low pulls (opening the parachute late) and daredevil stunts mid-air. Scariest moment for me was meeting the guy everybody else on base thought was a bit loony. This grey-haired gentleman wasn't only wearing a very ugly 1970's jump suit, but more importantly he had just consciously completed a jump with a ripped canopy! One of the instructors was having words with him, but it was clear to me from his grin and impudent manner that he didn't give a toss - he was going to do what he liked, and to hell with those like the pilot and the base's organisers who would be made partially accountable if something happened to him. And that's what I don't like about the sport in a nutshell - many of the people here are married with kids and responsibilities beyond their own lives. In order to maintain a valid license, jumpers must make a fairly high number of certified skydives per year. In other words, Family Mum or Dad can't just go out there and risk her or his life once a year for perks if they want to do their own jumps. They have to spend greater parts of their weekends in spring and summer putting their lives in very, very real danger and potentially ruining others' lives in the process. That, to me, just doesn't seem right - sorry, folks. Maybe you think I'm a conservative fraidy-cat, but this thinking is also why I don't ride motorbikes or do drugs - even though I'm married without kids at the moment, I'm not willing to ruin the lives of my wife and family by selfishly indulging in the kinds of pleasure that has an overwhelming potential for fatality. At least, I won't do anything like that more than once. And, as you can probably tell by now, I'm pretty much cured of any such desires for the moment. I still have recurring nightmares of that one jump, and while I'm glad I now know what people are talking about when describing such thrills, I don't think anything but a complete lack of emotional fulfillment in my life would drive me back there...

(this image courtesy of www.whatdigitalcamera.com)

My heartfelt thanks go out to Sam, the instructor who made this the smoothest possible experience for me, and to Andy for having the balls to come through with an unusual idea for a stag do. Meanwhile, I hope you, dear readers, will benefit from what I've written by knowing me a little bit better and being able to extend the image you have of me. So, there! Signing off...

Link

Heavens to mergatroid

Monday again and, as it turns out, it's Lazy B**tard Monday over here on my balcony where I'm lazing in a folding armchair, OD-ing on unexpected spring sunshine and recovering from the weekend's stresses. Saturday was spent running errands for C, who had a big event on at school. Sunday I played a gig in the morning (a duo act with my new guitarist buddy Martin from CEIL), then slanted off to attend a family do (C's family), sprung a surprise visit on me own Dad while we were in the area, got home late and crashed. Poor C is out working like a slave all day today - sometimes I feel awful about my slobbish, rock'n'roll lifestyle. Then again, once the new semester starts I'll be getting up even earlier than her mornings, so I don't feel all too terrible for now. Anyway, that wasn't really what I wanted to blog about, but before I get to that part, a quick update for those of you who read my post on the abuse done to a teenage boy at a German school recently: I'm horrified to tell you that as far as I know, pretty much nothing has happened since. The school's administration has announced it will be "punishing" the perpetrators with an hour's social service for their misbehaviour, full stop. No legal action, no evictions, no public outcry, nothing. Yes, I'm furious and will be announcing the school's e-mail address here on the blog as soon as I find it out (not an easy task as it turns out)... Watch this space. Okay, forget it, I'll start a new post for what I was originally going to blog about. Hang on...

Heya

Not much to say tonight as the snow continues blowing past my window. Its Friday night, C's already in bed and here I am tapping away at the keyboard. Feeling very self-conscious about my writing at the moment - I spent some time just perusing other people's blogs and I must say, there's a heck of a lot of writing talent flying around out there. Plus, I've felt trapped a little in my writing recently because of who I am and the people who read my blog. I don't know, maybe I'm just being paranoid, but some of you bloggers really go all-out with your personal stories and what-goes-on-in-my-mind episodes. Myself, I increasingly find myself unwilling to blurt about the sordid workings of my mind or the less exciting aspects of being me. To some part, maybe I'm just not the exhibionist I thought I was, but also I'm worried what some of you readers might think of me.

(this image courtesy of www.psychology-concordia.ca)

For example, I gave my blog address to some dear friends down in Cornwall a while ago when I posted pictures and a story about a visit with them. Now, these are lovely people and I doubt they come "here" regularly. And in turn, I'm not sure I'm comfortable telling you all about my secret glue-sniffing addiction or my favourite swearwords if I imagine that my light-hearted (okay, if I really sniffed glue, that should be "light-headed") and, err, intimate scribblings should happen before them. They don't know me that way, and I don't know if I want this to change. Do you understand what I'm saying? Maybe some of you have come across the situation before and know what I mean? I know that Kaat of the Totally Biased Book and Movie Review, for example, has made one of her blogs private for that very same reason. The slightly schizophrenic part of my quandary is that I wouldn't actually mind telling an audience of complete strangers or blogger friends who know only my "online personality"(whatever that is) all about my horrible habits and hilariously hallucinogenous high-jinks. With people who know me for certain things I do or stand for, however, I'm not so sure. I mean, what will one of my former clients think if they surf hither and find me slagging off life as a trainer or ranting about the absurd situations my previous occupation has put me through? And that is an example I'm not half as worried about as I'd be about some other people reading my personal splurges...

(this image courtesy of www.pawprince.com)

Anyway, at least I've managed to be honest and adress this issue with you here - it has been bugging me and impeding my blogging output greatly in recent weeks. So, there, I've told you - not sure where to go from here, but at least the crazy, worry-worthy part of me that thinks this blog is a conversation with you not a one-way thing is happier now I've come out and been honest. Well, and now that that's done, I think I'll retire for a little more mooching and poring over other people's scribbles... Be safe, y'all!

Sick to the stomach

We're just having a friend visiting who told us a tale so horrific that I simply have to blog about it, so that maybe I can calm down afterwards. A friend of hers from an idyllic town in Southern Germany, a ninth-grader of sixteen, came home from school looking ill and out-of-sorts last Friday. He wouldn't tell his mother what was wrong for the longest time. What he eventually confessed to was so sickening that I can hardly bear typing it. It turns out that five of his classmates pinned him down during a break between classes and used a broomstick to penetrate him rectally. They didn't even bother to remove his trousers beforehand. The boy in question has suffered both internal and external injuries from the incident, as well as, I presume, severe mental trauma. I simply cannot believe I am writing this. Worst of all, after he had finally given in and told his parents (who rushed him to a doctor), the mother called his school (this school) to report the incident and ask for help. She was told that there was nothing the school would do and that it was up to them, the parents, to ring the offenders' parents or take whatever other action they deemed appropriate. In essence, the school made clear that they were washing their hands of the matter. Now, I repeat, this incident occurred during a school day, inside a classroom on the school's premises, with teachers supposedly responsible for attending to the welfare of this child. I am furious, both with fact that the idea of such action, let alone the execution, should have even entered the minds of a group of smalltown teenagers, and even more with the school board's reaction. In my view, the offending pupils need to be evicted from the school immediately and publicly - that would be the only way to save the school's face, let alone their reputation as somewhere parents would want to send their children to be educated. I am incredulous as to the apparent passivity of the school board and, should things not start happening very quickly, I'm very tempted to call the press. For the sake of the poor victim, I would much rather desist from doing so, though - humiliated and scarred for life as he must already be, the last thing he needs now is attention from the media. However, if it appears that the school is trying to turn a blind eye and shush the incident away, I hereby promise I will do my damnedest and ask you, my readers, for your support in e-mailing the school to let them know that their story has become public. For now, I shall wait and keep you posted on what happens. As I said, the boy in question is a good friend of a friend, so hopefully my information will be up-to-date. Please don't hold back praying for his well-being and recovery (in as much as is possible) as for now...

Walking the walk, talking the talk

And it's me again! Wanted to share another thing/experience/thingummabob: I done dids me my first ever preaching assignment! What happened was that these nice people from the Jesustreff in Stuttgart invited me over to come teach one night. Tobi, whom I happen to respect and appreciate greatly, suggested I might want to use a sympathetic audience of about 130 young-ish people to try out whether I can hack it with the big boys - you know, save millions of people, change the very face of Christianity, all that. Okay, so that's not what he said at all, but I signed up in my best Dan Dare voice anyway - to boldly go where I'm not entirely sure I'd really wanted to, but anyway... I'm a bit stupid that way - challenge me to something and I'll have the hardest time turning you down (unless its something idiotic like hacking my arm off with a chainsaw), particularly if it's something of the "no guts, no glory" ilk.

(this pic courtesy of www.jesustreff.info)

So! I guess I had sort of wanted to try out this preaching thing. I mean, you know, I wanna preach for a living (sort of) in a few years time, so I might as well try and find out now whether I fit, or whether I shall simply curl up and die when faced with a pulpit and some Bible verses. I really hadn't planned on finding out quite so soon, though... I was dead nervous the closer the big day came. I'd prepared what I hoped would be a twenty minute speech on Exodus 3 and 4 and tried it out on my ever-faithful wife several days before the event. C had a lot of very useful feedback, so I went back and reworked my original script comprehensively Saturday morning (the service was Sunday evening at 6PM). I felt better after that, but still not entirely at ease with what I'd planned. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite pin-point what it was that was making me uncomfortable until Sunday morning, when it suddenly dawned upon me. I guess being accustomed to entertaining audiences, I had instinctively written the first five to ten minutes of my speech as a kind of "gag reel" - a series of puns and glib-sounding witticisms to help me overcome my own nervousness while at the same time aiming to impress the audience with my eloquence and apparent self-confidence. Now, I'm not saying that this is wrong in an entertainment context - I don't know many professional musicians/trainers/stage performers who don't have such a ritual for calming their nerves over the first five to fifteen minutes of a performance, and in a context where you're actively trying to be the centre of an audience's attention, this makes perfect sense. But, and this was something I suddenly realised, preaching isn't supposed to be about me! I believe a preacher's aim should be to glorify God, to encourage his or her audience to focus not upon the speaker, but upon the One whom I believe put me in this place so I could tell others about Him. This realisation, while very welcome and accompanied by a sense of knowing God's will, meant that a fair bit of my plans had just been scrapped, leaving me with, well, not a lot except just facing the audience and looking my own fear in the face. Not a lot, that is, besides the firm belief that somehow, God was going to come through and show me what to say and do if I did my best to be humble and please Him. So - scary stuff! More to follow soon...

Ooga booga umblegumble

Helloodle! Wow, stuff's been going on while I was away! First, we ("you, me, them... everybody, everybody!") have a new contributor, the fantabulous Beckstar, who has quietly picked up the baton and put in a formidable debut performance. Welcome aboard! Then, I've generally been having a whale of a time this last week, which has been a very welcome change from the sort of semi-lethargic unease I've been under recently. Highlights of the week included (in no particular order):

• a full day spent teaching Business English to one of my oldest friends from back home. What blew me away is how much I enjoyed teaching again - couldn't say I've missed it much since I quit last year, so the shock was a pleasant one. Way hay for prepositions and irregular verbforms...

• A very pleasurable excursion to Mannheim to see an exhibition on space travel and aerospace technology (a pet subject of mine) at the Landesmuseum für Technik und Arbeit. Went there with bass playing friend Joachim and his girlfriend Svenja. I'm hoping to have some pictures to show from the day soon, as Joe had his brandnew digital camera along with him and snapped away merrily until a security guard told him off...

• Finally, a gruelling but worthwhile all-day bicycle tour around Tübingen and the Schönbuch with René, my faithful bro' in arms (like me, he's been places and done things before deciding he wants to be a pastor) was an absolute tonic to my mental and physical diet. I have to admit I wasn't too excited at the idea when crawling out of bed Thursday morning, but the ride itself turned out to be excellent in so many ways that I'm profoundly endebted to my energetic friend and his initiative. Not only did we see some truly beautiful landscape, but we also had great conversation and really enjoyed each other's company (well, at least I did). Best of all, though, has been the tangible aftermath of a whole day's physical exertion and exposure to the elements. I don't remember the last time I've felt as tingly and full of energy as I do right now. Plus, my self-confidence and positive self-awareness have just skyrocketed! No, I've not been feeling particularly good about myself recently, I guess. I'd been wanting to lose weight and get back in shape, but haven't really mustered the initiative, and my morale has suffered accordingly. All this is about to change, I hope. Provided the weather doesn't become quite as horrible as they're forecasting right now, that is. Forecastfox is saying there's to be snow again next week - eeeughh!! I may really have to go pick up that treadmill and start working out indoors... Anyway, having rediscovered the joys of physical exercise is brilliant - I feel all bubbly and vibrant and even a bit attractive again. Yay!

So, yeah, all that's pretty good and I thought I should let you know. What's not good is that some sort of password entry window pops up everytime I load this, my blog's homepage, into Firefox. Not sure what's going on here - has it happened to you, too, dear readers? If so, please let me know - maybe some sort of leechy software has attached itself to the URL and needs combatting? I eagerly await your feedback, possums... And with that, cheerio for now! Be safe, y'alls

Re: Ten Things I like Meme

hello Readers, I'm beckstar, a friend of eddyquette's and this is a response to being tagged with the meme. So I'm suppose to tell of ten things I like that start with the letter "m". Honestly, I had to do some soul searching to find the jewels I'm about to share with you because the first words that came to mind were things like: mosquitoes, mud, monsters, malaria, measles, meningitis... I never realized how many diseases started with "m". Anyway, this is suppose to be things I like, so here we go:

1. Music. This one was the most obvious to me and besides the aforementioned diseases was the initial one that came to mind. I love how no matter what you're feeling, you can always find some music that fits the occasion, feeling, and mood. Music is so powerful too, it can lift you up or bring you down, it can make you calm or make you excited... you get the point.
2. Messy. Explanation: My sister's name is Jessie and when we were young we always had to shared a room. My side of the room was always neat and clean, whereas my sister side was always chaotic and disorganized. My family always teased her saying they named her Jessie so they could call her messy. So I've been calling her Messy since then (though I have exclusive rights to it now--she doesn't allow anyone else to call her that). My sister and I are only 18 months apart and have always had a very close and special relationship.
3. Mercy. I sure have received a lot of it in my life and though it sounds cliche I have to say it sure makes the world a better place.
4. My friends and family. Okay, so that's a bit of a cheat. But it isn't any worse than "de ocean" (see below in eddyquette's post, bullet point number 9 !!!) =). What would life be without relationships? I'm guessing pretty dull and empty. I have been amazingly blessed by the friendships I have and I'm pretty much of the opinion that friendships are what bring so much flavor and joy to life.
5. Margaritas. The other thing that brings flavor and joy to life. Okay, not really, but I do enjoy a drink with friends.
6. Martial Arts. I started doing Tang Soo Do, a Korean martial art, when I was 11. I've had so much fun over the years practicing this form and being apart of this tradition. And I've met some great people along the way, especially my instructor who has had such a big impact on my life in many ways. Oh, and I'm testing for my 2nd degree black belt on the 17th. Scary!! So if there are any praying people out there, please send a few up for me!
7. Merriment. I like to have a good time and to laugh and joke around. It's important that if you want to enjoy life not to take it too seriously. I often get so caught up in what I'm doing and the goals I've set for myself, that I forget to "stop and smell the roses", to use a familiar phrase. I appreciate the people in my life that remind me to relax and have fun.
8. Mysteries. I guess more accurately stated is the process of solving mysteries, but that doesn't start with an "m"... Anyway, this is one of my favorite genre of books and movies. But also in life I love the process of discovering unknown things, especially when it comes to friendships. People, in many ways, are a mystery and it is so much fun as you build friendships to uncover those things. And there's always something to be discovered about a person, no matter how long you've known them, there are always things yet to be learned.
9. Magnanimous. I just think it's a great word, one of my favorites. It's fun to say and it has a good meaning.
10. And last but not least, Manhattan. At least I'm hopping I'll like it. I'll be moving there in May to go to school and get my master's degree in nursing. I've been a few times now to visit my sister and have enjoyed it very much, now it only remains to be seen if I can handle living there.

So that's it. Hope I haven't bored you all to much with my rambling. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

beckstar

10 Things I Like Meme

G'day y'all! See, like I said, the semester break is helping with the blogfreude (a Freudian term totally unrelated to Schadenfreude) - here I am with a meme gifted to me by the wonderful Wendz, whose blog is a staple of my reading diet. I'm to tell you about 10 things I like beginning with the letter "D". Well, hopefully that should be easy, so here goes: in no particular order whatsoever, I like:

• "D" for Drums and everything percussion-related: Playing drums was and is my first musical love. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to play drums. I used to arrange a motley collection of pots, cans, plastic canisters, etc. in my Dad's workshop in the cellar and hammer away at them for hours when I was about seven or eight. I spent countless hours practicing cross-hand playing to the music from my little portable tape player (my parents felt that Cliff Richard, the Beatles and selected other rock'n roll was "safe" for me to listen to. I can still sing most of Little Richard's repertoire by heart until today, instrumental solos included). Having gone through years of piano, recorder and violin lessons, I will never forget the heart-pounding exhilaration of sitting behind a proper drumkit for the first time. Learning to make the music in my head become a reality audible to the rest of the world has been my continued and ongoing passion ever since.

• "D" for Diplomacy and tact: One thing I really enjoy, a challenge I savour whenever the opportunity arises, is to try and encourage people with different backgrounds/opinions/mindsets to work together successfully and for their common good. I equally enjoy trying to help people prepare for the challenges that may arise from working in, say, an intercultural setting, preparing and coaching them as they go through various phases of developping rapport with, for example, two teams from different cultures that they have to coordinate. I love the thrill of understanding other people's mindsets, their ways of thinking, etc. and trying to create successful compromise or cooperation between parties from different sides based on my understanding. I guess it comes from having lived in a sort of interim between the English and German culture ever since I can remember. Anyway, it's fun! To me.

• "D" for Driving: I may have this in common with many guys, but somewhere within me is a wannabe long-distance truck driver, blasting his airhorns as my eighteen-wheeler rolls into the sunset, cruising by day and night across endless expanses of landscape on my mission to deliver freight from one end of the world to another. There's few everyday things I like as much as getting behind the wheel for a cruise, be it going from A to B, running errands, driving long distances (my fave) or just driving for the heck of it. Yes, I read car magazines (infrequently) and long for a powerful, rear-drive car with great handling. Yes, I go "phwoar" whenever I see a Ferrari or other exotica. Yes, I know nerdy details about (European) cars like model range, engine capacity, horsepower rating and 0-60 times. Plus, I pride myself on being a good driver. So, yeah, driving rocks!

• "D" for daftness (hope that counts): Humour, humour and more humour is one of my key drugs that keep me ticking and tocking as I trundle along life's highways and byways. Anything from good old Fawlty Towers to Little Britain, Douglas Adams to Lynne Truss, Craig Ferguson to Tim Minchin has me grinning, chortling or falling about the room. I've no idea how I'd survive without my laughs and strive hard to share them with the world around me. Most of the time people say they don't mind, so I trust at least some of my jokes must be grin-worthy.

• "D" for dancing: I will my shake my booty with reckless abandon at the drop of a hat. Cheesy dance moves - I'll show you a few if you don't have any... I know this isn't very manly - men typically avoid dancefloors, except if they're hoping to find a partner. However, I've always enjoyed moving and shaking and have learnt to overcome most of my inhibition in doing so. Bring on the music, I say!

• "D" for, err, drinking fine Scottish whiskey. I love a good dram of single malt in the evening. Not every evening and not necessarily at a party. But for a nice quiet evening with friends, some jazz music to nod my head to and relaxed conversation, I couldn't think of a better drink. Neat or on ice? I'll take either, thanks.

• "D" for discipline and dedication. One quality I really admire in others and strive for myself is discipline. The fact that I'm striving for it should tell you that I may not yet be very good at it. But I'm getting there, and that's got to be a good thing.

• "D" for the Divine: I'm a Christian, and the single most important thing in my life, the reason I get up every morning and don't despair, is my growing faith in a loving God who wants me to live. I probably don't fit some people's definition of a Christian - as stated above, I drink alcohol, I swear sometimes, and I'm far from being perfect in many other ways. But the God I find in the Bible (and the one I meet every day in my prayers, in nature's beauty and in the interaction with my fellow human beings) is one who makes it very clear to me that His grace and forgiveness come first and before all other things. Yes, I am trying to be a better, more Christ-like person, but that's because I've found I love God so much that I actually want to change my ways, not because I have to. So, my faith is a source of joy and not of stress and hassle to me. Therefore, yay for the Divine!

• "D" for De Ocean (yes, I know - horribly lame, but I couldn't think of anything closer to home). I am a sea person. If there's one environment I dream about pretty much every night, it has to be the sea. My dream home would be somewhere on the coast of, say, Southern France (preferrably between Collioure and Argeles). Or then again, maybe a house on the cliffs down in Cornwall? A pretty colonial style mansion by the Baltic? One of those preposterous right-on-the-very-beach bungalows over in California? A windswept artist's den with huge windows overlooking the rough waters off the Hebrides? Tell you what - I'll have 'em all, please. Oh, and a boat would be nice, while you're at it...

• "D" for dreaming - be it day or night, I've always had a knack at imagining or envisioning the unreal. Possibly the by-product of a somewhat solitary childhood, I can spend quite unseemly amounts of time in the inner world of my imagination. Obviously, this has upsides and drawbacks; being able to relax easily by taking off on flights of fancy or writing songs without ever going near an actual instrument is great. Catching myself (or being caught) talking to myself in all sorts of situations definitely goes on the "con", and of course my biggest challenge in life is learning to make those dreams that really matter to me become reality. Gosh, that sounds cheesy, but it really is something I'm working on - getting from "I wish" to "I will", if you know what I mean...

Anyway, thanks very much for reading this meme. It's been fun writing it and I hope it may tell you a little more than you already knew about me. As memes go, I guess I'm supposed to tag others now that I'm done. Basically, I think I shall go with Wendz's orginal idea, which is that I'll be happy to tag you if you leave a comment asking me to. Other than that, I'm hereby tagging kneecaps with the letter "F". And beckstar, you're tagged with an "M" (or choose another if you can't think of 10 items). You can either do the meme in a separate post or in a comment on this post. Rightyho, that's all fer now, possums - let's see if Blogger agrees with my formatting...

Link

Oh me oh my

Heh everybody - sorry, it has been a while, hasn't it? I do have good news, though - I passed my Hebrew exams and am now officially one step closer to becoming a pastor. Woohoo! This trying-to-fill-my-brain-with-knowledge thing has been intense, though - I feel as drained and empty as a dried-out sponge and am trying to recuperate. I'm afraid I haven't felt up to much posting so far and, to be quite honest, I'm not exactly bobbing with excitement right now. Sorry, folks - I'm just worn out and in need of a bit of a rest. I will try to make the most of my semester break blogging-wise as soon as I feel a little fresher, but for now thank you for your patience. I do appreciate your interest: I just don't feel I have much to say right now (you ask my wife - I've been really quiet the last couple of days). I'll be back when things are better, okay? Cheerio meanwhile, possums.