Bloetry?

Blogged poetry (title?) often seems self-indulgent and I often stop myself from posting such things for that very reason. So it seems more appropriate that this poetic piece masquerade as prose. It might be meaningful, even outside of my own head, but there are only two ways to find out ...

Based on recent post: "God – the transcendent pyro – started a fire inside my chest."

Trees move in perfect sync - connected by nothing but the influence of the wind. Spirit responds in kind with Spirit, transcending time; quarks with quarks, surpassing space. The subtle inflection of each upturned leaf betrays the intention of a distant and identically interpreting other.

I bear witness and am likewise moved.

Rain, Rain (go) Away

As I push the pedal closer to the floor, droplets of rain rush to the upper corners of my windshield. I applied a product called Rain Away last week and, though I'll never really look forward to gloomy weather, I've been anticipating a chance to test this stuff out. 

Well, it's a success. Consider Rain Away recommended. My wipers are off and it looks increasingly like I'm moving at warp speed. 

You may call me Luke.

The past couple of weeks have been very full. Full-time work and part-time social life still leaves a bit of room for family, which is nice ... when they're here. Chuck's in Chicago and the 'rents are at the cottage so I've got a very silent house to myself. It's a good night to be alone. I'm feeling especially tired tonight – mind and body tired –here's hoping this makes for a good sleep ... right after this ...

I had a moment, for the second time this week, where I wished I could stop everything and take a picture. The first was prompted by hundreds of smokestacks/vents from a building south of the 4o1 in Whitby. The second I spotted on the way home tonight. Slick with rain, the concrete dividers were reflecting tail lights as our mirror image shifted in a staggered rhythm along the uneven, glassy surface. With the lilt of some sweet French folk music (90.3FM) and the dreamy after-state that only comes at the end of a long day, it felt like I was in a music video. Not that I could capture that on film, but the longing to do so was a part of the moment. 

Right. I'm wondering if this'll make sense when I read it tomorrow?

Either way, bon nuit.

All in All, It's Fantastic

After a few weeks of changes, I finally seem to settling into some semblance of a routine since the chaos that was thesis completion, Zambia trip, and a few other sources of sleep deprivation.

There are a couple of things that I have come to know more fully and that have stuck with me for more than a month after Zambia, so I figure they're here to stay.

The importance of Trust and the importance of Prayer. 

I'm still trying to figure out what exactly that means, but I wanted to get the blog ball rolling again after a prolonged absence, so, cryptic it is!

Also, (and this one's for you Ted) I've been running a couple times a week recently. Today I did my best 4k yet. All times are compared to last week's times to facilitate my own personal ePat-on-the-back:

• K 1: 4.30 (4.49)
  
• K 2: 4.41 (4.37)
  
• K 3: 4.10 (4.45)
  
• K 4: 3.38 (4.20)

Wooha! Have a sweet weekend ever'body,

Voice Memo

I love this function on my cellphone, but what's this memo from January 4th of last year? As though from another lifetime, I hear my halting voice say ...

"It sounds like the neighbors are slowly roasting their dog on a spit;
making revolutions over a fire pit,
but I can't see over the fence."

Oh.

Yeah.

Those dang rednecks, my dang subjectivity.

Skateboarding: The Goose and Gander Story

I love skateboarding. Not only is it good, clean fun, but it gives me the opportunity to discover other things that I enjoi. For example: photo ops (I really should purchase a legit camera), new friends, hidden urban treasures, bla bla bla. It's great to roll up to an unused parking lot and discover a spot that's perfect to skate – a spot that's somehow 'mine' now that I've discovered it. I'm a modern day Davestopher Columbus.

So, on the way back from the Oshawa Centre, I cut through the parking lot behind Mr. Sub and there, in the middle of the curbed island, was a nesting goose! Cool! It's like a nature show right there in front of me! As I rolled past the little mound of dirt topped with soft, down feathers and a plump mother goose, I took in the serenity of the moment. "I wonder why she's not getting all protective and stuff," I thought as I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and, oh crap! DADDY'S HOME TOO! I hopped off my board and braced myself for the flurry of fury that was just behind me. He hissed as he swooped in and thrashed around my head wildly with his wings. He clipped me a couple times before I stepped back and swung my skateboard, but didn't connect because he had already started dropping to the ground to spit and hiss at me. (Just relax Ingrid Newkirk.)

I had been smiling since I saw momma, but now I was laughing as I pictured the whole scene as if from a lonely security camera in this abandoned parking lot. "When Geese Attack! Part # Doom" Actually, it's not that dramatic. I don't know who taught this goose how to wing thrash, but it wasn't very effective. A lot of noise and ... seriously, how threatening can a creature be when it's made of hollow bones and feathers?

So here we stand, me looking to snap a couple cell-pics and this gander – prepared to fight to the death to protect his family.




I was finished after a couple of pictures and began to walk away, which is probably what stirred up a fresh boost of bravado in our friend Dandy Long-Neck. He continued to hiss and came at my ankles with wings stretched low and mouth wide open. Did you know boards double as shields? I love skateboarding.

A Brief Update

After meeting with our Zambian contact on Wednesday, I'm more psyched than ever for the trip to Africa.

With a little help, the wild beast was domesticated on Thursday – tamed by a timely haircut. Side note: you know it's time, when the best thing you can do with your hair is to wear a hat.

I like salad. Especially as a conversation starter.

I think I'm more poetical when I write letters on the typewriter. Maybe it's the inability to undo, or maybe I convince myself I'm more poetical so I don't have to start the letter again. (<–– unintentionally rehashed Mitch Hedberg joke.)

Which brings us to today! A day that looks like spring and feels like winter. As they say, 'So much for global warming!'

Her Morning Elegance

Besides being an innovative and quirky video idea, I just love the rhodes piano in this song ... and the melody ... and the lyrics ... and the way it ends ... and the possibility that it's a song about a comatose girl living a full and rich life in her mind despite her illness. I don't know, it's a nice song.

Gumbo and fun ... yo.

I used to believe that Matt and Margaret could not achieve any higher status in my mind. They're just that awesome. BUT! Everything changed at Friday night's show.

I had a little outburst from the stage – wearing my heart on my sleeve is justifiably expected by most – because I realized that it was the most fun I'd ever had playing this acoustic, folk-rock, pop stuff that I can remember. Just when I assume that I've esteemed Matt and Marge just as highly as I possibly could, they go and blow me away ... again. Great musicians, and genuinely beautiful people.

It's not unlike having a second child. After the first, it feels like all your love is maxed out on that one kid. You start to worry: What if I have another one? Will I split my love between the two? Then, the second child is born, and somehow you overflow with more than enough love for both offspring ... or, at least, that's what I've heard it can be like.

Either way, the 'Bougie Down to Bourbon St.' FUNdraiser was a huge success in my books. A gumbo eating, acoustic rocking, childish dancing, fiddle playing, silent auctioning, hot sauce drinking, good time. 

Thanks to the organizers and to the kind people who came out to support their friends, specifically Andrew P. and my mom.

Hammerlogue

There's nothing like a brisk jog to start a crisp winter morning! A warm sun, friends at my side (Scott and Chuck), and, after a few kilometers, the threat of vomit. I've been swimming almost weekly since September, but this was my first run for something other than the bus, and after 3k I didn't feel like the champ that had trotted onto the street a few minutes earlier.

I've learned from reading Steve (my new hero in the blogosphere) that the compared measurements of time/distance are called 'splits' AND that 'negative splits' mean you're doing each lap faster than the one before it – which is apparently a good thing.

That said, here are my splits:

• K 1: 4.39
  
• K 2: 4.37
• K 3: 4.42
• K 0.5: 2.42

TOTAL: 3.5k and intense nausea in only 16.45!

To assist with this process I've started a manifestation of nerdiness (a spreadsheet) to keep track of my training progress for this year's competitive season. I've dubbed our training the Hammer Program, because we're hammering it out ... and we'll be hard as nails come summertime? Either way, the Hammerlogue will help keep track of the ensuing adventure. With 70 laps at the pool last night, a run this morning, and a blog to keep me honest ... we're off!