Thursday, October 28, 2004

why God's favorite sport is baseball

it is no coincidence that there are more films about the divine and baseball than any other sport. angels just seem natural in the outfield, despite the spitting and crotch pulling. for some reason, it is easy for me to picture God sitting atop His heavenly mount focused on the pitcher's holy mound. but why?

holy trinity. three is the magic number in baseball. you need three strikes to be out. you need three outs to end an inning. and there are (hang in there) three sets of three innings (nine total innings). the holy trinity of baseball.

batting average. a good batting average entails hitting the ball only about twenty-five percent of the time. that means to be considered a good hitter all one has to do is hit the ball twenty-five times out of one hundred (not including walks). i think that is a perfect representation of life. we are not always going to hit the ball. but God makes sure we have plenty of chances to get on base or even hit a home run. but we will strike out at times or hit into a double play or hit an easy to catch fly ball, but that doesn't make us bad players, bad hitters. it makes us human. no one is perfect. if we can just hit the ball twenty-five percent of the time, we are in good shape, succeeding.

dust to dust. each player comes up to bat hoping and praying they will take a run and end up at the same place where they started. it is life's cycle or, rather, life's diamond. the players are successful when they complete this cycle, they are rewarded. they work hard to end up where they started. and i believe that is exactly what humans do too. we work hard, run the bases, and end up where we started: in the arms of the Creator.

seventh inning. God created the universe and decided on the seventh day to take a rest. likewise, baseball players and fans play and watch nearly seven innings (middle of the seventh) and take a little stretch, a rest if you will.

coincidence? i think not. smile.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

almost famous

not too long ago, abby and i were at my favorite restaurant in fort worth, spiral diner. unfortunately, there were no booths to be found, so we sat at a table in the middle of the restaurant. as we began to chat, i noticed two women in their mid-twenties having a conversation. as abby continued to talk, i focused my attention not on my dear friend but these two complete strangers. since this is a typical occurrence for me, abby stopped talking and waited until my eaves dropping ceased.
"oh yeah, i still get recognized all the time," the sandy-blond haired woman spoke as she refilled her glass of water and the other brunette woman grabbed a few napkins.
the napkin woman murmured something out of earshot.
"it is so nice. sometimes it is hard to believe myself," the water woman continued, her nose slightly raised as i stared as inconspicuously as possible.
who is this woman, i thought. i studied her face and i didn't recognize her at all. but as i stared, i saw her noticing my staring and i realized she might think i am a fan because of it, which caused me to jerk back into reality and finally aware that abby was waiting to hear about what i had been focused on. i didn't want to add to this woman's nose-in-the-air attitude that she has fans everywhere. i wanted to yell over toward her, "no, no. i don't know who the hell you are, i am just really nosy. i am not a fan of whatever you do." oh, that's rational, linds. i guess it serves me right, but i will continue this habit anyways.

Friday, October 15, 2004

nine letter word for adult

i have spent the last twenty-one years trying to figure out how to avoid becoming a grown-up; a fear i now refer to as the "neverland syndrome." and although when you ask people "when does a person become an adult?" the answers will vary, i think i have finally come to a conclusion, which of course could be debated. a person is an adult when they think about the practical. and i catch myself doing this more and more. i know longer think anything is possible. i know longer hope for miracles and blessings. i think practically. i think: "no one will pay me to do this or that," "i will have to make x amount of money to live comfortably," "i have x amount of time to achieve x amount of things." and all of this makes me really sad. i want to go back to the days of playing barbie dolls with my sister for hours and hours at a time, when anything was possible. i want to go back to the days when i believed in miracles. i want to go back to the days when i knew if i loved to do something enough i could do it for a living. but in my fear of growing up, i miscalculated the "practical" effect. and woke one morning with the realization, i am an adult now; i am practical. and it sucks.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

closed eyes concert

last friday night with my dear friend richard, i attended the bright eyes concert here in town. and even though i don't think conner oberst sings great or his melodies are all that interesting, i always enjoy listening to his lyrics, whether i agree with them or not. they are the kind of lyrics that make you think. they're smart, if you will. but as i watched as the good looking but tiny young man entered the stage, i was blinded. not by his boyish good looks, no definitely not, but by the thousands of camera flashes going off. i couldn't look at the stage it was so bright. and as he began to sing, girls screamed, "i love you, conner" and whooped and hollered. i realized standing in the sold out crowd with forty carcinogen smoke darkening my lungs that not one of them got it. they watched this guy sing. no, not sing. he poured out his misery. he let this tightly pressed audience into his deepest feelings, regrets, hopes, failures. and they just cheered. cheered! the lyrics speak of heartache and fear and the way he deals with such heartache and fear. and these girls just screamed in that dumb-girly-oh-my-god kind of way, as he sang, "this is one way to live, but i wouldn't recommend it." but they didn't hear that, they just watched this young guy, holding a beer, pretty plastered and thought, "now that is cool." no, people. that is sad. it is not cool. i don't know how he does it. night after night. i couldn't stand on a stage singing honestly and the majority of people not hearing a word, because they are blinded by closed eyes.

Monday, October 04, 2004

past meets present

on my way back from visiting my home in houston, i stopped at texas a&m to visit my sister. we were just going to have lunch and hang out before i continued on my trek back to fort worth. we had fun getting lost and then had fun eating at a very blue cafe and eating veggie sandwiches. as we were leaving, my sister sees one of my old friends from high school and as they begin to chat, jaimie (my sister) tells this old friend to turn around. and as i am waiting in line to get more ice tea i hear my name shouted and immediately know who it is. alisa. it was weird, to say the least. here was this person i hadn't talked to in over a year who had greatly influenced the person i was in high school and for the majority of college. here was the person i had called my best friend for so long. here was the person that i have been trying not to be, working hard not to be. and there she was. and as we followed the normal, friendly, (fake) greetings i thought, "she has know idea who i am now." and that actually made me happy. i have changed so much--for the better, i am sure--and she has no idea. but then, as we talked, she gave me the impression that she has not changed at all. she seems to be the same boy obsessed, critical, (dare i say) bitch she was ever since the day i met her in the eighth grade. and i began to worry, what if i come across as still being the naive, door mat that she used to call her friend, that she used to walk all over, that she used to verbally abuse. what if i come across that way? i guess it shouldn't really matter. i am not that person anymore. and although i am quite sure some of my closest friends now would like to show alisa their gratitude for teaching me her perfected silent treatment and other passive aggressive behavior and i would love to thank her for adding to my self esteem, or lack there of, the truth is that i have moved on, grown up, learned how true friendship works. so whether she sees me that way or not, i know that is not the person i am...or will ever be again.

Friday, October 01, 2004

a very little box

i hate school. i know that is a strong statement—to hate something, but it is true. and the thing is, i love to learn. i love thinking about new ideas and re-examining old ideas. so why do i hate school? well, i guess it is because whenever i ask myself why i am at school the number one answer is because i have to be. society tells me that if i don’t receive my degree i will not be successful (honestly, i don't really care), i will not make money (i tend not to worry about this, which causes my parents to worry more), and i will work at a fast food restaurant for the rest of my life (presently reading fast food nation, so that would be torture). how can i fight society? obviously, i haven’t had it in me in the past, because i am at school.

so besides it being the thing society tells me is normal to do, why do i hate school and yet love to learn? because i spend, well i am a spoiled brat so my parents spend, thousands upon thousands of dollars for me to learn things i could just as easily learned from reading a book…or listening to npr…or even watching quality television. and okay, yes i would miss out on discussing ideas with my peers. oh wait, no i wouldn't. my friends and i do that for fun. never mind.

why else? because i constantly feel trapped. this is probably why i have changed my major so many times—determined to keep my life as interesting as it can be within the prison called university. i want to learn all sorts of things and choosing a major feels like choosing a box i want to spend the rest of my life in. i am somewhat closter phobic.

and tests, oh i shouldn't even get started on tests. the average professor forces students to cram unimportant facts into the many overflowing drawers in our brain called memory. the problem with that is i, for one, have limited drawer space and only so much shelf life. and as i walk out of the testing room, my mind flushes these unimportant facts and i end up feeling like the class was a total waste of time. concepts, teachers. teach us concepts. you give me a concept and allow discussion of such concepts and immediately the shelf life grows exponentially. a class should be taught so that on any given day a student would feel confident enough to walk into a classroom and write an essay test on that concept. my favorite classes, few and far between, were taught like this and i remember everything.

in other news...
i think i am the only senior who still gets homesick, so i am getting the hell out of here and going home this weekend. smile.
one of my favorite people in the whole wide world is in spain right now. and i miss her.