For the Devoted Fans...

Is the Fad Over?

2006-01-21T10:22:00.000-05:00

If I remember correctly, I posted every other day or so during the summer. I think I'm switching to every other month.

Finally, it's time for the waterskiing story.

I went waterskiing this summer. I had never done it before, but I plan on skimming the water again this summer when I visit the fairest lake in all the land.

Waterskiing is an interesting experience. I highly recommend it. But, I have one interesting observation:

My father, after years of refining the art of driving the boat and towing a skier, has devised a system to make sure both the boat driver and skier are prepared to move. The boat driver says, "Ready?" Then, the skier says, "Ready." Then my dad accelerates the throttle and, bada bing, bada boom, you're gone.
This plan is almost perfect. I discovered as a skier, that when I gave the ready cue, I was rarely, if ever, completely ready. That fleeting moment between hearing the boat's motor rear and being pulled out of the water can be described as nothing less than sheer terror.

Near Year's End

2005-12-19T17:41:00.000-05:00

It's near the end of the year, and I've got a great deal of things to do. I feel like I keep saying that I have a lot to do. You know those people who talk about being busy all the time, and they're kind of turds about it, and you only half believe them? They leave a bad taste in your mouth. Yuck! I don't want to be like that.

I still owe you a story about waterskiing. I haven't forgotten.

Grad School Applications

2005-12-03T13:14:00.000-05:00

I have been applying to grad schools and soliciting recommendations. It's a deceitful process because once I think I'm finished with something and hit print, I find that there's something else that I need to do, and then, I have to start all over again. Whew. Sorry for no real postings.

Overwhelmed

2005-11-17T18:07:00.000-05:00

Out of the house for a week, back in one night, going to Downingtown tomorrow, PSU football on Saturday, GRE on Monday, Grandmother on Tuesday, Thanksgiving on Thursday, Northern Kentucky on Friday, back to State College on Monday. Somewhere in there, I'm applying to grad schools. Wow, if you listen carefully, you can hear a small section of my brain exploding.

Feel the Burn

2005-11-09T15:32:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not sweating to the oldies with Richard Simmons. I feel this burning desire to write something. I feel like Lester Burnham at the end of his life, smiling at the beauty he's seen.

Hakuna Matata

2005-11-06T20:53:00.000-05:00

This past Friday, in the elementary school where I'm working, I had the opportunity to watch "The Lion King" because a class had earned it for their good behavior. I understand that this animated classic is for children, but as the plot developed, I thought that this movie is more for adults. I do not want to be misunderstood; "The Lion King" is a movie for all ages. This, perhaps, is Disney at its best.

Alfred Adler once said that children are "excellent observers but terrible interpreters," meaning that because kids have a brain that hasn't fully developed physiologically and experientially, they see events in their lives and form conclusions about the world that are false. We have all done it. (I am assuming that the majority of my readers is adult). I can remember making conclusions about who I am when I was seven, playing peewee soccer. The team I was on that year, the Yellow Team, had a losing record. Saying that we had a losing record makes it seem admirable; we lost most every game, except the last two. I played as much as I knew how as a second grader, but never saw my team acheive any success. Then, I caught the chicken pox and missed the last two games. I think from this event, I concluded that I was the weak link on the soccer team. Now, I don't remember specifically saying "I am the weak link," but I do remember thinking that they won because I wasn't there. Perhaps this wasn't the story, however, it was just how I interpreted it. Chicken pox was rampant in my school. Perhaps the other teams were short players and they didn't play to their potential. Perhaps my team won by forfeit. I just don't know what worked to make my team win, but I do know that my conclusion about myself was based upon interpretations that may not be accurate.

In "The Lion King," Simba believes a lie that he killed his father based upon his interpretations of his father's, the king's, death. Compounding his belief is his lying uncle Scar who launches a sly, wicked attack on Simba's character. Simba grows to believe that if he were not around, his father would not have died and that he deserves to be cast out from his pride. Simba chooses a self-imposed exile instead of taking his rightful spot on the thrown of the Pridelands. .

Eventually, Rafiki the Mandrill finds the estranged Simba and confronts him on his past, calling him out of hiding. He shows the full-grown lion that even if he has made some mistakes, as big as killing his father, he must learn from them and not be afraid. Rafiki also points Simba to his true identity as the new king, which Simba must embrace and bring redemption to his kingdom. Simba decides to rejoin his pride.

As he returns, he finds Scar ruling as king and destroying the land. Simba decides to take action and relieve Scar of his kingly duty. Scar, threatened by a loss of power, reminds Simba of his responsibility in his father's death in front of the whole pride. Simba, who believes he is responsible, confronts his past with bravery in front of his kinsmen. Scar and Simba fight, and it looks like Scar might kill Simba. Just as he is about to throw Simba off a cliff, Scar tells him that he, Scar himself, killed Simba's father; it was never Simba's fault. Simba, revived by the truth, leaps out of peril and mercifully tells Scar to leave and never come back.

I loved how this movie delved into the theme of identity. I wonder if, in our interpretations of life, we need to be reminded of the truth of who we are, if we need to confront our past, and if we need to learn from our mistakes a little more.

Time to fold laundry.

These Boots Are Made for Walking

2005-10-30T23:53:00.000-05:00

With the rarity of my posts, it looks like I'm never going to acheive my childhood dream of being an American blogging icon.

About 10 days ago, I was bored, so I walked around the Penn State campus and took pictures at night, experimenting with the flash, shutter speed and something with an f. I took this snazzy shot of my feet with a fountain in the background. I call it "Walking in Water." Remember, it's an experiment.

I've had some shattering thoughts recently that I've wanted to share with you, but like most good thoughts, I forgot them.

The one thing that prompted tonight's post, however, is that I love my local public radio station, WPSU. Programs like Morning Edition, Weekend Edition, The World, This American Life, Studio 360 with Kurt Andersen, and Fresh Air satiate my desire to know the depth of the news and the human experience. For example, this morning there was a half-hour focused story on the recent Libby indictment. When it came on, I was folding my laundry, and I had to stop, lay on my bed, listen to the broadcast, and verbalize (to myself), "They ask such great questions!" And that's what I think I love the most! The journalists on public radio are brilliant question askers who listen, respond, ask, and move into conversation with their subjects. It's a work of art. I'd like to grow in their ability.

I also don't love my public radio station. Here's my problem with Public Radio for Central Pennsylvania, and all public radio, for that matter: Twice a year, they try to manipulate me into giving them money that I don't have. "If you really care about excellent journalism," "if you like the program you're listening to," "if you listen to this public radio station on a regular basis, you should become a member," all make me feel like crap because I can't and don't want to support them with my financial contribution. I do like excellent journalism; I almost always like their programs; and, I listen on a regular basis; but, they ask for so much. So, for this reason I feel like I'm stealing public radio.

It's a love-hate relationship.

Nice Shot

2005-10-16T22:24:00.000-04:00

I like this one. It was taken this afternoon in front of the Hintz Alumni Center using my Canon Powershot A95. I hope you enjoy it.

A long time coming

2005-10-12T20:50:00.000-04:00

My oh my, this blog has lacked substance for quite a while, but last night, I was typing an email, when I noticed how fast my fingers were moving as I typed. I was going so quickly that it was almost melodic, and then I decided that I needed to post something new in the blog. So, welcome to October!

This fall, I am working with children who have behavioral difficulties in the school districts throughout Centre County. I've been in only one school district for a while, but, it sounds so professional when I say "throughout." Currently, I'm at Bellefonte Elementary School, where I feel that I've been able to develop good relationships with the teachers and administration as I invade their school to help kids acheive their behavioral goals.

Question #1: Is my job fun? No, but, there are aspects of it that I like. For starters, I like working with teachers. They're pretty fun people, and not at all who you imagined them to be when you were a kid. Teachers lead some pretty crazy lives. The most amazing thing to me about the teachers at Belle El. is how many of them do not have any children. My teacher-friend, Steve, tells me that this is because after you spend a whole day with kids who have a million different petty problems, you don't want to go home to more kids with a million more petty problems. For this reason, I do not want to be a teacher.
The second thing I like about the job is the interaction I am able to have with kids. They're really funny sometimes, and Art Linkletter and Bill Cosby are right; kids say the darnedest things. For example, there is a girl in one of the class rooms that I've worked in who has very little impulse control. I'll call her Olivia. Another kid, Brian, has some of the best social skills of any of the kids in kindergarten. Olivia, in a fit of impulse, touched Brian's hot dog on his cafeteria tray. Unfortunately, a kid with impulivity problems gets in trouble a lot, so Brian's hot dog was now "unclean," tainted by the dirty hand of a trouble-maker. He can't eat it. So, I told Olivia not to touch other people's food because it was rude and she'll get in trouble for it. But, I didn't want to make a really big deal out of it, because to me, it wasn't really a big deal. For Brian, however, this was apocalyptical. I thought I'd be crafty and outwit the kindergartener. I held my hands high over his dirty hot dog and said, "My magic has made it all clean again." (Pause - I know this sounds corny, but I really thought it would work). Well, Brian then said, "You don't have magic, Mr. Anderson. Only Jesus does." I liked that.
The third thing I like is my coworkers. They're pretty nice people, but the coolest thing is that they put up with me pretty well.

I was going to write more, but I just got invited to play frisbee and go to a football game, so I'm going to do that. Sorry. Bye

Many Appologies

2005-10-04T01:05:00.000-04:00

Wow! It's been over a month since I last posted, and I am truly sorry about that. I know that you're probably a devoted fan, sitting with bated breath, hoping for one of my mused offerings. Well, you can now exhale.

It's coming...

Hooray for Life Jackets.

2005-08-23T22:00:00.000-04:00

Friends and Fans, I apologize for the failure to share the stories from my vacation that I promised almost two weeks ago. Sometimes, life gets the better of me, and blogging takes a back seat to other unimportant things, like watching Season 2 of 24 on DVD.

For the middle section of my vacation stories, I would like to recount my experience of sailing Torch Lake.

Early in my family's vacation to Torch Lake, my father decided that it would be a great time to teach me how to sail. A southwest wind had kicked up, and the water was too choppy for waterskiing, so sailing was an ideal option for the afternoon. Actual experiences don't always match up with the ideal expectation however.

My cousin Debbie, who went to sailing camp as a kid and only has a few more hours of supervised experience before she can pilot a 45 foot boat solo, helped me raise the sail and attach the rudder and center board for our little voyage. She mentioned to my father that the boat took on water; Jim, the owner of the boat, told her "about a gallon of water an hour." We weren't planning on being in the lake that long, so that tiny flaw in the boat posed no problem for that. We were simply going to sail out into the lake and then I was going to take a quick lesson and sail until I felt mildly comfortable at it. "Simple enough," I thought. This was going to be fun.

Before the experience begins to deviate from the plan, I must explain a bit about the underwater topography of the lake. Where we were stationed, on the southern shore of Torch Lake, sandbars create very shallow water (perhaps no more than 3 feet) for about 1/2 mile off the shore. After that, the clear water turns deep blue as the depth of the lake drops to 150 feet and more.

After putting on life jackets, my father started us and took us about another 1/2 mile past the dropoff. Then it was my turn, and as soon as the rudder and the line controlling the sail were placed in my hands, we stopped, dead in the water. We didn't move an inch. It wasn't for lack of wind though. By this point, the wind was starting to make whitecaps on the waves, and every once in a while, even when my dad was sailing, water would rush over the top of our boat. I took this to be a refreshing benefit of sailing, even if we weren't moving.

I suggested that my dad get back in and try to sail us, and I'd watch a little better in order to copy his movements once I tried to sail again. I watched. I noted. And I said I'd try again. Sailing elements in my hands, I set to catch the wind again. After a little movement, a little more water coming over the top of the boat, and a little more trying, we were motionless again. Here our conversation became a little heated.
"Turn the rudder to the right."
"I am."
"Turn it to the left again"
"Okay... ...we're still not moving."
"Let me try it again."
"We're still not moving."
"Oh, I think we're going again."
"Nope, we stopped."

Then, the wind blew, and the boat turned to its side, and the wait of the sail pulled us into the water. We were wearing life jackets for this very reason. Sure, we looked like dorks, but who cares? We didn't have to tread water. We went to the bottom of the boat and grabbed the centerboard and, pulling down, we righted the boat. So far in my sailing adventure, this was my favorite part.

As we got back into the boat, we had to bail some water out of it. This wasn't the last time we would have to bail. Soon, we were trying to sail again, but with no luck. We sat in the middle of the lake, motionless, our sail catching wind and turning us and then suddenly losing the wind again. Nothing made sense. Sailing should not have been this hard. So we went through a flurry of ideas: swim to shore, attempt sailing again, pull the boat and swim, push the boat and swim, wait for a boat to come and tow us. We were lost.

When you spin a hard boiled egg, it spins with ease. But, a raw egg is not easily spun. The liquid inside moves in a way to throw the egg off balance, and that was what our boat was like. Full of liquid, weighed down, and unstable. Then it occurred to my dad. "This boat takes on water" - a lot of water. Our boat was swamped.

Because our rudder was unable to control the boat, my dad thought that he and I could set its course straight. While one man would use the sail, the other would kick on a side of the boat keep the boat in the right direction. Finally, for the first time in about an hour we started to move, for real. It looked like my dad's trick was going to work and we would make it to sure. By this point, our desire to return to our starting point had subsided, and all we wanted was to get to an point on shore where we could get out of the boat and tow it back.

And then we stopped. So, I plopped over the side and started kicking, thinking that the trick would work again. All of a sudden, the boat flipped again. As we were trying to right the boat, a group of fun-seekers on a Hobie Cat whizzed by, laughing all the way. That frustrated me.

But we got the boat upright again, still with no motion, but we were up. The rest of the time starts to blur, because I started to panic. As I was kicking in the water, I started to grow tired. Swimming to sure seemed more and more like a daunting task, and I did not want to risk being run over by a motor boat. Thankfully, we had life jackets on. If we didn't, I think we would have drown.

Oh, if you weren't sure, the waves were still forming white caps and coming over the boat, which, laden with water, floated with about an inch and a half space at the top. Once my dad and I would board the boat, there was very little of the boat above the water. My dad thinks it took on about a gallon of water every ten minutes, and I'd say every five.

My panic began to subside when I saw a boat about fifty yards away. I didn't care who it was. I think I started yelling, and then, I noticed that the boat was occupied by my sister and her fiancee Jason. They noticed I was a mess, and we boarded their boat and they towed the sailboat in to shore. I know that ending seems anticlimactic. For a while, I thought that we were going to show up on 20/20 in a piece entitled "Family Vacation Nightmare". Although I choked on some water, our life jackets prevented us from drowning.

The lesson: A heavy-laden boat will not sail and you could drown.

Check soon for the next vacation story. Sorry for any typos.

Just North of Saginaw, Michigan...

2005-08-09T08:31:00.000-04:00

Actually, it's not just north of Saginaw, but that's the last real landmark city on the trip I took last week with my family to my father's favorite place on Earth, Torch Lake, Michigan.

For starters, let me give you a little history of my father's family. In the early part of the 20th century, my grandfather, Harry Fitch Anderson, had scarlet fever, which had him out of school for a very long time and damaged his heart and lungs. The doctors suggested that instead of spending summers in the hot and humid climate of Indiana where it would be difficult for young Harry, the family should try to go to a more mild climate. Consequently, they build a cottage on a lake, just east of Grand Traverse Bay in Michigan. Today, my dad's cousin owns the cabin, and when we go to Torch Lake, we stay at other places.

If you don't know where Grand Traverse Bay is, use the back your left hand as a rough estimate of what Michigan looks like. Grand Travers Bay would be near the tip of your pinky finger, towards your ring finger. The lake itself is 19 miles long, and at its widest point is nearly 3 miles across. I believe its deepest point is 304 feet, but I could be wrong. The most amazing thing about Torch Lake, however, is not its size or location, but it's color.

Local legend claims that National Geographic named Torch the "Third Most Beautiful Lake in the World," placing it behind Lake Geneva in Switzerland and Lake Louise in Canada. Torch Lake, therefore, is the most beautiful lake in the United States. I'm not quite sure how beauty can be ranked, especially in reference to relatively small bodies of water. I've also never seen a National Geographic Magizine that names beautiful places, but that doesn't mean they don't exist.

Regardless of rank, Torch Lake is beautiful. If it weren't for the pine and deciduous trees ringing the lake, you would swear you were looking at a bit of the Caribbean. The sand bottomed lake ranges in color from turquiose to a vibrantly deep blue, reminiscent of a sunny sky in Seattle.

Beyond the beauty, however, Torch Lake possesses an ability to create lasting memories. Here, I learned that a rope on a boat is a line, not a rope. I learned that a wooden Chris Craft is one of the most gorgeous boats in the world. I found out what it means to "raise the trim." Torch Lake is a place of learning.

This past vacation to Torch, I had two very memorable experiences, and I will tell you about them in the coming posts on here.

Art and Aunt Harriet's Chocolate Cake

2005-07-23T14:41:00.000-04:00

It's been some time since the last time I logged on here. While nothing major has happened, the world has seemed to swirl around in some sort of warp speed vortex only found in science fiction movies.

Last week, State College celebrated the 39th Annual Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts. My first Arts Fest experience occurred somewhere in my childhood, at least 16 years ago (perhaps the 23rd annual), but it could be more. I don't remember it so well because I was probably bored and hot and wishing I could take my hands out of my pockets, but knowing that I couldn't because if I did, I might brake something and then have to pay for it. I also think that we came up here with our family-friends, the Williams. What I do remember is riding in the car to what seemed to be a very remote location in the midst of hills and green trees.

I have attended Arts Fest three times since then, in 1999, 2001, and again this year. While my first experience eludes my memory, I have loved it every time since then. This year had several highlights:

Last Thursday night, there was a concert on Old Main Lawn featuring Cliff Turner and the Afterburners. I didn't have high hopes for this musical event. If nothing else, these guys seemed old, and they're from Bellefonte, the next town up the street. Don't get me wrong. I like Bellefonte; I work there. I think the people are nice, but I'm a bit of a snob. I found that I consider the population of State College to be intellectually superior (which it may actually be), which I translated to mean that its people have more talent and musical taste. I was WRONG! Cliff Turner's band is not some urban-hillbilly upscale karaoke; they're a phenominally energetic and musically thrilling cover band. I loved them. They encouraged us to dance, and we did, and it was hard to stop. What made the situation even more memorable for me is that I was the only guy in a group of six. Most guys might not object to this, and I don't either. Sometimes, however, if you're the only guy in a group of girls, you feel like you're their gay friend. I wasn't dating any of these women, but I was hanging out and dancing with them. I hope you can at least see how it could feel that way. But the truth is I wasn't the gay friend. I am their straight friend who just happened to be the only guy.

I left Cliff Turner a little downtrodden because I had assumed that I had reached the pinnacle of Arts Fest and that the rest of the weekend would be a bust...it wasn't. Friday night, and I was walking around looking at the art sale, I happened to come across some folks playing the drums and dancing along College Avenue (see the picture at the top). Something amazed me about this. These guys might not have played a very complex rhythm, but they did play together, and together, their beat seemed to change over time, and it was amazing. And then, there was the dancing. As it followed the drums, all I wanted to do was join in with them and be able to move my body in such a powerful way.

And then more fun happened. Saturday, my family came from Downingtown to celebrate my birthday. We had lunch at Spats and looked at everything around town. We saw great artwork, enjoyed people watching, and got hot. It was a blast, and I loved having them around. In the early evening, we joined some of my friends to eat a cake that my mom had made. This was no ordinary cake. This was my Aunt Harriet's Chocolate Cake. In my opinion, this cake is the best example of chocolate cake ever made. It is the standard by which all other cakes are judged, and my mom made the best one she had ever made. Delicious.

When all that was over, a large group of us went downtown to experience the fest one more time. The planned highlight of our night was to top it off with the dumping buckets. Let me explain this fantastic contraption. In an effort to allow people to cool off while roaming the Fest, Roaring Spring put up a system of running water that filled perhaps twenty-four brightly colored buckets attached precariously to swinging hinges. As the buckets filled with water, their increasing weight would cause them to topple over, spilling their contents to the floor, all to be recycled and dumped again. Little kids loved it, and I loved watching them try to figure out which bucket would dump next. I actually took a picture of it and considered posting it on here, but I figure their parents wouldn't appreciate pictures of their kids on the internet without their consent. But anyway, we were going to stand under this innundating structure at the end of our night. About 3 minutes before we were to arrive at the buckets, the sky exploded with rain. But, que será será, we were going under the buckets. So, with increasing rain soak, we stood under the buckets, played games under the buckets, and joined the night-owl children in order to have water touch every part of our clothing and bodies. Invigorating.

Since then, I've had my birthday, had a party, and worked for a week. It's been awesome all around.

Rough Drafts

2005-07-12T18:15:00.000-04:00

It recently occurred to me that you may be expecting some intro to the "great American novel" in this blog. Unfortunately, I'm not working on such a book. All of the posts on here are intentionally rough. They are an experimentation in the language arts, an attempt to gets words out of my mind every day and see how they fit together.

One of my writing heroes is a woman named Anne Lamott. She wrote a book called Bird by Bird where she suggests writing three hundred words a day. It doesn't matter what you write, just as long as putting thoughts into words and words into sentences. I just want to write a little bit for writing's sake. That is one reason I'm writing. Thanks for participating in the experiment. You will be rewarded richly for your effort.

Reflecting the Creative Nature of God

2005-07-09T15:00:00.000-04:00

As I have promised, here is a picture of two of the ceramic pieces I made in my pottery class.

And, here are some haikus that I wrote while working the other day:

Sitting on the john
I contemplate what I ate
and how it stinks so

Warm breeze of summer
awakens my earthy lusts
so I feel alive

Grizzled little mutt
staring up with droopy eyes
begs to take a walk

Juvenile mowhawk
upon a freshly clipped head
would look great dyed blue

I had all these ideas about how the various types of artists reflect the creative nature of God. It's hard for me to put these down on paper (or in this case, on laptop), but I will try my best. Artists take what we see around us and turn it into something that has not existed before. It is amazing to me that people have the ability to do this, and I think it can only be a reflection of God, the Creator.

But here's the deal, artists create only from what they've been given and what inspires them. They cannot make something that is beyond the realm of possiblity. You can find everything they use in various mixtures from the Periodic Table of Elements.

God, on the other hand, created the Periodic Table of Elements. He made something from nothing. He gives the artists their tools and media. This amazes me.

This, I believe, is why art is so incredibly beautiful. The creative mind is a flawed, but beautiful reflection of God, and His glory.

I wonder what inspired God's creativity. My guess: Himself.

In Anticipation of Haiku

2005-07-07T21:22:00.000-04:00

First of all, I appologize for the lack of a more recent post. I had intended to write two days ago, but Blogger wouldn't let me. I guess they're the responsible party, and they should appologize to you.
Today is titled "In Anticipation of Haiku," and it is my hope that the title will increase your hunger to read my next post, when I publish some of my famous haikus. I had wished to post them today, but they are sitting in my car.
I think I'll get you even more excited by promising to include a picture of my first pottery creations. They're pretty snazzy, so I hope you like them.
From my point of view, there's not a lot going on. My friend Betsy gave me a subject to cover on here, but I forgot it. Maybe I'll remember later. This weekend, I'm going to be here in State College, and I can't wait. Eleven days until my birthday!

Silly Rabbit

2005-06-29T22:35:00.000-04:00

Today, during work, I had the priviledge of watching cartoons with a kid. During one of the commercial breaks, I had a funny thought:

I truly feel sorry for the Trix Rabbit. Don't you? As long as I can remember, that silly rabbit has been doing whatever he can to get a box of the sugar-infested cereal, and every time, some kids, who have taken up the solemn duty to be the protectorates of breakfast food, twart his plan. If I were the rabbit, I would eventually feel hopeless and move on to eating pints of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy. Screw Trix.
Who decided that Trix was for kids anyway? Perhaps the rabbit cannot eat the Trix because it's like chocolate for dogs; the silly rabbit would eat Trix and explode because of the artificial colors or something. Perhaps the cereal gurus at General Mills believe it's important to develop sugar addictions in children and feeding refined sugars to rabbits would just be a waste. Or, perhaps rabbits don't taste as good after they've been eating such crap.
I'm half tempted to buy a bunny and give it all the Trix it wants. I believe there needs to be justice for the animated animals. Let's involve PETA!
Speaking of justice, what about Tom of Tom & Jerry, or Wyle E. Coyote? Will they ever reach their goals, or are they just waiting for Godot. Just once, I'd like to see that cat or that coyote get what they want and savor the flavor. Tom and the Roadrunner just annoy me sometimes. Let them get eaten!

Are the cartoonist trying to make a commentary on our lives? Are they saying that we'll never get what we want? I hope not.

P.S. Don't eat Trix. Eat something healthier.

In a Quest for Church Street

2005-06-28T20:17:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I embarked on a journey to Vermont with my friends Griff and Jeff. According to Mapquest, the trip should take around 8 hours and 2 minutes, but for us, it took approximately 10 hours. Mapquest does not account for accidents on Interstate 87, north of Albany, NY.

The traffic jam delay actually turned out to be quite a success. It gave us the opportunity to use our adventurous hearts and explore the hidden routes to Burlington. We took a road that entered Vermont about 60 miles south of where we would typically enter. Unfortunately, this path took us through every traffic lights in Vermont, which, coincidentally, all happened to be red when we found them. This drew out my desire for control of things that I cannot control. I got pretty hot.

We also had the great fortune of being able to stay at the new home of my friends Tim and Christa, and their two children, Peter and Elise. That was quite a highlight.

The main purpose of the weekend, however, was to visit my friend Sam, who is spending his summer with the Green Mountain Summer, a summer training program with the Navigators. I was thrilled to see him and watch and hear about how his summer is going. He is one of my heros. I pray that he gets a job soon.

The picture at the top is of the Unitarian Universalist Church at the head of Church Street, the main drag in Burlington, VT. I got up early on Saturday morning to visit my old stomping grounds from my summer in the Green Mountain State, Muddy Waters. I am amazed at how much has changed in my life since I was last there. I have been so blessed! I'd love to tell you about it some time, but now I've got to go babysit.

State College to Downingtown

2005-06-20T20:50:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, I went to my parents' house for Father's Day. The biggest disappointment of the weekend is that by the time I reached Harrisburg, I realized that I had forgotten my Father's Day gift, thwarting some of my purpose for the weekend. I bought my dad Seinfeld Season 4 on DVD. It would have been fantastic to sit and watch "The Contest" or "The Junior Mint" with him, but that was impossible. I did get to watch two things, however.
On Saturday night, we watched "Friday Night Lights" as a family. As far as movies go, this one makes me dislike the Republic of Texas. I love what it says about winning and losing, but I hate the obnoxious obsession with football. Don't get me wrong. Football is a fine sport, but when it controls a life, it has gone too far. My dad couldn't make it though the whole movie. I think it was too serious for him. He likes comedy.
Then, on Sunday, I had the unforgetable experience of watching NASCAR with my family. I don't know where it comes from, but they all seem to have a favorite driver. The next thing I know, they'll be part of the Pennsylvania NASCAR License Plate Program. I myself am not a fan. I don't know a whole lot about the sport, and hopefully, I won't ever know too much.
This coming Friday, I'm going to Burlington, VT. I can't wait!

Really Crazy Stuff

2005-06-16T22:20:00.000-04:00

I have this acquaintance named Zoli with a fauxhawk who frequently uses the words "crazy stuff" as descriptions of his happenings in life (as in, "Man, there was some crazy stuff there"). We're not really sure what the crazy stuff involves. Maybe he spies for the soviets or participates in events that would make Bacchus blush. Or maybe he just sits around in mental institutions.

I thought about him saying "crazy stuff" because today I had a crazy idea: I think it would be a blast to open up a bar. For a reason that I cannot disclose due to federal regulations regarding confidentiality, I went into a very rough-looking bar in Bellefonte. They had four beers on tap, Yuengling, MGD, Bud, and Miller Light. Their liquors included a bottle of Royal Crown and several American whiskeys. I would love to see the bartender roll on the floor if someone ordered a martini.

Anyway, as I looked around the bar, I imagined welcoming patrons to a bar of my own, or perhaps a coffee shop / bar. I has been my experience that most of my favorite conversations in life have occurred in coffee shops and bars. Why not combine the two? It would be like Muddy Waters, my legendary hangout in Burlington, Vermont.

I can picture people coming in and sitting for an hour or two with friends or a good book or the Bible. It would be a place of refuge from the outside world, not a place to escape but a place to gain perspective. I think I'd called it "Shrink's Couch." If you can think of a better name, let me know.

I would want the atmosphere to be cozy, with earth tones and accents of bright colors. I've even got a floorplan in my head: a couch, love seat, and two chairs around a coffee table, and the rest of place filled with wooden tables and chairs. I think the tables would need to be round in order to allow more people to sit at them, or for couples to scoot closer to each other. The bar would be in the back, allowing people to walk through the place before getting their drinks and light fare.

Like most dreams, this one is a bit hazy. Thanks for indulging with me.

Raw Coffee Beans

2005-06-14T17:02:00.000-04:00

I saw this amazing thing Sunday night: Raw Coffee Beans. The Fresh Harvest Kafe, a local establishment, offers a fine array of soups, sandwiches, and salads, and...fresh roasted coffee! This place has unroasted coffee beans, and it roasts daily, and when I found this out, I became an instant fan. Did I drink any of their coffee? No. The temperature was bouncing around in the high 80's, so coffee was not on my agenda.

In other news, George W. Bush came to University Park today to speak with the FFA. I think I saw Air Force One on its way back to Washington D.C.

Free Association

2005-06-12T14:34:00.000-04:00

Today, there are no specific directions or thoughts.

First, for those who are interested, CFAFC merchandise can be purchaced at the following link: The CFAFC @ Cafe Press
I went to my friend Mike's wedding yesterday. The church was nestled in one of the most beautiful areas of Pennsylvania, along Route 6 in Toiga County. It was a very nice wedding, and I was thrilled at the guest list, the marriage of Mike and Missy, and the ride to and fro.
I also had to say farewell to some friends. I'll miss them. That was pretty difficult.

That's all I have to say about that.

Dinosaur Poop

2005-06-09T16:39:00.000-04:00

Why would anyone want to keep one of these blog thingys? Facing this question, I did some soul searching in the shower this morning.
I bet there are probably a ton of people in some communications department at some small liberal arts school in Ohio researching the blog phenomenon. My guess is that they're finding out that people have this great desire to be known and part of some community, so they leave little traces of themselves all over the internet in hopes that people will know a different aspect of them that was not previously exposed. It's our modern day dinosaur poop.
The technologies of today allow us to put our social phobias aside, or at least under the rug, and be known for a little bit, revealing only what we write. The problem is that it's incomplete. Whether it's instant messenger, email, chat, text messaging, mobile phoning, real phoning, teleconferencing, or blogging, you never get a real and tactile face-to-face contact with another person.
We're still longing for a sense of community, and blogs are our next failed attempt at it.
In spite of this critique, I'm still writing, and you're still reading.

Spaghetti Squash

2005-06-07T23:45:00.000-04:00

Tonight , for dinner, I ate a whole spaghetti squash. It was rather small, but that's not the point. I ate the whole thing!
I'm taking this pottery class right now. I've never really played much with clay. In first grade, I made an ugly pinch pot. The pot is all flat on one side and curved on the other. Well, when I say flat, I actually mean, bumpy, but along a plane. I think when I made it back then, I didn't like how it compared to my peers' pots. I gave it to my mom anyway, and to this day, it sits upon her shelf in her bedroom.
When you're first working with clay, you have to figure out how to shape it. It always seems to resist change, and your hands never seem quite capable of shaping the clay into a real piece of functional art. So far, in my pottery class, this is my experience. I've made several things, most recently a very small bowl suitable for a couple M&M's, but not the peanut kind; they might be too big. I've also made several piles of scrapped, wet blobs. When beginning and artistic venture, you make a ton of gook. I'm learning what clay does and what my hands can, and cannot, do with it. It's the joy of being a novice.
That was a complete aside. I originally had intended to mention how my pottery teacher, Paul, told me how to serve a spaghetti squash. He's your run of the mill Deadhead, hippie, artistic, critical, unkempt, pottery teaching vegetarian, and his advice was to eat it plain, "how it was intended to be eaten." I tried that, but i didn't like it. I figured what would go better with spaghetti squash but spaghetti sauce? Paul, I know you've got this vegetarian thing down, but you were wrong. It was so good, I ate the whole thing.
You can do that when you eat alone.

Hazy Hot and Humid

2005-06-05T19:30:00.000-04:00

In my book of records, today is the official first hazy, hot, and humid day of summer. I don't know if such weather has happened already this year; I just notice it today. It's not suffocating yet, but the sunlight seems to be filtered through a suspension of pollen and moisture.
I'm not entirely sure how I feel about hot weather. In other words, I can't decide if I like it or not. On the positive side, I can do a lot of fun things in the heat: swimming, eating outside, walks after dinner, margaritas. On the negative side, I feel like I can't really leave the heat. When it's humid, the heat adheres to my skin, and I can't do anything to scrape it off. Right now, I'm feeling that way. And then, there's the love that I have for the cold of winter. I love how when it's so cold outside, I can feel and know I'm alive. In the frigid winter, I know that I'm separate from the world around me; I'm my own entity. In this heat, my body blends into the air around me. I feel like mush.
I think State College feels the same way I do today. The sidewalks were bizzarrely empty, and I moved lethargically through them. The cars on the road seemed slowed down as well. Perhaps my perception's off, but I don't think so.
Megan and I going to a free Josh Gracin concert at Delgross's in an hour. If it's not good, at least we'll get to see some of Cetral PA's finest! If I see a really good mullet, I'll take a picture and post it on here.

Welcome to the World

2005-06-05T15:15:00.000-04:00

The filter is off, and the CFAFC is back! Welcome to the Christopher Fitch Anderson Fan Club.
This blog is inspired by my cousin Brian.