She told me that for every cigarette I smoke from here on out, she’ll eat a bowl of ice cream.

So I’m stopping. For real. Today. Enough of the stupidity.

A few hours ago I let myself get caught up in dire abstractions of self and social pressures; seeking the bubble reputation in the mouth of a cannon I created (it was as ridiculous as that sentence sounds). Then my friend asked me to drive her to the emergency room. And I remembered that life goes on regardless, and… it’ll end regardless. #realitycheck -> what’s really important?

One of the nurses ran out to Jack-in-the-Box to grab food and asked the security guard at the counter if he wanted anything.Ron said he wanted a hamburger and large fries. It’s also his 60th birthday (and his anniversary!). I told him he should have asked for balloons too. He said it was okay and that his family was going to throw a huge fuss over him later. He also told me, after he’d listened to the loud, racist ranting of an 80 year-old alcoholic (who broke his thumb coming out of a bar) for some length of time, that the amount of good things that came – like hamburgers – far outweighed the things that could drag down a person. Ron crossed himself when he placed his hamburger order, and told me, “good things come from all angles.”

That’s important stuff.

— Pope Paul VI

When the plane rolled down the Tarmac and approached the gate, a sing-song voice floated over with a “not yettt.” Then we stopped and the voice came on with, “okay. Now get out.”

Kudos, khaki-pantsed people.

The Rent soundtrack asked me how I planned on measuring my year. Now, I don’t much like saying that musicals are right about much anything – I mean, how could anyone tell someone dancing around in heavy make-up that they’re right? – but the Rent people were on to something. The stats, in cups of coffee, hugs, baked goods consumed, walks taken, laughs exhaled, friends made, and sheer amounts of love encountered, show increases all around. I am better because I was worse. A nett increase, whether or not I’ve decreased (which is to say, because He is always increasing), and I’m still on my way. That’s all that matters.

I’ll leave you with a poem by one of my favorite poets (not that I often read poetry, simply because I forget to) because I read him out loud in my kitchen the day before I left to a group of beautiful people and the memory that comes with the words is really what makes words so extraordinary. I’d read tongue twisters right before, and decided that the wordplay – molding, holding, weighing, and kneading these words that some say make us human – is really all that keeps me in class somedays. It’s clever. And it makes me smile.

Eras and epochs passed, the sun went down, and my throat started to constrict as my head got lighter. For all the smart people who put together and congregate in this school… no one thought to ensure a constant air supply to the computer lab (this isn’t unlike the fact that one of our buildings has distinct halves because the two architects started with different plans and just… awkwardly met in the middle). So I emerged from the undergrounds of my school and took in full breaths of cold Bay Area air and thought, “wow. I can breathe!”

I’m excited to be alive today. In the midst of dead week and finals and the verge of failure and the stressstressstressing in the air, I’m excited that I get to breathe and be.

How ’bout you?

This little bit of writing’s dedicated to you.

I always thought it was so interesting that we find baby pictures (especially others’) so fascinating. In a sense, I think it has much to do with our consuming obsession with time, and aging. So in re-directing our own worries about how we spend our time, we look hopefully to others’ lives — maybe if they’ve done a better job growing up than we have, then maybe there’s hope yet for us.

And hey. As self-defeating as that sounds, I don’t have too many problems with seeing my life illuminated by the lights of others. If what I’ve got now looks more appealing because of the potential it has in someone else’s life, then so be it. I’ll take potential over a dead-end.  So it makes me glad when I can celebrate others’ successes and triumphant passages of times, even when my own achievements pale in comparison. It means, for me, that there’s hope yet.

—

“It is no small part of imitation to rejoice in the virtues of them that are better than we [...] They have gone before us, they have shone out before us. If we may not follow them in deeds, let us follow them in affection; if not in glory, at least in gladness; if not in merits, in prayers; if not in their passion, in our compassion; if not in eminence, in communion. Let it not seem a little thing to us that we are members of the same body as these to whom we may or may not be likened. For if one member suffer, all the members do suffer with it; so also when one member is glorified, all the members rejoice with it.” (emphasis his) - “The Matyrdom of Perpetua,” from the Sermons of St. Augustine.

From my Rhetoric professor:

“Subject: Tuesday’s Class

Group: Site

Message:

Dear Students of Rhetoric 103a,

A number of you have asked what the plan is for Tuesday, in light of the upcoming student strike. I’d like to take this opportunity to offer my perspective as an educator, as someone who values humanistic inquiry, and also, as a happily somewhat marginal member of the Berkeley community (that is, as someone who is here on a visiting fellowship as opposed to a permanent faculty post, and whose salary is largely paid by an outside source) – but also as someone who has really enjoyed his time here, and who thinks very highly of the Berkeley students, and their passion for what they do.

Canceling class for political reasons is always a tricky issue, for a number of reasons. While there are often students who are vocal about the need for solidarity, there are also a number of students who might disagree, agree in part, or choose to be indifferent. The question, posed in one way, then, is this: whose demands am I to honor? Those of the majority? Those most vocal? Should I seek to protect the rights of students who choose not to join the protests? If I choose to cancel class, I deny students the very resources for which they pay dearly, and borrow heavily. If I hold class, I punish other students by holding them responsible for material I cover - even if I declare that their absence is excused. 

Some have suggested holding protest classes (say, outside, or in Sproul plaza), but as a logistical matter this possibility is foreclosed. So given that both solutions (hold class, cancel class) are unappetizing to me for various reasons, I have to default to the position most in tune with my values, a decision that isn’t thereby any better or worse (in fact, my guess is that it will succeed in annoying everyone). It’s a split-the-difference decision, even though, as I suggested earlier, I’m fully aware that in these sorts of situations there isn’t really much difference to split.

At the end of the day, I feel that it’s my responsibility to be in my classroom. I also feel that it’s my responsibility to be talking about ancient rhetoric. But (and here’s the difference-splitting part) no new material is going to be introduced. I’m inviting (and I choose that word carefully) all of you to join me in a discussion about the ancient rhetorical tradition, its place in the humanities, and its relevance today. NO ONE IS OBLIGATED TO JOIN ME. It is only an invitation. The format will be open discussion; our reference points will be the texts that we’ve read in common.

Since I’ve built an extra day into the course (our “wrap up” day), we’ll simply push our material back a session. I’ll lecture on Perpetua and Felicitas starting Thursday, and then we’ll conclude with Augustine.”

—-

From the Chinese department:

“Tomorrow is a special day. Our 100XA will make some
adjustments. There won’t be classes held in our regular
classrooms, but our instructors are available in their offices
during class times and office hours. If you have questions, you
can reach them. This adjustment will allow you to concentrate
on the strike.

Thursday: L25
Friday: L25 + Quiz

Next Monday and Tuesday: Cha Bu Duo xiansheng in the Reader.

Go Bears!

C100XA”

About six moves in, to accompany his checkmate, he told me, “that means you have no idea what the hell you’re doing.”

“Yessir,” I said.

Over the course of the next hour and in between another slightly-more-improved round of chess, Glenn told me about the accident he got into when he was 26, that I should stop cutting my hair, to look up Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, and that everything outside of monogamy was immorality (after confirming that I had, as a matter of fact, retained my virginity).

I didn’t give him my phone number, though I do miss having the sort of conversations I had with Glenn: where I’m allowed to just be a young, wide-eyed, kid who gets to listen to someone genuinely nice try to impart wisdom. There’s a difference between your parents or relatives or random smug adults trying to tell you what’s right, and someone who knows he’s older but also not a role model. What they say, how they say it, and how they expect you to respond differs; one offers an instruction manual, while the other, a viewpoint.

So out went a sizable chunk of political correctness and standard social niceties. People would walk by, he’d call out comments at them/pat their dogs/make noises at their children, and they would fearfully continue walking or hesitantly smile at this wildly-bearded man with the questionable outfit. I listened, he talked, I commented, he talked more. An hour or so after I’d first sat down, he asked me for something to write on so he could do a little diagram of just which copy of Atlas Shrugged I was to get, while I, in turn and for kicks, requested his signature. Then he wished me success, did an odd – and slightly alarming – sort of affectionate grasp-y thing around the back of my neck, and I went on my way. With any luck and/or favor of fortune, I’ll meet him again, and we’ll sit for another round of chess. If not, well… it was cool.

And I wish him only well.

It was gorgeous.

Truth be told, I’m a little bit of a protest junkie; protests have this fantastic way of bringing a lot of different, excited people together.What I’m learning from the Occupy Movements, though, is that it’s very, very possible to channel the sum total of a world’s dissatisfaction, and facilitate that — democratically, even — into fruition and production. I left deeply impressed by the sort of patience and solidarity that is generated when a cause captures that deep-down desire  we all share to be, beyond ourselves; identified with a grander, more worthy thing than we each can be.

Let me ask you this: what makes you want to be patient, excited, idealistic, and hopeful all at the same time? Is there a movement that makes you want to give of yourself – effectively decreasing your own, singular identity – so that the larger body can grow and gain from you? What lights you up, stretches your ambitions, and makes you hungry for more?

I thought about these questions as I walked home to a house-full of girls who profess a Christianity of correlating answers. And I thought about the Cal Christian community in general. In the current economic crisis, many in the world have found a cause in which to share, and people who understand their frustrations. But if we, as Christians, claim a Christ that is even more fundamentally universal than the problems of economic inequality, well… what are we doing about it?

Credit: dailycal.org

http://www.nycga.net/resources/general-assembly-guide/