Today I know four things. . .

Your mind can't protect you from your own heart.
The footprints left by your soul aren't easily followed.
Taking up that path measures both the depth of your faith and the strength of your conviction.
Be the ending beautiful or sad, I must follow.

Well, it's official. Mere hours after my last exam, I will be on a plane headed for London. I can hardly believe it.

This has been an incredible year both in terms of life changes and personal growth. I am so thankful for every moment of it.

I'm also grateful for the upcoming change of scenery though. I've been feeling really lost in the whole tangle of life lately, unsure of where I'm going and why. It seems the only thing I truly want, doesn't really need me. Hopefully some quiet time for pause and reflection will help me sort it all out.

18 days and this will be "home". . .

It is so beautiful, I can't wait. Five quiet weeks in the English countryside, just outside Nottingham.

"I need the starshine of your eyes after the day's great sun." - Blanche Wagstaff

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart." - Helen Keller

This has been one of the greatest days ever. Ever. In the history of my life.

An obscure poem flows from my speechless. . .

I'm soaked
in sunshine
inside
and out

savoring the moment
a thousand smiles
uplifting
me

to glassy calm waters
off the end
of a semester
plagued with
the maelstrom
of life

I devulge not the sources
of my speechlessness
7 things taken together as one

On top of it, I happened
to catch a line
from my horoscope
in today's newspaper:

"Hold out
for something right
rather than
something for right now."

It locks me
in this moment
spinning in the sun
savoring the endless
possibilities held
in the palm of time

my dream
my heart
upheld

beaming radiant
in hope renewed
and faith unending

Today's quote:

“They were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life, the magical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven.” – Louisa May Alcott

She left a broken teacup on the windowsill
to remind her of all the days there was no sugar,
the nights when there was no heat
except curled softly in his arms

I always seem to find chunks of writing on random pieces of paper in my pockets - napkins, the backs of receipts, torn flaps of envelopes and the like. This morning I threw on a hooded sweatshirt as I flew out the door and this was in the pocket. . .

Bruised
If you believed in me,
you never would have screamed
the silence that you did

never would have beat me
with the loneliness left
in your absence.

The bruise on my heart
may never heal.

On the flipside was. . .

Wishing
Toes in the wet sand
and a hand full of stars –

I think of you every day,
praying God will bless
the road you’re on,

and hoping one day
it will lead you
home to me.

My latest song. . . I imagine it has something like a Jars of Clay sound. Actually, this chunk is all I have, and I only really like the refrain. Maybe it'll be reincarnated at a future date.

And somewhere down that long gray road
the sky had lost its beauty

You had woken up that morning
not knowing what day it was.
After weeks on the road
you wondered what it would be like -
the day the rain would stop.

And somewhere down that long gray road
the sky had lost its beauty

Hundreds of miles in a van with the guys
80s rock ballads spooling over and over on the radio
as the same small town passes your window
for the fifth time that day.

And somewhere down that long gray road
the sky had lost its beauty

Learned something quite interesting yesterday.

Sam plays bass. I knew he would be a strings man, but I was guessing acoustic guitar. Apparently he also sings. Lead or backup I don't know yet.

We happened to catch the same train home and were talking about the end of the semester. Turns out he's spending the summer in Africa developing reading programs. How awesome is that? Did I mention he works as an art teacher for a non-profit here in the city. Too cool.

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.” – Thoreau

Well, I survived my birthday. Actually, it was a pretty fabulous celebration this year. I got to spend time with friends and family and do a little relaxing. It was soooo good to go to the wide open spaces for the weekend. I honestly don't know how people live here permanently.

Friday morning was a bit rough. Between the screaming children in the airports and having to buy a new/second ticket to get back to NYC my nerves were shot. (The second ticket was my fault – I thought I’d work the system by buying a ticket that was actually a connection through Minneapolis instead of MSP being my final destination. The problem is that when you get off the plane, they immediate cancel all other portions of your ticket regardless of whether the return flight connects through MSP.) Lesson learned.

Saturday morning, my econ professor (the one who looks like the little cartoon Calvin) sent me an email kiboshing my final research paper topic for my class on privatization. Thanks. That’s after the month of research and writing I already have into it. Grrrr...

(That's my own fault too though. I should have sought his formal approval earlier. Much earlier. The problem is I wasn’t sure I could come up with solid enough research to formulate and support my thesis until last week.)

Why do I keep doing stupid things?

After I recovered from that shock and (I admit) anger, I spent the afternoon wandering the aisles of Target with my mom and sister. That was nice. There isn't a Target in Manhattan, so I picked up all the things that I've put off buying here because it's ridiculously expensive. Quick example: Basic 4 cereal at the store across the street is $6. At Target it was $2. Ridiculous.

Saturday night as I was digging through some of my stuff in the basement storage room at my parents’ place, I made a terrible/fortuitous discovery. I was searching for a piece of luggage and stepped into the middle of the room. My socks instantly soaked up water. Argh! Last week there had been torrential rain and it must have come off the blacktop driveway and through the small window beneath the deck.

The carpeting was completely saturated. And, since basically everything I own is in boxes in that room, it was oozing with water as well. So I spent the evening unpacking boxes and boxes of books and laying them out on card tables beneath fans hoping they would dry out. Likewise, I discovered all of my photo albums among the sopping stacks.

The entire discovery was so fortunate because all of my photos (of which I literally have thousands) would have been completely destroyed. Luckily, I was able to disassemble all the albums, pull out all the photos, and spread them on the living room floor to dry. It took hours. The dog just sat around looking at me, wondering what the hell I was doing.

It's strange looking through all those old snapshots - photos of things you swore you’d never forget, that now have faded into the back of your memory. I wish I had written out those stories and tangled emotions when they were raw. Now, if I do happen to remember them, time has blurred the events and healed over the intensity of the emotions.

Although my plans for this summer have yet to be ironed out, I hope to take some time to sift through those stacks of pictures and write out as many of those stories as possible.

What’s spinning: Astrud Gilberto - "Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars"

Can I just say I have some of the greatest friends in the world?

They just threw me possibly the best, most outrageous birthday party I've ever had (even though it was a couple days early). The details of which I cannot share...

In a few hours, I'll be on a plane to the midwest to spend 48 hours with my family for the holiday and do a little b-day celebrating with friends from home.

Enjoy the weekend.

My computer flipped out when I logged on tonight and started playing a song that I haven't heard in ages. I had forgotten how much I liked it. It's as true today as the first time I heard it. . .

"To Make You Feel My Love" - Garth Brooks

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I would offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
There's no doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawlin' down the avenue
There is nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love

Storms are raging on a rollin' sea
Down the highway of regret
Winds of change are blowing wild and free
But you ain't seen nothing like me yet

There ain't nothin' that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
Make you happy, make your dreams come true
To make you feel my love

What's spinning now. . . Joe Cocker's "Have a Little Faith"

Racing down a gravel road,
rocks cruching beneath
the tires of your
banana-seat bike

the wind in your face
and the sunshine soaking into
the stripes of your
favorite t-shirt

Barefoot in old tennis shoes
standing in the river
fishing with sticks

laying lazy
on a hot black tube
moving slow with the water

***

Heading home
your skin hot and dry
from absorbing
every moment of the day

the setting sun painting itself
against the insides of your eyelids
- a deep gold -
in contrast to the dark purple sky

rootbeer popsicle in one hand
shooting baskets with the other
in the driveway in the dark

running across the yard
catching fireflies
in an old pickle jar

I was more than a little on edge when I left my policy class tonight. However, on my way to the subway I noticed a pimped out convertible Escalade at the stoplight, and I was reminded of a good laugh that Adam and I shared a while back.

Adam: You know who could really use one of those new Cadillac trucks?

Me: No, who?

Adam: NO ONE.

ahhhaaa. laughter abounds.

Thanks for the moment of levity, Rev. (Both now and then.) You're the best.

Etta James - "At Last"

Slowdancing in the living room. . . in the moonlight.

Only four weeks left of this semester! Can I get a wooo whooo?

Two for the Road:
"Stop and smell the flowers." - Anonymous

Amen.

"There is a wealth of unexpressed love in the world." - Arthur Hopkins

Let's hope so.

By Thursday, I had hit the wall, but kept on going.

It was the first day of the Business School Open House for fall. I can guarantee you one thing: next year is going to be an adventure. Wow. I have now literally met people in my class from every corner of the globe. And they are awesome - they've done everything.

Here's a couple of examples:
-Jodie was a professional ballet dancer trained at Julliard now working in economic development for the state of Ohio.
-Chauncey speaks fluent Arabic and has worked in seven different countries as a counter terrorism agent for the U.S. State Department.
-Zen is an Australian working in London - we had a great conversation about Aussie Rules Football and Melbourne, which happens to be his hometown.
-James - is just plain damn beautiful.
-(some guy whose name I've forgotten) is working in a venture capital firm focused on the Energy Industry. He's a native of Honduras.
-John works in venture capital too, but his expertise is in nanotechnologies. He's one to watch, I guarantee it.
-Manfred is from Austria. He recently got married in Venezuela to a woman he'd only know 10 months. They were talking about it one day and decided to walk down to the certificate office and it was open, so they wound up signing the marriage license with two women who had just come in to get their passports as witnesses.

Thursday night, I skipped Stats and went to a presentation and reception with one of the heads of the US Dept of Education. I have nothing positive to say about that. People like her are the reason that education in this country is utterly screwed up.

Friday, I had an early meeting on the Institute I'm the director of, attended the morning sessions of the Open House, and ran across town for a lunch meeting with the founders of the new Millenium High School (one of the schools that the Bill Gates Foundation is underwriting). Incidently, that school was absolutely awesome - they are doing fantastic things with curricular design and structure.

Then I headed back to the Open House. (Unfortunately, I missed all of lunch and the Keynote Address from the CEO of Chanel.) When the last session wrapped, I met up with one of the three new Ed.D./MBA's that will be joining our program in the fall. We had coffee with my friend Sarah who's also in the joint program.

The new guy is totally beautiful. He's from Nigeria and works at a Quaker boarding school outside Philadelphia right now. He wants to open a soccer academy. Unfortunately, it turns out he has a girlfriend and she lives in my building. What are the odds of that?

After coffee, I hit the Organization Fair to scope out the activities for next year. I was there just long enough to grab what I was looking for and chat with some friends from the Dual Degree Association. Then I jetted home to change clothes and head downtown.

The CEO of Bloomingdale's (a former CBS grad) threw us a cocktail party on the furniture floor. It was highly awesome. After that, I grabbed dinner with a second year student and one of my future classmates at a fabulous little Italian place.

Then we headed to Citrus for an invitation only party with a bunch of other B-school students. That was interesting, but the best looking guy there was the mc. Let's hope the photos of us dancing don't get on the school website.

There was a girl there that was so drunk that she was chair-humping Manfred. There was also a girl there who looks identical to a girl I know from back home. This girl though had an aire of "Daddy's Little Angel who dreams of being a porn star." All in all it was hilarious to watch people because one side of the dance floor was covered in mirrors and people spent most of the time staring at themselves. MBAs are such an egotistical Type-A group.

I was home by 1:30 and up at 7 to take the Foreign Service Exam. That was interesting as well. It's no wonder the US comes off looking like idiots to the rest of the world. That test is one of the thresholds that ambassadors have to pass and it's a total joke.

From there I headed off to work. After work, I came home to take a quick shower before heading downtown to meet some friends for dinner. It was only 5 and I was so shot that I told them I'd just meet them at the restaurant at 7:30, and laid down to take a short nap.

When I woke up, it was still light out so I figured, "Great! I'll change my clothes and be off." I rolled over and looked at the clock - it was 10am.

So, I guess I was kinda wiped out. Five yesterday afternoon to ten this morning - that's some quality snooze time.

Here are two quotes from this week:
"Without music, life would be a mistake." - Nietzche
"Look for a lovely thing and you will find it." - Sara Teasdale

What's spinning - The new Chili Peppers cd, By the Way.

What an exhausting day. I'm past the wall. I think I fell asleep standing up while waiting for the train home just a bit ago.

I'm so sick of handing out resumes, shaking people's hands, and "weighing" my (as of yet non-existent) summer options that my head could explode. whine. Whine. WHINE.

But seriously. . . if I had to make my summer decision right now I'd choose England and the lake. To hell with everything else. I'm not enthusiastic about getting on the plane just hours after my last final, but that's what they tell me the timing will have to be. The up side is that I'd be back by mid-July and could spend a few weeks on the boat in the serene north woods of Wisconsin before I have to be back in NYC for the start of class mid-August.

That sounds so glorious right now. Like a lemonade commercial.

Why can't life be a lemonade commercial? Why can't we pause that moment of summer where you have all your fun new stuff but school hasn't started? There's the thrill of anticipation but not the anxiety of actually stepping back into the societal sharktank of academia. New bulletin boards and no gum stuck to the bottom of chairs. Shiny new textbooks that haven't released the crackly groan of their covers at the hands of their first owner. The scent of all 48 crayons mingled together before a single one has been stretched out in a waxy streak against a crisp white page.

"Smile and make your own sunshine." - Anonymous

"True happiness is. . . enjoying the present without anxious dependence upon the future." - Seneca the Younger

Things I thought today. . .

1. I'm heartily glad the heaps of snow melted beneath the pouring rain today.

2. If you weren't serious about hiring someone, why did you make me wander around 5th Avenue in a silk suit in the pouring rain?

3. When a faculty member hit on me today I was tempted to give him your telephone number. He said he'd call you right up and examine your brain. I thought that was funny.

4. Why haven't I finished the policy brief that was due on Monday?

5. Should I stop looking for a summer job and take the opportunity in Britain?

6. I really miss lunch with Adam at Urban Pizza. He'd know if I should go to the U.K.

7. What is the difference between productive efficiency and cost-effectiveness?

8. I wonder what I should wear to the all-day B-school function tomorrow.

9. Why can I never interpret my 4155 assignments correctly?

10. I haven't been told where my Foreign Service exam is on Saturday.

11. I should go to bed early.

12. God I've got a lot to do before the semester ends.

13. Having superhero powers would be awesome.

14. What day is it?

15. There's only 5 weeks to this semester. Uppie!

Last night the timpani player upstairs took up the trumpet. He is much better at percussion.

My friend also called to say he was alive. He was worried I may have seen the article about the triple homocide at the bar he hangs out at near his law school in D.C. I hadn't. I'm grateful.

He grows more and more like you every day. I love it and it scares me. I fell for him even before he opened his mouth. I imagine you’ll play together some day – I can’t wait to see it.

He sits and writes music that I can hear. The words that I hoped would appear in your journal appear in his hand – the only difference is he's left-handed.

I imagine that your music is similar and I smile at that. I wonder though if it was all a ruse - fate's ironic farce - and after fifteen years, it will turn out I was searching for him, preparing to be with him, knowing him. Only the stars know for sure.

The evening will be warm and laughter abound. I wonder briefly what you will say – the look in your eyes if I show up with him.

What a paradox – the poet in her navy blue pinstriped suit. Her artist, a painter, slightly Spanish, with dreadlocks and a love of all things beautiful and heartfelt.

I recognized your handwriting despite there being no return address.

The envelope contained a handful of sand, which spilled out as I opened it. Inside was a matchbox from a little BBQ & Crab Legs joint near Tijuana. Scrawled on top was “Thought of You,” and I paused for a moment. My mind flashed an image of your hands where mine now were, contemplating the gesture. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and slowly slid the box open.

Inside, a pinch of sand remained to cushion a tiny starfish. I held it, delicately, marveling at its strength, thinking of how it survived tumbling around in the roaring ocean. Again leaning back in my chair, my mind left the immediacy of the moment to course over how you were always doing that – filling in pieces of me I didn’t know were missing.

That was the day before she gave birth to your second son. . .

As soon as you got the call, you were on a red-eye from Osaka, but she was afraid. It was a month early and she wasn’t ready.

I could hear the panic in her voice when she called. My heart sank, but there was no way I could tell her ‘no’. She got herself there safely, but the timing caught her off guard.

I picked up Michael and a suitcase of clothes on my way to the hospital. I took everything she would need, and a change of clothes for you too, knowing you’d come straight off the plane with no sleep and needing a shower.

Surprisingly, everything went smoothly once she got to the hospital, and knew Michael was there and you were on your way. I tried to explain to Michael that he was going to get a little brother today, but being three he was more interested in the books we borrowed from the waiting room.

She had a few hour’s reprieve from the chaos while the nurses monitored the contractions and waited for the time to be right. And that was it. Once the moment hit, there was no screaming, no frantic doctors running, just a smooth delivery of a healthy baby boy to a mother whose face gleamed at the sight of him. It was beautiful.

After the standard tests, everyone was sent back to her suite. Michael and I went to the giftshop to buy Mommy some flowers while she took a little nap. He picked out a teddybear for his new brother too and started telling me about all the things he was ready to teach him. They were going to be best friends for all time, you could see it in his eyes. We shared some pudding leisurely in the cafeteria and then took a stroll down to the nursery to see the baby.

It was just after midnight when you came in. Michael was curled up asleep with her. She had handed me the baby when he started to fuss so he wouldn’t wake up Michael, and now both of them were sleeping peacefully. He smelled so soft and warm. I wondered how the world could ever be anything other than how still and serene it was at that moment standing there holding him in the dim light.

The door brushed open and I looked up expecting to see the night nurse, but saw you instead. The hesitation in your split-second pause made my peace disappear into sadness. I smiled to answer the terrified question on your face and you understood, exhaling, your shoulders dropping their tension.

You stepped so close I could feel you breathe. Looking down at him your eyes welled up. He was so small, but filled your whole world. Your eyes caught mine, and I blinked trying desperately to keep you from seeing my agony.

I motioned to give him to you and you set down your bag. Gently, I put him in your arms. Your son. Your family. All of us together in that room that seemed to shrink a million times in that instant. I gasped for breath and searched for the exit. In the same instant, her eyes opened and looked at you adoringly, holding your son.

I slid out the door as fast and silently as I could, not knowing which way to go. The lights were out in the waiting room, so I headed to the cafeteria.

The sound of my Diet Coke dropping out of the machine snapped me back. I sat down in a plastic chair, grateful to be alone in the big, sterile room. Elbows on the table, I held my head in my hands. How did I get here? How did it get to be like this? How was it possible to endure such inhuman pain?

I must have been there twenty minutes before I became aware of how my breathing had slowed. I saw you come down the hall, past the long glass windows and another door brushed open allowing you to walk into my heart. Suddenly I became aware that it was well past 1, and realized you must be exhausted.

You collapsed into your own plastic chair. I was about to ask if you’d like a soda, but you took mine. Your hand brushed mine as you reached for the bottle and took off the cap. You drank it slowly, with your eyes closed, and sat it back down on the table not saying a word.

I sat back in my chair and this time it was you with your head in your hands.

There was no sense in entertaining any of it though. This was the way it was, the way it had to be.

Getting up from the table, I told you that I had brought you a change of clothes so you could shower. I would stay until you were settled in and then take Michael home with me. You looked up, a mixture of grief and appreciation in your eyes. I understood and smiled, turning away.

It was late. Everyone was exhausted from a very long day. Tomorrow the sun would rise and we would all go about the lives we had grown accustomed to - the silence and the distance - and everything would be unspeakably normal again.

For those of you who check your email via the web instead of Outlook, you know how those popup banner ads for Singles Sites are always plastered all over Yahoo, etc.? Well, the other night I logged on to check my email and voila! another ad popped up.

I looked at the picture . . . Hey! Wait a minute, I've dated him. It was a cop from Milwaukee that I went out with a couple summers back. Yikes. I thought of Bill Engvall's "Here's Your Sign" schtick.

I don't know what it means, but found it both amusing and disturbing.

A few days ago, I took the personality test Kevin had on Observations. I turned out to be a Three-One combination. I've taken a lot of those Myers-Briggs style tests. I’m an INTJ every time.

Maybe I'll put the descriptions up here someday. Not today.

Wings of a butterfly
delicate and crystalline
reflecting sunlight
and rising on the breeze
while sitting lightly
on the petals of a yellow dahlia.

Last Friday I spent some time at New York's High School for Economics and Finance. Turns out it is located at a corner of Ground Zero.

It was the first time since the weeks after that fateful day that I had stood at Ground Zero. I was here in the city three weeks after it happened and saw the huge mounds of debris and smelled the electrical fires still burning.

Friday, it was cold and gray and raining. It was fitting. The enormity of the site is indescribably devastating. The tragic irony I noticed while staring at that gaping hole is that it is bordered on two sides by Church and Liberty streets.

I see it with different eyes now that I live here. I don't know how to explain it. Everything is cleaned out and bare, but it is no less horrific. The wound is less bloody, but is still raw, covered only by a sheer, thin veil of healing.

I hope that Liberskind will put a marble wall inside the memorial similar to the Vietnam memorial that contains the names of all the people whose lives were lost.

On Saturday, I went to a workshop on Procrastination. I used to be a terrible procrastinator. I’m not so sure that’s what I do anymore, but I have this constant feeling that I’m not accomplishing all the things that I want to get done in daily life and the larger scheme of things. I’m just not sure what it is that I’m doing with all my time because I don’t feel like I’m really getting all that much done, but I’m constantly busy. Ya know?

Well, for anyone that’s in my boat, here are my notes from the session. . .
(hope they help you more than they helped me)

After three hours, the facilitator basically told me that I just need to chill the fuck out. And while that proved humorous to my mother, it doesn't really help me. I'm driven toward big goals. I know that. It's not a good reason to make fun of me (especially in front of a large group of people).

I have an expectation that I should do everything at my level of capability. If I don’t, I feel guilty during and after whatever it is I’m doing. It’s not so much a feeling of being irresponsible, but of being incredibly lazy. That's probably intensified by the innate Midwestern pride in having a strong work ethic.

The focus of the session was to look at your actions with a critical lens from outside yourself. To distance yourself from your own procrastination. Then to identify: 1. a change in attitude that can be mobilized or 2. new technique that can be implemented. Choose something that is small and compelling.

Task One: Identifying the “psychological games I play with myself” and what changes I want to make in my life.

What is procrastination and what isn’t?
not being efficient
being off track
putting off things that should be done now
shifted priorities (non-essentials in place of essentials)
perfectionist waiting for the perfect time to do the perfect paper
The academic imperative is to not be a procrastinator.

Protective Procrastination: Not testing what your best is.

What is Perfectionism?
The unreasonable feeling that whatever you do, it isn’t good enough. Constant feeling of failure and proving yourself from scratch each time.
Internalized expectations of success and achievement.
Fear of failure and discomfort in process.

Both lead to varying levels of anxiety and discomfort:
emotional and physical manifestations
downward spiral as feelings and production drop
eventual “shut down”

How have you dealt with it in the past?
Organizing my physical space helps me. My “frantic-ness” seems to run in direct proportion to how neat, organized and under control my space is. Organizing my space in turn leads to organized time.

Try to:
Learn from people who are similar to you.
Make changes that are consistent with your basic personality.

How does stress impact your relations with other people?
Do you enjoy your freetime?
How much bounceback/recovery time do you need?
Caution: Does your significant other understand and support the rigor, requirements, and demands of the life you want to lead?

How do I figure out how people perceive me?

What sabotages you? (conditions) tv, sometimes people, noise, amplification of layered negativity.

What’s a good reward for yourself? (not just at the end, but enroute)
Find a way to give yourself credit. You’re your own harshest critic.
Spending time with people I enjoy, having quiet time & writing time to myself.

What are you doing when you’re not working?

Is it possible or even desirable to “manage it all”?
Not everything in life can be a priority.
What are your systems of triage?
How do we filter through all the crap coming at us?
How can we better balance everyday life?

Making the Change
Integrate it as part of your identity, but not the base of your sense of self-respect.
Separate yourself from your negativity.
Have other bases from which you draw your sense of self. It will help reign in your negativity.
Dealing with panic: Put 5 minutes on the timer and meditate. Slow your breathing.
Log your hours and food for a while.
Change your environment.
Go into work/school early and driving your day v. reacting all day.
Schedule decompression time twice a day.
Do a little. Do what you can.

Don’t give up! Tomorrow’s a new day.

In an odd coincidence, I happened upon a newspaper article focused on the very subject that Kevin broached in a recent post regarding thinking better in the shower. It said:

"Foust’s metaphysical explanation for why some people think better in the shower: When you step into a shower, you alter your brain wave levels, moving from beta to alpha. Beta are the waves of the linear mind while alpha waves are wavy and relaxed – the altered state of consciousness sought by Einstein."

Hmgh.

Some quotes I collected over the last ten days...

(To H.C. – for painting me a rainbow.)

“For hope is but a dream for those that wake.” – Matthew Prior
“Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look at the stars.” – Van Dyke
“Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God.” – Karl Barth
“It is extraordinary how music sends one back to the memories of the past, and it is the same with smells.” – George Sand
“To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.” – Anatole France
“Why are haikus so intensely creative? Because you have to compact the infinite creativity of the mind into a limited space.” - Foust
“You cannot solve any problem by the same consciousness in which the problem was created.” - Albert Einstein
“It’s like trying to construct the house from the roof downward.” – Youn Kim
“propelling teaching and learning”
“Never, never, never give up.” – Winston Churchill
“life isn’t all academics”
98% of life is showing up.
“turning into sheer logic v. having a human side”
“diseases of poverty”
“it’s people like these people that change the world”
“[Understand the needs and patterns of] paper ideas that never pan out in implementation and application.”
Find inspired leaders to work with.

The week before last, I attended a small q&a on campus with Salman Rushdie. His Midnight's Children was being performed at the Apollo in Harlem by the Royal Shakespeare Company and the University. (Incidentally, the novel was begun when he was 27. It was one of his first.)

It was inspiring to be in a room with the man that the Ayatollah Khomeini considered dangerous enough to issue a fatwa for in 1989. (Incidentally, the death sentence wasn't lifted until 1998.)

It was a very interesting evening, despite the fact that several questions taken from the audience offended him incredibly. In fact, he was so offended that when the hour was up, he just walked out.

Here are the great quotes I captured during the session. . .

“A number of my books have met an unforeseen fate.”

“You know, I really miss September the 10th.” – Gary Trudeau

"one of whose major processes is digression"

Question from the audience: What advice would you give beginning writers? Rushdie's answer: "If you need my advice, don’t do it."

"admiration of their tenacity, fortitude, confidence"

"that something is inside writers and will either make you do it..."

"finding their voices as writers"

"under the descending heel"

"the difficulty with a 50-50 problem is that when you enter a war, it becomes a 100-0 problem."

"America has a problem with follow through. We’ve been good at deconstruction..."

"Now I’m glad I wrote the book when I did. It captured a moment that is now gone. There is now an entirely different spirit of the city."

"it is like that because that’s what it’s like"

"cast one’s mind back to creative decisions made decades ago"

"pantheon of writers"

So, by now many of you have heard about the teach-in protest that was held on our campus. Faculty and students gathered in the mall to demand that the university stop its work on all military weapons projects.

That was the main goal, despite the fact that what's gotten the most press is one of our professors saying he wished the U.S. would lose the war and suffer "a million Mogadishus." (For those who don't remember, it was the 1993 incident where 18 of our soldiers were murdered - on which a major movie was recently released.)

A lot of top-secret projects are developed on campus. Or rather, I should say under campus. We may be the only campus in the country that has as many acres of underground facilities as we do above ground. Yes, we were home to the Big Bomb, that's why it was called the "Manhattan Project" before they moved it to the U of Chicago because of the threat of axis submarines in the Harbor.

I highly doubt that those protesters will have any impact on the amount of arms development that occurs on campus other than tightened security and more layers of red tape to classify secrecy. Oh yea, that and the fact that they brought worldwide attention to our school as a legitimate target! Grrr.

I recently realized how much I hate helicopters. I think it probably stems from a deep subconscious association because where I grew up the only time you heard or saw a helicopter it was LifeLink. It meant that someone was headed to the trauma unit in St. Paul and wouldn't live if they were transported by ambulance.

Now, the helicopters are hovering and patrolling air space above the city, and transporting soldiers from nearby bases to ships in the harbor. Argh. None of it is good. Those guys should be at home, playing with their kids.

As most of you have seen, this city has been teeming with war protesters. Here's my protest story that runs very much in the vein of what my sister always tells me, which is, "Oh honey, be careful."

The other night, I was on my way to dinner with some friends. The number of protesters marching around the city that day was in the thousands, so the cops had streets barricaded all over.

As I was crossing a street, I was watching a cop pulling up in his little Cushman-mobile with a light on top. I had my head turned trying to see what it was he was blockading us from, when all of a sudden, "BAM!" I got hit by a bike.

That damn thing must have been a Wisconsin-made Trek because it left one hell of a purple and green bruise on my thigh for a week.

Now, I'm quite a large person, how can you not see me? This guy plowed me completely over, and didn't even help me up. He just straightened up on his bike and kept peddling. Asshole.

Meanwhile, I wiped the rocks and blood off the heels of my hands trying to get out of the street before the traffic light changed. Usually it's my extraordinary klutziness (if that's not a word, it should be, just for me), but this time it was completely random. My sister's voice rang in my head, "Oh honey, be careful."

I think what New York needs is a grandma. Forget the mayor, NYC needs a gray-haired, leathery old grandma to kick its ass. The kind of woman you can go to for anything, hope, support, sympathy – a plate of warm cookies and a stern eye. It needs a familiar cardigan sweater over shoulders that are as near to the strength of God as you’d find on this earth. It needs someone to teach it respect and whoop its ass.

It feels as though the whole fucking world has fallen apart. How have we gotten so lost?

I want to rent a gigantic sound system and play Chick Corea's "Peanuts Theme Song" from the top of the Empire State Building. Maybe it would remind people that there even was something other than this darkness.

We seem to be stuck with the crappy tension-building music that spools over and over in dramas where someone you love is brutally maimed. TURN IT OFF.

Everyone reading this, do me a favor: Do something nice for someone today. Help an old lady cross the street. Call your mother and tell her you love her. Call your brother and offer to babysit his kids so he and his wife can go out for a quiet dinner. Buy a small bunch of flowers and put them in a coffee mug for your secretary for no reason other than to let her know you appreciate her.

The week before last I avoided all newspapers, tvs, and radios. I just couldn't handle any more brutality or horrific war photos. After a few days, I was doing pretty well. Then, I made the mistake of reading the Sunday Times.

Three of the top stories were: first, the war. I've said enough about that.

Second, a 10 year old boy just across the river in New Jersey kidnapped a three year old boy from the public library. He proceeded to take the boy home, sexually assault him, and beat him to death with a baseball bat. From the story, it was obvious that the ten year old lived alone with his blind father and random transients who would stay with them, probably assaulting the boy. His school and neighbors had all turned the situation in to child services and the police multiple times, but no intervention had ever taken place. On the day of the boy's arraignment, his father didn't even bother to show up at court.

And the third story was about the serial killer that continues to hunt victims here in Manhattan. Apparently a 20 year old black man is walking in to Arab-owned establishments like laundromats between 5 and 7 in the morning, sitting down, having a cup of coffee, and then walking up to the man who is working and blow his brains out at pointe blank range. I believe the number is around 8 victims at this point. (Could be higher, I've ceased reading the newspaper if at all possible.) Several times there have been three or four other people in the place where the shooting occurs and it doesn't seem to matter.

On the 30th, I woke up to the sound of a huge crowd of people. I groaned assuming it was around 4 and the Saturday night bar time crowd was heading home. I rolled over. The microwave said 5:31. Then gun shots - 5 of them.

The noise of the crowd continued for a second. Then a man with a middle eastern accent cried out, “Help me. Please, someone, help me.” I flew out of bed to peek out the window. There was barely a soul on the street. Miscellaneous things were spilling out the side door leading out of the diner, but no body, no blood.

Within thirty seconds there were eight blue and white NYPD squad cars in front of the diner on the corner. The cops got out and went inside. Within a few more seconds they went bolting back to their cars, and with lights on tore around the corner toward the river.

I waited and watched for a few minutes. No ambulance, only a few brief sirens. Inside, bus boys continued wiping down tables and repositioning salt shakers. The van parked on the corner continued to be unloaded into the diner.

After fifteen minutes the first wave of squad cars was replace with a second. No police tape, no evidence collectors or questioning. When I got up that morning, the diner continued to serve breakfast as usual. People milling everywhere like nothing had ever happened. I was baffled. I wanted to know what went on.

For a brief second I thought, if I were back home I could just call my grandma and she'd know every detail that passed over the police scanner and the grapevine. She'd know whose cousin it was that got shot, and why, and who was there to see it. She'd know who ran and where they hid. She'd know it all. Here, no one knows. No one cares.

Everyone has those periods when life is more like a zoo than a rational existence. (At least I hope I'm not the only one.) The past two weeks have been like that - like tripping on the carpet and looking down to find there was nothing but a floral pattern to catch the toe of your shoe. Ya know?

Running from one meeting to the next, eating a perpetual stream of garbage from street vendors or take out joints, pretty sure that some afternoon you'll look at your planner only to find that the next thing scheduled is a visit to a rubber room at Bellevue escorted by lovely gentlemen in white coats.

Yep. Like that.

But, thanks to a much needed quiet weekend and today's serendipitous snowday, I think I have myself mostly collected again. (Yes, I said snow. And to think I had just packed up all my winter stuff to ship it home. We've gotten about three inches I think, but they cancelled all afternoon and evening classes, for which I am extremely grateful.)

The remainder of today's posts will be a random collection of junk I've been jotting down over the past ten days. Enjoy. (or don't, I don't care) =)