Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Berlin.
This afternoon I'm taking a train to Vienna and then taking a night train to Berlin to visit some friends for a few days. I'll be in Berlin until Tuesday morning, when I'll be back in Graz. If you don't get any e-mail and you check the blog and are not entertained, I'm sorry. Have a great week.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
You finish the sentence.
Use the comments to finish this sentence:
Of all the little things in life, one of my favorite things to do is...
Of all the little things in life, one of my favorite things to do is...
"Where do you see yourself in five years?"
There was a time when the idea of "living peacefully" would have sounded really boring. I'm not sure what exactly changed, but living peacefully is exactly what I want these days. I really like the idea of being married, having a house, teaching history, doing yard work and sitting in a hammock with my wife. I don't want to climb any mountains or swim the Atlantic. Those aren't the sort of challenges that interest me. Making your wife happy is enough of a challenge. Raising happy, healthy kids is a challenge with valuable results. Don't get me wrong, there will be joy and excitement and passion for the people and things in my life. But not for the sort of things that will put my name in the news, and that's just fine with me. There are plenty of people out there to whom that's important.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Up to date...
Hello. Last week was pretty busy. Busy for me anyway. On Thursday, Josef, Betti, Jenna, Casey and I drove to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. As strange as it sounds to say, "I went to Croatia last week," it's only an hour and a half from here, and we had to drive across another country (Slovenia) to get there. We walked around the old part of the city, saw the cathedral, marketplace, old city walls, a pharmacy (still doing business) first mentioned in records in 1355 and had lunch at a cool, partially underground restaurant. Zagreb looked like a bigger, dirtier, poorer Graz. Which it is, essentially. I was hoping for a little more Slavic look about it, a little more "eastern." It was a nice trip though. We got a passport stamp in Slovenia when we crossed the border, but none in Croatia because nobody was there to do the stamping. See the pictures.
Wow, could this computer lab be any warmer? I submit that it could not.
WARNING: EPISODE III SPOILERS.
On Friday, Betti, Jenna, Casey and I went to see Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith. Here's what I think about it: The dialogue was once again the weakest spot. Is it the dialogue's (and therefore George Lucas') fault alone? Not in my opinion. Sometimes dialogue and delivery just make me cringe. In the case of Hayden Christensen, both do the deed. His lines are just plain bad and he delivers them badly. In my opinion, Ian McDiarmid, who plays Chancellor "soon-to-be Emperor" Palpatine, really flubbed the throaty, raspy, evil voice of the Emperor after he is deformed by his own Dark Side "lightning." Those are pretty much my only complaints. Well, one more maybe. I think Lucas and ILM take the digital scenery a little too far. It's glitzy and distracting. Maybe that's the point, I don't know. Other than that, I thought the story of Anakin's turn to the Dark Side played out pretty well. I think it would have been unrealistic(?) if he just turned out to be a bad apple and turned because of his own inner turmoil. As it is though, he's being pushed and pulled from all sides, three at least. I kind of felt sorry for him. Then he got burned alive and I thought maybe he got part of what he deserved. Maybe I'll see it again next week at the big fancy theater at Potsdamer Platz.
It seemed like last week was more eventful than that but maybe it wasn't. I did a lot of walking around. I didn't have any classes Monday or Tuesday so that was nice. We had a stupid meeting today about what to do when you're getting ready to go home, how to de-register(?) and how to go about proving to your university that you took classes here, which apparently is not the job of the Office of International Relations. Maybe they can't squeeze it in between 10 and 12. In that case they should think of extending their hours and their responsibilities.
43 days and I'll be home. Jamie assures me that she still loves me and is looking forward to seeing me on July 5th. So I've got that going for me. The weather is a little warmer although it has been raining off and on recently. Looking forward to coming home.
Wow, could this computer lab be any warmer? I submit that it could not.
WARNING: EPISODE III SPOILERS.
On Friday, Betti, Jenna, Casey and I went to see Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith. Here's what I think about it: The dialogue was once again the weakest spot. Is it the dialogue's (and therefore George Lucas') fault alone? Not in my opinion. Sometimes dialogue and delivery just make me cringe. In the case of Hayden Christensen, both do the deed. His lines are just plain bad and he delivers them badly. In my opinion, Ian McDiarmid, who plays Chancellor "soon-to-be Emperor" Palpatine, really flubbed the throaty, raspy, evil voice of the Emperor after he is deformed by his own Dark Side "lightning." Those are pretty much my only complaints. Well, one more maybe. I think Lucas and ILM take the digital scenery a little too far. It's glitzy and distracting. Maybe that's the point, I don't know. Other than that, I thought the story of Anakin's turn to the Dark Side played out pretty well. I think it would have been unrealistic(?) if he just turned out to be a bad apple and turned because of his own inner turmoil. As it is though, he's being pushed and pulled from all sides, three at least. I kind of felt sorry for him. Then he got burned alive and I thought maybe he got part of what he deserved. Maybe I'll see it again next week at the big fancy theater at Potsdamer Platz.
It seemed like last week was more eventful than that but maybe it wasn't. I did a lot of walking around. I didn't have any classes Monday or Tuesday so that was nice. We had a stupid meeting today about what to do when you're getting ready to go home, how to de-register(?) and how to go about proving to your university that you took classes here, which apparently is not the job of the Office of International Relations. Maybe they can't squeeze it in between 10 and 12. In that case they should think of extending their hours and their responsibilities.
43 days and I'll be home. Jamie assures me that she still loves me and is looking forward to seeing me on July 5th. So I've got that going for me. The weather is a little warmer although it has been raining off and on recently. Looking forward to coming home.
New things...
Hi, I put some more pictures up, pictures from the day trip to Croatia, the farmer's market and lunch in the park. Soon I'll post again about the Croatia trip, Episode III and this past week.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Full Circle.
Like I said earlier, it’s flipping awesome that Britton is playing baseball. There are a lot of reasons that I like baseball so much. The fact that my six year old nephew and I might have something like baseball (or frisbee or model trains, it wouldn’t matter really) that we can do together and talk about, really excites me. I wish I was home for that. My only concern is that some punk kid or group of punk kids will ruin it for him the way they ruined it for me when I was younger. There was about nine or ten years where I didn't want to have anything to do with baseball or sports in general because I couldn't watch baseball or talk about it without thinking about those punk kids or their punk fathers. Anyway, I hope playing baseball is a source of fun, and fun only, for Britton and that he makes friends and enjoys himself. Hopefully that enjoyment will last longer than some of my hobbies did when I was his age and maybe we can play together when I get home.
For about five years I was a real jerk. I'd like to think there were legitimate reasons for me to be moody and grumpy and impossible to please. I'd like to think so but it may not be true. I’d like to think all of that is over, that there is nothing of that left in me or still going on at times. I'd like to think so but it may not be true. I’ve been known to spit nails and have done so recently. Junior high was really hard for me. Did I make it harder than it might have been otherwise? Sure. But it was hard. I was angry, I was lonely, I was unhappy and I was all of those things at the same time, most of the time. Looking back (which is a phrase I don't like to use) I think one of the reasons I felt that way is because I didn’t have an identity that I liked. Maybe nobody does and I was taking it the wrong way. I don't know. But I tried really hard to please the people around me, to be whoever I thought they might like me to be, and it usually didn't work. Which in turn made me angry/lonely/sad. Looking back, the only people whose opinions should have mattered to me are Matt and my mother. More often than I'd like to admit, they had to deal with a lot of my nonsense. My mother should be immediately considered for sainthood and Matt deserves a lifetime of my respect and gratitude and friendship. I'd walk around a lot less embarrassed about the things I said and did over those five years if I had realized sooner that they are people too, not characters in a melodrama starring me. It took a while to realize that, it took a while to recognize that the world is real, it is real to everyone and everyone exists within the same world. I’m not sure how I missed that. I have at times had difficulty with my perception, both visual and metaphysical.
Where is this going?
Britton was born on December 7, 1998. I was in tenth grade. Completely unbeknownst to him then and now and maybe forever, he had a lot to do with helping me realize that the people in my life are people, and they are no more characters in my reality as I am a character in theirs. I didn't imagine Britton coming into existence and then he did. It was completely outside of my control and understanding. Being there, or close to there, as someone comes into the world is an incredibly complex and routine thing to wrap your head around. The odds of something that fragile surviving, because or in spite of all we can do for them, seem insurmountable.
When Britton was born, it was the first time in a long time I thought about someone other than myself. That's hard to admit. Things came slowly to me. He's real. Not a doll. Not a prop. He's cold and afraid. He doesn't know us. What if he doesn’t like us. What if he wanted to be born somewhere else. He could be allergic to everything in this room. He could be sick already. He will be held all day every day for the next year at least. Someone is going to drop him. Someone will take him. Someone will lose him. He might not learn to walk. His eyes are sensitive somebody should turn the lights off. Did I wash my hands? I don’t want to hold him. Kindergarten is a training ground for vultures. When he is six not everyone he invited will come to his birthday party. When he is six Melinda Drinnen or someone like her will ask someone else to go down the slide with her. He will spend a quarter on a toy gun instead of a drink like he said he would and feel sorry for the rest of his life. When he is six he will be made fun of and realize it for the first time. He might not understand and be embarrassed to ask. He might want seconds and be embarrassed to ask. He will be cheated out of something that he deserves. He will hate someone and be burdened by the weight of it. He will watch his parents struggle and be confused. He will fall in love and someone will crush him.
When I got to age six, I left the room and started pacing around in the hallway. I made a mental list of all the things he should never hear, things he should never see and never know about. I thought he might need me. He might need me and I'm not the type of person who can help him. I'm not the type of person he would like. He wouldn't ask me.
He's six now. He goes to the very same elementary school I went to. He's an Eastside Golden Eagle. He rides the bus to school sometimes. Don’t even get me started on public school busses (a.k.a. giant yellow vessels of evil.) He has school friends I don’t know. He watches TV shows and knows when something is funny and knows when it isn’t. He likes the Ninja Turtles. Some things never change. He has his own bedroom now. He gets report cards with numbers instead of letters.
When he was born I decided I wanted to be one of the good things in his life and not one of the negative ones. There are plenty of negative ones everywhere. Hopefully he will ask me questions and I will have answers. Hopefully he will feel like I understand what he’s going through, even if I don’t. I feel like I have an advantage over other, older uncles. We’re only 15 years apart. I was a kid when he became a kid. I don't see him very often, even when I am home, but, at the very least, when he thinks about me he knows I’m not a jerk. When he’s old enough to understand why, I’ll thank him for that.
For about five years I was a real jerk. I'd like to think there were legitimate reasons for me to be moody and grumpy and impossible to please. I'd like to think so but it may not be true. I’d like to think all of that is over, that there is nothing of that left in me or still going on at times. I'd like to think so but it may not be true. I’ve been known to spit nails and have done so recently. Junior high was really hard for me. Did I make it harder than it might have been otherwise? Sure. But it was hard. I was angry, I was lonely, I was unhappy and I was all of those things at the same time, most of the time. Looking back (which is a phrase I don't like to use) I think one of the reasons I felt that way is because I didn’t have an identity that I liked. Maybe nobody does and I was taking it the wrong way. I don't know. But I tried really hard to please the people around me, to be whoever I thought they might like me to be, and it usually didn't work. Which in turn made me angry/lonely/sad. Looking back, the only people whose opinions should have mattered to me are Matt and my mother. More often than I'd like to admit, they had to deal with a lot of my nonsense. My mother should be immediately considered for sainthood and Matt deserves a lifetime of my respect and gratitude and friendship. I'd walk around a lot less embarrassed about the things I said and did over those five years if I had realized sooner that they are people too, not characters in a melodrama starring me. It took a while to realize that, it took a while to recognize that the world is real, it is real to everyone and everyone exists within the same world. I’m not sure how I missed that. I have at times had difficulty with my perception, both visual and metaphysical.
Where is this going?
Britton was born on December 7, 1998. I was in tenth grade. Completely unbeknownst to him then and now and maybe forever, he had a lot to do with helping me realize that the people in my life are people, and they are no more characters in my reality as I am a character in theirs. I didn't imagine Britton coming into existence and then he did. It was completely outside of my control and understanding. Being there, or close to there, as someone comes into the world is an incredibly complex and routine thing to wrap your head around. The odds of something that fragile surviving, because or in spite of all we can do for them, seem insurmountable.
When Britton was born, it was the first time in a long time I thought about someone other than myself. That's hard to admit. Things came slowly to me. He's real. Not a doll. Not a prop. He's cold and afraid. He doesn't know us. What if he doesn’t like us. What if he wanted to be born somewhere else. He could be allergic to everything in this room. He could be sick already. He will be held all day every day for the next year at least. Someone is going to drop him. Someone will take him. Someone will lose him. He might not learn to walk. His eyes are sensitive somebody should turn the lights off. Did I wash my hands? I don’t want to hold him. Kindergarten is a training ground for vultures. When he is six not everyone he invited will come to his birthday party. When he is six Melinda Drinnen or someone like her will ask someone else to go down the slide with her. He will spend a quarter on a toy gun instead of a drink like he said he would and feel sorry for the rest of his life. When he is six he will be made fun of and realize it for the first time. He might not understand and be embarrassed to ask. He might want seconds and be embarrassed to ask. He will be cheated out of something that he deserves. He will hate someone and be burdened by the weight of it. He will watch his parents struggle and be confused. He will fall in love and someone will crush him.
When I got to age six, I left the room and started pacing around in the hallway. I made a mental list of all the things he should never hear, things he should never see and never know about. I thought he might need me. He might need me and I'm not the type of person who can help him. I'm not the type of person he would like. He wouldn't ask me.
He's six now. He goes to the very same elementary school I went to. He's an Eastside Golden Eagle. He rides the bus to school sometimes. Don’t even get me started on public school busses (a.k.a. giant yellow vessels of evil.) He has school friends I don’t know. He watches TV shows and knows when something is funny and knows when it isn’t. He likes the Ninja Turtles. Some things never change. He has his own bedroom now. He gets report cards with numbers instead of letters.
When he was born I decided I wanted to be one of the good things in his life and not one of the negative ones. There are plenty of negative ones everywhere. Hopefully he will ask me questions and I will have answers. Hopefully he will feel like I understand what he’s going through, even if I don’t. I feel like I have an advantage over other, older uncles. We’re only 15 years apart. I was a kid when he became a kid. I don't see him very often, even when I am home, but, at the very least, when he thinks about me he knows I’m not a jerk. When he’s old enough to understand why, I’ll thank him for that.
My Nephew Could Beat Up Your Nephew
Britton and the Padres played their first game yesterday. Apparently it's called "coach pitch," which demands an increase in both respect and seriousness above it's not-cool-anymore counterpart, "T-ball." So the fact that Britton is playing some sort of baseball is stinking awesome and it makes me sick that I'm not there to see it. Britton played shortstop, which, as everybody knows, is the coolest position to play, it's where the action is and shortstops usually end up marrying supermodels or soccer stars.
Why is he using a right-handed glove though? Isn't he left-handed?
Read more about the game or see pictures.
Why is he using a right-handed glove though? Isn't he left-handed?
Read more about the game or see pictures.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Three Days.
Friday night was a nightmare. End of story. I think I have 5 readers, 2 of you have heard about the nightmare that was the Surf WorldCup firsthand and I don't have the energy to go through it again. If your name is Terra or Amber, you should ask Jamie or Mom to tell you all about it. It involves a lot of wind, cold, idiots, VW vans and a train ride back to Graz. I've posted pictures. Things weren't so bad during the day and the VW vans were interesting. Even the name of the event turned out to be completely misleading. “Surf WorldCup” brings to mind THE championship, the end-all of world surfing for either the end of the 2004 or 2005 surfing “season.” In reality, "surfing" in this case means "windsurfing, "World" means "Europe," and "Cup" simply means "meaningless tournament.” Thanks again Austria. This makes occasion number 7,413 in which the truth has been cleverly kept hidden.
Saturday I took the train back. Not too bad, I like travelling by train. I saw a cute red-haired family speaking German with an Irish accent and shared a train compartment with an otherwise normal seeming man wearing black leather pants. Since it was Saturday after 5, the grocery stores were closed. Businesses in or near the train station are allowed to stay open later and even on Sundays! so I went to the Spar and picked up some necessities, including: Kit-Kat bars, milk, blueberry dessert roulade, a 25ml Coke, tomato paste, bread and pasta kits. I decided I couldn't wait to get home to have any of those things so I went to the McDonalds in the train station and rewarded myself with a Hamburger Royal Menü with fries and a strawberry shake. When I am in America, I almost never eat McDonalds. Here, I eat McDonalds with pride, knowing my money and the Austrian money is going to a giant, globalopolizing American company that specializes in hamburgers, french fries and milkshakes. You could say I'm bitter. You'd be right, if you said so. After that I went to the apartment, showered, ate some blueberry roulade and milk and watched Armin Assinger and “Die Millionen Show.” I was asleep by nine.
Sunday was a pretty good day. I slept late, woke up and had breakfast and watched a baseball game. That's right, a baseball game. Graz has a baseball team, the Graz Dirty Sox. Ha. Ha. At least they have a sense of humor because it sure is funny to watch them play. I wasn’t planning on going to the game, I wasn’t sure there was a game yesterday, but I hopped on the bus and got lucky. Christian, the coach of the baseball course at the university, is the catcher/pitcher/assistant coach of the Dirty Sox. He has pretty much single-handedly spread the word about baseball in Styria over the last ten years or so. The field they practice and have games at is impressive for where it is and for the little amount of interest it draws. I've been meaning to take pictures, and yesterday would have been a good day for it, but like I said, I wasn't planning on going to the game so I didn't bring my camera. There is a set of bleachers, about 30 seats in all, maybe less, two dugouts made of old barnwood, a rusty scoreboard and a concession stand/storage room built out of half of an old train car. During the game, I worked the ancient scoreboard, which, believe it or not, with all the rusty metal and walks, was a lot of work. The concession stand, which serves beer and hot dogs, is run by Christian's girlfriend Romana, the cheerleader/nurse/sympathizer for whom the team is very thankful. That is exactly the type of multi-tasking that has made baseball in Austria possible. As far as I know, Christian doesn't have a "real" job. He coaches the university baseball course, travels around to elementary schools and teaches baseball to kids, works the website and tries to find equipment and sponsors to keep everything running. Romana is a real live nurse here in Graz. They have been together seven years and she didn't see a baseball game until the second year they were together, only then after being encouraged by one of the wives of the other players. Having talked to her only for an hour or so, it's hard to tell whether she has a genuine interest in all of what goes on or if she does what she does because she knows it's important to Christian. Something gave me the impression that she wished it were someone else's responsibility to keep the whole thing going or maybe she feels like it isn't worth the trouble sometimes. They are both admirable people and their relationship is impressive. I’ve been lucky to have met people like them and like the Jarvis family who teach me things when I'm not expecting to learn and who prove that it is possible to carve out a place in the world when it's nearly been carved away by everything else.
Last week Christian ordered some new gear, some new gloves and bats. It’s hard to find quality baseball equipment in Europe, and most of what they find is expensive. I told him I would pay for one of the gloves, use it while I am here, and then give it to them when I return home. The coach of the Dirty Sox, Jeremy, said it is hard to get all of the players to come to practice, so they usually end of practicing with only 5 or 6 players. I told Jeremy that I would come to the practices if he thought it would help and he said that would be great. Starting tomorrow I'm going to go to practice and help out with whatever I can and I'll probably help get the field and concession stand ready before the game. Since this is pretty much the only cool thing going on in Austria, I’m going to help out however I can. The main thing is, Romana and Christian are really great people and it’s too bad they have to do so much on their own. Their dog Bruno is really cute too. If you want to help out, fill out this form and send it to Christian.
Saturday I took the train back. Not too bad, I like travelling by train. I saw a cute red-haired family speaking German with an Irish accent and shared a train compartment with an otherwise normal seeming man wearing black leather pants. Since it was Saturday after 5, the grocery stores were closed. Businesses in or near the train station are allowed to stay open later and even on Sundays! so I went to the Spar and picked up some necessities, including: Kit-Kat bars, milk, blueberry dessert roulade, a 25ml Coke, tomato paste, bread and pasta kits. I decided I couldn't wait to get home to have any of those things so I went to the McDonalds in the train station and rewarded myself with a Hamburger Royal Menü with fries and a strawberry shake. When I am in America, I almost never eat McDonalds. Here, I eat McDonalds with pride, knowing my money and the Austrian money is going to a giant, globalopolizing American company that specializes in hamburgers, french fries and milkshakes. You could say I'm bitter. You'd be right, if you said so. After that I went to the apartment, showered, ate some blueberry roulade and milk and watched Armin Assinger and “Die Millionen Show.” I was asleep by nine.
Sunday was a pretty good day. I slept late, woke up and had breakfast and watched a baseball game. That's right, a baseball game. Graz has a baseball team, the Graz Dirty Sox. Ha. Ha. At least they have a sense of humor because it sure is funny to watch them play. I wasn’t planning on going to the game, I wasn’t sure there was a game yesterday, but I hopped on the bus and got lucky. Christian, the coach of the baseball course at the university, is the catcher/pitcher/assistant coach of the Dirty Sox. He has pretty much single-handedly spread the word about baseball in Styria over the last ten years or so. The field they practice and have games at is impressive for where it is and for the little amount of interest it draws. I've been meaning to take pictures, and yesterday would have been a good day for it, but like I said, I wasn't planning on going to the game so I didn't bring my camera. There is a set of bleachers, about 30 seats in all, maybe less, two dugouts made of old barnwood, a rusty scoreboard and a concession stand/storage room built out of half of an old train car. During the game, I worked the ancient scoreboard, which, believe it or not, with all the rusty metal and walks, was a lot of work. The concession stand, which serves beer and hot dogs, is run by Christian's girlfriend Romana, the cheerleader/nurse/sympathizer for whom the team is very thankful. That is exactly the type of multi-tasking that has made baseball in Austria possible. As far as I know, Christian doesn't have a "real" job. He coaches the university baseball course, travels around to elementary schools and teaches baseball to kids, works the website and tries to find equipment and sponsors to keep everything running. Romana is a real live nurse here in Graz. They have been together seven years and she didn't see a baseball game until the second year they were together, only then after being encouraged by one of the wives of the other players. Having talked to her only for an hour or so, it's hard to tell whether she has a genuine interest in all of what goes on or if she does what she does because she knows it's important to Christian. Something gave me the impression that she wished it were someone else's responsibility to keep the whole thing going or maybe she feels like it isn't worth the trouble sometimes. They are both admirable people and their relationship is impressive. I’ve been lucky to have met people like them and like the Jarvis family who teach me things when I'm not expecting to learn and who prove that it is possible to carve out a place in the world when it's nearly been carved away by everything else.
Last week Christian ordered some new gear, some new gloves and bats. It’s hard to find quality baseball equipment in Europe, and most of what they find is expensive. I told him I would pay for one of the gloves, use it while I am here, and then give it to them when I return home. The coach of the Dirty Sox, Jeremy, said it is hard to get all of the players to come to practice, so they usually end of practicing with only 5 or 6 players. I told Jeremy that I would come to the practices if he thought it would help and he said that would be great. Starting tomorrow I'm going to go to practice and help out with whatever I can and I'll probably help get the field and concession stand ready before the game. Since this is pretty much the only cool thing going on in Austria, I’m going to help out however I can. The main thing is, Romana and Christian are really great people and it’s too bad they have to do so much on their own. Their dog Bruno is really cute too. If you want to help out, fill out this form and send it to Christian.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Red Stripe
The weather has just warmed up here and the park is full of badminton and frisbee playing students from morning to night. It's a pleasant sight but it makes me miss my friends. I went hiking yesterday and that was nice. I'll post pictures soon. As I was writing about my favorite song, I was thinking about how much I'd like to be at home, outside with my friends. I think one of my top five all time favorite days is the day last spring when we went to Katie's talent show and then spent the day at Deborah's lake house drinking in canoes on the lake. That was a really good day. When I get home I'm going to offer Deborah, Katie and Matt an afternoon of Red Stripes, on me.
The beautiful sound of a heart breaking.
For those of you that have been asking since the sixth grade (Terra) I've finally decided what my favorite song of all time is. It's "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead. So there you go. As for the other four favorites, I'll keep thinking and let you know.
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