Stone Life

I’ve been awaiting its arrival for months, perhaps dreading is a better word. Yes, I have been dreading its awful coming, and last night it came. It came slowly this time, as if biding its time, knowing that I was cringing under the weight of its slowness each day. Every morning since January I have awaken, wondering, “Is this the day?” But each day previous passed with no sign of its presence, and as much as I hate to admit it, his trick…, for he is too powerful to simply be called an it anymore. No, he is a he. HIS tricked worked. Ever so slightly I began to question if perhaps he would not come after all this time. Maybe he had forgotten about me, maybe I had been spared…but I had no such luck. No, last night he came in full battlement, prepared for war.

Last night marked the arrival of what I affectionately refer to each semester as the wall. The wall is a noble adversary, sneaky and cruel, and each semester, sometimes early and sometimes late, he comes to rob me of any joy that I have previously had. The days get longer and shorter at the same time, I become tired, sick, sleepless, and unsettled all at once, and so begins the ever-ringing mantra in my mind, “Why do I do this?”

This, of course, means many things: this class, this job, this paper, this, this, this. Generally, this means graduate school, and higher education as a whole. I used to be so satisfied to live unaware. Life was simpler when I was chasing after knowledge. I had friends and time to see them, I watched movies and television without regard, I played bad music. I was comfortable. Now I’m anything but comfortable. I am forever playing catch-up with some imaginary scholar that doesn’t really exist. It’s nerve-racking to ponder….like Alice in Wonderland, falling forever down a rabbit hole. In all reality, I know I could never go back. It, the it that I romanticize in my mind, would no longer be the same. It wasn’t all that I remember it to be, after all.

The wall reminds me of all of this. Every few months he returns to unsettle me in my studies. He reminds me of how far I’ve come and how far I have to go. He makes me anxious and ready to quit. I’ll never get there, right? It’s times like last night, sitting in class taking notes, when he creeps in and takes hold of my thoughts. “I want to run away”, I think to myself. “I’ll never finish”, I say over and again. “I’ve had enough”, the thoughts echo.

My one defense against the wall is my knowledge that there is no defense. He will have is way with me for now, ravaging my susceptible mind, but I know that a month or two from now he will pack-up his belongings and flee those polluted confines, and I will return to some form of normalcy. Tests will be completed, papers turned in, books read, and there will be a fresh excitement at the prospect of taking a new round of courses. There will begin another revolution around the sun that is high ideals and purpose, but the effects of the unwanted visitor will be felt, knowing that he will return when I least expect him.

I just had a conversation with a student that is well worth writing a quick note about. I should probably write more about the life and mind of the modern-day 6th grader, but I try to distance myself from them as much as possible. They are an interesting study in psychology and sociology, though, and I guarantee that you don’t remember yourself being the way that they are.

As for this kid, T, I will call him. First of all, let me tell you that we have been doing these journals in Bible for the last 13 or so weeks. 3 months ago, when we began, I spent about an hour detailing how I wanted these journal done. I had them take specific notes that I wrote on the board, and I even gave them examples and ideas on how to get started. There was no room left for ambiguity, because it was spelled-out for them in intricate detail. They boil down to this: each journal should be written in a 20-30 minute time span, 3 times a week, and the online content requirement is that they be concerned with the Biblical book of 1 John, which we have been studying each day in detail. Grading would be based on sheer participation, as long as it was original thought dealing with the text. Easy 100, right?…wrong.

This constituted the majority of their Bible grade, which should have sky-rocketed due to such an easy ‘A’, but they didn’t. Many people began failing, because they were too lazy to do these journals and kept receiving zeroes. It has been disappointing to watch, but they and their parents don’t seem to mind, so I’ve washed my hands of it.

Today was impressive, though. There is one kid who has a Bible average in the ‘teens’, that’s right, something like a 14 or 15, mostly because he has not turned in one journal. This is the final week of journal writing, because we have just completed the book, and he comes to my desk with an earnest look about him. He opens his Bible and asks as boldly as if he were asking, “What time is it?” But he wasn’t asking about the time. No, he was brave enough to ask, “Coach Stone, so what are you looking for with these journals?” He said it as if the word journals was some kind of alien, completely unknown and strange.

I felt like applauding the kid. I would never have the boldness enough to approach a professor 13 weeks into an assignment that I had previously neglected and ask him how to do it. It’s like coming to church only on Easter Sunday and then asking how one might become a deacon. I didn’t know what to say. I was completely dumbfounded.

So, let’s raise our glasses to T today, because he is a brave soul indeed!

The Dallas Morning News is reporting a shocking claim today on their website. Apparantly the new TABC “Booze Patrol” is not good for Dallas tourist-marketing. I would have never guessed it!! (as the sarcasm drips from my fingers)

For those of you who are not current on your DFW drinking-laws, which probably once again makes you a better person than I am, the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission has come up with a new gimmick for keeping our streets safe from drunk drivers. They are now sending undercover officers into bars and arresting people for public-intoxication, even if they have not left the friendly confines of said bar. I’m not joking. This is something of a precedent setting move on the part of Dallas, and not surprisingly the national attention is not terribly friendly towards this idea. Thus, the department of tourism is worried about losing conventions and the like due to fear of potential arrests. Here is my question, did they not see this coming? Of course people would be worried about hosting large groups of businessmen and women who might accidentally have a few too many and end up in the pokey next to some hooker or drug dealer.

Interesting dilemma, if you ask me. It is obviously a good idea to rid the city of needless traffic deaths due to inebriation, but this seems invasive at best. Sure, it is a strict, literal interpretation of Texas law, but is it possibly taking it a bit too far. Bars are built around drinking, and shouldn’t they be a safe-haven for those who drink to remain until sober enough to drive home? I know, I know, I know, as a Christian I should tow the line, proclaiming drunkeness to be a sin deserving whatever punishment may come. I can’t be that big a hypocrite, though (at least not today). Were it not for the safety of a bar in which to sober-up, I might have been tempted to get in my car and attempt to drive home a few times when I know I should not have.

Will fear of arrest cause others to act in such a way? Is this a good idea that will help curb drunk-driving? Will Laura Miller’s helmet-hair protect her from a motorcycle wreck? Is this overstepping the bounds of the spirit of the law? I don’t know, but I thought it worth mentioning.

Just a quick note: I wrote a very long and soul-searching post yesterday afternoon that I was going to post this morning. In it I detailed my apparent failures as a molder of 6th grade minds, spending time analyzing what I might do differently to help my students. You see, I had really been agonizing over the latest round of Math-test scores (they were bad…really bad), and I had become convinced that I was falling short as a teacher, and the implications might be more far reaching than I had previously thought….I might be wrecking their future….etc, etc, etc. Like I said, it was really long and heartfelt.

Needless to say, I deleted it this morning, before it had a chance to see the light of day. Before handing them their tests back this morning I had them write me anonymous notes telling me: 1. how long they studies outside of class for this test, and 2. what grade they expected to make on the exam. Disturbingly enough, on a test that we had made a huge fuss over, stressing the importance of doing well ad nauseum, the majority of the class spent well under and hour in preparation for it over a 5 day period. The high mark was 1 1/2 hours (probably lying), and there were several that hovered near the 15 minute mark, and one brave soul who admitted to not studying at all (most likely the only truly honest person). What was even more disappointing, only a handful had an expectation of passing.

So I have since picked myself up off the mat, dusted my clean black slacks off, and am now sitting back realaxed, knowing that they put out as little effort as possible. If their parents and their consciences are okay with that, so am I. And maybe that statement alone proves my theory that I am not a good teacher. More to come.

That very happy, and obviously odd fellow to the left is my brother Jim. This picture bears witness to his great cause CouchSurfing.com, a site dedicated to hooking travelers up with couches to sleep on in most every city around the globe. He loves it…no I mean it…he’s not really big into commitment, but he has been a loyal crusader for this cause for years now. I’ve been less enthusiastic, to say the least.

The idea of inviting strangers into my house via the internet does not sound like a good idea. Isn’t that how every 60 Minutes or other news-magazine show begins?…”..the predator stalked his victims on the message board…” No thanks, I don’t want to wake up gagged and tied in my own house, or in someone else’s, for that matter. I’ve just not been comfortable with the idea, but that was all before I beheld the true beauty of the idea.

I didn’t ever need it before, but things have changed. I am trying to plan a summer escpape to Germany, to study the language at the University of Munich, and this particular program does not have student housing, which turns out to be both a good and a bad. The good is that it cuts the price nearly in half from other programs I have looked at, and the bad is obvious….I have nowhere to live. This is where I have placed my proverbial faith in the pseudo-saviour, CouchSurfing. As of yesterday I became the newest member of the CS community, with a very favorable recommendation by my bro (who has reached some level of celebrity status within the organization). Now I am crossing my fingers and beginning to search for places to stay this summer.

I will be sure to keep everyone (and by everyone I mean both of you reading this) posted on the particulars of my trip, both now and as it unfolds this summer, but I am finally decided and heading full-steam in that direction. Deutschland, here I come!

Last Sunday night, while watching Grey’s Anatomy (yes, I admit it) with my wife, I heard a truly great song….one of those songs that really grabs you and gives you shivers. I like to call it a Damien Rice moment, referring to the first time that I heard “Cannonball” while working at Starbucks. There are just those songs and artists that come across as uniquely talented and worth paying attention to.

I am in a constant, unending search for new music, so I thought, “Why not get online and pick up a copy of this unknown person’s album?” Little did I know that this would be the seed of thought that grew to ruin my week. Turns out, no one knows who this person is. I spent much of my free time Monday mingling amongst what I now believe to be the lowest rung of humanity, those people that make ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ nerds look like James Dean: that’s right, Grey’s Anatomy Message Board’ers’. Holy jeez, these people obsessed over every damn detail of that show; I felt like less of a person for even scanning them, but much to my delight they also discussed the possible origin of that great song.

On Tuesday or Wednesday the mystery was finally uncovered, only to deepen my misery. Turns out that the mysterious artist is an Irish singer/songwriter named Foy Vance. Great, except he is still a relative unknown who is waiting to release his first major album. So, there lies the dilemma. I found a live ep that I can order from the UK, but there isn’t even a recording of the new song floating around. I now have to, like a man with OCD, check his site daily to see when the album will be released. If you would like to join in my misery, check him out.

I did a little CNN.com reading this morning, and the top story captured my attention for the majority of the morning. There has been yet another rescue of hostages in Iraq (….Pres. Bush breathes a sigh of relief due to some much needed positive-press, no doubt), but it is the nature of the hostages’ dealings in Iraq that fascinates me. They are members of CPT, a Christian organization whose mission is: “Getting in the Way”.

This is the first time that I have even heard of these people, and I’ve only spent a little time this morning reading about them, but allow me to paint an imperfect thumbnail-sketch of what they are about. They are professional pests, going into harms way to both preach the gospel and stand as a beacon of nonviolence and peace. They are admittedly not a missionary organization. Their tents, as given on their website, are listed as follows:

A strategy developed thoughtfully over the years has taught us that:

• trained, skilled, international teams can work effectively to support local efforts toward nonviolent peacemaking;
• “getting in the way” of injustice through direct nonviolent intervention, public witness and reporting to the larger world community can make a difference;
• peace team work engages congregations, meetings and support groups at home to play a key advocacy role with policy makers.

My immediate first thought was that they were another set fundamentalist Christian nuts, trying to save all of Islam in the midst of a war, and they bothered me. I get a little uneasy at war-time evangelism, call me unholy and backsliding, but it just seems like there may be better and more productive ways than sending the small groups to infiltrate a group of people that at this time both hate Americans and its leader….who, by the way, stands as a model of American Christianity (a problem for another day).

That was my first thought, but now I’m torn. Their mission is not strictly evangelical. They are an organization devoted to peace in the name of Christ. They do not hand out water and rations to refugees who will listen to the gospel first. They are not secret in their motives. No, they seem to stand in the way of tanks and guns, living the message of Christ. They love their brothers in the name of Christ. Their tactics are strange and certainly contreversial, but I don’t know if I can fault them for them.

Perhaps I’m just a bit convicted at seeing people act on their beliefs, not just blogging them and then living no differently afterward.

For those of you who sit at a desk all day I found a fun game. It requires no skill, but it’s addictive. Enjoy,

michael

p.s. I got 24.095

Well, we managed to survive the great Arlington- flood of 2006, but our poor house paid the high price for luxury-living in Ghetto-ville, Tx. This picture is not of our house, city, or even state, but I thought it added to the drama of the incident, and I don’t ever take my own pictures of things.

Our house was not submerged, but as we drove into the driveway from visiting Yoda (that’s right, Yoda…..remind me and I’ll tell you later) on Sunday the right side of our castle was being overrun by the moat surrounding it. Apparantly, though the realtor and the previous owner conveniently forgot to mention, our backyard serves as the second largest lake in DFW after it rains heavily. How sad for Texas that it took 18 months or so to have a rain hard enough to find this out. Regardless, the levies of our house broke and the flood waters came and soaked two rooms.

Thankfully, Chad bravely risked life and limb (or just warm and comfortable) to come and dig a trench outside and help move stuff out of the soaking-wet carpet. At times such as these true-heroes really do emerge.

In all seriousness, we spent that entire afternoon and evening moving things out of the library and Jamie’s room and Shop-Vac’ing the carpet. It became apparant that I wasn’t even making a dent, so Julie contacted one of her clients yesterday and he agreed to bring his carpet-cleaning company for a reduced me. We decided that saving the carpet was worth a few bucks, so they came yesterday….and all is well, right?…almost. Below our carpets, unknown to us, lies old wood floors that have to be dehumidified or they will buckle (which can’t be good). This, of course, adds a significant cost, because machines have to be rented and used. Our cheap way out has turned out to be anything but, though it should all be over soon.

Next step: find a way to keep this from happening again – maybe we could burn the house down?

I’m sitting at my good friend Will’s house (yes, the Will of NorvellThree fame), and I was checking some of my friend’s sites when it occurred to me that I have not posted in almost a week now. I hate when my friends do this, so I thought I would at the very least offer an explanation for my laziness. I am the embodiment of sloth this week. The Spring-Break-bug has bitten me and I have love every minute of it. I have every intention of finishing my diatribe on Dostoevsky, among other things, but I’m not promising much until Monday when I am back on my regular schedule. I might become inspired to write while watching NCAA basketball tomorrow, but don’t hold your breath.

Check back soon,

michael