Century marks for pigeons

Just wanted to take a moment to say thanks again to any readers in light of Lymph Node's eclipsing the century mark in page views! Wow, just saying that makes me feel like a huge Bill O'Reilly asshole. See what I did, there? A little politics to spice things up? Shit just got real here on the inter-web. Anyways, I really appreciate whoever it is that takes the time of of their day to read my 2300-word, esoteric nonsense. I mean, really? 2300 words? Who the hell has the time or interest to read (much less type) 2300 words? But, hey, if you get through all of it alive, I'll mail you a sticker or something. Not scratch-and-sniff, though, I'm a simple man.

This week has been really crazy, so I apologize for the time in between posts. Monday, my friend Katie gave me the heads up that she'd be playing an hour-long acoustic set at Moody, and she was all like, It's really short notice, yada yada yada, but all I had on my schedule was moving a refrigerator with the overbearing bossman (my pops), so her little brother Stevie (sub 53-sec quarter miler as of saturday, mad props) and I booked it on over, and saw our little oriental wonder slay the set. It was really nice to be able to support Katie after she was such a great support* to my team in high school. And great coaching on my part, keeping our stud 400m runner out until 11 o'clock the night before a meet. In my defense, the kid goes to bed at 1 everyday, according to Katie, so it's gonna happen. I started talking with a hilarious friend of Katie's at Moody who had grown up in central Illinois, and his first question on hearing that I lived in Wheaton was, "Oh, so what church do you attend?" Valid question, but when I answered that I don't attend church, his look of incredulity had me planning my exit strategy.

With Tuesdays physical therapy appointment came some horrendous news. My therapist/ masseuse/ coach/ friend, of whose opinion I have deep respect, has strongly advised that I implement power walking as I start back up with my running. So there you have it: three years ago I was running 100mpw, and now you can find me getting up at the ass-crack of dawn (to avoid anybody seeing me), throwing on some Jane Eyre audiobook on my shuffle, and getting down and dirty with my best attempt to look like these champs. Did I mention it's in spandex, too? I've officially become that guy. I used to jokingly call running an addiction, but when I get my hips a-shimmyin' down the block in the morning now, I'm starting to feel like I'm on Bob Saget's level.

Also on Tuesday, Wheaton North had a track meet at West Aurora. Pretty standard stuff; West Aurora's varsity crew ran really well, and we had our freshman and sophomores run really well. Zach Johnson had a 4 sec personal best in the 800m, so he is proving he's not a one-hit-wonder. Other notables were Aaron Hewitt's p.r. in the 400m, a nice 2:15 800m from Jonny Soderlund, and drops for Sam Beasley and Chris Stopka in the 3200m. Joseph Emmanuel is still struggling a little bit, but you wouldn't know it by his ever-present grin. That kid is a pleasure to coach. I'm sure he'll turn it around here soon.

Wednesday, I worked all damn day. Clocked in at Shanes at 8:30, and that day was pretty standard. Business is picking up big time at the shop, and it's pretty much a hustle from open to close. At 2, I chucked a deuce to Shane, Pancho, Chavo, and Esse and split to go help with the Wheaton Twilight meet at Wheaton College. The meet was supposed to take place on Saturday night, but with snow flurries (not a typo) scheduled for then, Coach Bradley tried to pull off the switch to Wednesday.

And did he ever, thanks to a lot of helping hands (Kristian Rosenberger among them). I personally booked it over to the javelin spot, and shagged javelins for the better part of 3 hours. It was a lot harder than it sounds, having to sprint out, grab the jav, and sprint the 30-50m back, then sprint back for the next throw. The girl that was supposed to be alternating with me had some shin splints, so she didn't want to run. I was happy to assume full duty, since I was trying to spit game at that chick, anyway. Oh, and Dickum's girlfriend Paige was throwing, so I'm going to text him saying I was shagging his girlfriend's shaft, or something raunchy like that. You know, good, clean fun.

After the jav, I busted my ass over to the oval, and worked the hurdles and blocks cart. It was a total blast, a lot of people ran well, and most importantly, I didn't have to rake for the jump pits. I don't do well with that shit. I then closed off a successful meet by kicking it with former falcon and current NCC stud Randall, hitting on Laurel at the hospitality tent, and copping a meet T-shirt on the sly. You know, hood-rat things.

Special thanks to Anna for some compliments on the blog! Anna's always been a great friend, and I owe her big time for letting me sit in on one of her Torrey Classes during my Biola visit. I'm so pumped to start up the Torrey classes in August. For those of you that know me, when I say that I am pumped about something school-related, that really means something. I am, after all, the sole creator of Fuck-a-Bag Fridays, a great second-semester senior tradition. Anyways, I'm sure that Anna's main motivation for the compliment was to get a shout-out spot on the prestigious Lymph Node, so Anna, despite it being a shameless ploy to get a leg up in the blog world, here you are. Her blog's got a little something for everyone: literary analysis for all you book worms, spiritual insight for all you church-goers, and for all you masochists, her writing proficiency tends to make a person feel painfully inferior. Just a good read, overall, so check it out.

Last but not least, the Utah Pigeon Club celebrated their 100th anniversary by sponsoring the Grand National Pigeon Show. I think I speak for the vast majority of the population when I say that I thought there was only one kind of pigeon.  But ho-ly shit. Just look at these motherfuckers! But seriously, look at these motherfuckers! It's like, when God was taking a break from making the world, he left the first ever aviary unlocked, and some asshole angel, fresh off killing a spliff, wandered over and thought he'd give the whole creating thing the ol' college try. I guess he heard God coming back and peaced out medias reas, because this guy (above) seems to be missing something pretty imperative, like, I dunno, a face? It's not just this one though, 90% of these supposedly-award-winning pigeons would make godawful carriers. And how about this guy? Call me a conspirator, but I'm not so sure the owner of this "pigeon" didn't just crazy glue a feather duster to a potato.

Starfucker - Gucci Mane & Wampire - I'm da Shit(Bitch) vs. Orchards [STRFKR Mashup]

So gotta throw my favorite mentally-compromised rapper/ ice cream aficianado a bone, and also to Starfucker who just played at Lincoln Hall on Tuesday. Promoting their new album Reptilians, released in early March, Starfucker is comprised of Joshua Hodges (vocals, keyboards, guitar, drums), Ryan Biornstad (guitar, keyboard, vocals, turntables), Shawn Glassford (bass, keyboards, drums), and Keil Corcoran (drums, keyboards, vocals). I don't enjoy all their stuff, but this song's been on heavy rotation ever since I scooped it off Hype Machine, so enjoy!

Download here

*Probably to a fault, as she attended a time trial in which it was assumed no one would attend. Long story short, my teammates and I were donning nothing more than the netting to discarded running shorts as a joke, and Katie got an undesired eyeful.

Channeling my inner-Hot Chocolate, you sexy thang

Shane and I had a nice chat earlier this week about his experience at Wheaton and whether or not he feels really fulfilled in his job. I definitely give the guy a ton of credit for building a business from the ground up- that sort of entrepreneurial success is a feat that I respect deeply. However, hearing Shane express some feelings of entrapment in his occupation and location instilled made me reflect positively on my choice to go out to Biola. Had I stayed in Wheaton for another couple of years, I have a very hard time seeing myself being able to uproot. This is not due to any overwhelming sentiment for the area, but rather, I'd be too caught up in my comfort zone to ever extricate myself from it.

"The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the exact and elaborate shape of a note or interrogation... In short there is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people reckoning on the prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well expressed in the paradox of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen"

(The Innocence of Father Brown, G.K. Chesterton)

Ever since I cracked open The Man Who Was Thursday, I've been hooked on G.K. The man's just toys with words tactfully and with utter ease, like a poker pro cradling a chip along the backs of his fingers. And then at times, it's more assertive, like this. So if you haven't gotten the memo from Stacey King, G.K. goes hard in the mother-fucking paint. The quote above is an example of Chesterton's elegance and profundity, as he states his beliefs on the existence and nature of miracles. 

I would probably say that I believe in the existence of miracles, but that depends on how were defining a miracle. I haven't seen any partings of massive bodies of water or people risen from the dead lately, so I don't consider miracles as phenomenal. Instead, as the quote would also seem to suggest, I would define miracles as something improbable that happens, due to some supernatural cause.  I can jive with that description.

My view of myself and human nature is what gives me the confidence to make this claim. At this point in my life, I can't claim to have a sound theological construct, but what I do hold to be completely true is that I am a completely depraved individual. This isn't mere self-deprecation; I feel that the entire human race is incapable of being "good".  At the core of every person lies greed, hate, and desire to satiate our primal urges. I've needed no more empirical evidence then the 21 years of my own life to come to that conclusion, and I feel like this perspective is me just being honest with myself.

Now this would be depressing as hell if this was the extent of my perspective of humanity. However, I've experienced so much undeserved love and compassion in my life that I can't claim the world is devoid of "good".  When i couple this good in the world with my belief of the pervasive nature of depravity throughout mankind, I come to this conclusion: there is something beyond my realm of perception that utilizes my self as a medium through which "good" actions are achieved. In other words, I believe there is some supernatural entity that accounts for the "good" in this world, and as a result, I am not directly responsible for whatever actions that have contributed to that collective "good". I cannot claim any sort of moral uprightness in the same way that a person cannot claim their credit card to be of any tangible monetary value.

This line of reasoning first became apparent to me after the untimely passing of a close friend. I've been fortunate enough in my life to have dealt very view times with significant tragedies and hardships, and my reaction to this indelible event was eye-opening to say the least. While I would like to think I experienced moments of pure, unadulterated grief, I feel that, in reality, it was mere self-pity. If there were ever sincere, altruistic emotions, they degenerated so quickly into selfishness as to be negligible. I found my default reaction as utilizing tragedy to illicit empathy from others, and then eventually to appear to have more mettle then my peers, to seem like a more seasoned soul.

As with the aforementioned theory, my introspection is only half the story. While I felt much guilt over this selfishness, I also was the recipient of a cascade of love and compassion at a time when I felt unprecedented need for it. I saw a depth to my closest friends that completely transformed our relationships; a bond was forged between us that has carried us through thick and thin. It was such a humbling and powerful feeling that I feel incredibly cheap even trying to verbalize it. And even more overwhelming to me was the fact that, according to friends and family, I was of this same support to them. 

How is it that, when I was completely fixated on how this devastating situation impacted me, and on how I might best use it to my advantage, that I could be of such comfort to those around me? And as I've said above, it is obviously through no labor of my own. But this is where the situation ceases to be obvious. I have no functional understanding of what it is that is responsible for this immensity of emotion, of the nature of this entity, but I find the pursuit of attaining one as the focus of my existence. 

This uncertainty gave me pause when seeing Chesterton's delegation of these coincidences being "elfin". That claim almost strikes me as arrogant; it seems to me that my perspective relative to the universe in so infinitesimal that I couldn't hope to ever really understand the phenomenon of supernatural intervention in that intimate a way. On the other hand, I hope like hell it's true. If these workings have a sense of humor to them, it would be a distinct personification in which I could relate and come to a relatively clearer understanding of the the being from which these workings stem. It may seem like little more than wishful thinking, but is that any more foolish than dwelling on the "prosaic"? I am turned on my head so often in this world, that it seems a better investment to follow sentiment over rationale.

Sanctuary by Intution. 

The L.A.-based Intuition just released a new mixtape entitled I Ruined these Songs for You Too, a follow-up to I Ruined These Songs for You, and it's definitely worth checking out. He has quickly become on of my favorite hip-hop artist because he is so down to earth. I hate saying down to earth, because in hip-hop that's pretty much synonymous with white. I'm not even sure he is white, though; if he is, he sure gets his GTL on, yadameen?. Anyway, the man doesn't deal with anything super fancy or original; he just works with basic emotions that anyone can vibe with. I mean, seriously, how many songs about a battered significant other are there? But this song is so fresh, so clean, so give it a listen.

download here

check out his new tape here

Mira el joto

Just got back from pulling a double at Shane's today, and it was great to see Ethan (shoutout to that kid), who claims he's checking out the blog today. That's why Ethan's my boy, and also because he messed up his thumb beating the hell out of that one kid. Good thing he works at the deli, because that kid goes ham.

"'I am afraid,' replied Elinor, 'that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety.'

'On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, i should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong, and with such conviction I could have had no pleasure."

(Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility)

This quote stuck out to me today because I was thinking about how much I enjoy working at Shane's Deli. I concede that it is menial labor, but I enjoy making sandwiches, I have a reasonable boss, and I have a great time with my coworkers. And there is a certain satisfaction in providing people with a quality product that they immediately appreciate. More importantly though, I've found myself exposed to a group of people of whom I'd otherwise have limited interaction. 

Yeah, it's been nice to get to know some really great guys like Ethan, Joe, Mike, and Matt Drabik, Chin, Kaela, Shane, Fiske, Holly, and Betsy, but I feel like I've really gleaned some valuable life lessons from the amigos: Pancho, Esse, and Chavo. Even though I studied spanish for five years, the language barrier between us would've been too imposing for me to ever even start a conversation were it not for our forced proximity in the work place. But the amigos really helped me out, both with understanding the shockingly intricate nature of prepping, making, and wrapping sandwiches and as a remedial presence in my recollection of Spanish. 

This probably seems like a complete non sequitur, but I promise I will tie it in to the quote shortly. I can proudly say that I can effectively verbalize 90% of what I need to during my shifts, and I comprehend the majority of what is said to me; although, as most of it is sexual innuendo, I just nod my head and laugh. However, these three diligent and perseverant men have had a more profound impact on my life outside of my work, too. While Chavo and Esse have always been friendly to me outside of work (Esse even snuck me some free buffalo wings from Moldoun's one time), Pancho has gone well out of his way to be a true friend. 

The first instance of this was his invitation to his Monday night basketball games with his friends (which I soon came to realize were his brother, nephew, and other family), and I gladly took him up on his offer. I eagerly arrived at the courts off of Gunderson near his place, and waited for well over a half hour, but was not disappointed when Pancho's crew finally arrived. We played a rough, yet mostly friendly, game to 21. The cement court was cracked and in these spots rose up in tectonic upheveal. The rim was suffocated in rubber, and if not for the strange no-take-backs rule the game would've never ended, as every shot outside of a five foot radius careened harmlessly off the bulky, orange bastard of a hoop.

It was after this game that I truly appreciated what Pancho's invitation meant. The other basketball players did not seem to appreciate the presence of a white, yuppy stranger with an absolutely horrendous accent and Spanish comprehension, and I don't blame them. I'm also awful at basketball, so there was honestly no real reason for me to be there. But Pancho cooly shrugged of these superficial concerns and really made my day by inviting me to play. I'd like to think I repaid Pancho by helping his team win the prize-or more appropriately, avoiding paying the price of losing (i.e. paying for post-game beers)- but it definitely had more to do with him raining threes than my modest contribution of a couple tip ins. But anyway, his meaningful offer to play certainly initiated a friendship between us that I truly value.

Now that I've established the nature of my enjoyment of my job, I can connect it with the quote. I realize that in the passage, Elinor is not referring to a literal employment, but that just got the ball rolling in my head. The interesting question that I drew from the quote is how do society's expectations shape our own expectations? Elinor claims that even though Marianne feels no remorse for her actions, they are still inappropriate. Marianne opposes this claim, stating that we have in us instilled a moral code of right and wrong, and that if she felt nothing wrong, then, indeed, she had done nothing wrong. 

A very interesting debate to say the least, but I find myself concerned more with the inverse of this argument; meaning, can my moral compass be so swayed by external factors that I initially regret actions of which, when further pondering, I find myself in the right? The example here is my job at Shanes. I have clearly shown that I enjoy the job, and have found a certain fulfillment in the occupation and with my coworkers. Yet, I have to admit feeling ashamed when casual acquaintances come in while I'm working, and ask me why I'm not in school, or if I'm going to get a real job. 

This constant barrage of negativity has fostered in me a resentment of my job, and motivated my search for getting back in school. I'm not too naive to claim that I don't need to go back to school to accomplish my goals that I have for later in life, but it is startling to me to see such a mutinous shift in my thinking towards something I really enjoy. It is the same kind of idea of people denying favorite books or artist because they are viewed as something short of being cool or socially acceptable. It is interesting to sit back and try to picture what I would be doing if I was making a decision completely void of external interference. Some interference is healthy, as I have an infinitesimally limited exposure to the world, relative to the collective exposure of society. But is bigger always better, so to speak? I find it imperative that I keep tabs on how much my notions of things important to me are impacted my own empirical reason, and how much is due to that of suggestions by the community around me. 

The song i picked for today is from the immensely-talented Merril Garbus, a.k.a tUnE-yArDs. The mustachioed mujer's first single Bizness of w h o k i l l, out April 19th, is a hella-upbeat track that's just awesome. I definitely thought this was a dude on first listen, but nope, definitely a burly, Oakland-based woman that belts it out like it's her job. Which I guess it pretty much is. And she is damn good at it. 

tUnE-yArDs- Bizness

download here