Let's Pause Time for 8 Minutes and 28 Seconds

I've been conditioned to appreciate classical music but it's not a genre that I usually care to include on my playlists. However, I have to admit that when I was eight years old and only a few years into piano lessons my parents took me to hear the Bremerton Symphony perform Beethoven's seventh. It is the first time I can remember being moved to tears by music. To this day, no matter how many times I watch The Fall or hear it come up on a playlist, there is something about the second movement of that symphony that captures my soul.

Pretty darn good for a deaf guy,
R-

The Bed and Crack

I think my neighbors are crack dealers.

Of course I'd say that. I live in the Central District where every other night I hear what could be interpreted as a gunshot, firework, or crappy car backfiring. Two houses down in one direction hosts a menagerie of pit bulls, cats, birds, and a screaming old woman. A few houses down in the other direction hosts two large dogs who sit on the roof and howl. While some houses on the block are gleaming products of gentrification, the majority are run down with broken shutters, rusty gates, and overgrown yards. Of course I'd play it up and say that my neighbors are drug dealers whether it was true or not. The setting is perfect, why not add in a few seedy characters?

However, what say you to this? It all started back in October when one of my roommates brought her car from home. She unknowingly parked with her bumper semi blocking the entrance to their driveway. Later that night she retrieved this note clumsily taped to her windshield. Rude, right? Uncalled for, even. What kind of reaction is that? Clearly the one of someone cracked out and pissed off. My roommate went over in the evening to apologize and she rang the doorbell. I was spying from our front door, could see that they were home but they didn't respond to the knocks or the doorbell. Hmm...that's when we started to wonder.

Then, a few weeks later it was getting to be Halloween. They put a huge, almost glowing skull poster up in their window, which got a startled reaction from my roommates and I the first (and second and third) time we walked by it. Yes, it was creepy. Our front walkway is level to their living room so in leaving our house it's impossible to not look in their window unless one was to stare at the ground while walking. A day later, the same poster showed up in that window. It was clearly for my roommates and me as no one else would be able to see that window from the street. Yikes. Possibly retaliation for the car incident? We had to live with that for over a week.

In accordance with previous decoration habits, our neighbors then got into the Christmas spirit (which we believe is a front) because although their house is decked out in "happy holidays" banners and snowmen, they also cardboarded their windows for a few weeks time. A day or two before the cardboard went up, we noticed a grill in their living room. I don't know anything about crack, but if a grill is involved, that's pretty suspicious. Why else would a grill be in the living room rather than the backyard? They gave us a couch when we first moved in this summer. It's hollow on one side. To stash drugs or money, I'm sure. My neighbors are weird. We're trying to play it cool and not interact with them. It's a pretty sketch situation. The final clue is this: Ever since we've moved in, cars have been driving up to the house and parking outside of it. The owners rarely leave their cars and instead, someone comes down to talk to the driver and then goes back into the house. I can't tell if there's an exchange or not, but it's pretty suspicious that no one leaves the car and it seems to be a different car and person every time. Once I saw a guy in a cowboy hat. Totally not the "type" to be hanging out with my neighbors. Haven't seen him since.

Quoth Mr. Rogers, "It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,"

R-

A Refreshing Discovery

This evening I was kidnapped by my cousin and whisked away to Queen Anne for a living room concert by a guy named Jon Troast. She had heard him play this summer and called me immediately after the performance, raving about his music and how I would love him and how I needed to be at the next concert he gave. She was in LOVE with this guy's music, who apparently sounded like a mix between Jack Johnson and Damien Rice. Hmm. I believed her, she has good taste in music, but I was thinking to myself that the last thing the indie music scene needs is another person who sounds just like Jack Johnson.

Anyways, after months of "Jon Troast, oh man, you'll love him, please come see him," I grabbed the opportunity tonight. And. Was. Blown. The eff. Away. Ok, this guy is awesome. He hails from Wisconsin and after some experience playing in coffee shops, parties, and bars decided that he was craving a relationship with his audience--one where his music was appreciated by people he could get to know in an intimate setting. Thus began his living room tour, where he plays in people's living rooms for 100 dollars a pop and basically couch hops his way down the West Coast. He's really personable and funny and invites the audience to partake in the performance, which is really honest and beautiful. He reminded me a lot of James Taylor with his throaty voice and he played very beautiful guitar and piano. I loved it. His lyrics are clever and relate-able and the hour went by so, so fast. Next time he comes through town, he's playing in my living room and I'm inviting everyone I know.

So, check out his website. If you sign up for his email list, you can download one of his cd's for free so that's pretty snappy incentive to give him some of your time. It'll be a moment well spent.

Enjoying the view from the "second story,"
R-

Come on Down!

Well hey there.

Since we've last chatted, I've become famous.

That's right. Monday at 10 am, I sported a lime green shirt and dazzled excitement on the Price is Right. A group of four of us went to LA in early September and made it on a taping of PIR. We got in line at 5:30 am and didn't make it inside the building until 1:30 am, but after a series of "this doesn't guarantee you entrance" threats, various grouping and regroupings of the line, a brief interview, and eight hours without food we made it in! None of us were chosen to go onstage, but we were fortunate enough to be only a few rows behind the contestants so we made it on tv multiple times! Drew Carey was great and chatted to the audience during commercial breaks, mentioning the Seattle Sounders which solicited huge cheers from our group. I couldn't believe how small the studio was and how many people were onstage during the filming. There was a guy whose only job was to pump us up and yell "alllllrrriiiiiggght" in a throaty voice. We couldn't really tell what was going on half the time because we were yelling and dancing so much, but it was really fun and really exciting to watch people we recognized from line go onstage. Ah, overall it was hilarious and fun and I'm really glad I went.

Watch the episode here and look out for the green shirts,
R-

Election Day

Now is a wonderful time to be alive.

I have restored energy towards being a part of this community and having pride in my country. I am empowered and impassioned to figure out how I can best be a part of this world, to find a place where I am happy and can extend that happiness, serve, and learn from those around me. This was not merely an election, this is the beginning of a movement. One that took a single man to kickstart and will take an entire nation to uphold; however, I think we can do it. What a bundle of emotions! I didn't realize how moved I would be until my eyes were brimming with tears when the presidential results were announced. Barack Obama!! I'm so proud of this step forward, words can't contain the energy and hope I have for our country. I hope this victorious moment is captured tonight and held in hearts over the next few years as we see ourselves become distanced from the last eight. He is the catalyst for change and I hope that after tonight, people are feeling the same empowerment to make this renewed community great.

Off to enjoy the fireworks in the street,
R-

Rock the Vote

In light of the upcoming election, I thought I'd share this picture and article. With any luck it will strike a chord with voters who dislike Palin but are fence sitters in the gubernatorial race. Should Mr. Rossi win, the word will be revamped to "goobernatorial." That's my witticism of the day, folks.

Gobama,
Go Gregoire,
Go Vote,
R-

Step by Step

Oh hey there. Back so soon, I know. I'm trying to make this a habit rather than saving all the things I want to write about for one moment and then subjecting "you all" to word vomit when I find the energy to update. Anyways, my reluctance to turn on the heat in my house led me to don some spandex, which reminded me of the last time I wore them, which was on my Mt. Adams climb. That got me thinking again- about how much I learned about myself in three short days, how much I learned to appreciate nature, yadda yadda. Cheesy, but let me start from the beginning. I've been meaning to write this experience down for a few months and now that the details escape me I better throw it down before I forget that I climbed a mountain all together.

So. here goes.

It all started one evening during finals week of winter quarter last year. Microbiology and Anatomy II were getting me down and I was taking a breather outside of the library when my dad called. He had this “brilliant” idea that we join up with some friends his to climb Mt. Adams during the summer. At that point, I would have given anything to be on top of a mountain and as far away from Lemieux Library as possible so I gave an excited "yes" and resumed studying. As the school year wrapped up I didn't think much of it but when I returned home, I was faced with the reality that I would be scaling 12, 281 feet in altitude. I biked like crazy this summer trying to get ready for it, bought sportsman's warehouse's supply of granola bars, and invested in some sturdy hiking boots. Preparation was fun; bonding with my dad, getting to know the other family going, planning meals, getting new outdoorsy clothes. However, it didn't hit me until I was standing at the trailhead with a 40 pound pack that I was actually going to do it.

We planned to go over a period of three days, trying to make it to Lunch Counter (9000 ft) to camp on the first day and camping there after our summit on the second day. The adventurers? Dad, his friend Steve Rice, Steve's two kids Joe and Annie, and me. We started out slow and eventually divided into two groups- Joe, Dad, and me and then Steve and Annie a few breaths behind us. I was overwhelmed at first. The pack was heavy, the hill seemed to climb and climb without any rest, and we had to ration our water until we reached snowmelt (which, at that point, wasn't for another couple hundred feet of elevation). We broke away from the tree line and I remember looking backwards at Mount Hood and thinking about how beautiful our surroundings were. The trees made a perfect frame for the green hills in the distance and we were enveloped by bright flowers and huge piles of rocks. It was so picturesque and I was startled to find myself thinking "hey, I am really enjoying this." I have to confess to having a huge aversion to hiking--I don't know if it was being forced to tag along with a brother in boy scouts that did it, but that definitely added to my nerves in the beginning. Anyways, coming to the realization that I was having fun put a bounce back into my step and I was practically running up that hill. We took frequent breaks to take care of our heels and our stomachs and to just enjoy the experience up the mountain. I loved that it wasn't rushed and that we were able to step away from the trail and just have that relationship with our surroundings. It was beautiful.

By about six o’clock we were feeling exhausted and were on some pretty rocky terrain that seemed to extend forever. We happened upon some cairns that sufficiently hid us from the wind and set up camp overlooking the hood river with a grand view of Mount Hood. Joe had carried up a jar of spaghetti sauce to celebrate our first 6000 feet and the five hours of uphill we had just accomplished and we had a huge meal that even included a loaf of bread from Luigi’s bakery. Then, my dad and I unveiled our contribution—flaming bananas foster! I had carried rum up with us and we had our sizzling (and very strong) dessert in style. Midway through dinner, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a mountain goat probably 10 feet away from me, eying us. We watched him frolick down the mountain—rubbing it in that we only had two feet and thus could only go half as fast as he was. We felt good about our progress of the day, despite being 3000 feet away from our goal for the night. All of us were happy, enjoying the climb, and on the good side of the balance between being tired and sufficiently worn out. We slept soundly, knowing that a long day lay ahead.
We woke up early in the morning to quickly down simmering oatmeal and hot cocoa and power up for the big expedition. We left our heavy things at camp and took our lunch, snacks, extra clothes, and ice axes in three daypacks between the five of us. After about forty five minutes of scaling rocky terrain we hit snow!! It was slippery and scary to take each step not knowing if we were going to slip backwards or make it forward. I would kick into the mountain to create a shelf for my foot (we didn’t have cramp-ons) and hope to God I didn’t fall backwards. I was so anxious for the view that I just booked it up, barely stopping to take a breath. Joe (a seasoned climber) was right behind me and gave me encouragement and conversation all the way to lunch counter, which was a relief to reach. We ran into some people from home—including a friend from junior high I hadn’t seen in years, and another boy who had saved my friend Jake’s life during a climbing accident this summer. It was an exciting thing to see familiar and friendly faces on the climb and we hiked in close proximity to them for the rest of the day.
Because we had started so early, when Joe and I reached Lunch Counter we felt as if it was lunch time. Unfortunately, Steve challenged us to make it up the next thousand feet without taking a break after which we would be rewarded with a loaf of bread and cheese. Excited at the prospect of food other than hersheys bars in our stomachs (we brought along literally five pounds of candy as our energy source) Joe and I scaled what was the scariest part (in my opinion) of the whole climb. I felt as though I was going up a ladder and I was slipping backwards every other step. Looking down wasn’t an option and all I could see in front of me was a mile of snowy cliff. I was terrified and shaky but thankful for all of the people surrounding me and especially for Joe who hiked a step behind me in case I slid backwards. After about an hour and a half, we made it to our next resting spot and indulged in another chocolate bar. Somehow he and I had gotten stuck with carrying the candy and my dad was carrying the real food. We waited. And waited. We were on a lip of the mountain and because of the severity of the angle, we couldn’t see where we had just come from and couldn’t tell how far behind the others were. We saw people we had passed passing us as we waited. Finally we hiked down a bit and saw our families sitting on some rocks eating our lunch!! What the eff? While we were waiting for them to finish eating and climb to join us, I had the opportunity to sit by myself and just reflect on the view, which was really striking. It was fun to trace our route from a birds eye view.
We hiked a bit further to the base of Piker’s Peak which was the most treacherous part of the climb. It was like looking up a luge that was lined with loose, jagged rocks on either side. It took us an hour and forty five minutes to climb to the top. We lost my dad about halfway up because he was too tired to go any further and I left my pack with him, needing every ounce of strength I had to finish the climb. We finally reached the top of the mountain. The wind was biting cold and it was surreal to look down on all that we had accomplished and to feel that sense of pride. Then, I turned my head. There was another mountain to climb. The “top” that we had been working towards the entire time wasn’t the top at all! It was a false summit. The real summit was off in the cold distance.
I was exhausted. I did not want to continue on flat terrain and then make another 1000 foot ascent. We were all worn out but decided that we had come so far that we couldn’t turn back. It was 3 in the afternoon and we knew that we had to make the next leg of our trip in an hour. Already people were passing us on their way down the mountain, saying encouraging things but telling us to hurry because it would get dark. We made it through a half mile of flat, snowy terrain. It was the most discouraging thing in the world to stand at the bottom of the hill and feel too exhausted to walk. My stomach hurt from exhaustion. I had pushed myself so hard to get to that point that I didn’t feel that I could continue. I had taken the lead but asked Annie to go in front of me. As her foot left a footprint, I stepped into the hole, making a rhythm to keep myself going. Like clockwork the two of us fell into our rhythm—not talking and unaware of our surroundings—each of us looking at our feet, surprised they were still moving. When we were about five minutes from the summit we stopped to wait for the Steve and Joe. The four of us linked arms to do the last stretch together, finally reaching the summit of Mount Adams.
We were among the last of that day’s climbers to make it to the top, but it was breathtaking. The view was incredible. On one side we had the clearest view of Mount Rainier while the other side exhibited a striking view of Mount Adams. While our initial reactions were cheers, hugs, and cries, we each took a moment alone to just experience the experience. Eerie silence gave me the feeling of being in heaven and watching down on the world. At that moment, it was impossible NOT to believe in a higher being who could craft such a pure thing. The sense of accomplishment and self discovery combined with the surreal, spiritual relationship with my challenge (the mountain) gave me such an incredible high. I felt as though I had filled a void. My personal stresses melted away at that place rarely touched by humans. I thought of each step I took, knowing that it was a step unique to me and untouched by the materialism and insignificant details of human life. It was beautiful beyond words.
We spent a few more moments together, taking pictures and feeling proud of ourselves. We had tears in our eyes and huge grins on our faces. Unfortunately our late ascent meant that we had very little time to get down to our campsite before dark. We scampered down the actual summit and continued down Piker’s Peak to meet up with my dad. The five of us continued down to the base of Piker’s Peak where it opened up to a huge snow meadow. Previous climbers of the day had glissaded down the mountain, leaving long luge tracks down the mountain. They were beginning to freeze over. We all donned slick rain pants and sat in the tracks. Using our ice axes to control our speed we were laughing as we sped (just barely in control) down the mountain. We found track after track and even when it was only a few feet to get to our next location we would find one to slide down—just for the excuse to do it. It was awesome!!
We reached our campsite around seven. What had taken us nearly 8 ½ hours to climb we descended in 2. I went to bed, too exhausted to eat and had the best sleep that I’d had in a long time. The next morning we got up leisurely, packed up camp, and hiked back down, the entire time talking about the food we were craving. My dad and I ran through the trailhead into the parking lot, jumping and dancing despite our huge packs. We had made it!
We all went out to eat, satisfied some of our cravings, and then drove back home, playing cards in the backseat. It was an incredible weekend. I felt challenged, awed, and fulfilled, to put a label on some of the variety of emotions I felt. Although it was a short few days, it was a tough transition back to real life. How do you capture the feeling of conquering and standing on top of a mountain? You can’t. There’s nothing to compare it to. I just have to have peace that I’ve put the thoughts down and won’t forget the experience or the feeling of mutuality between the mountain and myself. I need to remember that no matter what is going on in my life, I can always find that place of peace on top of the mountain. No hatred, no stress, no nursing majors. Chaos dissolves about cloud level and the mountain is a safe place to feel a connection to God, to nature, to the world. It’s a beautiful thing.
Enjoying the view from the top,
R-

Playing Catch-Up

There’s something to be said about being inside—warm and dry—and listening to a terrific downpour. There is also something to be said about remembering that one lives in a triplex and that the torrential downpour is actually the upstairs neighbor’s evening shower.

Hot damn, I've been keeping a wild list of things I need to write about but I just haven't the time (or the internet connection) to do it. First things first, I'm moved into my new house. It was a rocky relationship in the beginning. I walked in to find a mushroom growing through the ratty pink carpet. Ugh. That was the beginning of a tirade of other problems including sewage leakage into the living room, a spider problem, a grimy bathroom, 40 pounds worth of moldy food in the fridge, a weirdo landlord, and a whiff of weed every time I walk into the house. It's slowly getting better now that the summer leasers have moved out and all my permanent housemates have moved in. I think we'll get by. The carpets are cleaned, the mushroom removed, and the sewage problem fixed. Although we occasionally get rained on when the people upstairs take a shower, it's in much better shape and I'm finally beginning to call it home.

School has begun as well and already people are bouncing off the walls with stress. I try to be as antisocial as possible so I don't catch what seems to be a contagious disease of stick-up-the-arse, but it gets to all of us sometimes. I'm actually really interested in what we're learning. I just started my OB clinical yesterday and was given a patient who didn't speak any English! I had a translator to help me with the assessment and teaching, but she left as I was running to get stuff for my patient. I came back and had to explain how to put on nipple cream...in Spanish! Ha! It was a combination of Spanish sight words and poor acting, but we put it together alright. I think I'm going to like it. I couldn't believe how small the baby was....and how inexperienced I am with babies. Not gonna lie, I teared up when the baby breastfed for the first time. It was a beautiful moment. It's very stressful though. A lot is expected of us, we're blitzed with work, and I feel like there is always so much to do that I can't gather myself together. I feel so discombobulated ALL the time, it's terrible. I would love for a week to just catch up. Unfortunately, no such luck so I'm just keeping my head above water until the weekend. It's good though. I think I might like nursing after all.

Sondre Lerche is a boss, live. I went to Bumbershoot and intended to post about it but free time escaped me and even though I saw a ton of artists he's the only one who really stands out after a month of not thinking about it. I went to see the Flobots but for some reason they were playing in the Exhibition Center and only 500 people got in (not me) so that was pretty disappointing. Deathcab was a little weak compared to the other times I've seen them. They seemed to have this "Oh, Seattle loves us so we don't have to try hard" attitude but they cleaned up their act and delivered a very heartfelt encore. Sondre Lerche though, wow. He incorporated so much of his personality into the performance that the short 20 minutes I saw him was the best part of the whole day.

There's much more to write but unfortunately not a whole lot of spare minutes to this day.

So, till next time,
R-

Antiquity

I visited the Silverdale Antique shop today for the first time in...well, my whole life actually. It was like walking into some kind of time warp with various sections dedicated to different parts of a house (ie. a library with tons of old books, a toy room, a kitchen, etc) There were chairs hanging from the ceiling and it reminded me of those I SPY books from back in the day with such an eclectic mixture of trinkets and furniture. My mission was to find a 9x12 oval frame for this extremely cool and extremely nerdy pen and ink drawing I just completed of Ann Boleyn. As a side note, I am inexplicably obsessed with anything to do with that time period and the warped family surrounding the reign of King Henry VIII. I just finished the Boleyn Inheritance by Phillippa Gregory and am totally on fire for anything of the Tudor Era. Back to the present, I didn't find exactly the frame I'm hoping for, but found this really cool gold gilded square frame that will be excellent for a future art project.

I'll keep ya posted (ha!),
R-

Animal Planet

So I saw on animal planet that an ultrasound of a pregnant tiger shark will reveal that a mother can carry as many as twenty baby sharks at once, yet at the time of birth, a litter of only a few (sometimes even one!) emerges. It is survival of the fittest at its best, ladies and gentlemen, for the remaining sharks actually EAT their brothers and sisters. It reminds me of that Office episode where Dwight talks about reabsorbing his twin while in the womb. While Dwight has the strength of a "grown man and a little baby," the sole surviving sharks are born with the strength and might of 19 other baby tiger sharks and the "guilty conscience"(not!) of familial cannibalism. It's Charles Darwin meets the Donner party. What I want to know is how animal experts get close enough to the second largest predatory shark to get an ultrasound in the first place.
It's a shark-eat-shark world out there,
R-

A Caffeinated Collection of Thoughts

So...the novelty of blog writing has died off a bit, but I've been keeping a mental list of things worth noting over the last few weeks and am finally sitting back to tie the loose ends that are clattering around in my head. First of all, my cousin returned from studying abroad in the Netherlands. Having grown up together (we're two weeks apart), the adjustment to separation with college and then a whole quarter in another country was pretty hard. I'm not good, nor do I enjoy phone communication AT ALL, so the need to catch up was pretty great by the time she rolled back into town. We met at the Global Bean Coffee Shop, which is a new joint in the 'dale. I have to say, my time in the emerald city has redefined my definition of good coffee but this Global Bean place did it right. It has that slightly pretentious vibe that invites Heidegger into the conversation over a nonfat sugarfree vanilla latte; however, the brooding intellectual expectation is watered down with its bright decor and obvious appreciation of community art and talent. Not to say that the two don't go together, but the pretentiousness is definitely curbed by the bright orange walls. It successfully bridges the city coffee world with a small town jive. I'll definitely be back.

One Nonfat Sugar-free Vanilla Latte later,
R-

For a Smile:

This is worth four minutes and twenty nine seconds of your time.

Dancing along,
R-

Heavy Boots

"Did you know that in the last 3500 years there have been only 230 years of peace throughout the civilized world?"

Even if it means two posts in one day (sigh, this is addicting, isn't it?) I need to throw down some thoughts about the book I just finished, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. It is one of the first fiction novels written in response to 9/11 and is just brilliant! It follows a young boy's (Oskar) stream of consciousness as he tries to track down clues left behind by his father who died in the terrorist attacks. Though at first a little confusing, I eventually fell into the odd rhythm of the writing which doesn't decipher the important from the unimportant; namely, written in first person, Oskar tells everything he sees, smells, hears, tastes, touches, so it is up to the reader to determine what is essential to the plot. The author used photographs, blank pages, and other illustrations to add to the text, which was a really artistic way of incorporating the reader's imagination into the pages of the novel. One of my favorite passages is in a letter from his grandfather describing his wife's desire to learn English idioms from magazines, books, brochures, etc. Day after day of bringing things home for her, "my shoulders burned with English, she wanted more English so I brought a suitcase, I filled it until I could barely zip the zipper, the suitcase sagged with English, my arms burned with English, my hands did, my knuckles, people must have thought I was actually going somewhere, the next morning my back ached with English." I love that passage. I imagine this young man stumbling home, ready to unleash the weight of sentences, phrases, words. I see words and letters tumbling out of the suitcase, free of context and eager to be consumed. That's how this entire novel is: structure-free but eager for individual interpretation and universal understanding. Oskar is a character to learn from. Especially in the last few pages where he takes images of a man falling from a building and reverses them so that the man appears to be "floating," reading this book inspired me to channel curiosity and optimism in the worst of situations. It was a beautiful read.

Watching the world as if it were a TV,
R-

A Story of Stories

I am sitting back in complete awe, wondering how I can possibly put into words the beauty of Tarsem's latest masterpiece The Fall. It meant trekking over to the U district, but it was totally worth devoting my entire day to the excursion. It was a small journey compared to the one Tarsem had to undertake to create this film. Shot in 18 locations around the world and financed out of his own pocket, The Fall is a product of love and care of every detail. My initial excitement to see the movie was ignited by a friend at work who told me about it. Once I saw the preview, I was hooked, watching it a few times a day in anticipation of finding time to actually go and see it. The movie was not what I expected at all, but it still blew the highest of expectations out of the water. It was beautiful, both visually and otherwise. The costumes and colors were mesmerizing and the movie was so sensual that it didn't seem enough to just watch it. I wanted to smell the desert, taste the ice, feel the costumes. I felt that it was work to be in the audience and try to consume every ounce of art that was this film. It's paradoxical how candid the acting was compared to the intricacy of the cinematography. The acting was honest and innocent and I was invested in each of the characters, falling under the same spell that Alexandria did when Roy was weaving his story. Also, it was a lot lighter than what I was expecting from the preview. From the haunting music courtesy of Sr. Beethoven to the gorgeous palate of colors and incredible cast of storyweavers, The Fall is something magical to be experienced.

I am as strong as my teeth,
R-

Two Dollar Tidbits

Snapple Fact #94: Lizards communicate by doing push-ups.
Had I been born a lizard, I would be a failure to the lizard species.

Sure glad I'm not a lizard,
R-

Tabula Rasa

It’s high time I graduated from the angst-filled pages of my livejournal and entered a blogging world that stretches beyond the scope of my teenage self absorption. I’ve always been jealous of those blogs that have a point, whether it is to showcase art, review music or movies, or even share recipes (which I just recently came across and think is a brilliant idea). I guess in a way, every blog, despite its content, is paradigm of self absorption, since we’re imposing what we think is worth saying on the vast world that is the internet. I’ve been pretty critical of blogging as a means of communication, primarily because I hate the internet persona that accompanies any type of networking or communication website, but despite my hypocritical aversion to enjoying blogging (since, dear god, I’ve been on livejournal since junior year of high school) I’ve decided to just accept it and love the 21^st century for what it is.

Succumbing to my generation--
Rachel