Ok, this is just a draft of something I am working on to submit to a competition themed about transportation, but it covers the basics of tour so all y'all can have some idea of what we were doing. Sorry it's so rough.
Journal of a Life on a Bus
Day One/Two: Bright and early start at 4 am. A shower, last minute packing, and walked to the school. Said good morning, gathered the choir together, and loaded the bus for the first of many times. Poor planning: one school bus for sixty-two people and all their luggage, not to mention all the instruments and stuff. Suitcases were stuffed into the aisles, onto the “extra” seats… very tight, hardly enjoyable. Nonetheless we made it to the airport and boarded our plane in Honolulu. One, two, three planes and eighteen hours of traveling later, arrived in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. Loaded onto two buses and made for the hotel. Check-in, bed.
Day Three: Up at 9 in the morning then onto the bus and off to the Kaohsiung County Seat to meet with and sing for some government officials. Pile off, sing, pile back on, happy for the AC to relieve us from the sticky heat. Enjoyed a fairly lengthy ride out to a high school where we were treated to a king’s lunch and a rock star’s reception. We sang for about 1,500 students in their gym, but things really got crazy once we got to go out and meet the kids. Countless pictures, endless cheering, and the occasional autograph, all amid a sea of peace signs, high fives, and shaka ‘hang loose’ hand signs. Talk about a self-esteem booster. Eventually managed to extricate everyone from the crowd and return to our coaches. Tour bus already starting to feel familiar with its two entrances, six steep steps, gaudy colored seats (two on each side), and just enough space to trick you into thinking comfort is possible. Long ride to the other side of the city for another mini concert at a university. Split from their with local families in order to get a real taste of the culture. Only been three days and a normal car felt delightful, despite the rush of crazy Taiwan traffic. Our ‘taste’ of the land certainly was authentic… we were served cow stomach. Oh boy. In all fairness, it actually wasn’t half bad. Better really than some of the ‘normal’ things we were served. One more fast-paced car ride through the thrilling neon night streets before a grateful return to bed.
Day Four: Back to the bus… this time, off to an elementary school. Taught English kids’ songs to first graders. Cutest thing ever, watching them do “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” A mini concert, lunch, and an ambush on the way back from the bathroom by a hundred screaming fourth graders who wanted autographs. Barely escaped with my life… did make it back to the bus, fear not. Got distracted while loading and followed some nearby stairs up a mountain. They kept going, so I ran faster. Two steps at a time until I arrived on top, with the city below me and a Confucian temple before me. No time for anything but a few photographs before rushing back down. Can’t miss the bus. Back at the hotel, washed my disgustingly sweaty shirt in the sink, then used the hair dryer to dry it, more or less. Put it back on and went down to, you guessed it, the bus. Off to our first real concert. So good. Bus, bed. So good.
Day Five: Up, repack, breakfast, check out, and bus. Then some more bus, followed by a lunch break at a museum, followed by more bus, a pit stop at a gas station, and then more bus. At long last we made it to Taichung, sang for the mayor, and hit up the hotel. Totally weird hotel- the bathroom is entirely glass. Kind of awkward, especially showering. Oh well, welcome to modern art I suppose… not much time to lounge around though as we got right back on the bus and made our way to Feng Chia University. Toured the campus, met some students, and then enjoyed the nearby night market. Totally awesome except for the occasional whiff of stinky tofu. Let’s just say it’s aptly named. Particularly liked the incredible “English” for sale… seriously almost bought a shirt that said: “To find a brand new form that doen ont cumently exial. URBAN STRANGER. Vieual communication is soul food for the mind.” Sheer poetry…
Day Six: Bus to the university, workshops with students. Taught and learned different cultural talents such as hula, the Maori haka, Chinese drumming, a traditional lion dance, etc. I myself helped teach a hip hop stomp. Interesting and fun enough, I hope. After lunch, back to the hotel. A little free time at a nearby park before we bused to the next concert venue, rehearsed, and ate dinner. Didn’t realize each piece of sushi was wrapped individually in plastic and almost died. Live and learn: don’t each boxed sushi. Performed… best concert of the tour. The hall was terrific, beautiful, and really a joy to sing in. At the behest of the crowd, gave two encores. Fun but exhausting. Happy to see the bus, because bus=bed!
Day Seven: Early bus to the university to perform our learned talents before we journeyed to Taipei. All day driving, driving, driving. What would we do without the bus? Celebrate? Cry? Without doubt we’d be lost forever in heat and humidity with our luggage. Well worth whatever discomfort could not be avoided. Arrived in time to go out to another night market. Total sensory overload, with sights, sounds, smells… blocks and blocks of pedestrian-only traffic where you can haggle over prices and fight for a deal whenever you’re not dodging the speeding cart of an illegal vendor running to an alleyway to hide from the police. Very happy for the bus-free time spent on my own two feet.
Day Eight: Optional bus tour of the city in the morning. Yes, I know, more bus time. So worth it though as we visited Taipei 101, one of the tallest buildings in the world. Almost anywhere you go in the city you can see it rising into the clouds like the tower of Baradur from Lord of the Rings. The only thing missing was the giant, flaming eye of Sauron. Highly impressive. Didn’t have time to do up it as we instead hurried off to the changing of the guard at a Naval Memorial Cemetery. Pretty neat. Lunch back at the hotel, interesting as always. One of my favorite dishes was sprouts covered in tuna, topped with frosting and complete with sprinkles. You think I’m kidding but I’m dead serious. It was strangely tasty. Back to the bus and off to a workshop with local choir directors, then to our final concert venue in Taiwan, at a train station of all places. There was an auditorium on the fifth floor, but still… odd. Did our thing and sang for two hours, complete with two more encores (honestly, is that the only English word they know?!). After the concert, we felt like ice cream. Good news: Coldstones Creamery just across the street. Bad news: that street is a six lane highway with a barrier in the middle and no crosswalk in sight. Waited for a nice break in traffic and then dashed to the middle, hopped the barrier, and sighed in relief once on the peaceful median. My happy sigh was cut off in mid-execution by the honking of an angry horn- our ‘peaceful median’ was actually just one more lane rising up from who-knows-where underground. My companion shrieked, the car accelerated, and I lunged onto a real strip of sidewalk, just of out harm’s way. The sound that cars make in movies when the go screaming by? Yeah, it’s real. By now I was more than done with trying to cross this forsaken road, but, unfortunately, we were in the middle. Seeking comfort, we fled to the ice cream side of the road. The return trip was slightly less harrowing but just as hateful. So very, very happy to be back on our giant, safe bus, gliding through psycho Taiwanese roads like a whale among the lesser fish of the sea.
Day Nine: Sunday is a day of rest, hallelujah.
Day Ten: Our last trip on the Taiwanese buses took us to the airport. With a fond farewell we bid them and their fine country goodbye as we flew south to Hong Kong. Upon arrival we were greeted with buses far less agreeable than those we had left behind. Two seats on one side, three on the other. Seat size: half the size necessary for your average person to be moderately uncomfortable. Looking to be a long week… on the plus side, the views of Hong Kong as we crossed giant suspension bridges from one island to another are incredible. Pizza at the hotel felt like a little slice of heaven and fortified us to go out to another night market. Totally crazy, lots of bargaining, loads of fun. Back onto the too-small bus and a happy collapse into a thankfully not-too-small bed.
Day Eleven: Very little bus time, considering the day was spent at Disneyland. Did, however, ride a little boat in a small world and took a rocket ship through space mountain. Four times. Good day.
Day Twelve: Time to earn our keep. The choir split into two groups and, between us, visited four different schools. Way awesome and fun, especially considering that two of the schools were for disabled children. What great places to sing, be cheerful, and build relationships. Kids are the best, no matter where you are in the world. The bus took us on a little sight seeing in the afternoon, and that evening we wound our way up Victoria Peak for an overlook of the city. Of course, it was the middle of a monsoon, so the view wasn’t exactly endless, but still. Wicked awesome to be in a lightning storm on top of a mountain above what few neon lights shine from the city through the mist. Never been so wet in my life. Sorry, bus…
Day Thirteen: More schools. Five more, to be exact. More special needs kids. More strength to smile when you want to cry. More love for children you have never met and will never meet again. More music, more held hands, more invaluable memories. Never had a bus been put to such good use as when ours carried around the city. What a day… also fun but less fulfilling, we sang at a mall. Cool but hard on the voice. Happy to be herded once more onto the bus and return to the hotel. With a little freedom, it was time to discover the taxi. Some friends and I decided to return to the Peak for a rain-free view and were delighted to experience the cheap, quick, comfortable taxi. Almost as great as the view…
Day Fourteen: Hard to get back on the bus. This, however, was a special bus equipped for climbing mountains as we made our way to the largest free-standing Buddha statue in the world, well placed in the clouds. 8 percent grade, here we come… Loooong, steep haul. Amazing view, beautiful monument. Interminable ride home. So much bus… the rest of the day passed in a blur at the concert venue rehearsing and then performing. Ironically, a gaggle of kindergartners provided a halftime show during intermission in which their teacher asked, “Children, how is the doors on the bus? How is the people on the bus?” to which they responded, “Yo! Yo! Yo!” and then provided a laudable imitation of that children’s favorite, “The Wheels on the Bus.” Only slightly more appropriately themed was the song sung to open for us, a stunning rendition of “Mamma Mia” by ABBA, complete with neon lights and marching, unsmiling Chinese seventh graders. This of course transitioned perfectly into our concert, which began with “O Magnum Mysterium,” a Latin text about the wondrous mystery that humble farm animals should be the first to behold the Christ-child. Seamless.
Day Fifteen: An exact replica of day fourteen, except with less visiting a giant Buddha, more sleeping in, and more singing at the mall again. The concert was the same, though… last one. Gave it our all and pressed through despite sickness, lost voices, and exhaustion. We had a duty to perform.
Day Sixteen: Sunday, blessed Sunday.
Day Seventeen: Onto the tiny buses for the last time. Early ride to the airport and another oh-so-pleasant three plane, eighteen hour journey. Only this time, we traveled back in time. We left our hotel at 8 in the morning on May 24th and touched down in Honolulu at 7:30 am on May 24th. Sounds cool, but let me tell you, time travel is exhausting. At last, the final bus ride back to the North Shore. Disembarked, kissed the ground, and vowed to not touch another bus for a year.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The Brawlin' Broad and the Smokin' Blokes
Ok, so first the backstory with my life. On Wednesday this week, after work, I caught the bus to Waikiki to spend a day with Sydney and friends. Sydney's dad was awesome enough to use his points at the Marriott Hotel to check out a room for the week, so Sydney, Ali, Kaitlyn, Kylie, and Jessica have been there since Monday, with other people like me rotating in and out. Pretty cool, yeah? Anyways, got there on Wednesday, enjoyed an awesome meal at the Cheesecake Factory (birthday splurge; 3 of us have our birthdays next week- the 20, 21, and 23), played around in the hot tub at the hotel and learned the butterfly stroke from Ali in the pool (or, perhaps more accurately, laughed at ourselves attempting it) and then stayed up way too late watching a movie. Thursday was spent at the beach, where I tried surfing for the first time. Let's just say I need a lot more practice, lol. Anyway, I planned on going home that night so we went to the mall for dinner and I was just going to catch the bus from there. But... I got an invite to attend a show in Waikiki the following night, and I didn't really want to ride the bus, so... I ended up just staying. Had a good night at the mall, then went back and went to the hot tub with Jessica where we just talked for a while, before going back to watch a movie with everyone else. Well... they had all fallen asleep, so no movie. Still not ready for bed, we went out on the balcony to talk, but we witnessed an entire drama unfold on the street below for almost an hour. This is that story.
The Brawlin' Broad and the Smokin' Blokes
Jessica and I sat on the balcony, talking and enjoying the Thursday night life of Waikiki at 11:30 pm. From our lawn chairs seven floors up, we had a clear view of the beach just a block away on our right, the mountains a mile away on our left, and a little, unremarkable street corner below us. An ABC store still had its doors open wide as it catered to the last few tourists seeking a snack or a Hawaiian trinket. At first we paid little attention to any of this, and merely enjoyed our conversation.
Then our first character appeared on the scene.
This woman, whom we subsequently named Veronica, the Brawlin' Broad, was a sight to see, even from our height. Tall, black, loud, and wearing high heels and a dress not only too low on top but also too high on bottom, quickly caught our eye. It didn't take long for her to capture our rapt attention.
At first she seemed little different from all the other passerby as she waited around in front of the store, presumably for a ride. She loitered about, chatting on her phone... then something happened. We still have no idea why, but she started to get angry. Her phone conversation rose steadily in volume and her pacing grew more bullish. She began walking in and out of the store, her temperature rising along with her voice. Words began to become distinct, most of them unfit for publication. Within minutes she was worked up into a frenzy, though we couldn't tell if she was yelling at the phone or someone in the store. In retrospect, likely both.
By now Veronica had earned more than just our passing interest, though the situation still seemed relatively within the bounds of normal.
Enter the towel-lady. Veronica was creating quite a bit of noise, so it was not too surprising (though certainly amusing) when a woman appeared on a balcony across the street (about four floors up) to investigate. In true form, she was wearing nothing but a towel. Despite her unprepared appearance, she still proved capable of altering the story dramatically when she leaned over the railing towards Veronica and called in a rather horrid, screechy voice, "SHUT UP!"
Veronica was loud enough herself to not notice at first, but, after three or four repetitions of "SHUT UP!", she, like a poor-sighted but infuriated rhino, turned her full attention to the towel lady and unleashed her devastating anger. "Where you at? Where you at? I'll kill you! Come MAKE me shut up! I don't give a blankety blank blank blankety blank about your sleep, you blankety blank! I'll kill your whole blankety family! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!"
I was reminded of the quote from the beloved film, A Christmas Story, where the narrator says, "In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenity that as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan," though the words "my father" and "Lake Michigan" should be substituted with "The Brawlin' Broad" and "Waikiki Beach". I'll admit that up to this point in my life, I have always considered swearing to be a low and unimaginative form of expressing oneself. Veronica, however, proved me wrong- one can be extremely creative even with a vocabulary limited to five or six words. Who knew?
Well, towel-lady soon threw up her hands (or, more accurately, hand. One was already holding up her towel) in disgust and disappeared into her room. Jessica and I asked ourselves how long it would be until the cops showed up. Veronica, meanwhile, was on a rampage, verbally assaulting passerby, the ABC workers, and the no-longer present towel-lady. "You hear that? You hear what she say to me? What would you do! You'd whoop her blankety blank blank blank blank! Don't you look at me like that! What's yo problem? You got a problem with somethin'? Thas right, walk aWAY!"
A police car soon pulled up. Surprisingly, instead of fleeing or calming down, as I assumed she would do, she made a beeline for the man. "Officer, you know what they been sayin' to me? Uh huh, they..." At this point she began to drop in volume, and much of their conversation is lost to us. We could only watch and speculate. I was impressed with the officer's handling of the situation. He gave her exactly what she wanted- someone to listen to her story- and she calmed down. Still, another police car pulled up, then another, and then another... four in all. Volume began to go back up and I began to wonder how they could possibly arrest her without losing whatever shred of modesty she had left. An officer had already had to point out once that she had bounced out of her dress just from walking in a fit of agitation (thank goodness it was dark and she was far away); I couldn't imagine a full take-down.
Nevertheless, the officers proved wise and a policewoman soon sat down to talk with her in some 'girl-time' while the other police checked the premises and entered the store. Veronica calmed down and soon she and the officers were laughing together. It looked like a happy ending...
At this point, a gigantic tour bus started to pull of the tiny side-street and turn right, past the entire scene. Well, the bus was long, the corner was small, and three police cars were blocking the way. The bus pulled out, hesitated, then parked and came over to talk to the officers. We could see his waving arms and easily conjure up the meaning of his words as he pointed to his bus, the police cars, up the street, at the bus, the police cars... Since Veronica was mostly taken care of, the officers obliged and moved out of the way, though they stuck around. The bus driver got back in, pulled forward... and an enormous crunch split the night. The bus paused and everyone began to search rather frantically for the source of the noise. Only Jessica and I, from our bird's eye view, found it: the bus bumper was caught on a support cable for a pole holding up electrical wires.
Erroneously assuming the worst was over, the bus driver continued forward. CRUNCH. The bumper bent backwards. The power lines rocked back and forth. People on the street fled every which way. The police began to yell.
At the cost of a bumper, the bus pulled free. The bus driver exited to examine the damage with the officers and figure out what had happened. This crisis, too, seemed over, until traffic (stopped by the tour bus blocking the street) began to hank and protest in anger. Taxi drivers yelled, the bus driver yelled back, and the police tried to calm everything down. Within a few minutes the bus had pulled over, the road was open, and the overabundance of police officers wrote out a citation for the bus driver and continued to comfort Veronica. All was well. Soon, the bus left and Veronica began to wave goodbye to the police officers as they too went on their way.
Meanwhile, our final characters made their entrance. Two men, hereafter described as the smokin' blokes, had come to the corner to watch it all go down. They stood, watched, talked, and went through cigarette after cigarette. They saw the end of Veronica's first fit, the arrival of the police, and the bus incident. They watched the officers leave and observed her happy dance as they did. They stood by and smoked as she continued to wait for her ride, eventually sitting on a crate in a pile of goods including towels and inflatable rafts outside the ABC store, which by now was getting ready to close for the night. At long last, as their smoke wafted around the corner, they began to interact.
In typical fashion, Veronica started it. Talking to herself about who knows what, she suddenly went into a rant about the nastiness of cigarette smoke and forbade the blokes from coming anywhere near her. She was as gentle and tactful as always, so we were astonished when the blokes reacted to provoke her. One of them walk right in front of her, pretending to eye the store goods, then flicked a cigarette butt at her feet. Thirty minutes of good police work came undone in an instant. "What you doin' that for? You KNOW I told you how nasty that is, you little blankety blank!" This time, Veronica became angry much faster- the bloke, after all, was retorting, and she would have none of that. We couldn't hear much of what he said, but we could guess from her colorful replies. "I'll sit and where whatever I want! Oh? You could't afford me, blank! You come over here and MAKE me shut up! My daddy's a police officer; he taught me well and I'm ALWAYS packing! Got a charged tazer right now, blank! Thas right, try something!"
At this point, the blokes began to back away, even if they continued to make snide replies. What's more, the ABC store was closing and needed to pull Veronica's seat inside. She of course verbally abused the workers until a big Hawaiian guy came out and spoke her language: "GET THE BLANK OVER THERE!" She resisted, but she moved. Finally, to ice the cake, towel-lady reappeared. "SHUT UP!" she wailed. Veronica erupted. She was simply bursting at the seams in every way- popping out of her dress, boiling over with anger, and exploding with profanity. Everyone and everything in sight was seared with her words as they echoed through the man-made canyons of the city. Towel-lady came back out on her balcony with a phone and we began to count down the time until the police returned.
Then, for no apparent reason, a taxi pulled over. Veronica went over, opened the door, and blasted the man inside. "You hear what they're sayin' to me? Blank blank blank!" We watched in confusion as, after a minute, she disappeared inside and it pulled away. Perhaps she sensed that the police would not be so forgiving a second time around. Perhaps she had given up on her ride and called a taxi. We'll never know.
What we do know is this: after she left, the blokes laughed. Towel-lady stayed on the phone and tried to take down the taxi number (ok, maybe we don't know that, but we can suspect). The ABC guys locked their doors, then a bloke picked up a large, pink, inflatable raft abandoned on the side of the store. He took it to the window, where they gestured at the garbage can. He dutifully complied, stuffing it straight in to the undersized public bin. A minute later the cops arrived. The blokes left fast, moving in opposite directions. The towel-lady disappeared, finally able to get some sleep. The cops got out, looked around, then patrolled the area for the next thirty minutes.
It was 12:39 am, and the only remaining vestige of drama was the neon raft.
The Brawlin' Broad and the Smokin' Blokes
Jessica and I sat on the balcony, talking and enjoying the Thursday night life of Waikiki at 11:30 pm. From our lawn chairs seven floors up, we had a clear view of the beach just a block away on our right, the mountains a mile away on our left, and a little, unremarkable street corner below us. An ABC store still had its doors open wide as it catered to the last few tourists seeking a snack or a Hawaiian trinket. At first we paid little attention to any of this, and merely enjoyed our conversation.
Then our first character appeared on the scene.
This woman, whom we subsequently named Veronica, the Brawlin' Broad, was a sight to see, even from our height. Tall, black, loud, and wearing high heels and a dress not only too low on top but also too high on bottom, quickly caught our eye. It didn't take long for her to capture our rapt attention.
At first she seemed little different from all the other passerby as she waited around in front of the store, presumably for a ride. She loitered about, chatting on her phone... then something happened. We still have no idea why, but she started to get angry. Her phone conversation rose steadily in volume and her pacing grew more bullish. She began walking in and out of the store, her temperature rising along with her voice. Words began to become distinct, most of them unfit for publication. Within minutes she was worked up into a frenzy, though we couldn't tell if she was yelling at the phone or someone in the store. In retrospect, likely both.
By now Veronica had earned more than just our passing interest, though the situation still seemed relatively within the bounds of normal.
Enter the towel-lady. Veronica was creating quite a bit of noise, so it was not too surprising (though certainly amusing) when a woman appeared on a balcony across the street (about four floors up) to investigate. In true form, she was wearing nothing but a towel. Despite her unprepared appearance, she still proved capable of altering the story dramatically when she leaned over the railing towards Veronica and called in a rather horrid, screechy voice, "SHUT UP!"
Veronica was loud enough herself to not notice at first, but, after three or four repetitions of "SHUT UP!", she, like a poor-sighted but infuriated rhino, turned her full attention to the towel lady and unleashed her devastating anger. "Where you at? Where you at? I'll kill you! Come MAKE me shut up! I don't give a blankety blank blank blankety blank about your sleep, you blankety blank! I'll kill your whole blankety family! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!"
I was reminded of the quote from the beloved film, A Christmas Story, where the narrator says, "In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenity that as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan," though the words "my father" and "Lake Michigan" should be substituted with "The Brawlin' Broad" and "Waikiki Beach". I'll admit that up to this point in my life, I have always considered swearing to be a low and unimaginative form of expressing oneself. Veronica, however, proved me wrong- one can be extremely creative even with a vocabulary limited to five or six words. Who knew?
Well, towel-lady soon threw up her hands (or, more accurately, hand. One was already holding up her towel) in disgust and disappeared into her room. Jessica and I asked ourselves how long it would be until the cops showed up. Veronica, meanwhile, was on a rampage, verbally assaulting passerby, the ABC workers, and the no-longer present towel-lady. "You hear that? You hear what she say to me? What would you do! You'd whoop her blankety blank blank blank blank! Don't you look at me like that! What's yo problem? You got a problem with somethin'? Thas right, walk aWAY!"
A police car soon pulled up. Surprisingly, instead of fleeing or calming down, as I assumed she would do, she made a beeline for the man. "Officer, you know what they been sayin' to me? Uh huh, they..." At this point she began to drop in volume, and much of their conversation is lost to us. We could only watch and speculate. I was impressed with the officer's handling of the situation. He gave her exactly what she wanted- someone to listen to her story- and she calmed down. Still, another police car pulled up, then another, and then another... four in all. Volume began to go back up and I began to wonder how they could possibly arrest her without losing whatever shred of modesty she had left. An officer had already had to point out once that she had bounced out of her dress just from walking in a fit of agitation (thank goodness it was dark and she was far away); I couldn't imagine a full take-down.
Nevertheless, the officers proved wise and a policewoman soon sat down to talk with her in some 'girl-time' while the other police checked the premises and entered the store. Veronica calmed down and soon she and the officers were laughing together. It looked like a happy ending...
At this point, a gigantic tour bus started to pull of the tiny side-street and turn right, past the entire scene. Well, the bus was long, the corner was small, and three police cars were blocking the way. The bus pulled out, hesitated, then parked and came over to talk to the officers. We could see his waving arms and easily conjure up the meaning of his words as he pointed to his bus, the police cars, up the street, at the bus, the police cars... Since Veronica was mostly taken care of, the officers obliged and moved out of the way, though they stuck around. The bus driver got back in, pulled forward... and an enormous crunch split the night. The bus paused and everyone began to search rather frantically for the source of the noise. Only Jessica and I, from our bird's eye view, found it: the bus bumper was caught on a support cable for a pole holding up electrical wires.
Erroneously assuming the worst was over, the bus driver continued forward. CRUNCH. The bumper bent backwards. The power lines rocked back and forth. People on the street fled every which way. The police began to yell.
At the cost of a bumper, the bus pulled free. The bus driver exited to examine the damage with the officers and figure out what had happened. This crisis, too, seemed over, until traffic (stopped by the tour bus blocking the street) began to hank and protest in anger. Taxi drivers yelled, the bus driver yelled back, and the police tried to calm everything down. Within a few minutes the bus had pulled over, the road was open, and the overabundance of police officers wrote out a citation for the bus driver and continued to comfort Veronica. All was well. Soon, the bus left and Veronica began to wave goodbye to the police officers as they too went on their way.
Meanwhile, our final characters made their entrance. Two men, hereafter described as the smokin' blokes, had come to the corner to watch it all go down. They stood, watched, talked, and went through cigarette after cigarette. They saw the end of Veronica's first fit, the arrival of the police, and the bus incident. They watched the officers leave and observed her happy dance as they did. They stood by and smoked as she continued to wait for her ride, eventually sitting on a crate in a pile of goods including towels and inflatable rafts outside the ABC store, which by now was getting ready to close for the night. At long last, as their smoke wafted around the corner, they began to interact.
In typical fashion, Veronica started it. Talking to herself about who knows what, she suddenly went into a rant about the nastiness of cigarette smoke and forbade the blokes from coming anywhere near her. She was as gentle and tactful as always, so we were astonished when the blokes reacted to provoke her. One of them walk right in front of her, pretending to eye the store goods, then flicked a cigarette butt at her feet. Thirty minutes of good police work came undone in an instant. "What you doin' that for? You KNOW I told you how nasty that is, you little blankety blank!" This time, Veronica became angry much faster- the bloke, after all, was retorting, and she would have none of that. We couldn't hear much of what he said, but we could guess from her colorful replies. "I'll sit and where whatever I want! Oh? You could't afford me, blank! You come over here and MAKE me shut up! My daddy's a police officer; he taught me well and I'm ALWAYS packing! Got a charged tazer right now, blank! Thas right, try something!"
At this point, the blokes began to back away, even if they continued to make snide replies. What's more, the ABC store was closing and needed to pull Veronica's seat inside. She of course verbally abused the workers until a big Hawaiian guy came out and spoke her language: "GET THE BLANK OVER THERE!" She resisted, but she moved. Finally, to ice the cake, towel-lady reappeared. "SHUT UP!" she wailed. Veronica erupted. She was simply bursting at the seams in every way- popping out of her dress, boiling over with anger, and exploding with profanity. Everyone and everything in sight was seared with her words as they echoed through the man-made canyons of the city. Towel-lady came back out on her balcony with a phone and we began to count down the time until the police returned.
Then, for no apparent reason, a taxi pulled over. Veronica went over, opened the door, and blasted the man inside. "You hear what they're sayin' to me? Blank blank blank!" We watched in confusion as, after a minute, she disappeared inside and it pulled away. Perhaps she sensed that the police would not be so forgiving a second time around. Perhaps she had given up on her ride and called a taxi. We'll never know.
What we do know is this: after she left, the blokes laughed. Towel-lady stayed on the phone and tried to take down the taxi number (ok, maybe we don't know that, but we can suspect). The ABC guys locked their doors, then a bloke picked up a large, pink, inflatable raft abandoned on the side of the store. He took it to the window, where they gestured at the garbage can. He dutifully complied, stuffing it straight in to the undersized public bin. A minute later the cops arrived. The blokes left fast, moving in opposite directions. The towel-lady disappeared, finally able to get some sleep. The cops got out, looked around, then patrolled the area for the next thirty minutes.
It was 12:39 am, and the only remaining vestige of drama was the neon raft.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Graduation + Catering = Pouring Orange Juice for an Apostle of the Lord and Moving a Twenty-Five Pound Butter Elephant
It's been a little while since I wrote, so I'll just hit the big things. First of all, general conference last week was amazing. As always! Super good. Also had a fabulous choir concert on Saturday; I really think we did well. Anyway, this week was finals and graduation and moving off campus. Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday were the last days of class and were fairly enjoyable. I finished reading my first-ever book entirely in Chinese, called "The Lady in the Painting" (Huar Shang de Mei Ren). We'd been reading little bits in class all semester, but when last Friday we were only on page 30 of 80, it suddenly became homework to finish it up if we had time. I made time and pulled it off! I'll admit I was pleased with myself. Also went to an awesome potluck at Dr. Ford's home (my peacebuilding/mediation teacher). Had a lot of great dessert (students tend to bring sweets over real dishes) and played some Rock Band with classmates and the Ford children. Ended up just kind of hanging around late talking with his family and playing their piano- it was so great to be in a family setting that I didn't want to leave. Really good day.
Thursday, I had nothing to do but everything to do. That is to say, I had nothing official like class, but I had a lot to get done- pack, study, print final papers, say goodbye to friends, go to the beach... hey, that is a need, sometimes. I hadn't been in forever. I can prove it by showing how sunburned I got after just two or three hours in medium sunshine. Yikes, I can't believe I'm still getting sunburned here. Waaay too much time spent inside. But no more! Class is over, and by the time I come home, I will be tan, blond, and generally beachy-looking. Have to take advantage of it before my mission. But yeah, a good day outside, once the work was mostly done. Then, that evening, kind Tessa Brady (aka Zaneeta Shinn from the Music Man) had me over and we made crepes and watched The Newsies. Like I said, good day.
Friday: the madness started bright and early with my first final at seven am. Terrorism. It took me just over an hour to do all the essays, then I hurried back to the Hale to get a haircut from a friend. I then studied a little more Chinese (in fact, that's pretty much what I was doing in every spare moment I had all week) before going to the library to use up my print funds printing copies of sheet music for the men's a cappella group. Of course, the printers were all broken except one, so I felt bad when I went over to pick up my stuff and realized I'd majorly stalled printer traffic by printing off 180 pages. Whoops. Oh well, we have some great music... anyway, finished that just in time to pop over to the stake center for my Book of Mormon final. Pretty sure I aced that, so I enjoyed my lunch at the caf. After that, an afternoon of, you guessed it, studying Chinese! Reviewed grammar, vocab, and how to write the 200 or so characters we might be tested on how to write. Again, finished just it time to head over for my final. It was the big one, Chinese itself. I went in slightly anxious, but feeling waaaay more prepared than I did last semester. Sure enough, I rocked it. Not to brag, but I had worked hard to be ready and I was ready. It paid off and I feel great about it. Didn't have much time to celebrate though, as I needed to head straight for work. We were doing a graduation dinner for about 750 people, but, hallelujah, it was busy but not hellish as we did buffet lines and disposable dishes and cutlery. Wise decision. I was at a drink station pouring water for an hour. I like the job, but I have to admit I almost get annoyed when people come and take cups, thus ruing the geometric formations I have tried so hard to complete. lol, oh well, what can you do? Because it was so busy, it actually went by really fast. Still, with cleanup and prep for the next day, didn't get out of there until about eleven. Straight to bed, because...
Saturday: Up and at 'em early again, with work at 7:30 am. Got a breakfast ready to go for the important people in graduation- the university president, the VP, the deans, etc. Well, the speaker for graduation this semester was Elder Quentin L. Cook, so yours truly got to man the drink station (I'm getting good at that) and pour him orange juice at his request. I did ask him about Laramie and my dad, since he was there recently, and also mentioned my mission call. He smiled and said, 'Oh yes, I think I'm the one who assigned you." I thanked him... and didn't know what else to say, so I handed him his juice. Not much, but pretty cool, all the same. Well, they enjoyed their breakfast, and then after they left, we enjoyed their breakfast... important people eat well, and so do their caterers. Once we had cleaned almost everything up, we realized that the chef had left his centerpiece on the table: a twenty-five pound butter elephant sculpted for an Indian culture night. After much deliberation, we decided to just return it to the freezer ourselves, so Katy and I each took an end of its cutting board and away we went. Disaster almost struck twice, once when we almost tripped and a second time when someone swung open a door we were trying to enter, narrowly avoiding smashing me in the face and killing the elephant. Fortunately for all, we averted danger and successfully completed the journey. Once that was done, I actually needed to leave and join the choir in singing the final number at graduation. That went well, though the ceremony was a bit long-seeming after a busy week. Finally, finished that (went super well) then dashed back to the Hale to throw the remainder of my things into boxes and bags before having a final meal at the caf. In full irony, it was terrible. The kitchen staff has been pretty swamped with things to do, so the cafeteria was neglected. I did not leave the place full of regret, I'll say that.
Last, big thing: moved out of the Hale! The Checketts, the people I'm renting from, came by about one-thirty to pick up Michael Potter (my new roommate) and I and dump off our stuff at the house before making a Costco run. I had not previously realized how much junk I have, but let's just say I made more than one trip from my room to the car. We dropped everything off, then went to the store so that we could stock up on food, as we are no officially taking care of ourselves. Once in Costco, we grabbed a cart, looked around... and I called my mom. She wasn't around, but my dad helped me think of things to by and eat. First time I've ever shopped on my own for real. Things went well, I suppose. We have a shelf full of rice, oatmeal, Ramen, pasta, and tomato sauce, so we may be malnutritioned but we won't starve! Ha ha, jk. We'll be hitting up the farmer's markets soon to get produce. We came home, unpacked, and I cooked our first 'free' meal. We are independent just in time to learn that food isn't free, lol. We are now comfortably installed in a beautiful house with an awesome family. I'm sitting on the couch right now. Delightful.
Thursday, I had nothing to do but everything to do. That is to say, I had nothing official like class, but I had a lot to get done- pack, study, print final papers, say goodbye to friends, go to the beach... hey, that is a need, sometimes. I hadn't been in forever. I can prove it by showing how sunburned I got after just two or three hours in medium sunshine. Yikes, I can't believe I'm still getting sunburned here. Waaay too much time spent inside. But no more! Class is over, and by the time I come home, I will be tan, blond, and generally beachy-looking. Have to take advantage of it before my mission. But yeah, a good day outside, once the work was mostly done. Then, that evening, kind Tessa Brady (aka Zaneeta Shinn from the Music Man) had me over and we made crepes and watched The Newsies. Like I said, good day.
Friday: the madness started bright and early with my first final at seven am. Terrorism. It took me just over an hour to do all the essays, then I hurried back to the Hale to get a haircut from a friend. I then studied a little more Chinese (in fact, that's pretty much what I was doing in every spare moment I had all week) before going to the library to use up my print funds printing copies of sheet music for the men's a cappella group. Of course, the printers were all broken except one, so I felt bad when I went over to pick up my stuff and realized I'd majorly stalled printer traffic by printing off 180 pages. Whoops. Oh well, we have some great music... anyway, finished that just in time to pop over to the stake center for my Book of Mormon final. Pretty sure I aced that, so I enjoyed my lunch at the caf. After that, an afternoon of, you guessed it, studying Chinese! Reviewed grammar, vocab, and how to write the 200 or so characters we might be tested on how to write. Again, finished just it time to head over for my final. It was the big one, Chinese itself. I went in slightly anxious, but feeling waaaay more prepared than I did last semester. Sure enough, I rocked it. Not to brag, but I had worked hard to be ready and I was ready. It paid off and I feel great about it. Didn't have much time to celebrate though, as I needed to head straight for work. We were doing a graduation dinner for about 750 people, but, hallelujah, it was busy but not hellish as we did buffet lines and disposable dishes and cutlery. Wise decision. I was at a drink station pouring water for an hour. I like the job, but I have to admit I almost get annoyed when people come and take cups, thus ruing the geometric formations I have tried so hard to complete. lol, oh well, what can you do? Because it was so busy, it actually went by really fast. Still, with cleanup and prep for the next day, didn't get out of there until about eleven. Straight to bed, because...
Saturday: Up and at 'em early again, with work at 7:30 am. Got a breakfast ready to go for the important people in graduation- the university president, the VP, the deans, etc. Well, the speaker for graduation this semester was Elder Quentin L. Cook, so yours truly got to man the drink station (I'm getting good at that) and pour him orange juice at his request. I did ask him about Laramie and my dad, since he was there recently, and also mentioned my mission call. He smiled and said, 'Oh yes, I think I'm the one who assigned you." I thanked him... and didn't know what else to say, so I handed him his juice. Not much, but pretty cool, all the same. Well, they enjoyed their breakfast, and then after they left, we enjoyed their breakfast... important people eat well, and so do their caterers. Once we had cleaned almost everything up, we realized that the chef had left his centerpiece on the table: a twenty-five pound butter elephant sculpted for an Indian culture night. After much deliberation, we decided to just return it to the freezer ourselves, so Katy and I each took an end of its cutting board and away we went. Disaster almost struck twice, once when we almost tripped and a second time when someone swung open a door we were trying to enter, narrowly avoiding smashing me in the face and killing the elephant. Fortunately for all, we averted danger and successfully completed the journey. Once that was done, I actually needed to leave and join the choir in singing the final number at graduation. That went well, though the ceremony was a bit long-seeming after a busy week. Finally, finished that (went super well) then dashed back to the Hale to throw the remainder of my things into boxes and bags before having a final meal at the caf. In full irony, it was terrible. The kitchen staff has been pretty swamped with things to do, so the cafeteria was neglected. I did not leave the place full of regret, I'll say that.
Last, big thing: moved out of the Hale! The Checketts, the people I'm renting from, came by about one-thirty to pick up Michael Potter (my new roommate) and I and dump off our stuff at the house before making a Costco run. I had not previously realized how much junk I have, but let's just say I made more than one trip from my room to the car. We dropped everything off, then went to the store so that we could stock up on food, as we are no officially taking care of ourselves. Once in Costco, we grabbed a cart, looked around... and I called my mom. She wasn't around, but my dad helped me think of things to by and eat. First time I've ever shopped on my own for real. Things went well, I suppose. We have a shelf full of rice, oatmeal, Ramen, pasta, and tomato sauce, so we may be malnutritioned but we won't starve! Ha ha, jk. We'll be hitting up the farmer's markets soon to get produce. We came home, unpacked, and I cooked our first 'free' meal. We are independent just in time to learn that food isn't free, lol. We are now comfortably installed in a beautiful house with an awesome family. I'm sitting on the couch right now. Delightful.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Mission Call
I realized halfway through the last post that I hadn't yet said anything about my mission call. However, as it is by far the most important even ever covered by this blog, I figured it deserved its own post. I guess I'll just tell what happened.
On Friday the 19th, I woke up, just like I do every day. I went to breakfast, pushing it for time before my first class at 7:30- Issues of Terrorism. Class was good, we discussed options for counter terrorism and anti-terrorism (there is a difference!). After class, I went back to my room, where I studied... something. Don't really remember. At 11:30 I met Sydney at the bench and we went to lunch, as we do every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We ate something, then I, with deliberate casualness, walked over to the mailroom. Sydney accompanied me. I approached my mailbox, turned the key... and there it was. A large white packet. I pulled it out and read the name on the front: Elder Jarek Taylor Buss. From the Office of the First Presidency. Again, with deliberate slowness, I turned to show Sydney. She agreed to come with me to the temple, where I had decided to open it. We set out on our way...
At this point, we began to meet friends on the way who freaked out at the news and made me swear to tell them my assignment. Still, slowly, surely, we made our way to the temple. Sydney went into the visitors center to await me, as I had determined to open it on my own. I walked behind the temple, onto the grounds behind it, and climbed the hill to the pavilion where I had the mountains behind me, the sea in front of me, and the whole town before me. Needless to say, I said a fervent prayer of gratitude and asked for the knowledge that wherever I was called was right. At last, I set up the video camera for my mom, then opened it calmly. I pulled out the letter and began to read...
Yet, even as I started to read, I couldn't help my eyes flashing to the second line where I saw the words, France Toulouse Mission. I thought, "Ok, France is good. It will be a good mission." Still, I read the line aloud: "Dear Elder Buss: You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the France Toulouse Mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of 24 months..."
Considering that to be the end of the call, I continued reading aloud without looking ahead, still coming to grips with France- not disappointed, but not ecstatic. I hadn't really considered that I would actually go to France for my mission (kind of a been there, done that attitude). Therefore, my surprise was genuine when, one line later, I read, "You will prepare to preach the gospel in the Mandarin Chinese language." At this point, I think my brain shut off. I became ecstatic. Everything made sense, everything felt right. I was blessed to know that this call is making the most of my skills and allowing me to serve in a way few people can. INCREDIBLE. I stood up, turned off the camera, said a prayer of thanks, and called my parents. I read the letter aloud to them, talked to them, then proceeded to tell everyone I know.
This is the part where everyone started freaking out.
"Oh my gosh!"
"So awesome!"
"No way!"
"France, that's gre- wait, WHAT?"
"There are Chinese people in France?"
"That's perfect for you!"
"I wish I were going on a mission!"
"I'm so excited for you!"
I hope, they call me on a mission, when I have grown a foot or two. I hope by then I will be ready, to preach and teach and work as missionaries do... I hope that I can share the gospel, with those who want to know the truth. I want to be a missionary and serve help the Lord while I am in my youth...
On Friday the 19th, I woke up, just like I do every day. I went to breakfast, pushing it for time before my first class at 7:30- Issues of Terrorism. Class was good, we discussed options for counter terrorism and anti-terrorism (there is a difference!). After class, I went back to my room, where I studied... something. Don't really remember. At 11:30 I met Sydney at the bench and we went to lunch, as we do every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We ate something, then I, with deliberate casualness, walked over to the mailroom. Sydney accompanied me. I approached my mailbox, turned the key... and there it was. A large white packet. I pulled it out and read the name on the front: Elder Jarek Taylor Buss. From the Office of the First Presidency. Again, with deliberate slowness, I turned to show Sydney. She agreed to come with me to the temple, where I had decided to open it. We set out on our way...
At this point, we began to meet friends on the way who freaked out at the news and made me swear to tell them my assignment. Still, slowly, surely, we made our way to the temple. Sydney went into the visitors center to await me, as I had determined to open it on my own. I walked behind the temple, onto the grounds behind it, and climbed the hill to the pavilion where I had the mountains behind me, the sea in front of me, and the whole town before me. Needless to say, I said a fervent prayer of gratitude and asked for the knowledge that wherever I was called was right. At last, I set up the video camera for my mom, then opened it calmly. I pulled out the letter and began to read...
Yet, even as I started to read, I couldn't help my eyes flashing to the second line where I saw the words, France Toulouse Mission. I thought, "Ok, France is good. It will be a good mission." Still, I read the line aloud: "Dear Elder Buss: You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the France Toulouse Mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of 24 months..."
Considering that to be the end of the call, I continued reading aloud without looking ahead, still coming to grips with France- not disappointed, but not ecstatic. I hadn't really considered that I would actually go to France for my mission (kind of a been there, done that attitude). Therefore, my surprise was genuine when, one line later, I read, "You will prepare to preach the gospel in the Mandarin Chinese language." At this point, I think my brain shut off. I became ecstatic. Everything made sense, everything felt right. I was blessed to know that this call is making the most of my skills and allowing me to serve in a way few people can. INCREDIBLE. I stood up, turned off the camera, said a prayer of thanks, and called my parents. I read the letter aloud to them, talked to them, then proceeded to tell everyone I know.
This is the part where everyone started freaking out.
"Oh my gosh!"
"So awesome!"
"No way!"
"France, that's gre- wait, WHAT?"
"There are Chinese people in France?"
"That's perfect for you!"
"I wish I were going on a mission!"
"I'm so excited for you!"
I hope, they call me on a mission, when I have grown a foot or two. I hope by then I will be ready, to preach and teach and work as missionaries do... I hope that I can share the gospel, with those who want to know the truth. I want to be a missionary and serve help the Lord while I am in my youth...
Friday, March 26, 2010
"Eating chocolate isn't as bad for you as being an idiot" and other thoughts on the past week.
Thanks to McCall for the awesome quote that's today's title. We were eating candy for dessert in our Family Home Evening group on Monday night, when she mentioned that she hates it when people talk about how it's dumb to bless 'refreshments' to nourish and strengthen our bodies (ha ha, I'm one of those people. Sorry, call me one of little faith, but I think it's a little much to ask for donuts, ice cream, or cake smothered in frosting to be healthy for us when, if we really wanted to be healthy, we could go eat an apple instead). Anyone, we discussed it, and she threw out the above one-liner. Much enjoyed.
Anyways, this week in short... pretty standard until yesterday. My class in the morning was canceled, but that only cleared up my schedule for more work. You see, yesterday catering was overloaded with events. A lunch for 250 people, a dinner for 56 people, and the Winter Ball for 450 people. With setup, serving/maintaining a buffet line, and cleanup, it was around-the-clock work, with those who worked the full shift going at it from 8am to 4am. No joke. As for my part, I went in at 8 until I left for choir at 1, then came back after Chinese (3:30) and stayed until 5:20. In the midst of all this I was trying to figure out what the heck was going on with my men's a capella group, the Beach Boyz. We were supposed to sing for the ball but were unsure of when or how. I was also a little anxious about us being in tune... also, while there are eight of us in the group, due to scheduling conflicts, I took us down to four just for this performance. That raised issues... anyway, I'm starting to ramble and ceasing to make sense. So at five-thirty our little group met in the gym to have a soundcheck (the people I called told us we needed one). After waiting around for forty minutes, we were told by the dj that we couldn't have one (teachers with classrooms in the same building and come in and complained about the people before us) and that we didn't really need one anyway. Sigh, forty minutes out the window. Still, after that we had a nice little rehearsal and I felt waaaay better about our upcoming performance. We sounded good, lol. Then we had a 'debriefing' where they told us that we would sing fourth in the series of performers between 8 and 8:30. They also told us that our names were on a list and that we would get in free. By now, it was a bout 6:30, so I hurried back to the hale, showered, read my scriptures (ten minute head start on my half an hour a day!), picked up a pitch pipe from Potter, then went to meet my date, Miss Jessica Jane Hagemeister. We met up and walked to the ball... where they wouldn't let me in without a ticket. More than a little frustrated, I got a hold of my contact, who made some phone calls... turns out, we all needed tickets, though they were giving us discounts. Here, I'm inserting a quick reference so you'll understand what I'm about to say:
Single ticket: $15
Couple ticket: $25
Discounted single: $13
Discounted couple: $20
Single ticket plus discounted single: $27
Ok, to explain. I had bought Jessica a normal ticket because I thought I was getting in free. Then they offered to sell me a discounted single ticket, which would have made my total more than a normal couple ticket. After a lot of frustration, an angry walk back to the hale to get cash, and some negotiating, they let me just pay five dollars more, getting the overall price of the discounted couple ticket. They also agreed to let in my singers who were only coming to sing, not eat or dance. Phew. So... in the end, it actually was an advantage to me (I saved five dollars off the regular price) but the miscommunications between the ball planners cost a lot of frustration and headache. Not the best way to start off the evening. Alas, guess that's life.
By the time we got in, it was eight o'clock and I was supposed to be backstage getting ready. I tried to get poor Jessica situated, then kept running back and forth. At long last, it was our turn, we got up onstage, and gave it our best. We sang "Faith" by George Michael and "Kiss the Girl" by Sebastien the crab. If you don't mind me saying so, I think we did pretty well. The setup was a little strained, but we worked with what we had and sounded good. Oh yeah.
Offstage, back to our table, grabbed some food (first since noon, soo hungry), and tried to eat fast so that I could dance with everyone else at our table who, due to lack of singing, was already finished. Finally, after finishing off the meal with a delicious ice cream sundae, the dance really started and my worries were over. Had a lovely time.
Stayed out late, but not too late, because... this morning (Friday) I was up at 7:20 to go attempt to earn my SCUBA certification. Fear not, gently reader, and trouble not your mind with anticipation, for as we shall soon see, our hero did prevail. *Ahem* So... up fairly early (especially for a holiday), grabbed a bite to eat, sacked a lunch, and piled into the cars to meet with our dive instructors and return to electric beach. Things went so much better this time for me, I can't even begin to describe my relief. One, I am no longer sick. Two, I knew what to expect with the weights and the level of difficulty, which I underestimated last time. Three, our skills were mostly done, so we got to spend most of our time just having fun, swimming around looking at sea turtles and trumpet fish (I actually saw both of those today!). It's incredible (but hard) learning to operate in a world that has three planes- up/down, left/right, and forward/backward. Practice helps though, and I at last had a couple of moments today where I really felt like flying, not like an awkward toddler bumbling around. Way awesome, way exhausting, so cool. We dived twice, loaded everything back up, and returned to the dive shop where we washed everything and put it all away. Finally, the much anticipated certification card (or at least a temporary paper copy) was awarded in a thrilling graduation ceremony (we all clapped for each other then took a group picture). Yours truly is now a certified scuba diver, free to rent equipment and dive at his leisure (or at least as my pocketbook allows).
Now, returned from this awesome day, I sit in front of my computer, resisting the urge to fall asleep. I hope you have understood something out of all this- I'm officially putting in a disclaimer on comprehensibilty. 'Night, y'all.
Anyways, this week in short... pretty standard until yesterday. My class in the morning was canceled, but that only cleared up my schedule for more work. You see, yesterday catering was overloaded with events. A lunch for 250 people, a dinner for 56 people, and the Winter Ball for 450 people. With setup, serving/maintaining a buffet line, and cleanup, it was around-the-clock work, with those who worked the full shift going at it from 8am to 4am. No joke. As for my part, I went in at 8 until I left for choir at 1, then came back after Chinese (3:30) and stayed until 5:20. In the midst of all this I was trying to figure out what the heck was going on with my men's a capella group, the Beach Boyz. We were supposed to sing for the ball but were unsure of when or how. I was also a little anxious about us being in tune... also, while there are eight of us in the group, due to scheduling conflicts, I took us down to four just for this performance. That raised issues... anyway, I'm starting to ramble and ceasing to make sense. So at five-thirty our little group met in the gym to have a soundcheck (the people I called told us we needed one). After waiting around for forty minutes, we were told by the dj that we couldn't have one (teachers with classrooms in the same building and come in and complained about the people before us) and that we didn't really need one anyway. Sigh, forty minutes out the window. Still, after that we had a nice little rehearsal and I felt waaaay better about our upcoming performance. We sounded good, lol. Then we had a 'debriefing' where they told us that we would sing fourth in the series of performers between 8 and 8:30. They also told us that our names were on a list and that we would get in free. By now, it was a bout 6:30, so I hurried back to the hale, showered, read my scriptures (ten minute head start on my half an hour a day!), picked up a pitch pipe from Potter, then went to meet my date, Miss Jessica Jane Hagemeister. We met up and walked to the ball... where they wouldn't let me in without a ticket. More than a little frustrated, I got a hold of my contact, who made some phone calls... turns out, we all needed tickets, though they were giving us discounts. Here, I'm inserting a quick reference so you'll understand what I'm about to say:
Single ticket: $15
Couple ticket: $25
Discounted single: $13
Discounted couple: $20
Single ticket plus discounted single: $27
Ok, to explain. I had bought Jessica a normal ticket because I thought I was getting in free. Then they offered to sell me a discounted single ticket, which would have made my total more than a normal couple ticket. After a lot of frustration, an angry walk back to the hale to get cash, and some negotiating, they let me just pay five dollars more, getting the overall price of the discounted couple ticket. They also agreed to let in my singers who were only coming to sing, not eat or dance. Phew. So... in the end, it actually was an advantage to me (I saved five dollars off the regular price) but the miscommunications between the ball planners cost a lot of frustration and headache. Not the best way to start off the evening. Alas, guess that's life.
By the time we got in, it was eight o'clock and I was supposed to be backstage getting ready. I tried to get poor Jessica situated, then kept running back and forth. At long last, it was our turn, we got up onstage, and gave it our best. We sang "Faith" by George Michael and "Kiss the Girl" by Sebastien the crab. If you don't mind me saying so, I think we did pretty well. The setup was a little strained, but we worked with what we had and sounded good. Oh yeah.
Offstage, back to our table, grabbed some food (first since noon, soo hungry), and tried to eat fast so that I could dance with everyone else at our table who, due to lack of singing, was already finished. Finally, after finishing off the meal with a delicious ice cream sundae, the dance really started and my worries were over. Had a lovely time.
Stayed out late, but not too late, because... this morning (Friday) I was up at 7:20 to go attempt to earn my SCUBA certification. Fear not, gently reader, and trouble not your mind with anticipation, for as we shall soon see, our hero did prevail. *Ahem* So... up fairly early (especially for a holiday), grabbed a bite to eat, sacked a lunch, and piled into the cars to meet with our dive instructors and return to electric beach. Things went so much better this time for me, I can't even begin to describe my relief. One, I am no longer sick. Two, I knew what to expect with the weights and the level of difficulty, which I underestimated last time. Three, our skills were mostly done, so we got to spend most of our time just having fun, swimming around looking at sea turtles and trumpet fish (I actually saw both of those today!). It's incredible (but hard) learning to operate in a world that has three planes- up/down, left/right, and forward/backward. Practice helps though, and I at last had a couple of moments today where I really felt like flying, not like an awkward toddler bumbling around. Way awesome, way exhausting, so cool. We dived twice, loaded everything back up, and returned to the dive shop where we washed everything and put it all away. Finally, the much anticipated certification card (or at least a temporary paper copy) was awarded in a thrilling graduation ceremony (we all clapped for each other then took a group picture). Yours truly is now a certified scuba diver, free to rent equipment and dive at his leisure (or at least as my pocketbook allows).
Now, returned from this awesome day, I sit in front of my computer, resisting the urge to fall asleep. I hope you have understood something out of all this- I'm officially putting in a disclaimer on comprehensibilty. 'Night, y'all.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Long time no see... aka, the Music Man, Tsunami, a Dance Recital, SCUBA,Terrorism, Mission Papers, Waimea Bay, and the Beach Boyz
So... yeah. So much for every week. I'll try to do better, promise. Ok, items will appear in chronological order.
The Music Man: A week of three dress rehearsals and three full-on performances. Quite a blast; v. busy, as might be expected. Well, it's long enough ago that details aren't readily coming to mind... for any who didn't know, I was Tommy Djilas, the town ruffian. A couple of lines and a lot of dancing. We had a great time with the Shipoopi... look it up :) However, in the midst of the musical, there was the...
Tsunami: Friday night I misjudged my health and presumed that I would be able to catch up on sleep the next day, so I stayed out late. Like, really late for me. Three o'clock in the morning, anyone? Anyway, at about midnight I think, we started getting text reports of a tsunami warning coming from an earthquake in Chile. We shrugged it off- it's seriously like the third one we've had this year. However, things started to appear more serious when, driving back from Kaneohe, we noticed HUGE traffic around gas stations as people stocked up for the disaster. We still laughed; after all, getting gas? It's an island, you can't go that far... We ended up going and hanging out on the point, watching the waves and talking. More texts came in, with reports of sirens to go off starting at 6 am and possible evacuations of the Hales. Finally, I went to bed around three, pretty much unworried (I live on the second floor of the dorm that's the farthest back from the beach. Pretty safe). The next morning I got up about ten, got ready for the day, and decided to go to the hill behind the temple, not for safety (though it certainly would be safe), but for a good seat to watch whatever happened. Sydney and I made our way up and picnicked on the hill, where we watched the entire thing unfold. That is to say, we watched nothing unfold. The warning, while much appreciated (good to know the system works), ended up being no more than that. After an hour of nothing, long past the anticipated arrival time, I went back to my dorm to get some homework done, With half the day blown, I had a lot to do. That night, theatre lived up to its maxim- the show verily did go on, without fail. It was the best performance by far, and a fantastic end to an unusual day.
Scuba: The week after the musical, without time for my health to recover (feeling a bit under the weather with a cold/flu bug), I started right into my scuba certification classes. After studying the material, reading the textbook, and watching a fascinating (*cough cough*)movie about scuba, it was time for the academic class, Wednesday night. Things proceeded great- I aced every quiz and exam. However, there was one slight complication...
The Dance Recital: So, my good friend Ali, long-time co-participator in the musical and former swing dance partner, asked me to perform our swing dance from last semester's "So You Think You Can Swing?" with her for her dance class' show. The only problem- the first performance was right in the middle of the scuba class. Thankfully, the scuba instructor, Tyler, is the nicest man I've ever met and allowed me to run off in the middle to change into a costume (just a white shirt and slacks), throw a girl around a stage, then hurry back to take the final exam. I passed with flying colors, then rushed back to the auditorium for the second show. Did it again, then happily joined the audience to watch the rest of the performances, which were, kudos to the dance class, amazing.
Scuba 2: Thursday night was time for our pool dives- our first practical application. Crazy cool but wicked cold- it was rainy and windy and nighttime. It was a relief to be able to stay underwater where we were protected from the elements, but it was still a bit chilly. Spent a good four hours doing a swim test, fighting my way into a stupid wet suit, practicing scuba skills like emergency ascents and buoyancy control (just use your lungs!), packing the frickin' heavy equipment (you forget after being in the water) out of the pool, and fighting my way out of the stupid wet suit. At long last, left for home cold, hungry (missed dinner because I was interviewing with the bishop just beforehand), and exhausted. Not good for my still temperamental health, lol. Still, way cool to breath underwater!
Terrorism: I am currently taking the awesome class, Issues of Terrorism. The main term project is an assignment in red-teaming: planning out a fake terrorist attack in order to better understand how real terrorists work. My group, the Queen's Liberation Army, is a nationalist Hawaiian group that's fighting to get mainlanders out (don't point out the irony that our whole group is white, please. We are aware)and restore sovereignty to the Hawaiian people. So... we decided to attack a hotel in downtown Waikiki. Lots of tourists. I won't go into detail about our plans, but we spent Friday afternoon conducting the necessary surveillance at various hotels, before choosing the Ilikai. Anyway, we had a good time with that. Also spent some time in a pub getting pizza and then at the mall getting frozen yogurt and then spent an HOUR waiting at the bus stop. Ridiculous. Anyway, a good day in town. Just in case, for the whole terrorist thing, I'll put up the official disclaimer:
This is a fictional exercise for the BYU-Hawaii course ‘Issues of Terrorism’. Please contact Dr. Brian K. Houghton at 808.293.3209 if you have questions concerning this assignment.
Scuba 3: Two ocean dives! Saturday morning got up and drove to Haleiwa where we met with our instructors, then drove to the west side of the island to Electric Beach where we put our practice into... well, practice. Way cool, though the waves were a bit annoying as we kept rolling back and forth on the ocean floor (we weren't deep at all, only 26 feet at max). Practiced more skills, did a little exploring, saw more fish than I've ever seen before in my life, and had a lot of fun. Wish I had an underwater camera!
Mission Papers: They're in! Interviewed with the stake president and got them turned in on Sunday the seventh. The call should come tomorrow (Friday) or the next day! There will be an update on that shortly, fear not.
Waimea Bay: Last Saturday we (Ali, Jessica, Sydney, Dane, Jefferson, Nate, Lauren A, Joanna, and myself) decided to spend the day at Waimea Bay, the best beach on the island. Soooo good. Great sun, great waves, great hitchhiking... yeah. We were waiting at the bus stop anyway, so we stuck out our thumbs... more accurately, we made the girls stick out their thumbs. Poor Sydney and Lauren did their best without success, so we sent up Jessica. First try, a guy with a truck pulls over and picks us up. We all piled in and enjoyed the ride up the road. He didn't take us very far, but we had a good time and then caught the bus once he dropped us off. Nice guy. We made it to the beach, played in the waves, played frisbee, picnicked, tanned... I love Hawaii.
The Beach Boyz: Last but not least, I have been putting a men's a cappella group together. So awesome. Our debut performance will be next week at the Winter Ball. It's going to be awesome. Anyway, today we finally decided on a name. After considering Treble in Paradise, the Ritardandos (a personal fav), the Single Laddies (we would have had to sing a little Beyonce), etc, a vote finally brought us to the Beach Boyz- funny because it's been done, but without a z. We also live on the beach, ha ha ha... hopefully it will generate positive feedback, lol.
Well... I think that's close to everything. For more, perhaps refer to my friends' blogs. They've kept more up to date. I will post soon about my mission!
The Music Man: A week of three dress rehearsals and three full-on performances. Quite a blast; v. busy, as might be expected. Well, it's long enough ago that details aren't readily coming to mind... for any who didn't know, I was Tommy Djilas, the town ruffian. A couple of lines and a lot of dancing. We had a great time with the Shipoopi... look it up :) However, in the midst of the musical, there was the...
Tsunami: Friday night I misjudged my health and presumed that I would be able to catch up on sleep the next day, so I stayed out late. Like, really late for me. Three o'clock in the morning, anyone? Anyway, at about midnight I think, we started getting text reports of a tsunami warning coming from an earthquake in Chile. We shrugged it off- it's seriously like the third one we've had this year. However, things started to appear more serious when, driving back from Kaneohe, we noticed HUGE traffic around gas stations as people stocked up for the disaster. We still laughed; after all, getting gas? It's an island, you can't go that far... We ended up going and hanging out on the point, watching the waves and talking. More texts came in, with reports of sirens to go off starting at 6 am and possible evacuations of the Hales. Finally, I went to bed around three, pretty much unworried (I live on the second floor of the dorm that's the farthest back from the beach. Pretty safe). The next morning I got up about ten, got ready for the day, and decided to go to the hill behind the temple, not for safety (though it certainly would be safe), but for a good seat to watch whatever happened. Sydney and I made our way up and picnicked on the hill, where we watched the entire thing unfold. That is to say, we watched nothing unfold. The warning, while much appreciated (good to know the system works), ended up being no more than that. After an hour of nothing, long past the anticipated arrival time, I went back to my dorm to get some homework done, With half the day blown, I had a lot to do. That night, theatre lived up to its maxim- the show verily did go on, without fail. It was the best performance by far, and a fantastic end to an unusual day.
Scuba: The week after the musical, without time for my health to recover (feeling a bit under the weather with a cold/flu bug), I started right into my scuba certification classes. After studying the material, reading the textbook, and watching a fascinating (*cough cough*)movie about scuba, it was time for the academic class, Wednesday night. Things proceeded great- I aced every quiz and exam. However, there was one slight complication...
The Dance Recital: So, my good friend Ali, long-time co-participator in the musical and former swing dance partner, asked me to perform our swing dance from last semester's "So You Think You Can Swing?" with her for her dance class' show. The only problem- the first performance was right in the middle of the scuba class. Thankfully, the scuba instructor, Tyler, is the nicest man I've ever met and allowed me to run off in the middle to change into a costume (just a white shirt and slacks), throw a girl around a stage, then hurry back to take the final exam. I passed with flying colors, then rushed back to the auditorium for the second show. Did it again, then happily joined the audience to watch the rest of the performances, which were, kudos to the dance class, amazing.
Scuba 2: Thursday night was time for our pool dives- our first practical application. Crazy cool but wicked cold- it was rainy and windy and nighttime. It was a relief to be able to stay underwater where we were protected from the elements, but it was still a bit chilly. Spent a good four hours doing a swim test, fighting my way into a stupid wet suit, practicing scuba skills like emergency ascents and buoyancy control (just use your lungs!), packing the frickin' heavy equipment (you forget after being in the water) out of the pool, and fighting my way out of the stupid wet suit. At long last, left for home cold, hungry (missed dinner because I was interviewing with the bishop just beforehand), and exhausted. Not good for my still temperamental health, lol. Still, way cool to breath underwater!
Terrorism: I am currently taking the awesome class, Issues of Terrorism. The main term project is an assignment in red-teaming: planning out a fake terrorist attack in order to better understand how real terrorists work. My group, the Queen's Liberation Army, is a nationalist Hawaiian group that's fighting to get mainlanders out (don't point out the irony that our whole group is white, please. We are aware)and restore sovereignty to the Hawaiian people. So... we decided to attack a hotel in downtown Waikiki. Lots of tourists. I won't go into detail about our plans, but we spent Friday afternoon conducting the necessary surveillance at various hotels, before choosing the Ilikai. Anyway, we had a good time with that. Also spent some time in a pub getting pizza and then at the mall getting frozen yogurt and then spent an HOUR waiting at the bus stop. Ridiculous. Anyway, a good day in town. Just in case, for the whole terrorist thing, I'll put up the official disclaimer:
This is a fictional exercise for the BYU-Hawaii course ‘Issues of Terrorism’. Please contact Dr. Brian K. Houghton at 808.293.3209 if you have questions concerning this assignment.
Scuba 3: Two ocean dives! Saturday morning got up and drove to Haleiwa where we met with our instructors, then drove to the west side of the island to Electric Beach where we put our practice into... well, practice. Way cool, though the waves were a bit annoying as we kept rolling back and forth on the ocean floor (we weren't deep at all, only 26 feet at max). Practiced more skills, did a little exploring, saw more fish than I've ever seen before in my life, and had a lot of fun. Wish I had an underwater camera!
Mission Papers: They're in! Interviewed with the stake president and got them turned in on Sunday the seventh. The call should come tomorrow (Friday) or the next day! There will be an update on that shortly, fear not.
Waimea Bay: Last Saturday we (Ali, Jessica, Sydney, Dane, Jefferson, Nate, Lauren A, Joanna, and myself) decided to spend the day at Waimea Bay, the best beach on the island. Soooo good. Great sun, great waves, great hitchhiking... yeah. We were waiting at the bus stop anyway, so we stuck out our thumbs... more accurately, we made the girls stick out their thumbs. Poor Sydney and Lauren did their best without success, so we sent up Jessica. First try, a guy with a truck pulls over and picks us up. We all piled in and enjoyed the ride up the road. He didn't take us very far, but we had a good time and then caught the bus once he dropped us off. Nice guy. We made it to the beach, played in the waves, played frisbee, picnicked, tanned... I love Hawaii.
The Beach Boyz: Last but not least, I have been putting a men's a cappella group together. So awesome. Our debut performance will be next week at the Winter Ball. It's going to be awesome. Anyway, today we finally decided on a name. After considering Treble in Paradise, the Ritardandos (a personal fav), the Single Laddies (we would have had to sing a little Beyonce), etc, a vote finally brought us to the Beach Boyz- funny because it's been done, but without a z. We also live on the beach, ha ha ha... hopefully it will generate positive feedback, lol.
Well... I think that's close to everything. For more, perhaps refer to my friends' blogs. They've kept more up to date. I will post soon about my mission!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Stairway to Heaven
Wow. So... this is going to be an attempt to put down in words an experience that quite possibly can only truly understood by living it. Nonetheless, I will do my best to record the adventure so that those of my friends and family with bad knees or an unwillingness to hike up 3,992 stairs from maybe 100 feet above sea level to 2,820. Yeah.
As you can see from the picture, there are a lot and they're steep. See the highway down there? That's where the trail started. Underneath the raised highway. Still not convinced it was hard? Well, now imagine that that hike has to be made at 4 in the morning (1) to avoid the security guard (who keeps people out because the stairs were officially closed due to excessive danger) and (2) to see the sunrise. Finally, to cap it all off, the stairs and handrails got wetter and wetter, and thus slicker and slicker, the higher we climbed. Anyway, now that you're thoroughly convinced that this was crazy, it's time to tell the story.
Well, my good friend Jeff Geddes is back in town for about ten days with his family. He was here last semester but didn't return as he's leaving on his mission in a couple of weeks. Nevertheless, as previously mentioned, he did come back to visit. Three factors convinced us to go on the hike: We've always wanted to do it, it was a three day weekend so Monday morning would be ideal, and we had access to cars as his family had rented two. The time was right, so we went for it.
Monday, 2:30 am. My alarm goes off. I gave myself a lot of time to get ready because I knew I'd be slow-moving. Showered, packed my camera and water, and walked over to Jeff's rental house.
3:20. Arrival and preeminent departure. We load up in the car drive back to the school, where we actually picked up a whole crew of people. Guess I could have stayed.
3:40. We leave campus crowded into the two cars. Not the most comfortable ride at any time of day, let alone at this unseemly hour.
4:20. Arrival at the drop-off spot in Kaneohe. Jeff's parents, who were SAINTS to drive us, wished us well and returned to Laie to catch some more sleep. We followed the well-worn trail around the stay-out fence and we were on our way. It was a small walk just to the trailhead and we enjoyed stumbling around inside a bamboo forest.
4:30. At long last, we saw our first stairs. They start literally directly under the highway in the picture above. We started up with a will, soon only pausing to gape in shock at the sheer intensity of the endeavor. I have never seen so many false peaks in my life... every time I thought things were about to level out, we crested a rise only to observe another near-vertical ascension of a hundred feet. This is about the point where I started to question my judgment in coming. Why did I wake up so early to torture myself?
4:40-5:15. I'm unsure of the exact time as my focus was more on staying alive than on keeping a captain's log, but somewhere in there we reached the first observation platform. We commenced rejoicing, despite being less than halfway. The following view could be seen:
10 minutes later. You guessed it: more stairs. I lagged behind a bit and changed from long pants (which had been suggested by a friend who had done it before) into shorts (suggested by common sense). I felt loads better but still was dragging a bit as I wasn't feeling well... excuses, excuses. I followed up last and had some good soul searching moments. Why am I doing this again? By now my fear of heights was setting in on top of the fatigue and was making a solid effort to just keep going. Then there was this great moment when the words of Thomas S. Monson came to my mind. It's a quote I have always loved and saved and turned out to be more than a little applicable. He said, "As priesthood holders, we may find that there are times in our lives when we falter, when we become weary or fatigued, or when we suffer a disappointment or a heartache. When that happens, I would hope that we will persevere with even greater effort toward our goal." I kept going.
5:35-5:55. I caught up and we reached the second platform, complete with some old military buildings put up for observation. We took a short break, enjoyed the view, then hit the last, slipperiest, steepest part of our journey.
6:11. The top! Absolutely astounding. Such a feeling of relief and triumph... the whole world was before us, though it was still dark. We relished in the euphoria of the moment but soon were huddling inside some other ruins, seeking shelter from the wind as we awaited the sunrise. I changed back into my long pants and sweater and silently blessed the friend who'd advised me to bring them along.
6:45. The most incredible sunrise of my life. Beyond description. Pictures are worth a thousand words, so here's some now.
7:40 Beautiful though it was, we eventually had to come back to earth. We left Heaven and redescended... in better light, it was easier to take pictures, though it feels impossible to take pictures that adequately express the scope of this adventure.
8:45 Back on solid ground, we vowed to never touch a stair again. It was hard, it was dangerous, it was terrifying. Sometimes you have to go through Hell to get to Heaven... but it's worth it.
As you can see from the picture, there are a lot and they're steep. See the highway down there? That's where the trail started. Underneath the raised highway. Still not convinced it was hard? Well, now imagine that that hike has to be made at 4 in the morning (1) to avoid the security guard (who keeps people out because the stairs were officially closed due to excessive danger) and (2) to see the sunrise. Finally, to cap it all off, the stairs and handrails got wetter and wetter, and thus slicker and slicker, the higher we climbed. Anyway, now that you're thoroughly convinced that this was crazy, it's time to tell the story.
Well, my good friend Jeff Geddes is back in town for about ten days with his family. He was here last semester but didn't return as he's leaving on his mission in a couple of weeks. Nevertheless, as previously mentioned, he did come back to visit. Three factors convinced us to go on the hike: We've always wanted to do it, it was a three day weekend so Monday morning would be ideal, and we had access to cars as his family had rented two. The time was right, so we went for it.
Monday, 2:30 am. My alarm goes off. I gave myself a lot of time to get ready because I knew I'd be slow-moving. Showered, packed my camera and water, and walked over to Jeff's rental house.
3:20. Arrival and preeminent departure. We load up in the car drive back to the school, where we actually picked up a whole crew of people. Guess I could have stayed.
3:40. We leave campus crowded into the two cars. Not the most comfortable ride at any time of day, let alone at this unseemly hour.
4:20. Arrival at the drop-off spot in Kaneohe. Jeff's parents, who were SAINTS to drive us, wished us well and returned to Laie to catch some more sleep. We followed the well-worn trail around the stay-out fence and we were on our way. It was a small walk just to the trailhead and we enjoyed stumbling around inside a bamboo forest.
4:30. At long last, we saw our first stairs. They start literally directly under the highway in the picture above. We started up with a will, soon only pausing to gape in shock at the sheer intensity of the endeavor. I have never seen so many false peaks in my life... every time I thought things were about to level out, we crested a rise only to observe another near-vertical ascension of a hundred feet. This is about the point where I started to question my judgment in coming. Why did I wake up so early to torture myself?
4:40-5:15. I'm unsure of the exact time as my focus was more on staying alive than on keeping a captain's log, but somewhere in there we reached the first observation platform. We commenced rejoicing, despite being less than halfway. The following view could be seen:
10 minutes later. You guessed it: more stairs. I lagged behind a bit and changed from long pants (which had been suggested by a friend who had done it before) into shorts (suggested by common sense). I felt loads better but still was dragging a bit as I wasn't feeling well... excuses, excuses. I followed up last and had some good soul searching moments. Why am I doing this again? By now my fear of heights was setting in on top of the fatigue and was making a solid effort to just keep going. Then there was this great moment when the words of Thomas S. Monson came to my mind. It's a quote I have always loved and saved and turned out to be more than a little applicable. He said, "As priesthood holders, we may find that there are times in our lives when we falter, when we become weary or fatigued, or when we suffer a disappointment or a heartache. When that happens, I would hope that we will persevere with even greater effort toward our goal." I kept going.
5:35-5:55. I caught up and we reached the second platform, complete with some old military buildings put up for observation. We took a short break, enjoyed the view, then hit the last, slipperiest, steepest part of our journey.
6:11. The top! Absolutely astounding. Such a feeling of relief and triumph... the whole world was before us, though it was still dark. We relished in the euphoria of the moment but soon were huddling inside some other ruins, seeking shelter from the wind as we awaited the sunrise. I changed back into my long pants and sweater and silently blessed the friend who'd advised me to bring them along.
6:45. The most incredible sunrise of my life. Beyond description. Pictures are worth a thousand words, so here's some now.
7:40 Beautiful though it was, we eventually had to come back to earth. We left Heaven and redescended... in better light, it was easier to take pictures, though it feels impossible to take pictures that adequately express the scope of this adventure.
8:45 Back on solid ground, we vowed to never touch a stair again. It was hard, it was dangerous, it was terrifying. Sometimes you have to go through Hell to get to Heaven... but it's worth it.
Friday, February 12, 2010
A Big Bowl of Fruit Loops
Thanks Trisha! http://trishazemp.blogspot.com/
So the big story for this week maybe won't be much of a story but it was a hecka good time. The pictures should also be delightful. See, our good friend Trisha is an aspiring photographer and wanted to have a photo shoot. The subjects: us, her friends. The theme: pouring a bowl of fruit loops over our heads. With milk.
Well, she broke the idea to us at dinner, which, by the way, was a pretty awesome celebration of Chinese New Year. The caf actually did a really good job and the food was great. Ate loooaaaads of egg rolls. Anyway... she told us what she wanted to do and asked for volunteers. I'll admit, I was more than a little incredulous. Fortunately for our story, the idea quickly grew on me and I agreed. In the end, pretty much everyone else did too.
An hour later, I met up with Sydney and Joanna and we headed up to the photo studio. We all wore white shirts and then shorts that could afford to get sticky- personally, I wore a swimsuit. Well, we played around in the studio (it's also a dance studio) and danced to great music like Barbara Ann and Roses Are Red while Trisha set up the lights and did her 'still life' bowl of fruit loops.
At last, it was time to begin. Ali went first as she had to dash off to swing club. She sat on the stool, posed with a bowl, got in some shots, and then handed the bowl over to Joanna, standing on a chair out of the way. It was time.
You can guess what happened. The bowl tipped, milk poured, Ali's eyes widened, the camera flashed, a HUGE mess was made, and we all laughed hysterically. The shots are phenomenal; Ali could be a genuine model.
Soon though, it was time to start over... Being poor college students, we have perfected the art of recycling. Fruit loops were gathered and returned to the bowl. Yes, they were on the floor. Yes, they were wet. Yes, they were sticky. Yes, they were delicious... ok, just kidding. That's disgusting. Who would do that? Ahem...
But back to our story. The cycle repeated a couple of times, until it my turn. Yours truly sat before a camera and allowed his friends to empty a bowl of exceptionally soggy cereal over his head. And the pictures are AWESOME.
I learned that the sugary milk makes an excellent hair gel, by the way. I've never been able to get my hair to stand straight up like that so easily ever before... Well, clearly, a shower was in order, and that's what I did. Thus ends our story for today...
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Jon Schmidt and the most amazing concert of my life!
So... Jon Schmidt is awesome. He has been an inspiration for me for years, ever since I heard his song "Waterfall." I fell in love, learned it, and have been a disciple ever since. I've attended several of his concerts (3), and so was excited by the opportunity to go once more last Friday. I think I was the first person to buy a ticket...
Anyway, from experience I knew that he usually invites a member of the audience to come up and improvise blues with him during the course of every concert. I have always wanted to be that person, but have never met the criteria. By his own declaration, the person must (1) never have met Jon or played with him; (2) be able to ham it up the entire time; and (3) be able to call out the notes in the blues scale in the key of C. Each time, while I have been fairly confident of meeting the first two requirements, I have never been able to fulfill the third.
With Friday approaching, I knew I wanted to be 'the one,' but I was still unsure of my competency as I did not know the blues scale. Finally, on Friday afternoon, I made up my mind to learn it, on the off-chance that I would have the guts to actually stand up. A friend in choir enlightened me and I spent a good half-hour practicing improvising blues in different keys. After that, I was compelled to return to my dorm and do homework... though I tried to make up time by listening to various styles of blues while I worked.
At long last, it was time to get ready for the concert. I redid my hair and even shaved... though I still hadn't made up my mind. It was preeminent in my thoughts, but I hadn't made a decision. Just as I was about to walk out of my room, the thought came to my head- "Why not me?" Strange as it might sound, it hit pretty profoundly. I realized that, at this point, the only thing holding me back was my own insecurities. I had nothing to lose; even if I tried and wasn't picked, I would end up in the same boat as if I hadn't tried at all, so why not? I resolved to go for it...
With this happy thought in mind, I stopped by the piano lounge and played one last blues scale before going to meet up with friends. We got in line, found seats, and then enjoyed the most fantastic concert I have ever seen.
Enough about me for a moment- this concert was phenomenal. Jon Schmidt was accompanied by his cellist, Steven Nelson, who is incredible, hands down. They played numerous songs together, some songs separate, and cracked enough jokes to make it feel like a comedy show. My personal favorite was the example of various 'Christmas shows' that Steve had performed in various countries. He explained how in each country, our traditional carols, in this case, "Bring a Torch Jeannette Isabelle," were adapted with local flavor. He demonstrated Germany's, "Bring a Torch Helga," to a lively polka beat; Russia's "Bring a Torch Olga in full-on angry, minor, classical style; Jamaica's "Bring a Torch Man;" China's "Bring a Torch Yao" in pentatonic harmonies; and India's "Bring a Torch Khalid." I was rolling with laughter...
But back to my story. After all, this is my blog, and is therefore self-centered by definition. So... I had actually almost given up hope for the chance to go up, as the concert had been going on for almost two hours and there was still so much they had to offer. But then, with fifteen minutes left, Jon stood up and announced, "Now there is something I like to do in every concert; a tradition of sorts..." My heart pounded; my pulse raced. As he spoke, numerous people started to move, and my stomach sank a little... so much competition. However, as he listed off the criteria, the crowd stilled. We noticed one of our choir friends turn and mouth the words, "I don't know the blues scale!" Jon stated, "If you know the scale, just call it out and come up!"
Using my best stage voice, I jumped in head first. "C! Eb! F! F#! G! Bb! C!" Another friend from choir misheard me and called out, "Wrong!" I stood in horror, but Jon said, "Hey, that should work... come on up!"
The rest, as they say, is history. I marched right up, scarcely believing my luck. I stood next to one of my idols, shook his hand, and introduced myself to the audience. I played the scale just once to again demonstrate that I knew it, then Jon laid down a base line and I took off improvising with everything I had. I'll admit, at first my hands were shaking... but by the time he told me to stand up and play, then jump and play, they steadied right out. It was amazing...
In retrospect, I know it wasn't the best blues improv ever; I have no training. But Jon Schmidt has this amazing talent of making everything sound great, whether it's some kid's improvisation or playing with your forearms and head. It was so cool. One of the best nights of my life, not even joking.
We finished amidst roaring applause, and I returned to my seat. Jon played just a couple more songs, then they ended for the night. Sydney and I waited around for an hour to meet them afterwords, and they readily signed my book of piano music. Jon was even kind enough to write, "Thanks for making the show!" Seriously, coolest guy ever.
And that, dear readers, is the tale of Jon Schmidt and the most amazing concert of my life.
Anyway, from experience I knew that he usually invites a member of the audience to come up and improvise blues with him during the course of every concert. I have always wanted to be that person, but have never met the criteria. By his own declaration, the person must (1) never have met Jon or played with him; (2) be able to ham it up the entire time; and (3) be able to call out the notes in the blues scale in the key of C. Each time, while I have been fairly confident of meeting the first two requirements, I have never been able to fulfill the third.
With Friday approaching, I knew I wanted to be 'the one,' but I was still unsure of my competency as I did not know the blues scale. Finally, on Friday afternoon, I made up my mind to learn it, on the off-chance that I would have the guts to actually stand up. A friend in choir enlightened me and I spent a good half-hour practicing improvising blues in different keys. After that, I was compelled to return to my dorm and do homework... though I tried to make up time by listening to various styles of blues while I worked.
At long last, it was time to get ready for the concert. I redid my hair and even shaved... though I still hadn't made up my mind. It was preeminent in my thoughts, but I hadn't made a decision. Just as I was about to walk out of my room, the thought came to my head- "Why not me?" Strange as it might sound, it hit pretty profoundly. I realized that, at this point, the only thing holding me back was my own insecurities. I had nothing to lose; even if I tried and wasn't picked, I would end up in the same boat as if I hadn't tried at all, so why not? I resolved to go for it...
With this happy thought in mind, I stopped by the piano lounge and played one last blues scale before going to meet up with friends. We got in line, found seats, and then enjoyed the most fantastic concert I have ever seen.
Enough about me for a moment- this concert was phenomenal. Jon Schmidt was accompanied by his cellist, Steven Nelson, who is incredible, hands down. They played numerous songs together, some songs separate, and cracked enough jokes to make it feel like a comedy show. My personal favorite was the example of various 'Christmas shows' that Steve had performed in various countries. He explained how in each country, our traditional carols, in this case, "Bring a Torch Jeannette Isabelle," were adapted with local flavor. He demonstrated Germany's, "Bring a Torch Helga," to a lively polka beat; Russia's "Bring a Torch Olga in full-on angry, minor, classical style; Jamaica's "Bring a Torch Man;" China's "Bring a Torch Yao" in pentatonic harmonies; and India's "Bring a Torch Khalid." I was rolling with laughter...
But back to my story. After all, this is my blog, and is therefore self-centered by definition. So... I had actually almost given up hope for the chance to go up, as the concert had been going on for almost two hours and there was still so much they had to offer. But then, with fifteen minutes left, Jon stood up and announced, "Now there is something I like to do in every concert; a tradition of sorts..." My heart pounded; my pulse raced. As he spoke, numerous people started to move, and my stomach sank a little... so much competition. However, as he listed off the criteria, the crowd stilled. We noticed one of our choir friends turn and mouth the words, "I don't know the blues scale!" Jon stated, "If you know the scale, just call it out and come up!"
Using my best stage voice, I jumped in head first. "C! Eb! F! F#! G! Bb! C!" Another friend from choir misheard me and called out, "Wrong!" I stood in horror, but Jon said, "Hey, that should work... come on up!"
The rest, as they say, is history. I marched right up, scarcely believing my luck. I stood next to one of my idols, shook his hand, and introduced myself to the audience. I played the scale just once to again demonstrate that I knew it, then Jon laid down a base line and I took off improvising with everything I had. I'll admit, at first my hands were shaking... but by the time he told me to stand up and play, then jump and play, they steadied right out. It was amazing...
In retrospect, I know it wasn't the best blues improv ever; I have no training. But Jon Schmidt has this amazing talent of making everything sound great, whether it's some kid's improvisation or playing with your forearms and head. It was so cool. One of the best nights of my life, not even joking.
We finished amidst roaring applause, and I returned to my seat. Jon played just a couple more songs, then they ended for the night. Sydney and I waited around for an hour to meet them afterwords, and they readily signed my book of piano music. Jon was even kind enough to write, "Thanks for making the show!" Seriously, coolest guy ever.
And that, dear readers, is the tale of Jon Schmidt and the most amazing concert of my life.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Good Morning America!
Ok, so I have been doubly motivated by the movie Julie and Julia and (more importantly) an awesome fireside speaker to start blogging in order to not only record cool things in my life and share them with other people, but to help fill the internet with good things. Best regards to my dear friend Sydney, who has undertaken to be my blog buddy. Our commitment to each other is to write at least once a week. Her blog can be found at: http://sydneysturgeon.blogspot.com
By all means, any seemingly outlandish adventures here recorded will be verified on her own blog. "In the mouth of two witnesses... shall every word be established" (2 Cor. 13:1). Well, for the moment I shall sign out for the night as I actually need to get up in the morning, but I promise to write soon about my experience with Jon Schmidt. It seems a fitting inauguration.
By all means, any seemingly outlandish adventures here recorded will be verified on her own blog. "In the mouth of two witnesses... shall every word be established" (2 Cor. 13:1). Well, for the moment I shall sign out for the night as I actually need to get up in the morning, but I promise to write soon about my experience with Jon Schmidt. It seems a fitting inauguration.
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