I took one of those BuzzFeed quizzes today, "Which 2000s Disney/Nickelodeon Character Mashup Fits You?" The answer I got was "You’re a combination of Ron Stoppable and Eliza Thornberry. Like Ron, you will do anything for your family and friends, even if that means putting yourself in danger. And like Eliza, you have a massive sense of adventure. You are strong, courageous, and passionate."
From reruns that I've seen of Kim Possible, I can live with being Ron. That seems kind of accurate, actually. I've never seen The Wild Thornberrys, but Wikipedia says that Eliza gets along with animals very well, which also sounds accurate.
Four years ago I posted the following Facebook statuses:
"How to find Ross Hall: It's pretty easy. Go all the way east on campus, and then it's the only dorm with a bathroom stall parked in front of the building."
This was part of some prank in a war two of the fraternities were having at the time. (GREEKS ARE STUPID.) But it fit life in Ross very well. Which is why I mentioned it.
"Can I write like some combination of Agatha Christie, Brad Paisley, Mark Twain, Philip Gulley, Keith Urban, Jan Karon, Harper Lee, Miranda Lambert, Leonard Kessler, Taylor Swift, William Goldman, Edgar Guest and Lucy Maud Montgomery, please?"
I think my style has incorporated a lot of these writers since, along with Wendell Berry, G.K. Chesterton, Flannery O'Connor and others I can't think of right now.
The CVS Scotch Tape Incident occurred six years ago today. It's really weird how often that night pops up in my memories. "The porch swing silence was my favorite part," Sam commented on the original Facebook link. That was a good part of the night. "'Dylan blandly buys the tape, likely wishing he didn't know any of us' is my favorite part. That's him all over!" Paige commented right below Sam's comment. What can I say? I know my friends.
Marie's arm was fine after the Red Rover mishap, just really bruised. Last anyone heard she got married a couple years ago, has a 2-year-old son and is currently pregnant with a daughter. Last anyone heard of Sam she was about to get married.
Courtney's visiting this weekend after working most of spring break, it's been nice to see her. We saw Black Panther again last night with Caleb, and I still didn't like it. I mean, it was fine, but 12th-15th in the MCU rankings. Courtney liked it a lot, which we figured she would. We went to the AMC theater in Tulsa Hills, first time I'd ever been there. It's really nice.
Caleb and I have been playing a lot of basketball in the driveway recently. In sports, Loyola-Chicago somehow made it into the Final Four, and the NASCAR Truck race at Martinsville this afternoon was postponed due to a blizzard.
We were just talking about how much Grandpa would've loved Courtney going to C of O, how he'd always be running up to Branson to see her. He always said one summer he was going to find work up there instead of at the river, live in the RV. She'll be working over the summer, which is good. He would've enjoyed the play, too, I think, and he would've been proud that I wrote it, anyway.
While they aren't as entertaining as Keith and Nicki's hijinks, Luke and Katy work well together on Idol. On Agents, FitzSimmons' wedding was spectacular, and the episode overall was incredibly emotional in the best way possible. Recorded a cover last week of Rascal Flatts' "Stand" because Amanda asked me to; mostly I've been playing a lot of ukulele recently.
Yesterday was National Puppy Day; which the dogs didn't really care about, but Rags and Timmy have been especially needing lots of attention this week. That can be kind of nice.
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Sunday, March 11, 2018
A Good Weekend
This week started out with the tension of anticipating the RSU Theatre Program's production of Texaco Mornings, to go along with the nervousness of phantom midterms. So there was a lot of anxious cleaning.
And then Tuesday morning I heard back from a job-application email the week before, which is rare and stressful, because A: you're talking to a stranger, B: on the phone, C: about yourself, and D: trying to make a good impression. I was basically hung up on, which is how that usually ends, but at least I heard back.
"Hey, I think I can actually make it! Like maybe Friday night." Ashland texts me somewhere early in the week.
Wednesday Caleb was supposed to start his first day working for Justin, except he couldn't get there because the truck broke down. (It's since been sort-of-fixed, I think.)
Crashed the youth group because I hadn't heard the end of David Platt's sermon series on "Angels, Demons and Spiritual Warfare" because my freshman year at NSU had already started. The sermon was interesting. And also, it was DC Talk Night in the Throwback Christian Music series, and I'm like the resident DC Talk expert.
Thursday night Caleb had a MEND fundraiser he was volunteering for, along with Hope, Mattie, Seth and Laura. That seemed to go well. Trevor and Amy had swimming, so everybody was happily busy. Wasn't able to make it to the opening night, but it's one of those things that couldn't be helped. The quiet house was nice;; read through a book of Billy Collins poetry from the OKC book sale.
Andrew said there was a great crowd; I know Debra and Cody both made it. "Proud of you, man!" Cody said. Dr. Dial-Driver wasn't able to make it, but she sent me a nice message, and she had everyone give her a report. ("I told her that even if you didn't know Wes wrote it, you'd know Wes wrote it," Dr. Mackie said).
Friday morning was a good day for blasting Jars of Clay while cleaning.
I missed the landmark 100th episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. that night, but it was totally worth it. Not every day your play is produced. (But IT SHOWED FITZSIMMONS' WEDDING, which I would have loved almost as much as Andy and April's or Ben and Leslie's. Maybe I'm okay with weddings as long as they're fictional?)
"Looks like I'll be seeing you tonight," Ashland texts me. She tackle-hugged me as soon as I'd gotten both feet into Baird Hall, pretty much. "I told people I knew you, and it was like, I knew a celebrity or something!"
About eighteen to twenty people were in the audience, which was a decent size. It was great to see Andrew, David and Dr. Mackie again. I also recognized a couple classmates I knew by sight. The Ruscos came, which I wasn't expecting. It was weird seeing the script performed, but the audience seemed to like it. The acting wasn't the best, but it wasn't awful, either. The actors missed or mangled about twenty percent of the lines, mostly skipping the dramatic parts. "This is a lot funnier than it should be," was all my brain registered in the moment.
We stopped by Taco Bueno afterward, and were quickly reminded neither of us liked it. But late-night conversations are always good, even if the food isn't great. Mostly the topic was INFJ-ism in the workplace, and commiserating the general difficulties of college and young adulthood "I was like, 'You okay?' You were really tense," she grinned once we'd gotten into dissecting the performance. (This didn't register at all.) We both graded it a high C, mostly because the actors who played siblings were obviously strangers, which was a little awkward.
Since it was going to be rainy, and because it was cheap and indoors, we decided to go to the Gilcrease Art Museum Saturday morning. It was fun. We rummaged through Indian artifacts all National Treasure-y, roamed through pretty much everywhere, and wished our photography skills were better. Since the temporary Norman Rockwell exhibit was still there, of course we had to see that - I kept a lookout for security guards while she illegally snapped photos to show her grandma. We didn't get caught.
Since it was beautiful weather, we prowled around the grounds outside taking pictures of the flowers and tree buds. We got some good pictures, and we also got chased by wasps for our troubles. Ignoring tradition, we actually got a couple good selfies this time.
We only got minorly lost on the way home, Taylor Swift blasting on Pandora, and we had lunch at Whataburger since she wanted to try it. The food was greasy and delicious, the convo was good.
A huge crowd showed up for Saturday night's closing performance; probably thirty-five to forty people. Talked to Brandon, saw Brittany on the other side of the room. Only about five percent of the lines were missing, and different moments were seen as humorous. Andrew did a great job directing. It got a high B grade.
The premiere of the sixteenth season of American Idol was tonight on ABC; the editing was unfocused, but it has potential. Luke Bryan, Katy Perry and Lionel Richie seem like they'll work well together.
And then Tuesday morning I heard back from a job-application email the week before, which is rare and stressful, because A: you're talking to a stranger, B: on the phone, C: about yourself, and D: trying to make a good impression. I was basically hung up on, which is how that usually ends, but at least I heard back.
"Hey, I think I can actually make it! Like maybe Friday night." Ashland texts me somewhere early in the week.
Wednesday Caleb was supposed to start his first day working for Justin, except he couldn't get there because the truck broke down. (It's since been sort-of-fixed, I think.)
Crashed the youth group because I hadn't heard the end of David Platt's sermon series on "Angels, Demons and Spiritual Warfare" because my freshman year at NSU had already started. The sermon was interesting. And also, it was DC Talk Night in the Throwback Christian Music series, and I'm like the resident DC Talk expert.
Thursday night Caleb had a MEND fundraiser he was volunteering for, along with Hope, Mattie, Seth and Laura. That seemed to go well. Trevor and Amy had swimming, so everybody was happily busy. Wasn't able to make it to the opening night, but it's one of those things that couldn't be helped. The quiet house was nice;; read through a book of Billy Collins poetry from the OKC book sale.
Andrew said there was a great crowd; I know Debra and Cody both made it. "Proud of you, man!" Cody said. Dr. Dial-Driver wasn't able to make it, but she sent me a nice message, and she had everyone give her a report. ("I told her that even if you didn't know Wes wrote it, you'd know Wes wrote it," Dr. Mackie said).
Friday morning was a good day for blasting Jars of Clay while cleaning.
I missed the landmark 100th episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. that night, but it was totally worth it. Not every day your play is produced. (But IT SHOWED FITZSIMMONS' WEDDING, which I would have loved almost as much as Andy and April's or Ben and Leslie's. Maybe I'm okay with weddings as long as they're fictional?)
"Looks like I'll be seeing you tonight," Ashland texts me. She tackle-hugged me as soon as I'd gotten both feet into Baird Hall, pretty much. "I told people I knew you, and it was like, I knew a celebrity or something!"
About eighteen to twenty people were in the audience, which was a decent size. It was great to see Andrew, David and Dr. Mackie again. I also recognized a couple classmates I knew by sight. The Ruscos came, which I wasn't expecting. It was weird seeing the script performed, but the audience seemed to like it. The acting wasn't the best, but it wasn't awful, either. The actors missed or mangled about twenty percent of the lines, mostly skipping the dramatic parts. "This is a lot funnier than it should be," was all my brain registered in the moment.
We stopped by Taco Bueno afterward, and were quickly reminded neither of us liked it. But late-night conversations are always good, even if the food isn't great. Mostly the topic was INFJ-ism in the workplace, and commiserating the general difficulties of college and young adulthood "I was like, 'You okay?' You were really tense," she grinned once we'd gotten into dissecting the performance. (This didn't register at all.) We both graded it a high C, mostly because the actors who played siblings were obviously strangers, which was a little awkward.
Since it was going to be rainy, and because it was cheap and indoors, we decided to go to the Gilcrease Art Museum Saturday morning. It was fun. We rummaged through Indian artifacts all National Treasure-y, roamed through pretty much everywhere, and wished our photography skills were better. Since the temporary Norman Rockwell exhibit was still there, of course we had to see that - I kept a lookout for security guards while she illegally snapped photos to show her grandma. We didn't get caught.Since it was beautiful weather, we prowled around the grounds outside taking pictures of the flowers and tree buds. We got some good pictures, and we also got chased by wasps for our troubles. Ignoring tradition, we actually got a couple good selfies this time.
A huge crowd showed up for Saturday night's closing performance; probably thirty-five to forty people. Talked to Brandon, saw Brittany on the other side of the room. Only about five percent of the lines were missing, and different moments were seen as humorous. Andrew did a great job directing. It got a high B grade.
The premiere of the sixteenth season of American Idol was tonight on ABC; the editing was unfocused, but it has potential. Luke Bryan, Katy Perry and Lionel Richie seem like they'll work well together.
Monday, March 5, 2018
Remembering Will
The weather's been gray, cold, sullen and thoroughly wet for the last several weeks. That's usual weather in our part of Oklahoma for late February/early March. It's made me thankful I haven't had to walk through it back and forth from classes to my dorm. But it's made me wonder what Will is doing.
Will was the resident Jehovah's Witness missionary at NSU. He was a friendly, soft-spoken, obese, middle-aged guy who had to retire early because of severe back pain after thirty years of working in publishing/printing in Colorado. He has a grown daughter in Denver and several grown sons in Georgia. His wife ran the quilting supplies shop downtown just past Felt's Shoes, where he occasionally helped out when his back allowed. The rest of his time - probably three days a week, on average - was spent manning the table of JW fliers halfway between Seminary Hall and the Fine Arts Building.
Most of the time he was ignored, accepted as part of the scenery, except for the folks from CCF, who would aggressively attack his theology whenever they had a couple spare minutes. The BCM folks were kind of scared of him.
I would stop and talk with him for five or ten minutes if I had time; if I didn't I'd always wave and he'd holler a wisecrack about my speedwalking setting the pavement on fire.
We didn't talk about theology much. Sometimes we would ask each questions about various points about what the other believed, and then we'd try to answer those questions as best we could. I would occasionally take some of his literature to talk over it with him later, and he would occasionally read the online articles I mentioned. Since I was a MassComm major, and he'd worked in journalism, we would usually talk about those kinds of things. Local news, the merits of coffee, campus gossip, what we'd been reading lately, observations about people-watching. And sometimes we'd just sit and people-watch together, since a college campus is an excellent spot for doing that: one girl he always called Pirate Boots, because he didn't know her name and she wore boots that looked piratey nearly every day.
If I was running down to Morgan's Bakery, I'd once in a while ask if he wanted me to get anything for him. If his health was especially good for a few days in a row, he'd usually go on a baking spree, and sometimes would bring the extra cookies for me that he and his wife didn't eat the night before.
One day we were talking and he frowned in midsentence and gave me one of those curious, hard stares for a minute. "Y'know, Wes....you're different." I must have looked surprised, because he continued: "I know we don't believe the same things, but you don't try to ram it down my throat like those other people do. You just treat me like a person. I can't remember meeting a Christian who ever did that. Thank you."
That's always stuck in my head ever since, and often replayed itself while working on homework late at night. I didn't think of it as anything special; it was just something that needed to be done, so I did it, just like guiding my blind classmate Russell back and forth from Dr. Fuller's psych class freshman year. Will was discouraged, everyone ignoring him like that. It doesn't take much to brighten somebody's day.
Hope he's doing okay.
Will was the resident Jehovah's Witness missionary at NSU. He was a friendly, soft-spoken, obese, middle-aged guy who had to retire early because of severe back pain after thirty years of working in publishing/printing in Colorado. He has a grown daughter in Denver and several grown sons in Georgia. His wife ran the quilting supplies shop downtown just past Felt's Shoes, where he occasionally helped out when his back allowed. The rest of his time - probably three days a week, on average - was spent manning the table of JW fliers halfway between Seminary Hall and the Fine Arts Building.
Most of the time he was ignored, accepted as part of the scenery, except for the folks from CCF, who would aggressively attack his theology whenever they had a couple spare minutes. The BCM folks were kind of scared of him.
I would stop and talk with him for five or ten minutes if I had time; if I didn't I'd always wave and he'd holler a wisecrack about my speedwalking setting the pavement on fire.
We didn't talk about theology much. Sometimes we would ask each questions about various points about what the other believed, and then we'd try to answer those questions as best we could. I would occasionally take some of his literature to talk over it with him later, and he would occasionally read the online articles I mentioned. Since I was a MassComm major, and he'd worked in journalism, we would usually talk about those kinds of things. Local news, the merits of coffee, campus gossip, what we'd been reading lately, observations about people-watching. And sometimes we'd just sit and people-watch together, since a college campus is an excellent spot for doing that: one girl he always called Pirate Boots, because he didn't know her name and she wore boots that looked piratey nearly every day.
If I was running down to Morgan's Bakery, I'd once in a while ask if he wanted me to get anything for him. If his health was especially good for a few days in a row, he'd usually go on a baking spree, and sometimes would bring the extra cookies for me that he and his wife didn't eat the night before.
One day we were talking and he frowned in midsentence and gave me one of those curious, hard stares for a minute. "Y'know, Wes....you're different." I must have looked surprised, because he continued: "I know we don't believe the same things, but you don't try to ram it down my throat like those other people do. You just treat me like a person. I can't remember meeting a Christian who ever did that. Thank you."
That's always stuck in my head ever since, and often replayed itself while working on homework late at night. I didn't think of it as anything special; it was just something that needed to be done, so I did it, just like guiding my blind classmate Russell back and forth from Dr. Fuller's psych class freshman year. Will was discouraged, everyone ignoring him like that. It doesn't take much to brighten somebody's day.
Hope he's doing okay.
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