So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Cherry Hills Vil, CO
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The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:
Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
The Tree and the Telephone Pole
I Do Not Know Their Names
Today I am Young
A Night Poem
Siren of the Sea
If I Were a Dragon
To the Dreamers Leave the Sky
The Honor of the Oyster
Return From San Diego
A Late Summer's Night
Of Dragons and Men
The Edge of the World
The Snake's Terror
Metaphysics and the Middaymoon
Of Adventures in Foreign Lands
The Rogue Wave: The Unedited Version
Adventures in the PRC
Voyage of Discovery
Drinking the Blood of Goats
Ticket for a Phantom Bus
Os peixes nadam o mar
Three Villages Far Away
The River Weser
Children I Should Have Kidnapped, Part I
Let's Get You Out of Those Clothes
If Underwear Could Speak
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER
Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
To Sir, With Love
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Hunger Games
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
The Name of the Wind
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Road to Serfdom
De La Terre à la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
want to read: Last Hunger Games Book, Honeybee Democracy, The Bell Jar
The True Story of Richard Nixon...
Wednesday. 3.3.10 9:39 pm
...according to my dream.
I was Richard Nixon. A young, athletic Richard Nixon. We're talking Whittier, football-playing Nixon:
But I was in the White House. Being a president is difficult, even in a dream, and I had a lot of things on my mind. Domestic affairs, foreign affairs, certain troubling whisperings about the unethical actions of certain members of my staff, and even a wild rumor about how some madperson was planning to kidnap me.
I was pacing among the columns of the Jefferson Memorial, trying to clear my cluttered head, when I saw them. By their very movements they seemed suspicious. I followed them down the colonnade, hoping that they would lead me to some answers about the burgeoning Watergate scandal.
I followed them down underground into an expansive white room. The floor was covered in blocks of white marble in various shapes and lengths with each block no more than calf-height. They made their way over the obstacles, black marks on the otherwise spotless white room. The ceiling stretched away above us, and I felt quite exposed. They didn't look back. They made their way to a large pit in the corner of the giant room. I followed them down into the pit. Thick white ropes, chain netting, and platforms allowed me to make my way into the pit. I reflected on how lucky it was that I was still young and agile, or I might not have been able to follow them down this path. Finally I reached the bottom. My quarries were out of sight. The pit was about the size of a swimming pool in planform, being extended much deeper in the third dimension. There was no outlet. I found an opening in the wall, the size and shape of a pipe, about a hand's width in diameter. It extended back into the wall, lit somewhere near the other end.
There was no outlet. There was no way back the way I had come. There were no people here.
I was trapped.
Those wild rumors, about someone trying to kidnap me... they were true.
Three years passed. Slowly. I had no furniture. I had no bed. I had nothing to write on and nothing to read. Every day just enough food to sustain me came through the pipe-opening in the wall. The only thing I could do was think. Think, every day and every night in that white ever-lit prison, sterile and silent.
Then one day, they released me. They never revealed why they had kidnapped me or who they were. They had never threatened me or issued me any demands. No one had ever even approached or talked to me. Just nothing for three years, followed by a door opening and an unseen someone taking me and leaving me on the streets of Washington, D.C.
In the book that I subsequently wrote about my experiences, I regretted most not having a pen and a piece of paper on which I could write my thoughts. I referenced the house arrest of the famous scientist Tsien Hsue-shen who developed a large part of ballistic missile theory while in seclusion. Not that I could have developed ballistic missile theory, I admitted, especially without any notes or references, but it would have made the task of keeping insanity at bay immeasurably easier. Writing the book had helped me finally come to terms with the years of my imprisonment and to let go of the anger that had consumed me in the those first months against my still unknown captors.
Then, one day, I was walking down the street with my friend Bronwen when she revealed that it was she who had kept me imprisoned. SHE HAD KEPT ME IMPRISONED. I grabbed her forcibly and threw her to the sidewalk. I shook her by the shoulders and screamed, "WHY?!" "WHY?!!?" "YOU STOLE MY LIFE! YOU TOOK AWAY THREE YEARS OF MY LIFE!" I was so angry I thought I would accidentally crush her delicate body just by the force of my anger. WHY BRONWEN? WHY DID YOU TAKE AWAY MY LIFE?
She had no answer.
I woke up. I didn't know where I was. How many years had passed while I was asleep? Surely more than ten, but the clock said it had been no more than a single night. I took a shower. I walked to the conference center. I sat through several talks. I tried to listen. But my cool, white, marble prison still felt a hundred times more real than my life.
Monday. 3.1.10 10:45 pm
We have had your manuscript reviewed for both scientific content and journal-specific criteria. Based on this evaluation, I cannot consider your manuscript further for publication in our journal. Attached below are the review comments, which cite several significant problems with the manuscript as presented. I hope that you find these comments helpful if you decide to revise the paper and submit it to another journal. I am sorry I cannot be more encouraging at this time.
Just when I thought I couldn't be any more rejected.
Deep In the Heart of Texas
Monday. 3.1.10 8:37 am
I'm in TEXAS! Yep. Texas. And it's actually an hour earlier than the time stamp says. I'm getting up at the crack of dawn to learn about early planetary nebulae and a phenomenon called "wark-lovering". I have no idea what that is. :\
So I guess there's only one thing left to say and that's:
The Trouble With Facebook Stalking
Friday. 2.26.10 2:49 am
So maybe some of you who have been around for a long time remember my secret crush from a couple of years ago. Well he's a senior now. Yes, he was a freshman when I was secretly crushing on him, let's not get into pesky details.
I ran into him at the train station the other day when I was on my way to Boston. He was with his friend but we got to talking and we sat together on the train and chatted the whole way to Boston. We got along just as famously as ever and recounted all the good old days from three and a half years ago.
At one point he said, "My sister is doing this thing and this other thing."
I said, "Was this your older sister or your younger sister?"
STOP THE SCENE
How did I know that he had an older sister and a younger sister? Did he talk about them years ago? Do I just happen to have a really good 3.5-year memory?
He said, "Ah, it was my older sister," and the conversation continued without incident.
Oh Facebook, you demon.
Wednesday. 2.24.10 12:28 am
Apparently if you add 4 inches of high-quality (R-30) insulation to your brick wall, you can keep 98% of the heat that you would have otherwise lost through the wall.
If only they would add 4 inches of high-quality insulation to my apartment, then maybe we wouldn't have to kick on the furnace all the time. Not having giant holes around the windows might help, too. Too bad I don't pay for my own heat and therefore have no vested interest in making my house efficient.
Wednesday. 2.17.10 9:55 am
Roommate and I had pancakes. Pancakes, blueberry muffins, and Martinelli's sparkling apple cider from New-Year's-themed martini glasses. I didn't do my thermodynamics homework and went to bed at 9pm.
I gave up alcohol for Lent.
Not that I drink that much, but I've been on a bad jag since Antarctica.
The Welshman: "You might as well say that you're giving up fun for Lent."
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