The Bright Side

2009-03-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

Amiee made this awesome video/photo montage (and I helped). Enjoy!

2009-01-19T19:40:00.000-08:00

I've figured out my problem Grandma Barb, and as with so many other problems in my life, this one is my mom's fault. I'll start from the beginning: I got your email and was properly ashamed, so I decided to go check out my blog and maybe make a post. First, though, I had to find my blog. This task proved to be "exceeding difficult" (that's how Mr. Burns described taking candy from a baby when he decided to test the old adage). Okay, maybe it wasn't exceedingly difficult, but difficult enough to be slightly comical. In the end, I navigated to The Bright Side through a link provided on Pieholden Suite (thanks Ben and Elissa).

Anyways, once I arrived, I started reading through the posts, from top to bottom, which was a bit confusing, and laughing at my own jokes--even as Amiee rolled her eyes. So I was like, "This was a pretty good blog--what happened?" And then I noticed that the last post before the Great Silence was not even authored by me, but by my mom. She knew that my blog was "blowing up" (cool slang for "rapidly gaining popularity") with poems almost every day and comments on almost every post, so she had to come into my house with her fancy English major poetry and steal all my readers. My own mother! No wonder I stopped blogging, right?

But perhaps the real lesson of the day is that Derek is a nag-powered creature (and I use nag in the nicest sense possible), meaning that if the right people prod me enough about some worthwhile thing I should do and I get enough "nag in the tank," then I'll probably do it. Although this is better than me not being powered at all, I think one of the most important challenges facing me right now is to transition from nag-power to a more internal motivational fuel. I'll let you know how that transition goes (but you might need to remind me).

2006-01-19T21:09:00.000-08:00

For instance, do you know how long a day is on Pluto????

2006-01-11T19:53:00.000-08:00

I say bravo for D-man; you have already far exceeded my modest expectations in daily poem productions. Some days are longer than others. Like Gr. Barb, I was inspired to get in on the poeming; you reminded me that I had seen a poem while we were driving to Moorhead.

This Never Happened to Odysseus

I saw a poem today
on the prairie covered with white-gray snow,
revealed against the luminous gray-white sky:
A line of trees guarding the horizon
Back-lit,
Front-lit
by winter light, prairie light,
prairie winter light.
I drank in its startling beauty.
I let the wispy fingers of the trees draw on
my mind and
stir my soul, my winter soul.

And while its sweet, numinous taste
lingered still on my lips,
there came another regiment
and another--
it was a many-stanzaed poem,
maybe an epic--
with marching lines
crossing, reconfiguring as I passed,
performing with precision a
silent halftime show that
surrounded me on the field.
My mind whirled, lifted out
of my body; and now I could

see
myself in the poem
360 degrees of sky and
every valley lifted up
every mountain laid low and
a smooth
level
ribbon of road carrying home
my prairie soul.
My winter prairie soul.

2006-01-09T21:57:00.000-08:00

Two firsts today: I finally caved and ate a donut at lunch, after resisting at every other meal this year up until today (it was delicious--custard-filled too!), and my one class for tomorrow got cancelled (good news, except that it is a result of my teacher suffering a mild concussion in some kind of freak accident). Pretty exciting day on the whole. I think I will use my extra free time tomorrow to do laundry. Cool. Does anyone know what word was combined with "biscuit" to get Triscuit crackers?

Quantity or Quality?

As I lower the bucket into my well of deep thoughts
I have to keep going deeper and deeper.

Or maybe my bucket has a hole in it.

2006-01-08T21:24:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the name-calling brb. It's just that putting other people down in a (possibly) humorous way makes me feel better about myself. Oh yeah, and I wish I could describe the hotel smell, but I don't remember what it smells like exactly. I'll try to get to a hotel sometime soon. Actually, I could tell you what an 80-year-old hotel room smells like: Glade Plug-Ins.

The Parthenon in Greektown

In the back corner (deliberately?)
Someone comments that the walls must be paint-by-number
But wouldn't it be nice to have a view of the sea?
A blue-view. Certainly.
I have a view of the sea
Of people. Swaying and roaring
With the bursts of flame.
People who will be the same when they leave.
My appetite has left, or at least
It is buried.
Oh, do I know you?
Don't do as I do;
My view is blue.

2006-01-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

Did I say a poem every day? I meant one poem per day on average. Brb suggested that I knock it back to a poem a week, further proof of her pessimism and defeatist attitude. But I will not be brought down by Captain Bring-Down. I was gonna write two today, but now it's too late. Maybe tomorrow. Oh yeah, and thanks to Ben for the poemment (poem/comment). It had a lot of feeling. I should try that.

ODE TO A CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST

It's a good reason to wake up--even if you are on vacation.
You can't smell it from your hotel bed (that only happens in movies),
But you know the continental breakfast is downstairs
Because the tall sign promised it would be.

So you do get up, and it feels good;
You're not tired because this is a special thing.
There's no need to go through your whole morning routine
Because it's just continental breakfast.

Hopefully, you are with people who make you feel comfortable
So the experience is not ruined by small-talk anxiety
And you can focus on your toast and muffins
And watch CNN.
No news this morning.

2006-01-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

I'm a bit disappointed to see no comments on my last posting; I was thinking it was controversial enough to really stir things up. I think it's clear that the only thing that can save this blog now is poetry. So, I've decided to write and post a new poem every day. It may sound ambitious, but really if I want to use the broad sense of what a poem is, I could post one word, or even one letter. I probably can only use the blank screen poem once though. I think I'll start it off with a multi-word poem to generate some false excitement. So, here it is, the first in my new series of Bright Side poems:

At the beginning
I imagine wonderful things and
I worry about potential problems

But usually
Most of those wonderful things don't happen and
Those problems don't materialize

Rather
Wonderful things happen that I didn't expect and
Problems blind-side me

So, if I take sort of an average
It all turns out about as good as I expected
But very different

That's exciting

2005-12-17T00:14:00.000-08:00

Although the word "quixotic" will always have a special place in my heart, I've decided that it is not my favorite word anymore. While the word quixotic is cool-looking and sounding, I've decided that I now stand more for optimism than idealism. Consequently, I think that some changes need to be made with this blog, starting with the title, in order steer it in a new and better direction. Perhaps it will provide a relief from the doomsday mindset of brb's "Indecisivity;" I'll let you all decide. Now here's a funny and potentially offensive, but completely logical proof I saw today at my friend's dorm room:

Everyone can agree that girls take time and money. Therefore, we start with the premise:

Girls= Time x Money

It is also widely known that 'time is money,' therefore:

Time= Money, Girls= Money x Money, Girls= Money²

Furthermore, we have seen that 'money is the root of all evil,' or:

Money= √(Evil)

Therefore:

Money²= (√[Evil])²= Evil

And finally:

Girls= Evil

Now the bright side is that only once a problem like this is recognized and legitimized can it be remedied, but that's really not the kind of optimism I'm talking about, I just think it's funny.

2005-10-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

Here's a funny story I came upon while reading Zora Neale Hurston's Mules and Men (copyright 1935, New York: Harper Perennial) for my Reading Cultures class:

Christ was walkin' long one day wid all his disciples and he said, "We're goin' for a walk today. Everybody pick up a rock and come along." So everybody got their selves a nice big rock 'ceptin' Peter. He was lazy so he picked up a li'l bit of pebble and dropped it in his side pocket and come along.

Well, they walked all day long and de other 'leven disciples changed them rocks from one arm to de other but they kept on totin' 'em. Long towards sundown they come 'long by de Sea of Galilee and Jesus tole 'em, "Well, le's fish awhile. Cast in yo' nets right here." They done like he tole 'em and caught a great big mess of fish. Then they cooked 'em and Christ said, "Now, all y'all bring up yo' rocks." So they all brought they rocks and Christ turned 'em into bread and they all had a plenty to eat wid they fish exceptin' Peter. He couldn't hardly make a moufful offa de li'l bread he had and he didn't like dat a bit.

Two or three days after dat Christ went out doors and looked up at de sky and says, "Well, we're goin' for another walk today. Everybody git yo'self a rock and come along."

They all picked up a rock apiece and was ready to go. All but Peter. He went and tore down half a mountain. It was so big he couldn't move it wid his hands. He had to take a pinch-bar to move it. All day long Christ walked and talked to his disciples and Peter sweated and strained wid dat rock of his'n.

Way long in de evenin' Christ went up under a great big ole tree and set down and called all of his disciples around 'im and said, "Now everybody bring up yo' rocks."

So everybody brought theirs but Peter. Peter was about a mile down de road punchin' dat half a mountain he was bringin'. So Christ waited till he got dere. He looked at de rocks dat de other 'leven disciples had, den he seen dis great big mountain dat Peter had and so he got up and walked over to it and put one foot up on it and said, "Why Peter, dis is a fine rock you got here! It's a noble rock! And Peter, on dis rock Ah'm gointer build my church."

Peter says, "Naw you ain't neither. You won't build no church house on dis rock. You gointer turn this rock into bread."

Christ knowed dat Peter meant dat thing so he turnt de hillside into bread and dat mountain is de bread he fed de 5,000 wid. Den he took dem 'leven other rocks and glued 'em together and built his church on it.
And that's how come de Christian churches is split up into so many different kinds--cause it's built on pieced-up rock.

Now that I fixed the story so that it makes sense, what do you think?

2005-10-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

To respond to William, life in the Windy City is going fine, although right now I think I could tell you more about life in my dorm room, in a small cubicle (third floor, east side, third one in the second row) at the library (Regenstein, or "the Reg") or on the bike ride between my dorm and campus. I did go downtown a few times during orientation and when Amiee and Allison visited me last weekend, but if someone asked me what characteristic sets the city of Chicago apart from other places I've been/lived, right now I would say that there's a lot more required reading.

I'm glad to here that William is writing songs and throwing practicality out the window; I think those two things probably go hand in hand. I wrote a song the other night. It's very short, and its about getting out of the rushing current of society, although you probably couldn't tell if you heard it.

That gives me an idea. In the spirit of quixoticity, we should all set aside time every day to do "impractical" things that won't help us progress in society, like writing songs or other cool things. Maybe if we consciously set aside some time to do these things, we won't have to deal with a guilty societal conscience. Down with progress! (for a short time each day)

By the way, I heard a rumor that a certain individual by the name of Kiara has promised to leave her mark on the blogosphere. I hope this rumor is true, but I feel the need to warn this Kiara that blogging is not for the faint of heart.

2005-09-27T21:16:00.000-07:00

I'm in!

I'm thinking that the most quixotic thing imaginable of a college freshman would be to invite his mother to contribute to his blog. This really brings quixoticity to new levels, not to mention bringing a lump to my throat. It means he trusts me not to say things like "How's the home work going?" and "Do you have a job yet?" or "Too much partying can be a bad thing." Don't you worry, son; "Cool" is your mother's middle name (even though quixoticity is a relative novelty).

2005-09-18T22:23:00.000-07:00

Here are the rules: on this blog, you gotta be quixotic. I may not really know what the word means, but that doesn't mean it can't be my favorite word, especially if you look at all this from a quixotic point of view. Maybe all the posting have to have some form of the word quixotic in them, or maybe the whole blog should be devoted to the exploration of this fascinating vocab term. I think that there's a lot there that we're not seeing.