Karma, please

Divine providence.  Kismet.  The way the cookie crumbles.  Destiny.  Luck.  The way it is written.  The roll of the dice.  Serendipity.  Moirai.  Predestination.  The way the stars align.  Fate.  Chance.  Happenstance.  The way the ball bounces.

Call it what you want.  But known with certainty that it exists.

In recent weeks I have experienced a number of small inconveniences.  Nothing serious or life threatening, thankfully, but the running string of irritating occurrences like broken dishes, unplanned car repairs, and nasty gashes inflicted by a rogue pug, to name a few, led me to contemplate how I had offended the universe and to rectify the wrongs.

Often intensifying the negative, I forget to live efficaciously.  And as a result, the negatives of life burden my soul. After silent reflection.  Supplication.  Entreaty.  Benevolence.  Prayer.  (Call it what you want, but know with certainty that it works.)  My conscious whispered gently to me:  be calm; be thankful; be gracious; be glad; be confident; be tenacious.

Be you.  And all will be right with your world.

Trivial tidbits, week six

I proceed with today's trivial tidbits with trepidation, especially since one of my followers is more loyal to Missouri than almost everything else in the world, but after attending Braden's first Boy Scout meeting, during which the Den leader inaccurately taught the Cub Scouts about Missouri history, I feel it's my duty to forge ahead.

A universally alarming experience of my encounters with residents of Georgia, and other Southern states, during my decade away from this Missouri life was their lack knowledge about their state--its history, its geography, its resources--everything.  Unless the fact related to football or the Confederacy, most Georgians seemed to know very little about their state's role in America's foundation.  And if something happened north of the Mason-Dixon line, it never actually happened.  This is not to imply that people in the South are unintelligent; in actuality, many of the smartest people I have the pleasure of knowing are Southerners.  However, on the whole, they lack depth in their knowledge of state and American history.  In light of this, I bring to you (Missourians, Georgians, and Americans alike), a bit of Missouri history trivia.

Was Missouri a member of the Confederacy or the Union during the Civil War?

The winner of today's trivia challenge wins a postcard of the St. Louis Arch.  Good luck!

Published...kinda

One of my goals with this blog:  get published.  Given the thousands upon thousands upon thousands of blogs in the world, I know this goal is ambitious.  None-the-less, publication of my writing motivates these ramblings.

I do not know if being a guest blogger for my friend, C.B James counts as being published, but it works for me at this stage of the game.  C.B. and I met this summer at Yale where we both toiled over Chaucer and The Canterbury Tales.  During our six weeks together, C.B. and I became good friends  and I greatly respect his role as an educator.  (C.B. was also my tour guide through NYC on more than one occasion.  Aside from the unnerving modern art installations at The Whitney, I enjoyed each trip immensely and appreciate C.B.'s knowledge of The Big Apple.)

C.B. blogs about literature, reviewing books that he and his dog, Dakota, read and eat respectively.  A voracious reader, his reviews offer something for every interest.  You should check him out at Ready When You Are, C.B. not only because he asked me to share my experience with Cormier's The Chocolate War in recognition of Banned Books Week (thus making me a pseudo-published author), but mainly because he is an excellent blogger.

Thanks for the opportunity, C.B.!  I'm honored.

The moon over Missouri

For a fleeting moment this evening, somewhere along I-70 between St. Louis and Columbia, the moon over Missouri was reminiscent of a moon one fall night of 1992.  Tonight's moon, a sliver of a crescent, hung lower in the sky than the moon that night, which shone as an ever-fixed mark in full Harvest glory.  No, the moons' similarities don't lie in their silhouette on those two nights.  Instead, the reflection of light which displayed itself in bold hues of orange impress my memory to that fall long ago.  The events of that distant night have been long forgotten, but the impression of that moon has remained a compass to this Missouri life during my years away.  This luminosity is not solely limited to Missouri, but even when fully at home in Georgia, this moon made me think of the state of my youth.  So tonight, as I drove back to Ashland from a day of family celebration, the moon lighted the path of this wandering bark.

Trivial tidbits, week five

My friend Hans started a crusade I would like to share with you.  His cause addresses the face of the nation as we know it.  Literally.

You see, Hans' work raises social awareness of the moustache.  Allow his public service announcement to explain:  

The Mo, slang for moustache, and November come together each year for Movember. Movember challenges men to change their appearance and the face of men’s health by growing a moustache. The rules are simple, start Movember 1st clean-shaven and then grow a moustache for the entire month.

Do you want to: Grow luxurious facial hair? Be more sexually appealing? Not shave (as much)? Help raise money for an important issue? Sign up for McGeorge's Glorious Mostaccios and grow a Glorious mustache this November! Just go to http://us.movember.com/mospace/512215/ to become a champion of this growing cause.

While we were in Connecticut this summer, the Mark Twain House in Hartford held its annual Mark Twain Moustache Party and Contest.  A few of us briefly considered attending, but felt ill-prepared for the soiree.  Donning a fake moustache for one short day in honor of Missouri's shining star was a feasible commitment to make; I am not as comfortable devoting thirty days to the accessory.  However, Hans' passion for this cause is infectious, making it impossible to sit idly by.  So in honor of mostaccios everywhere, I bring you this week's trivial tidbit:

To which Mexican artist does artist Trek Thunder Kelly allude in the above portrait?  Check out Trek Thunder Kelly here:  http://www.trekkelly.com/

Today's winner gets a round of Huckleberry Vodka Lemonade, a Twain favorite.

Lost and found, part two

I have never been lost between the moon and New York City.  (Though if not for my Yale traveling companions, I would definitely have gotten lost in New York City several times this summer.)  However, I recently realized that I did get lost between the Blue State and the Show-Me State on my journey to this Missouri life.

In the Blue State, I felt challenged and inspired--valued for my academic mettle and roused to go beyond my limitations and comfort merely for scholarly edification.  During the six-week seminar, surrounded by peers (who eventually became friends) of awe-inspiring intellectual giftedness, I wrote, read, researched, planned, and analyzed endlessly.  I absorbed every aesthetic I encountered--art, literature, history--and I thrived intellectually and spiritually.  I found myself in the Blue State.

And then it ended.  And I came home to the Show-Me State--the state of my youth--to begin this Missouri life.  And I got lost.  I have speculation how it happened, how I got lost, but really the story isn't about being lost--it's about being found--so I will leave the catalysts of my losing unnamed and instead focus on the finding. 

Oddly enough, I found myself again in the forward to Stephen King's Night Shift.  While I respect King's talent and voice, he's not an author I turn to for inspiration or beauty in language or character development.  Yet in the forward, his words about why and how he writes, something stirred in me, summoning the zealous spirit I lost when I left the Blue State.  And in those words about words, I found my own.  Some of them, primarily the ones about this Missouri life, will be shared with you here.  As for the rest--well the rest of them are for me.  For now.  But rest assured that they will be used to keep me from getting lost again.

Lost and found, part one

I've never excelled at Name that Tune.  Ask my siblings; they'll shake their heads in a low, disappointed manner, indicating just how terrible I am at this game.  My standard answer for all songs from the 70s: CCR; all 80s rap: Run DMC (How could I not go with DMC?); all hair bands: Guns n Roses; all boy bands: *NSync.  Occasionally I surprise even myself and pull out a buried lyric or artist, but on the whole, I suck at this game.  Knowing this, it comes as no surprise that I also hum lyrics incorrectly.  I'm not so inept as to think "there's a bathroom on the right" or that Elton John pays tribute to Tony Danza, but for the past three days, I have been humming the unfathomably terrible lyrics to "Arthur's Song (Best That You Can Do)" incorrectly.  Why in the world does all of this matter?  First off, I'm humming a Christopher Cross song; I may not be a music savant like my siblings, but I know that, despite his multiple Grammy wins, Christopher Cross isn't exactly cool.  (No offense to Cross fans, or Cross himself for that matter.  80s adult contemporary just isn't my thing.)  Plus, my version of the lyrics, "if you get lost between the moon and New York city" served as my inspiration for today's blog; imagine my surprise when I learned that the song actually says "caught" and not "lost."  It's thrown me off my angle a bit, so I'm going to take a day to regroup.  I will be back tomorrow, but while I'm gone, try not to get lost.  Or caught.