Lisa, where’s Christmas?

Christmas. Did I forget about Christmas? There’s something about being a college student that ruins Christmas. Maybe it’s the hellish stress of finals one week before the blessed day. Every year it seems like I completely forget about Christmas until the day of. I don’t have Christmas carols running through my head (which could be a good thing), I’m not eating Christmas cookies, and I don’t even notice the Christmas lights. Sure, there’s Christmas programs going on, and every TV show has had their Christmas special. But it just doesn’t seem like Christmas. I’ve even exchanged a few presents already, and I don’t have the slightest clue that Christmas is next week. Maybe I’ve lost that childlike giddiness that makes December the longest month of the year. And maybe the hype that’s been building since Halloween is a bit much. I have to admit, I’ve had my fill of clever commercials that use Santa Claus in a new and creative way.

Joy of being a college student

Tonight I’ll be going to bed at a decent time: midnight. It sure beats 5:30 a.m. It’s my last finals week ever and I’m going out in typical college student style. But the thrust of my stress is over. I have a few remaining things and then I’m done. I’ll be a college graduate. My formal education will be over, an event that’s been 16 years in the making. I am so looking forward to this.

And with finals week over I can actually take the time to figure out what’s going on in the world. I guess we have a president now. I guess it’s also Christmas in a few short weeks. Hmmm, I seem to have forgotten about that. Ah, the joys of being a college student.

Church Kids’ Programs Suck

Why do church productions have to be so second-rate? I watched a kids Christmas program tonight and couldn’t help noticing that the Christian community desperately needs some writers. It didn’t help that aside from the poor script, the production was lame and the kids simply didn’t know their lines and cues. Now I’m not trying to be a pessimist. It’s a kids’ program. It’s about watching the kids on the stage and enjoying what they do no matter how they do it. That’s the great thing. Nobody cares if they miss a line. I was just amazed at how off the whole production was. The script was lame, but I’ll get to that. The production needed help. They probably suffered from a lack of practice, but the sound was way off (miscued music, microphones in flux, and feedback-dreaded feedback), and the lighting didn’t know any cues. Perhaps both of those could be explained by simple flukes, someone got sick, the machinery didn’t work right, whatever. But it still came off looking lame. Then there was the actual performance. The kids didn’t know their lines, they didn’t know their cues. It was actually funny watching them pause and look at the director, who was frantically gesturing and mouthing lines. Then the kid would suddenly remember and start a line, only to stop when they realized it was the wrong one. Now I know I shouldn’t harp on the kids and I’m not going to. Things like that happen. I’m just trying to point out the overall effect this musical had. Perhaps I wouldn’t have been so annoyed with the script if all the other aspects came off well.

But then there’s the script. Why do we let our kids be so preachy and moralistic? Is there something inherently wrong with forcing kids to do evangelism. I don’t know, it’s something most people never question, but I cringe when a group of children recite evangelistic lines as part of a staged performance. It has this brainwashed, 1984 quality to it that I find kind of scary.

And what’s with churches jumping on the dot com bandwagon? This musical focused on a URL, and the whole thing was about a group of kids who answer questions people email in. The stage was set up with a giant computer screen. At least this time there actually was a URL that was mentioned in the musical. The last time I saw a church using dot com language, the URL didn’t exist. Unfortunately, the URL stated in the chorus didn’t actually contain anything relating to the theme of the play, just propaganda images for download.

What happened to church productions that are actually funny? It seems like an embarrassment to make kids put on such a lame production. I know, I know, I should just enjoy the show and smile at the cute things the kids did. But I just wish the church would focus less on cutesy, and more on content. Let me rephrase that, less on cutesy, more on delivery. They have the content, it’s just so bland and clich

Trouble Being Creative

Some things just aren’t conducive to the writing of these thoughts. Like the end of the semester and moving into a new apartment. Neither one of those is conducive to these thoughts in and of themselves, but put them together, and you have a formula for just plain bad daily thoughts. Could it be that I’m stretching myself to such a limit to finish this semester that I can’t think creatively at 1 a.m. when I go to bed? Or perhaps I’m finding other means of creative expression. I built a castle out of blocks today. Does that count? I’d show you a picture, but it was taken out by a stray throw pillow. Oh well. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Speaking of pictures in these thoughts, what was up with that black-color thing on Thursday? Trust me, it was a lot better in my head. Okay, I’ll just shut up and go to bed.

Our Apartment

We have our own address. Our own furniture. Our own bedroom. This weekend we got the keys to our apartment–and I have to keep telling myself that. Never before has something been so intrinsically mine. My parents didn’t pay for it. Loans aren’t covering it. I won’t have to move out in nine months. We’ve been moving furniture and stuff in and my fiance and I keep stopping and reminding each other that this is our apartment. We’re not living in it yet, but our stuff is. We have two weeks of school to get through first, then a wedding, and then we can officially start living there. Until then we’ll keep dropping stuff off, putting boxes and books away, and reminding ourselves that we have a home. Wow.

I walk to my truck

I walk to my truck and there’s a couple making out in the car across the street. Their silhouetted shapes separate as I slam my door and start the engine, coming together again as I pull away. It’s late, and it’d be a lot warmer if they made out inside. When I park the asphalt is covered in frost, tiny glimmers of light like glitter falling from the sky. I can’t tell if it’s on the asphalt or in the air.

It’s late and I should be going to bed. But only out of convenience. I’d rather read a book. Or flip through a catalog. But it’s more convenient to sleep at night, when all should be quiet. Sleeping after class never quite works.


Bush. Gore. Bush. Gore. Votes on the floor. Votes in the air. Votes in a dimple. Votes by a pimple. Votes thrown away. Votes really thrown away. Votes in courts. Votes in appeals. Votes in lawsuits. Votes in monkey-suits. Votes on t-shirts. Votes in trash cans. Votes on billboards. Votes in campaign ads. Votes from abroad. Votes from a broad. Votes by population. Votes by electoral college. Votes by recount. Votes by rerecount. Votes by legislature. Votes by federal court. Votes by people. Votes by puppet. Votes for democracy. Votes for anarchy. Votes for apathy. Votes for humanity. Bush. Gore. Bush. Gore.