June 29, 2007

phriday photo: up close

June 24, 2007

for general audiences

I found this website through Jonathan Hickman's blog. It gives your blog a rating (like movies) based on a quick scan for key words and how many times you've used them.

Guess what mine is rate??


The best part was the explanation it gave for my rating:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

  • shoot (1x)

Yah, I'm really bad about using that word...

June 22, 2007

phriday photo: off the mark

June 18, 2007

on mountains and memories and lyrics

Several years ago I spent seven weeks during two summers working at my childhood Bible camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Sometimes on my days off, I would borrow my friend's car and explore the dirt roads that snaked between the mountain, cutting memories into my mind and leading me to breathtaking overlooks, private residences, and the all too frequent dead-end. I credit this car-loaning friend with introducing me to the Indigo Girls. This duo writes songs more closely resembling poetry than any other songwriters I've ever heard. As I traveled the endless options of left and rights and forks-in-the-road, these women would provide a soundtrack that, for me, became synonymous with those two years of my life.

Today my iPod played for me Love's Recovery. Though this was probably the 500th time I had heard this song, I admit this is the first time I've ever bothered to listen to the words. I think I have a new favorite IG song:

During the time of which I speak
It was hard to turn the other cheek
To the blows of insecurity
Feeding the cancer of my intellect
The blood of love soon neglected
Lay dying in the strength of it’s impurity.

Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
They’ve all gone and left each other
In search of fairer weather.
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.

There I am in younger days, star gazing
Painting picture perfect maps
Of how my life and love would be,
Not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection
My compass, faith in love’s perfection
I missed ten million miles of road I should have seen.

Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
Left each other one by one on the road to fairer weather.
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.

Rain soaked and voice choked
Like silent screaming in a dream
I search for our absolute distinction
Not content to bow and bend
To the whims of culture that swoop like vultures
Eating us away, eating us away
Eating us away to our extinction

Oh how I wish I were a trinity
So if I lost a part of me
I’d still have two of the same to live.
But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal
As specks of dust we’re universal
To let this love survive
Would be the greatest gift that we could give.

Tell all the friends who think they’re so together
That these are ghosts and mirages
All these thoughts of fairer weather.
Though it’s storming out I feel safe within the arms
Of love’s discovery.

That camp meant a lot to me as I was growing up, and still means so much today. My father baptized me on that mountain, and I maintain friendships to this day with people I met there almost 20 years ago.

I love the way the random encore of any Indigo Girls song will take me back to that mountain of my youth, will turn the climate hot and humid, and will put me back on a dirt road in search of my dreams.

June 17, 2007

happy father's day!

I'm 1!

It's my blogaversary...or something.

One year ago today I wrote my first post here. I didn't even have my blog open to the public. I was afraid for people to read me. A couple of weeks later, I made my blog public. I thought it would be ok if someone 'happened' upon this. But I didn't want anyone I knew to know. A couple of months later I left a comment on my sister's blog, outing myself not only to the blogosphere, but to my world. To people I knew. To people I knew would read this. It was a little scary, but I wanted to do it. A couple of hours later, people were reading. People I knew, and people I didn't know. People were leaving comments. People were enjoying. A couple of months later I found NiT. A couple of months later NiT found me. A couple of months after that I met people from NiT. A couple of days later we became friends. Ten months after I started blogging, I accepted a city-writer spot at 451 Press. Around that time I also bought my first digital camera. A month later I started my Flickr and added it here.

A year later my life has changed. Doing what you love will do that to you. I love to write, and I love to take pictures. This site has become my venue for sharing my loves with anyone who wants to know. And it has been a blessing.

Thanks for visiting me this year. I hope you'll keep coming back.

June 16, 2007

kerry & ivy: a photo love story

Ivy sits alone in corner at the back of a bar (yah, like that happens a lot).

Enter Kerry Woo.

Kerry and Ivy contemplate the larger universe which envelopes them.

They are satisfied with their findings.

Ivy spies her chance to sit next to Justin on the couch.
See ya!

Kerry, struggling to hide the pain, gives us a brave smile.
Life moves on.
It's that fast.

June 15, 2007

friday photo: shoot

June 10, 2007

kids think the darndest things

When I was little, I remember sitting in church and watching the contribution plate being passed and wondering what it all meant. Even at a very young age, I understood that all things belonged to God because He made them. So it was, of course, a mystery to me why we were giving Him our money. In my mind, God didn't need money. He already owned everything. How could our currency have any value to an all-possessing God? So, as a child, I thought this passing of the money-plate was a strange ritual indeed. Even stranger to me was contemplating how the money got from the collection plate to Heaven. I imagined everyone leaving the auditorium after services, and the lights being cut, and the doors being locked. I imagined the communion table at the front of the room, sitting there all alone in dark, waiting for every soul to vacate. And then, somewhere in the middle of the night, the money would begin to magically float up out of the golden plates and into heaven - a transition complete with fairy dust and stars. And that was God's way of "taking up the collection".

But I still, for the life of me, could not imagine what He was going to do with all that cash when He got it up there.

June 08, 2007

I'm no cow, but...

I just got tagged.

By a cheater, no less. Well, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, and say that he is merely putting a spin on this whole tagging game. You see, my tagger was tagged by someone who said "list 8 random things about you". Then he tagged 6 people (and he was supposed to tag 8 people - see? Eight facts, 8 people.) So John is all like, Joe wants me to list 7 random facts about myself....uh, ok. And then tags 6 people. So the way I see it, I only have to list 6 random facts about myself, and then tag 6 people. Right? And the people I tag would just list 5 random things about themselves and then tag 6 people (because the only constant here is that everyone is tagging 6 people, regardless of the number of random facts they list), and so on and so forth, until the final victim tagee actually does not have to list anything (or perhaps they list a negative number of facts, in which case their would be no final tagee, but an infinite potential for this meme to continue - cuz that's just what we need). Or we could just go with the whole, "I'm gonna make up my own rules to this game, and if I tag someone else, they can make up their own rules too." Does anyone see why I hate memes?

*sigh* Onward.

6. I sometimes make up my own rules to stuff.

5. Tags make me nervous. (The meme-kind, that is)

4. I am thirsty right now.

3. Tags make me thirsty.

2. My favorite blogger is my sister.

1. I think Paris should go back to jail.

Should anyone be able to decode the above "rules" of this tag, feel free to consider yourself tagged. No, scratch that. I hate when people do 'open tags'. No, you must be tagged. Individually, and by name. Having said that, no one is tagged. Stop the madness!!

Good day.

June 06, 2007

please don't leave

After reading through the circus that began late yesterday afternoon and has continued on to this morning at NiT, I am compelled to send a little justification out to Brittney.

I don't understand why she gets so much criticsm. She very rarely dispels her own opinion at NiT. She is a journalist. She is non-biased when it comes to reporting the latest news in Blogland. How anyone can mistake this is beyond me. Ironically, because she is so good at what she does, and because she does have such high journalistic integrity, she allows free speech in the comments of her posts - to the point that people abuse this right by abusing her. It makes me so sad to see such childish, horrible name-calling - by adults, no less - caused by such a fundamental misunderstanding. As I read through the comments at the originating post, and then at the follow-up post, I realized that everyone was disgusted about the same thing. EVERYONE (including Brittney and her Nemisis) was in agreement that the content of the originating article was infuriating. There was no denying that. What may now be equally infuriating is the lengths some will go to kill the messenger over message. If this guy really wanted to blast the article, he should have done so where it was published. But because his true beef lies with Brittney, the article was just an excuse to come out of the woodwork and get a little attention.

Here's a tip for you Sam Smith: Brittney's not going give up being the true journalist that she is, even if you can't take it. And we're not going to give up supporting her.

Here's a tip for you Brittney: for every one Sam Smith, or Ted Olson, or 'hiding behind Anonymous or other ridiculous pseudonyms' out there, there are a dozen Emily's, Hutch's, Malia's, Ivy's, Aunt B's, etc....

Keep up the good work Brit. Please don't quit.

June 01, 2007

phriday photo: Dillon Dixon

...and some other dude on the left.