Life in a Glass House

I Know It's Been A While Since I Rapped At 'Ya

2006-12-22T09:30:00.000-06:00

Right now I'm sitting at my desk in class, watching my students fidget with their hair as they flunk my final. I really couldn't have made it any easier; 65 multiple choice questions taken directly from the review sheet they'd been given the week before the test.

After 10:50am this morning, I'm on break until January 8th, which is very exciting. I'm taking my guitar home to practice for our upcoming studio sessions. My solo on "Tell Me Something" is going to get most of my attention, as it's plodding and derivative. Hopefully my uncles Mike (a jazz musician) and Bob (a composer and producer) can give some tips. Bob's a pretty bitchin' guitar player, as well.

Here's a friendly tip: listen to as much "Free" as you can. It's unfortunately a band that doesn't get the attention it deserves because it came up in an era of such quality depth in rock n' roll.

Grant

A beard and the Lord Mayor of Belfast

2006-12-15T10:34:00.000-06:00

Mas

2006-10-24T23:16:00.000-05:00

Our pilgrimage did not start well. Dan was feeling sick from exhaustion, I was unknowingly sans Visa card, and we’d left St. Jean way too late in the day. By 11am most pilgrims have been walking for five hours. The woman at the pilgrim office informed us that as young people we’d be taking the high road over the Pyrenees, in the sort of way that leaves one little room for protest. Besides, she said, only the first 8k was straight up and from there it really leveled off (not true). According to our excellent British guidebook, there were two routes across the mountains from St. Jean; the easier one followed the modern road over the Pass of Roncesvalles, the harder one a higher and more treacherous road used by Napoleon’s army, designed by the general himself to test the limits of his own cruelty.
On a good day, fit pilgrims can hike this first stage in eight hours, which, looking back, seems charitable, since it took us at least twelve and we passed countless pilgrims on the edge of asphyxiation. The first sign of trouble came almost immediately after leaving the village when an elderly Basque gentleman (in a traditional black beret) breezed by us on the road as if we were standing still. The higher we climbed, the more dense the fog became, and within an hour, our beautiful views disappeared in a thick soup of low-flying cloud. For six hours, Dan and I marched, soaked, through that shroud of mist, with only the sound of cow bells breaking the silence now and again. But it was worth it. When we finally crossed the border, we broke into sunlight at 3,500 ft. above the valley floor and stood looking out over a sea of white clouds.
Our destination was the medieval monastery of Roncesvalles, straight down from where we stood, a place where monks provided hospitality for pilgrims for over 800 years. Tucked away in a valley of the western wall of the mountains, Roncesvalles was, according to legend, the spot where Charlemagne’s general Roland was ambushed by the Moors. There aren’t any monks there today, just some friendly volunteers who usher the hundred some-odd pilgrims who turn up every day to their beds.
After a shower in which the water coming off me ran brown, a hearty fish dinner (heads on, naturally), and some pantomimed conversations with non-English speakers, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Seemingly no time intervened between then and when I awoke—at 5:00am—to the sounds hasty packing. Typically, it was the Germans. There is a certain subset of pilgrim, comprised mostly of tall folk with wire-rimmed glasses, which wakes up when its dark to beat its fellows to the next pilgrim refugio to secure beds for the evening, while avoiding the heat of the sun. This might sound OK to a morning person, but its hardly fair to those who prefer to stay up past 7pm. I tried it for a few days and found the experience to be very overrated. Too much wine to be had, too many songs to sing, too many exotic people with interesting stories to meet. Within a week Dan and I were infamous for being the last people out of bed each morning, but this won us friends among the Spaniards, who make it a point to accomplish nothing before 10am.

A work in progress

2006-09-27T08:30:00.000-05:00

To stand in the shadow of the Pyrenees, to gawp at 4,000 vertical feet while the weight of a loaded pack tugs on one’s shoulders, to take the first steps of a 40-day trek across Spain along an ancient pilgrimage route, is to experience the visceral thrill of the unknown. To do so without having slept for more than 50 hours is considerably less visceral; indeed, as I stood there gazing through half-open eyes at the mountains before me, I could hardly think of anything but the bed waiting on the other side. Three airports, five train stations, and a picked pocket after leaving the U.S., I arrived in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, a small Basque village in the French Pyrenees, to begin this great adventure.

The Camino de Santiago de Compostela is a 500+-mile path stretching across northern Spain to the tomb of the St. James the Greater, which for more than a thousand years has drawn pilgrims to its relics from all over the world. Though interest in the pilgrimage flagged when relics lost their place of importance in high medieval theology, Santiago continued to draw pilgrims in a steady stream until scholarly inquiry cast doubt on the authenticity of its relics in the late 19th century. In the last twenty years, renewed interest in pilgrimage has created a mini-boom of Santiago pilgrims, and while the focus no longer remains on the veneration of specific relics, today’s pilgrims undertake a journey of self-discovery and reflection—a forty days in the wilderness experience during which the traveler confronts his inner self and experiences a life apart from the day-to-day.

My own pilgrimage was made primarily to participate in an ancient form of Christian worship, and while doing so reevaluate my future in a completely foreign context (as it’s difficult to avoid mulling over one’s life-purpose while walking through a desert.) Having a hell of a lot of fun at a cheap price—final tally: $750 for 6 weeks in Spain!—was just a bonus, but nevertheless it was to this end that most of the more interesting anecdotes took place. And so I whiled away each day for almost two months hiking through Europe’s backcountry, perusing 1,000 year-old cathedrals, meditating, praying, playing my guitar, and having intense theological discussions over glasses of wine, only to get up the following morning to do it again. (Incidentally, teaching, which leaves summers free, is the world’s greatest profession.)

To accompany me on my journey, I’d invited my friend Dan, who was less interested in the historical component, but shared my spirit of adventure and an openness to the possibility of an authentic encounter with God. Plus, he didn’t have anything better to do over the summer in Chicago, and his boss was surprisingly accommodating in giving him two months leave. On the train we sleepily crabbed at one another as we snaked up into the Pyrenees, and upon arrival had come to a consensus that we would spend the remainder of the day in St. Jean and climb the mountains to the Spanish border the following day. Ultimately, however, we decided that it would make a better story if we left on no sleep, and so filled up our sacks with bread and cheese and headed to the pilgrim hospice at the top of the village to get our sello (a sello is a daily stamp one receives on his pilgrim passport, a document that verifies its bearer has stopped each night along the way and is a legitimate pilgrim, not some charlatan looking for a cheap vacation.)

A new scheme is born

2006-09-07T09:43:00.000-05:00

As those of you who spent time in Danville this past weekend well know, a new scheme has been hatched, and, unlike most previous schemes which have been met with both trepidation and pathos, this one garnered high praise. I won't reveal its exact nature here, for fear that some fork and-spoon-operating carbon blob ferret the idea away to some production house and beat me to the table.

Nevertheless, the dawning of a new age could well be apon us, and, if said scheme turns from dream to reality, I'll buy the first round of drinks.

IG

I'm Back, Baby!

2006-09-06T11:59:00.000-05:00

I know it's been a while since I rapped at ya, but things being what they are, with many what-have-you's still to be considered, and so forth.

Life has resumed its slackened pace, and I'm crafting a daily schedule designed specifically to dull the pain of tedious existence. Moustache is riding high once again on the hog of rock, school has started, and Notre Dame football is in full swing (though its offense has a ways to go). Coupled with these, the thesis ever-looms like a seemingly innocuous letter opener of Damoclese, poised to slip down my spine and render me careerly lame.

Plus, the gut is on its way back from a brief summertime haitus.

Stay tuned.

This is me, in my head

2006-06-28T08:31:00.000-05:00

And someday in real life, too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNF_P281Uu4&eurl=

Grant

Following along on the Camino

2006-06-23T12:57:00.000-05:00

I know I mentioned it, or Wayne did, rather, on the Moustacheblog, but you'll be able to get regular updates about how the Dan and I's Camino is going by going to:

http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog/grantgholson/camino2006/tpod.html

Right now there isn't much there, as I am tying this from Danville, but I'll try to have an update by the 28th, which is when I leave for Boston to meet with Dan.

Grant

The target on Rick Steves' back grows larger by the minute

2006-06-22T20:35:00.000-05:00

Most know that for a long time I've had a hankering to be a travel writer. Well today I got one step closer to realizing that dream. I've been contracted by the Commercial-News (readership ~20,000) to produce 6 columns on my forthcoming trip to Spain for the princely sum of $180 American dollars. Woo-hoo! I'm on me way...

Grant

2006-06-22T10:05:00.000-05:00

In preparation for my camino I'm reading the Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac, on of our very finest wandering ascetics. Kerouac prophesies a whole generation of rucksack-laden Americans, zigzagging across the continent, making babies, practicing hospitality, praying, spreading peace. He wasn't far off (the book being published in the 1950's), but missed this piece: counter-cultural, in an American context, nevessarily entails counter-religious, which the hippy movement was--but which would have found no quarter with his Buddhism.

Several years ago in a coppe shop, I unearthed a copy of some local zine, and among the many cut-outs that made up its Xeroxed cover was a message reading, "There are no groovy Christians anymore." I cut that out strip (after stealing the zine, which may have been free), and I keep it in the front sleeve of one of my reference books. I thought, as I still do, that that was a wonderfully acute observation, not because there are no groovy Christians out there strictly speaking, but because there certainly seems to be a dearth of them currently. Why?

By divesting themselves of the elements of post-war society that smacked of conservatism, the hippy movement gathered stream by providing an outlet for particularly stodgy mainlin American Protestantism (the state of which being primarily the fault of the less-that-dynamic Churches), and in so doing also discarded eons of accumulated wisdom from which the new ethos had been here and there cabbaged in the first place.

Thus in dialectical fashion, Christians appalled by the bohemian excesses of the new generation, purged themselves of anything resembling the shabby heathen hordes. The Church has a lengthy precedent for this sort of behavior; in its earliest incarnation, house church communities, made up primarily of Jewish-Christians, slowly divested themselves of their Jewish trappings as if to say, "We are different from them." And so even sympathetic hippies hiked up their (homemade) skorts and left the churches, if not continuing to follow Jesus spiritually in the pews, then doing so by growing great big beards. But without the support of the infrastructure of the major denominations, any new Christianized peace-nik ideology was doomed from the get-go.

To identify oneself as a "Christian" today is essentially to say "conservative," and even perhaps "medieval." Anyone who has spend time in the social justice world knows this isn't true, but such is the popular conception.

I'll finish this thought tomorrow.

Grant

2006-06-20T11:38:00.000-05:00

Life is a mystery
To those who've no philosophy
Of how to get by, from day to day

Why the high oil prices don't really bother me

2006-06-19T00:39:00.000-05:00

Three oil company heads are on Meet the Press right now spewing some particularly objectionable stuff, including this oft-repeated point: that in order to meet demand, government regulation must not impede efforts to increase supply, or, in their words, "public policy that supports giving us the access we need to continue to provide the American people with energy." Barf. Plus, their retort to Brazil's successes with alternative fuel was completely unacceptable (e.g., "there's only so much corn to go around.") Look at them, shoulder to shoulder. Talk about collusion. They simply cannot reasonably counter Russert's objections.

But here's why the high prices still don't bother me none:

1.) Be sure that the next time you gripe about paying $3.00 that there is not a European within earshot. They have paid well over $5.00 a gallon for years. How did they cope? By buying smaller cars and developing efficient public transportation systems. And by occupying geographically smaller territories.

2.) High prices validate my objection to the police action in Iraq. Don't want higher gas prices? Don't go mucking about in the middle east and give OPEC a ready excuse to charge more for crude oil.

3.) I have a smaller car, and live withing a reasonable distance to my workplace. $10 extra dollars spread over the course of two weeks is managable. Good thing I didn't need to compensate for ego or appendage by purchansing some gas-guzzling Leviathon, or exploit the cultural and economic resources of some big city by paying taxes in a gated bedroom community. Perhaps these prices have for the first time drawn our nation's rappers and soccer mom's attention to the dangers of relying on unsustainable (and unpredictable) sources of energy?

4.) Hit the link. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:HomeForTheDying-Calcutta.jpg
Now bitch about paying a little extra for your hedonistic automobile, you economic girly man!

Grant

Currently in...

2006-06-17T21:36:00.000-05:00

Danville, Il, my hometown. I'm convalescing from 2 1/2 weeks of consecutive summer vacation days in the central Illinois town of my youth. The food is plentiful and free, the house is clean, and any number of other factors that contribute to a happy, healthy life are present in rare abundance (for me anyway.)

10 days until Spain! I'll be checking in at this blog site every few days or so while we're in Europe.

Grant

Copa Mundial 2006

2006-06-12T16:52:00.001-05:00

World Cup fever has laid me up somethin' powerful. Today, however, my fever broke like the American defense against the persistent fiest of the Czech forwards. Boy, oh boy, was it bad. Naturally, all of this soccer watching has got me a thinkin' as to why soccer has historically been ignored in our country of leisure--surely we have the requisite poverty that drives children outside from un air-conditioned tenements with little but a ball and some company. So too do we hanker for the get-rich-quick opportunity that professional sports provides a lucky few. We love to make histrionic young men into gods. So, why no soccer?

Actually, I'm not all that interested in answering that question, but I do have some general thoughts on the game.

First, let me say that in judging soccer, I've tried to keep things in perspective. It is the world's biggest game, and thus there are many good reasons why the game is the way it is, so futile complaints like "Isn't stoppage time just more of a pain in the the ass than stopping the clock?" smack more of provincial xenophobia than legitimate inquiry. Second, some astute futbol afficianado could surely make many similar criticisms about our sports, which we don't consider because we've grown up so close to them (e.g., why can someone "foul out" of a basketball game).

1.) Stoppage Time
Isn't stoppage time just more of a pain in the the ass than stopping the clock? Just kidding. Because of the flowing nature of soccer, and the fact that fouls that benefit one's team can be used as a means to put the ball directly back into play as the player sees fit, you can't stop the game for fouls. It doesn't stop for injuries because that would double the length of the game. Triple it, if Italy is playing.

2.) Dives
Soccer players might be the most sissified fruits ever to don cleats. Yet whenever this point of truth is made, every former player, down to the sorriest middle school defender (British for "right fielder") goes balistic as though you've called into question his worth as a person. The long flowing locks aside, soccer players spend a good deal of the match crying and whining, or flopping on the turf like a fish out of water, whenever glanced by an opponent. And guess what? As soon as the referee makes his decision, lo-and-behold, they're ok! Unbelievable! What wonderous musical balm that whistle shriek must contain. Still, some will insist on claiming that soccer is a contact sport, or balk when anyone suggests the oddity in the fact that the world's biggest sport doesn't much require the use of one's most dextrous and subtle apendange (yours truly excepted, if you follow me), citing many incidents of shoving for position, throw-ins, or good ol' fashioned man-slapping.

3.) Goal Scoring
Soccer montages are among the more exciting sports clips. But as every fan of fishing shows can tell you, you have to sift through a whole lotta nothin' to get to the good stuff. Justin has explained to me that the more soccer you watch, the more you gain enjoyment from seeing the game played well. So, good passing or clever defensive alignment can melt your face, if you know what to look for. Yet, in the end, goal scoring is what matters. In basketball, for example, rebounding and passing are very important, though they are not deciding statistics themselves. However, the frequently, and often directly, lead to scoring. In soccer, it seems to me, you could simlply dominate a game--keeping the ball 75% of the time, making great passes, defending well, and be completely blown out, 2-0. Or, on the flip side, you could suck for 90 minutes, and come away with a win (or, echkkk, a TIE), 1-0.

4.) Ties
No. And calling it a "result" doesn't change the fact that 95 minutes later (again 110 minutes, if Italy is involved), nothing changed.

5.) Anxiety
When you watch soccer and don't really care who wins, you can relax and appreciate good play and the occasional scored goal. However, if you're actively rooting for a team, and your emotional state is dependent on its performance, the slow pace of the game is like a creaping heart attack. It's unresolvable panic. In today's debacle, the US went down 1, then 2-0. But the sheer rarity of ball-meets-net translatd into 45 minutes of futility mocking me. Score 2?! 2?!! My God, that could theoretically take weeks.

6.) Bad play
So we are watching the World Cup--the finest athletes playing the biggest game in the world. Aparently, even the fundamentals of the game are beyond difficult, for even the most skilled individuals. About 60% of passes seem to get where they're intended to go. Balls are kicked out of bounds, stright up, or simply missed entirely by heads or feet almost every possession (each of which, by the way, last for no longer than 15 seconds.) I haven't watched a ton of high school soccer, but the bulk of it must be brutal. Sometimes I wish our fellas would act like 3rd graders and simply clump up around whoever has the ball. That way, their teammates wouldn't have to pass the ball to them over long distances, sending the poor thing rows up into the stands, as they did the previous 20 shots on goal.

After all of this, I've come to the conclusion that I love everything about soccer except the actual game. The fans, the pride, the crazyness of the spectical. The teams and leagues, relegation, renting out players, the internationality. Even the uniforms are very cool. But when all is said and done, and all of the hype has been hyped, and two teams stand facing one another on the pitch of battle, I'll be on NDNation, and I'll catch the highlights.

Grant

I will be watching however.

Petty petty?

2006-06-03T00:48:00.000-05:00

Rumor has it that Tom Petty is mulling over a decision to file suit against the Red Hot Chili Peppers for the likeness of their latest single, "Dani California," to his mid-90's hit "Mary Jane's Last Dance."

This is a bad idea for two reasons; first, we all thought Tom Petty was cool. The man was in a band with such anti-establishment icons as Bob Dylan and George Harrison, and over the years has fashioned an stick-it-to-the-man image, as is on display in recent releases like "The Last DJ." If this suit indeed comes to fruition, I have to confess, I'd be very put out. Aparently, this is what happens when the paranoia of eons of imbibed tweed finally works its way from a drug addled brain out of the mouth, and into the savage world of corporate litigation.

Second, it's a bullshit claim. Yes, the drum beat kind of sounds like Mary Jane's (though its faster.) Coupled with this is the opening guitar riff, which follows an identical progression: Am, G, D, Am. Apart from that--there's nothing. From the initial salvo, the two songs go in different directions, and never the two do meet again.

Rock n' Roll is just a series of rip offs anyway. There are only three rock songs, two written by Robert Johnson and one by Willie Dixon. Everything else is to a certain extent derivative of these. So, for a musician like Tom Petty, steeped in rock's history like few others on our planet, to bristle at a vague similarity is absurd. One need look no further than his "She's the One" soundtrack hit "Walls," to realize that its I, VI, IV, V format is the exact same chord progression employed by tons of '50s pop songs, including "Run Around Sue" and "Pallisades Park" (go ahead and sing them in your head, I know you are).

Tom Petty gets a thumbs down. Funk on, RHCP.

Grant

Some joksters have decided

2006-05-12T12:34:00.000-05:00

to leave clever comments like "zzzzzzzz....", referring to the recent inactivity on this site. Well, shut it, I say. Frankly, I've been a bit busy as of late and I don't have time to satisfy every whim of my vast fanbase (hereafter, "constituency.")

SALE!

2006-04-24T21:49:00.000-05:00

Hi. Welcome to our moving sale. Our place is located at 1333 W. Flournoy St., Apt. 1E, near UIC.

Here's a map: http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&addtohistory=&address=1333%20W%20Flournoy%20St&city=Chicago&state=IL&zipcode=60607%2d3313&country=US&geodiff=1

All prices are OBO.

Entertainment Center - $15. Sorry, none of the gadgets are included.

Your standard bean bag. Great condition. $5.

Really nice leather chair. Great for an office. Sorry the pic is sideways. $25

Sylvania tv in very good condition. I don't need it anymore. Good to go. $40.

Sweet ass old couch. Leather. It's a foldout, too. Absurdly comfortable. $25

Email me at: grantgholson@hotmail.com

Or, leave comments.

Thanks,
Grant

Dialog is good for you

2006-04-24T21:28:00.000-05:00

I got this response from a thoughtful reader about my post on conservative republicans (2 posts down):

"A show that I was watching the other night about the Pequot Tribe who was all but obliterated by English settlers in a night raid that murdered men, women, and children in 1637. They ended the show talking about how this tribe has fought to survive and has really rebounded today. They were interviewing one young Pequot man who said something to the effect of, the United States has provided us with so much opportunity and I feel very fortunate to live here and have the freedoms that I have. He said the words that all men are created equal is very powerful. He doesn't care that the writers owned slaves, acknowledging that they did not intend to actually include all people in that statement. He said what is more important is how we interpret those words and what they can mean in the future. Now, I come from a frame of mind very similar to you and have the same concerns and grievances against our country. But when I hear words like this from someone who is actually living in a minority/oppressed situation (which I am not) and comes from a history of oppression brought forth by the forefathers of this government (my ancestors did not) it makes me stop to think. We have such potential, and we can be great, even the greatest. I think it is important not to lose sight of that. "

I like this response very much. And I agree with it. But the point I'm trying to make is that this freedom thing, which we indeed pioneered, has, in 230 years, been widely--and well--appropriated by many peoples, some of whom it could be argued, do it even better than we. When I hear the right blustering on about our country's greatness it usually is based on the premise that we are free, and that sets us a cut above. But freedom, for some time, has been the sine qua non of first world-dom.

To paraphrase Chris Rock, taking care of your kids isn't praise worthy. It just what you should do. I am tremendously, wonderfully, endlessly grateful for my freedom. But in this age of human history, touting freedom shouldn't be braggable. Rather, oppression should be the exception. And I'm not going to be satisfied with the way my country is, if it could be better.

Freedom is a basic human right to be fought for and cherished, it is not some gift bestowed by a benevolent government.

Grant

Immigration thought...

2006-04-10T18:25:00.000-05:00

Imagine if all of the illegal immigrants were coming from Ireland.

Quick Thoughts

2006-04-10T17:53:00.000-05:00

Conservative Republicans:

Hate government. It's corrupt. It's too big.

Hate society. It's been reuined by liberals. It's crass and hates Jesus.

Yet love America.

What about it, exactly? Presumably, the freedom--as in that also espoused by France, United Kingdom, Japan, Canada, Mexico, Israel, South Africa, Australia, Ireland, New Zealand, Germany, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Norway, Italy, Belize, Fiji, Switzerland, Luxemborg, Belgium, the Netherlands, Poland, Czech Republic, Greece, Leichtenstein, Spain, Portugal, South Korea, India, Iceland, Peru, Austria, Andorra, Monaco, The Bahamas, Barbados, Croatia, The Balkan Countries, Hungary, Greenland, Jamaica, Romania, Samoa, San Marino, Seychelles, Slovakia, Slovenia, Uruguay, Paraguay, Argentina, and any number of other, smaller countries who sincerely attempt to live out the tenets of democracy.

Of course, it was America who first won freedom for the people, and Americans first, and arguably best, articulated these values in our country's foundational documents. But these works weren't intended to extend rights to all of the people. Not to non-land owners, nor blacks, nor women.

We need to stop pretending that we have some corner on the freedom market; that freedom is implicit to America alone. Even today injustice exists widely on all levels of society, from personal to systemic. So let's drop the smug schtick and get our fat American asses off of our 230 year-old laurals.

2006-04-04T21:21:00.000-05:00

"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."

-- Herman Goering

Many defend the teaching of history by repeating: "those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it." (This is usually accompanied with a look that they are imparting the deepest wisdom to you,) But I've maintained that it is much more important to know history because it gives you perspective; the things that change through time are easily outnumbered by those that don't, and fundamentaly, people are the same. Ironically, it turns out that no one is following thier own sage advice, and thinking themselves terribly evolved, dismiss repeating historical trends as products of altogether different circumstances.

As C.S. Lewis said, "how monotonously alike all the great tyrants and conquerors have been (and how gloriously different are the saints!)

Grant

I Know It's Been Awhile Since I Rapped At 'Ya

2006-03-31T11:31:00.000-06:00

I'm still alive, though scheme #1 has bit the dust. For starters, the white peach-of-a-Vdub bus was a little pricey, and a little too much of an unknown to take the chance. Someone will make her a happy bridegroom.

Also, the scheme, admittedly, was not in line with YMOYL principles. While it might be fun to own a van like that, it's not a worthy expenditure at this time, and won't bring lasting happiness. The Golden Chariot was a steal at twice its price anyway, and its maintenance costs have been minimal. The "scheme" is now a fishing and hiking trip to New Hampshire. Pics of the trip will be available right here.

Grant

At the Crossroads, Down On My Knees

2006-03-24T12:22:00.000-06:00

Where do I go from here? Scheme #1, originally conceived as a way to save money in the long run (lower insurance rates, make money on the buy low, sell high tip) and have a bitchin’ vacation at the same time, has been thrown out of orbit by the news that the New Hampshire-mobile has been sold. Now I have a one-way ticket to the East Coast and no van to drive back in. Granted, the trip will still be a blast, but the prime motivator is no longer in play, and the whole expedition threatens to turn into a money pit.

Another lovely lady has come into the picture, however, a sassier-one, one more Chicago-based. She is a white, 1978 camper bus, which, to be honest, is a model more in line with the ethos of the whole damn dream. Her price tag is higher: her owner wants $2900 (price “flexible”). But even if I can work the cost down to the point where I lose no money on the transfer of cars, I’m still going on vacation. Plus, will I have any money to fix up the new machine?

If I proceed recklessly ahead with this new opportunity, I'll hardly be consistent with what I've written below. Do I walk away from the deal? Do I pursue her?

Grant

Broke, busted, disgusted, [car] agents can't be trusted

2006-03-22T12:27:00.000-06:00

and Mitchie wants to go to the sea?

Abort! Abort! Scheme #1 has taken a tragic turn; my Vanagon has been sold to another. While I applaud this reckless dreamer's automotive sensibilities, I feel for the van. Unless he plans to use it as a sleeper/tailgaiting facilitator at Notre Dame football games, it will never fulfill its rightful destiny. 1987 Volkswagon Vanagon, we hardly knew ye.

Grant

Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame Inductions

2006-03-21T21:52:00.000-06:00

Black Sabbath and Lynard Skynard were finally admitted. Aparently, they're no Jerry and the Teenagers or Percy Sledge, whose introduction years ahead of the aforementioned pair was as legitimate a selection as was Cleveland to build the hall. It was good to see Skynard drummer Artemis Pyle (center) still in tact, and looking like a civil war Ted Nugent.

The tribute to New Orleans was a mad confection; bed-ridden Solomon Burke lorded over the audience from a giant gold throne while drag queens tossed tootsie rolls at Metallica in the front row. Per usual of the all-star jam, five or six well-known singer/songwriters strummed silently on Stratocasters in the background, swaying akwardly to the choppy rythms of Buckwheat Zydico.

Blondie's original guitarist was drunk, and rediculed Deborah Harry for not allowing him to play with the band. HA!

Finally, another congrats to Black Sabbath, who was rightfully miffed at seven years of HOF snubbery. James Hetfield sung in an absurd, out-of-his-range, Neil Young-style sing-song voice during the Hole in the Sky tribute, but the next number was one for the ages; Metallica + Iron Man = a furious, rolling musical meatball. Sting's follow-up presentation on Herb Alpert was something of a let down.

Grant

2006-03-20T17:51:00.000-06:00

I regret to inform the world that my hair is falling out at a very great rate. Not the hair on the back of my head, nor the face, but that on the top front of my head. I've had widow's peeks for years, but the hair in between is suddenly thining out, and I'm finding more and more fine, medium lenght hair on my clothes and pillows, and just now I plucked one off of the book I was reading.

At the same time, hair is sprouting in earnest on other parts of my body where it is not wanted. I would love to sue for peace to halt this trade-off process, but I don't know how to get in touch with the other party in order to do so. Thankfully, I am tall, so the fact will not occur to most people, but nevertheless I have to look at myself everyday in the mirror, and for the rest of my life I won't be able to do so without rearranging the loiterers and sighing in sad resignation.

Please advise.

Grant

A snippet of Hemmingways' recently-discovered novella "To the Manner Born"

2006-03-19T23:19:00.000-06:00

Duke raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip of the light brown liquid. It burned. He set the glass on the table.

"The cab is waiting."
"What?"
"I'm leaving. I can't stay."
"Don't talk rubbish."

His hands were shaking. In a single motion he drained the glass of its contents and threw it violently against the wall, where it smashed to bits. Lacy said nothing. Duke straightened up and smoothed his trousers, running his index finger along the crease of his pantlegs.

"I really must go, the cheuffer will be waiting."
"Who will you go to? Elizabeth?"
"Yes."

He walked from the room. On the way out, he picked up two bottles of the tinto for the ride and tipped the conseirge generously. Once inside the car, Duke uncorked the bottle and drank deeply. He rolled down the window to feel the cool night breeze against his brow. He was drunk, perhaps drunker than he had ever been.

He finished the second bottle and fell asleep. When he awoke they were in St. Etienne. He paid the driver and made his way over to the cafe, ordered a brandy and asked the waiter to leave the bottle...

That's all that has been found. I'm sure that "Duke" ends up living happily ever after, his emotional needs fulfilled and his liver wholly intact.

Grant

Scheme #1 - The New York Trip

2006-03-15T08:07:00.000-06:00

My itinerary for the Spring Break Trip (potentially) Of A Lifetime

April 13th - Chicago to Islip ($39 dollars on Southwest, ya'll). Train into NYC.
14th, 15th - NYC with college friends Styx and McLellan. Possible Conan show?
15th - Train to North Haven, CT, to Shaun's.
16th - Easter at Shaun's
17th - Golfing in CT with Shaun and his Dad. Potential trip to the Casino.
18th - (This is where it gets big.) Drive with Shaun and his brother to North Hampton, NH. Purchase this 1987 Volkswagon Vanagon for $1500:

Drive Vanagon back to Shaun's in CT, where I will get new tires.
19th - Give new van a bath and a make-over. Wash, wax, vaccum, detail. Make her shiny.
20th - Begin the drive back to Chicago. No neeed for a hotel room, we got a Vanagon!
21st - Arrive in Chicago
22nd - Head out to Carmax in Addison. Sell current car, The Golden Chariot for ~$2,400.
Quick math: $2,400-$1,500 = $900 for me to save, or spend getting the new ride up to proper speed. (Tires are part of this.)

Other bits:
Transfer liscences to new auto. Get new insurance rates (another way to save, it's about half as much as I pay now, though I suppose I have to have it before I buy the new car?), look into a paint job.

Wow.

"We also would have accepted, 'Tell me what you think of me.'"

Grant

Dollars and Sense (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

2006-03-14T17:57:00.000-06:00

The first step of this program, which comprises not 12 steps but 9, is a valuation of all of my possessions, my lifetime earning, and total debts, which when added form a single number that represents the totality of my worth as a person. In monitary terms. And though it is just in monitary terms, I've been well conditioned to closely associate this with my worth as a person. Though nobody would purposefully conflate his value as a person with his bottom line, it more or less is concieved in this way.

I'm reminded of a prominent theologian who once said, "God isn't male, He's spirit."

I won't know my number for a few weeks, because it takes as long for the government to send me a statement of my total earnings. In the meantime, I've begun work on the next step, which is to keep track of every penny that goes through my hands. Just a cursory look at the amount of money I spent last month on non-essentials (books, food, beers, books, assorted Amazon.com shipping charges, etc.) reveals an outlay of more than $204. Three of those books I haven't touched since, and I certainly didn't have to eat out 5 times by myself (at the local burrito place) just because I didn't want to cook anything at home.

Reflection on one's spending is what this program is about. The $204 was given away either out of compulsion or to avoid going to the supermarket. $204 x 12 months = $2448 over the course of a year which could be trimmed from my expenses without even noticing the pinch.

From a more philosophical perspective, that's a whopping two-and-a-half-thousand dollars worth of things that didn't bring me any happiness. $2,500 not doing anyone any good, $2,500 spent not in line with my core values, and $2,500 potential dollars that could have been spent on many things, or one big thing, that would give me fulfillment.

I wonder where this will lead...

Grant

There's a Light in the Darkness...

2006-03-14T08:32:00.000-06:00

Well, this morning, the temporary elation of conceiving and constructing a new diary-blog hasn't completely worn off, so I've shown up for work again, so to speak, and that's half the battle won right there.

To put it simply: I want to do good with my life. Though I have the deepest respect for the professors I've had, they're far more brilliant than me on the whole, and I absolutely love, love the material I work with (except Latin, of course), the fact remains that in the breakneck world of publish or perish there are 100 other me's out there ready to take my place should I bow out of the race. And they'll do good too probably, good for their field, and good for people currently living on this earth. But can I do the good that I want to do in that life? Would I ever be more than a weekned do-good warrior? Someone will always be there to take a professorship, but far fewer people will be there to try to live seriously "do as you would be done by." To quote the Black Panthers, "if not you, then who?"

The following is a short poem by John Wesley, the founder of Methodism (what, what!):

Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.

I'd like to add, "fight all the evil you can" in there somewhere, lest too much value be placed on simply performing "random acts of kindness." (This was undoubtedly Wesley's intent, but he never figured on contending with the publishers of Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul.) While such things no doubt aid one's personal spiritual fulfillment, they're not much help to the world's victims, who need our explicit attempts to overcome evil.

Most people, I think, would agree with me on wanting to save the world. But obfuscating this desire is a host of other concerns, mostly personal and short-term, and as time goes by, the tentacles of the life's multi-pus grab hold ever tighter. Their presence will justify capitulation to all-consuming (pun intended) intertia. It takes a very measured, very intentional plan of attack to wrest yourself free and hack them to bits. This having been accomplished, you can do whatever you want.

Recently, I finished reading "Your Money or Your Life," by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin. You can check it out here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140286780/sr=8-1/qid=1142348630/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-2528893-0964733?%5Fencoding=UTF8. It has begun to change my life, I suggest you give it a whirl.

What's great about this scheme (which is a pejorative word I know, but, as you'll discover, I don't see it that way) is that its very open-ended, and it's not about budgeting or some other fly-by-night fiscal hullabaloo designed to get you rich quick (!). Rather its about livinging a fulfilling life by understanding yourself and what gives you happiness. In time, you learn to adjust your life to be in accord with these values. Thus, you aren't limiting yourself in what you can and can't buy, rather you're only buying those things that you really want.

Alas (the medieval form of "d'oh!"), that's harder than it sounds. But I'm optimistic. Why not be?

Grant

Welcome to the New Digs

2006-03-13T20:38:00.000-06:00

I've recently been re-evaluating the planned trajectory of my life. Through the magic of the internet, I'll be able to burden you with the untidy interworkings of this transformation; a front row seat to an epic life-colonic, as it were. I'm going to be brutally honest in this forum: my thoughts, experiences, inklings, hunches, finances, whims, fears, and smells are likely to find their way on this page.

Since the dawn of my adult consciousness, I've wanted to be a history professor. This news might be blunt force trauma to those of you who know me primarily as the package-laiden guitar slinger for the the seminal booze-rock band, Moustache. But behind my smiley-faced clown facade is a weepy one, who doesn't so much weep as toil over Latin paradigms.

So, I've begun to have a re-look see at where I'm going with my life.

A little about me: I'm 26. I live with 3 other guys in a large but fetid apartment in downtown Chicago. By day I teach theology at De La Salle high school (all girls), a job I love. By night I'm usually in the library studying medieval theology or perhaps playing guitar and writing songs. If not that than reading a book. My interests are very varied; I do a number of things well, but nothing expertly. And I'm never ever bored or lazy (although I don't always give my work duties due diligence, it's because I'm distracted by some other project or scheme.)

It was my intention upon graduation to go right to a doctoral program, but instead I was "ruined" by my year as an Americorps volunteer. I began my master's program anyway, on the momentum from my years as an undergrad, and now that I find myself 3 years older, degree nearly in-hand, I'm ready to...I don't know what.

More tomorrow.

Grant