Composed upon St. Olaf Hill, Feb. 28, 2006

It's been kind of a weird day. I seemed my most awake at the beginning of the day (a first), and have since gotten sleepier and sleepier (even with my nap from 2 to 4). I recall unintentionally cracking jokes in the bathroom this morning while applying water and a comb to my completely mussed-up hair, and advertising my knowledge of Theory at my 8:00 class.

Since then, and especially the last few hours, my brain has been jammed on neutral. No, it is not a feeling of helpless- or hopelessness, but perhaps one of sentimentality. I spent the last hour or so reading articles from the online Trib, and was once again served a reminder as to how temporary life, or a situation was.

Today is the one-year anniversary of the Lefkow murders. A year ago, I was still contemplating whether or not to start a blog, not really sure if I wanted my first post to cover something profound and close-to-home as this. For a novice blogger, I had hoped to start with a few easier topics before delving into deep philosophies and sentimentalities. So I decided to wait until I started feeling better (spiritually, etc) before embarking on such a commitment. March 6th, I recall, was the first relatively sunny (and spring-like) day St. Olaf had seen in a while. I had gotten new shoes (a chunk of ice ripped a hole through the bottom of my old ones the day before), and Tyler and I rearranged the room as well. So it was a new beginning (at least temporarily), and I've been here to analyze the past year as it has happened.

Speaking of new normalcies of life, I also read an article about Frank Thomas' end with the White Sox. Like Sammy Sosa with the Cubs, he had been a long-standing player, slugger, and diva on a Chicago team, and in a city during a time when its citizens needed a superstar (after MJ retired). Just as I identified with Sosa on the Cubs, I saw Thomas as the rep for the Sox. But like Sosa, Thomas was also discarded like a piece of unused styrofoam, and now is a pariah in Sox world. The Oakland Athletics are to Thomas now as the Baltimore Orioles were to Sosa last year. Of course we have no idea if he will be healthy and perform as he did in his prime years, or break down like Sosa.

It's pretty hard (for me, anyway) not to bring up Thomas without bringing up his Cubs counterpart. After all, the two were baseball in Chicago when the city's baseball teams sucked, and even when they were good. I recall writing an essay freshman year in high school comparing the two of them. What I mostly remember included my inability to keep Mark McGwire out of the paper. But I apparently had a good reason for putting them together, but at this point it's fairly difficult to single out my views in 2000 when I mostly remember their respective last days in Chicago. But then again, that's Chicago sports in a nutshell; ask anyone how they will remember players like Mark Grace or Magglio Ordonez. Or mention the managing careers of Jim Riggleman, Don Baylor, or Jerry Manuel. The trio never really did much with their teams; what I remember most is that all three were fired from their jobs at some point.

So those have been my thoughts on the day. I am still waiting for a few people to call me back on my cell phone (as each call will partially determine the rest of my semester or something of other significance), and I still have snap out of my "lazy" funk and get to work. If I have more free time, I should go to the library and listen to more folk songs written by Luciano Berio (I got a not-so-anonymous tip on finding out the first name). Thanks for the notice.

Berio folk songs

In the midst of my longest minimal-sleep streak, I have been able to squeeze through classes, appointments, lessons, and a whole crapload of work to compose a few variations on a couple Norwegian folk songs for my composition project. My prof had me listen to some folk songs arranged by a modern-era composer named Berio. (I forget his first name) He had told me in advance that his music was way whacked out (and I agree to some extent, after looking at one of his scores), but in listening to the music itself, I am easily lulled by its consonance and easy-sounding melody. So far, there are few comparisons between what Berio and I have written concerning folk songs, but I wouldn't mind taking a couple of sonorital ideas from the guy.

I have been running around all day (in both Northfield and Edina). I'd love to reflect more on the oddities of my life, but I promised myself I'd be in bed by 10. And it's now almost 10:30. 7:00 tomorrow morning will arrive, yet again, much too soon.

Riding off into the sunset

I remember recalling with an angle of sadness the day the Cubs traded a certain right fielder to the Orioles. Just over a year ago, Sammy Sosa's Cubs career had officially ended after the team decided it would not be able to reconcile with the superstar who once was the face of the franchise. A year later, one would realize the trade was probably good for the Cubs because they certainly didn't need another player folding under high expectations and intense scrutiny (Corey Patterson, who has also since been traded to the Orioles, was another). But above all, they didn't need another negative attitude player poisoining up the clubhouse.

The first time I heard of Sosa was in 1997, the year before he hit 66 HRs. I recall watching the recap of the game on the news, where the highlight was a HR from Sosa that went so far it broke a window of one of the apartments across the street from the ballpark. At the time, I didn't think too much of it. I went to school in NY during those years, so I had been more familiar with baseball players on the Yankees, such as Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, David Cone, Joe Girardi, and Chuck Knoblauch. Plus, there was no real reason for me to follow the Cubs anyway, as they weren't winning anything anyway. The following year, I started understanding who Sosa was just by listening to radio updates on the HR chase with Mark McGwire. And that same year I started somewhat following the Cubs, as they defeated the Giants in a season-ending playoff to win the Wild Card and go to the playoffs.

During the late 90s and the beginning of this decade, Sosa was the Cubs. Even though he acted like a diva and hogged the spotlight, it was a good thing that he was the show, because the Cubs teams of those years seriously lacked quality. They had a few good spare parts (Mark Grace, Jon Lieber, Henry Rodriguez), but the rest of the team (and the organization) was essentially total crap. But it didn't really matter too much to me. All I cared about was watching Sammy's batting routine (digging in the cleats, pulling up the pants, waving the bat around), his batting stance, the home run trot with the famous bunny hop coming out of the swing, and the kiss-to-the-camera scene after he returned to the dugout. In high school, I had the whole routine down, and I would imitate it on several occasions for all my classmates to see.

I think the 2003 playoff run was the crowning moment of my appreciation for Sosa. After all, he had never been on a championship team, and finally the Cubs were pulling their weight. Unfortunately, they ended up on the wrong side of the 2nd-worst collapse in playoff history, and Sosa's productivity and positive attitude virtually disappeared over the next season. When he ducked out early on the last day of the 2004 season, like every other Cub fan I was pissed. After all, the Cubs had just been eliminated from postseason contention the day before, and I wasn't ready for anything else to go wrong.

Since that day, I have sort of been following the last leg of Sammy's journey. I sort of tried to follow the Orioles to see how they were doing, but when he went down because of injury I gave up, and returned to following the Cubs and the same inconsistency that has kept them out of championship contention in ages. It helped that the Sox won the World Series back in October, but there's always that part of me that wanted the Cubs (with Sosa on the team) to go all the way as well.

Sosa's agent has pretty much declared that the slugger will retire. Even though I think it's stupid that he's retiring because he hasn't been offered a major-league deal, it's more of a shocking realization that the "bunny hop" won't be around in the big leagues anymore. There is still hope that he will agree to play for the Dominican Republic in the WBC and come off the bench, it would be really sad for a guy who once hit 50+ HRs in 5 straight seasons (and 60+ in 3 different seasons) to end his career on a downtrodden note.

Perhaps it is that I attached myself to Sosa as a result of finding a Chicago sports icon to "idolize" after Michael Jordan's retirement in 1998 (his Washington Wizards tenure doesn't count), but perhaps in spite of his selfishness and attitude, he did know how to get the fans to love him. What I will miss most is his sprint to right field at the beginning of games at Wrigley Field so to soak in the adulation of the bleacher bums, the HR trot, and his finger-mouth-heart routine in front of the camera.

Uncertain Road

Returning to school this semester has been quite a bit scarier than semesters past. Not that I've ever really been scared about returning to school (although during my years at St. Thomas I recall not being enthusiastic about returning to a boarding school with 40 middle school boys running amok), but this is the first time I've had the most independence and responsibility thrust on me. I recall the beginning of each school year making the 7-hour drive with one of my parents, dropping off all my furniture, and then saying goodbye for four months. And yet I was coming off pretty boring summers in 2004 and 2005 to where I was raring to bolt the confined spaces. And there was second semester last year, in which I had come off a social high in meeting a new group of people and having a series of wondrous spiritual events; after spending a week in which it felt "weird" to be home, I was ready to go hang out with the people that made my Interim last year.

This year? I've only been home a couple times (Christmas and after Interim), and it hasn't really felt weird at all. But perhaps it's been a result of something else. My energy level has always seemed to drop by the third day of break. I have been able to thrive on continuous activities with friends, such as pool, weight lifting, broomball, and just plain socializing. This year, with all but a couple of home friends away at school, it gets that much harder to keep myself entertained.

So for the semester, throw in the fact that I now have a car on campus, and my own cell phone, and include the necessity of making more life decisions, all in the middle of what will probably be my toughest semester as of yet (after the first week I can definitely confirm that notion), I have been going through thoughts as to what will be my home in just a matter of years. It seems only like yesterday that I returned from New York, raring to catch up with several of my friends with whom I lost years of "growing up." It only seems like yesterday that I was finally getting to experience life in the only place that really mattered to me.

For the past couple months, when I started thinking about where life is going to take me (I can't live with my parents forever). I had seriously considered taking a semester or two off (for reasons non-academical), but in doing so I would have disconnected from a possible future in Minnesota or other parts of the Upper Midwest. It's rather interesting how the student body at a school will always draw people from a vast number of different regions. I have friends in Minnesota, Oregon, Nebraska, Indiana, Virginia, Texas, Colorado, New York, and other places as well as Illinois. When school is in session, it's easy to meet up with such people all the time, because we're all together in the same few acres on which the lawns and buildings occupy. It doesn't hit me that we all come from these different places until I head home, and suddenly I have to realize that my best friends are somewhere between 20 and 700 miles away.

One of my friends from St. Luke's has talked to me about how he spent his childhood moving around every 3 or 4 years, and how his latest move to a college far away from the Chicago area has him uncertain about what currently constitutes "home" to him. I guess I've been luckier in that my family has been in the Chicago area for practically my whole life, and yet I'm the one who has moved around. However, at the same time, while I've had the benefits of staying relatively in the same spot my whole life, I haven't been able to explore or visit what constitutes "home" to other people. I have stated this many times in the past, but I am certain that to be able to find a place to call home and not merely a shell of a childhood I would need to find another stead in which to settle. Of course, said stead would have to include a job, an abode of some sort, and a community with whom I could spend my time.

Minnesota would be such a place. After all, aside from being separated from all the childhood memories that I know will never return (maybe in the afterlife), in an odd way it has felt like home. Maybe it's the fact that half of my ancestors have lived in the Upper Midwest, or maybe it's the fact that I have several people living up here (family friends, home friends who go to Minnesota colleges, or St. Olaf friends). But then again, who knows where I could end up. The trip to Arkansas was the highest point of my college career thus far. I could wander into Marvell, Arkansas tomorrow, identify myself as a member of FCA, and theoretically I could run and be elected mayor of the town, just like that. After all, it's not every day I get to plant a tree in the city square and take home a tattered town flag. The point is not to say I could be mayor of Marvell, but I could suddenly decide to live there of all places, and frankly it would be an unexpected turn of events.

So for the short term, the question would be, what do I do where? I will be here in Northfield for the next four months, but once again the summer is cloudy for me. Will I go home or stay up at school earning money by painting dorm halls? Who will I room with next year, and where? What will I do for spring break? Easter Break? Fall Break? I've been at a crossroads for most of the last 3 years. I took a risk in cutting ties with a church I had grown to love, going to an out-of-state school, and now registering in a program that will help me properly use my vision, especially crucial for finishing my studies and getting on a career track.

I recall the year 2008 as way in the future, too far for me to comprehend it. It's not that far anymore. And I hope I'm at least somewhere when it arrives.

Musical Review on Low Battery Power

I've been tired all day, but for some reason I was wide awake, rapt with attention during tonight's concert. There was no doubt, either, as the St. Olaf Band performed several songs I had never heard, demonstrated excellent balance of tone, precision, and expression. It was quite amazing what kind of songs could be borne from a group of instruments not bearing strings of any kind. Usually when I think of symphonies, the string section comes to mind first, followed by the brass, then the woodwinds, then percussion and anything else that a particular composer may call for. With the absence of such strings, there had to be a section from which a lyrical calm could emerge, a continuous flow of sound that would reach my ears just as quickly at any dynamic. The clarinets provided it. So did the saxophones, french horns, and even the harp. And my friend Jostein Reiners, during his solo saxophone piece, reminded me of the days when I would hear my dad play all the time. It's not meant to make a comparison of any sort, but to bring back memories of what I believed was good music or tone, and it is just that which exemplifies the musical power of the St. Olaf Band.

I have 8:00 A.M classes every day, plus the Music History class from purgatory where I have to wait a million years before parole. I wouldn't say it's the Music History class from hell, as I've only had one class, but I've heard scary reviews from fellow students about it, and I'm just beginning to see how good and bad it can be.