Dual Citizenship

It is 1:35 PM in College Station,

As some of you may remember, my last post was a cliffhanger. Unfortunately, I waited too long and you all probably just fell off the cliff about 3 weeks ago. But fear not, I have returned at a moment of extreme boredom and today I will expand on my last post. Today, I will reveal to you many untold secrets of Meatland, the provice of Rec known to many of you as the "Weight Room".

For the last 3 years I have been visiting Meatland almost every day. Two years ago I earned dual citizenship there, and I consider it my home away from home. So what is this mysterious land? Meatland is a tumultuous province blessed with seeds of friendship and harmony, but also infected with strife and unrest. It is one of the few provinces in the Rec where you can find almost any sort of person you want: The Self-Conscious Freshman, The Stinky Bonfire Guy, The Only Does Bench Guy, The Flat-Bill Hurley Baseball Cap Guy, The I Think I have Cellulite Sorority Girl, The OMFG It Is Almost Spring Break Girl, and the list goes on. I have gotten a chance to get to know some of these different types of people and I will tell you today about a few of my friends--and enemies that tread the ground with me in the province of meatland.

First, I will tell you of my friend Payne. Payne is about 6'4'' and weighs about 240 lbs. His name doesn't do him justice. He is a part of the faction known as TGWAWOETJATPSTD, or Those Guys Who Actually Work Out Enough To Justify All The Protein Shakes They Drink. Payne has a large and loyal counterpart named Jason. Though Jason descends from a long line of Africans, and Payne from stout Irishmen, these two have formed a bond that shatters racism and is a spearhead for equality in Meatland. They have started a group called BEEF, which stands for Being Equal, Especially on Fridays. These two are royalty in Meatland and in the Kingdom of the Rec.

Next I will tell you of a disdainful character whose name must not be spoken. Well just call him The Turd. The Turd ventures into Meatland about 3 times a week. He almost always evades the Towel Gestapo and manages to enter the free weight area unnoticed. Once there he commits atrocious acts such as sweating profusely on benches and not wiping them off, dropping weights from above the specified height of 4.5", and grunting during adductions in his exercises. He is scrawny and is despised by almost all, save for the I Only Work Out Because I Love Northgate So Much Girls. Durign my multiple encounters with him, I and my allies have had to raise the Meat Alarm to Defcon 4. This is a serious matter whereby all free passage to the Free Weight area is halted and we must turn our efforts to defending Meatland. We do so by nonchalantly acting like we are watching the System Of a Down Music Video on the flat screen above us, but really spying on the Turd's actions to make sure he is not readying an attack. We employ other tactics such as reracking weights, which serves two purposes: Giving a good angle to spy from, and making the weight room more pleasant and organized, which is exactly the thing the Turd hopes to ruin every time he enters. The Turd is a menace to Meatland, a veritable Sadaam who seeks to destroy the hopes and dreams of all who enter Meatland.

Well that is enough for today. During my next post I am going to tell the epic saga of when Meatland was endangered by the Turd and Payne and Jason and I had to call in help from all over the rec to defend the Holy Land. Until then, I'll leave you with this

1. stay hydrated

2. always stretch before working out

3. beware of THE TURD!!!

Psyche*

That is all...

-Max

*The story of a woman so beautiful that Love itself fell in love with her.

The Battle of Frivolity

To late-night bright-light big city slickers,
or those in countries that call their pants “knickers”,
To west coast philanthropists who can’t see their children,
your life will amend as a Texas civilian,

Your absence is felt in varying degrees which lie somewhere between fondly anticipating your return and ritually lighting incense and praying in the North Spire of Solitude. I was once as you are now. And while I miss riding my bike through the German countryside, frolicking in Bonn on a busy Saturday, or working at the church with Wolfgang, it is delightful to be back in Texas. Come home soon!

This being my last Summer with limited responsibility and excess leisure time, I have been inclined to revel in it. FIFA, sunbathing, computer games, sleeping in, and wasting time do not seem so frivolous in light of the Summer. Yet today, as I was booting up Civilization IV wondering how I would lead the Americans and George Washington to use their alliances and claim victory over the Sumerians, I simply couldn't concentrate. There is more on my mind.

Between Wolfgang's angst over the European Union, Regina's heart for the Germans' lost sense of God, Friedhelm's explanation for why Germans pay triple our energy bills, and young Yani's apathy for succeeding in his corrupt school system, I realized many explicit reasons why my life is better as an American. But more than this, I have been reminded of the nature of men and our potential to cause strife.

There is something wrong with the world today, and while the simple answer is a general falling out with God, I want to know the complicated answers as well. I am in the process of studying philosophy, American government, Western culture history, global warming and energy, and a slew of other related topics. I suppose I am coming of age where Frivolity has lost its battle with my conviction that our generation has a mountain to move, and I want to be of assistance.

I have been staying rooted in Psalms, Proverbs, and reflecting on Jesus' love to keep my knowledge true. But if you happen by the Prestige at 8:30am and I'm reading about the history of Western Philosophy, don't be alarmed - My brain is just running faster these days.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works..."

Sorry for the vague and scattered post. It mimics my thoughts.

Thomas

Land of the Interns

My first post comes from being chastised by one friend, an avid writer. But I'm not complaining because he's right, this is long overdue. So now I begin my many-fold saga.

12:15 P.M. - The PCU in Texas Children's Hospital: Houston, Texas

I flew down yesterday to visit my brother and family here in H-town. The humidity was something that I've been trying to forget while in New York, but unfortunately it was all too familiar. Connor "made history" again today as he walked all the way to the information kiosk for physical therapy. This was beyond entertaining as the scene was narrated as follows: a Thanksgiving-like procession of 6 paraded down the hallway with a wagon full of tubes and pumps. Connor deemed himself Al Roker, the physical therapists the Snoopy and Fisher-Price floats, my mom the lip-syncing celebrity and my dad the avid parade-watcher shivering inside a a holiday sweater. Mind you, Connor's actually not on drugs.

New York City: Land of the Interns

Beyond the expected celebrity sightings, the fabulous fashion, and the fast-paced days (and nights) there is a world unknown to most. This is the world as seen through the eyes of the Shoebox residents: Abbey, Paige, Courtney, and LDiva. If you haven't heard, we all sleep in a single room, two on an air-mattress, two on a full-size bed, rotating each night to ensure that each has an equal amount of back issues. We have a "full-sized" kitchen, a few overflowing closets, and a room with a couch. Though very small, I truly love it. It's our home - complete with 4 Ugly Dolls residing in the fireplace and all.

A few things I've been learning...

1. The human condition plagues the rich and the poor alike. There is no distinction.
Both the homeless and famous long to be looked in the eye for who they are. Neither of them usually are.

2. Trust God. He's got it.
The Lord has taught me to trust him with Connor and then with my life. A lesson hard to put into words. He really does have it under control.

3. We have the best group of friends in the entire world. Really. There's nothing like it.
First of all, being in New York with a cluster of us is hysterical. Secondly, I've never been loved so well.


A few more things:

1. LD's nickname, LDiva, couldn't be better. (Diva, we all can be, we admit this publicly).
2. Paige tipped a bartender in pesos Matt Pierson gave her. She didn't know. She got in trouble.
3. Matt and I end up protecting each other from interests of the same sex.

Now for some birthday commentary - It was July 6th. 21 - what up now?!

The past weekend was marked by two distinct emotions: shock and elation.
Shock: after waiting in line for Shakespeare in the Park from 5:15 am to 1 pm, Matt Pyeatt waltzed up the line shocking me with his birthday visit. For about the next 5 hours i couldn't believe that he was actually there. Once I figured it out, elation ensued. We had the best time celebrating in NYC. We explored Colombia, sat in Cathedrals, found ourselves in Harlem, and spent my 21st in a Planetarium watching "Journey to the Stars" (narrated by Whoopi Goldberg). Only Matt and Abbey.

After a 1/2 pint of Stella (I'm still a lightweight) Matt made his journey to JFK, got yelled at by a gatekeeper and helped by a stranger. I was greeted with Crumbs cupcakes, roommates, and bestie Jessie before we went to Carrera for Tapas. This being everyone else's first tapas experience i was happy to explain why they should avoid Jamon Serrado and go for the tortilla and pan con tomate. Barcelonian Stella Damm joined us for the rest of the meal as did terribly-wonderful European table service - None. We then proceeded to Hotel Jane for the bar. Friends, this is the most wonderful place - hip, old, eclectic, perfect. The kind of place that has corners for the likes of RPatt or MK&A. Though I ordered as a tribute to the Moulin Rouge, Lady Marmalade was not worth sipping- rubbing alcohol is found cheaper at Duane Reade.

A perfect 21st. Loving friends - wonderful boyfriend - and official admittance to pubs. Dark wood, I beg you, surround me soon! Oh, and Diva had to beg them to card me.

Now, the pulmonary friends summon me to my brother's report. NYC, I miss you. See you on Friday.

Abbey

Daily Struggles

13:36 (that's 1:36pm for all you americans)
CDP Advertising Agency, London

I am currently sitting at the reception desk of the agency where I have been interning. They ask me to cover the desk about twice every week for an hour...a task I have come to dread. I sit in anticipation of the phone ringing for an entire our, praying that it doesn't. Because if it did ring I would have to figure out which flashing buttons to press while screening calls and trying to understand the person on the other line (even though they are speaking english, most of the time i struggle to make out what they are saying becuase of the heavy accent and the unknown need to practically whisper into the phone) ...eek!

I am glad you all can bear this burden with me, thanks for your love and support.

It is cold and rainy here, I miss you all!

Love,

Katie

The Epistle of Brother Alexander

It’s Matins in The North Spire of Solitude.

Brethren and Sistren,

Good Tidings! In my most recent epistle, I imparted to you my desire to replace you all with new, anthropomorphic animal-friends, but in recent weeks I have repented. Rather than replace you, I have chosen to retain you, in fact, but with a new stipulation: I shall no longer be able to actually see you, physically.

Because I have taken the holy orders.

Driven by my inability to procure an internship, I have found refuge in The Moste Secluded and Holy Monastery of Our Lady of Glade Street, and am currently residing there as a monk. I was tonsured only yesterday, and, already, I am becoming acclimated to a lifestyle of asceticism. But despite what you may have gleaned from Monty Python films, the monastery is not without its pleasures, and I have chosen to focus mine energies on its positive aspects: the rather forgiving brown habit, the simple, physical labor, the happy lack of stress, and the singing to wayward Austrian children are only a few of its moste blessed boons. And just last week, sister Mary-Silas permitted me to try on her wimple! If these are not enough to make a postulant out of you, consider my daily routines:

I arise at the moste early hour of 9:00 A.M. and immediately concoct a double espresso (you will remember, of course, the monks of Capuchin, for whom that heartbeat in a mug, the cappuccino, is named)*. While enjoying our avian choristers, who are ever chirping sacred melodies from the clerestory, I practice my daily devotions.

From the hours of ten thirty to one in the afternoon, I scribble away in the North Spire of Solitude, praying fervently to the patron saint of writer’s block. I drink often and deeply from the consecrated coffee pot, and mortify mine stubborn mind my standing on my head.

This is usually followed by lunch in the refectory, where, since I live in a monastery, no television is watched. I have certainly not, in the span of one month, watched two seasons of a television show concerned with the miraculous crime-solving abilities of a forensic anthropologist named for a Cardinal Virtue. This would be sinful, and would result in my expulsion from the order.

In the afternoon, mine earthly body is committed to chores (picking apples in the orchard, laundering our habits, giving last rites to the grass before cutting it) and errands. When my time is unencumbered, I am often reading books such as the moste holy novel “How To Buy a Love of Reading” by Saint Tanya Egan Gibson or the equally holy “The Patron Saint of Liars” by Saint Ann Patchett**. In the coming days I will fortify myself in order to reade Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, which, of course, is a moste evil book. I am only reading it in order to formulate strong arguments as to why it should be burned, not for any feelings of intense pleasure or happiness.

In the evenings, I am often meeting with and witnessing to my friends who inhabit the secular sphere. Occasionally, we attend movies together, so that I might point out the evils in said films. After viewing these movies, I retreat to the monastery for a time of intense meditation and prayer, wherein I implore Our Lord to cause accidents on the set of the upcoming Judd Apatow endeavor. Such evils must be stopped.***

All in all, monastic living has been agreeable to me. I send my love to mine sisters at The Moste Crowded New York Nunnery of the Holy Trifecta, and to mine lone brother at the Praise Be To Our Lord’s Moste Wondrous Mercies Monestary in Koreatown. I am sorry I am unable to join you in person, but, until I see you again, think of me in the cloister, and when you pass the fancy shops on Fifth Avenue.

Yours Moste Humbly,

Brother Alexander.

A Moste Necessary Addendum:

It is time we all began a second round of posting on this, our blog with the interrogative title. I do not wish to see you, brethren and sistren, two months from this date, and be forced to ask “What did you do this summer?” Better, I would rather simply say, “Did you bring me any of those delightful pastries you mentioned so often?” Blessings upon you, my children.

A Moste Helpful Set of Footnotes

* This is not a fabrication, but the light of truth!

** These novels are not holy in the least, nor were they written by saints, but they were both extremely enjoyable.

***I am moste serious in this point.