ride of my life

So it's been an interesting couple of weeks. Since I last blogged I've had my roommate come back from England, crashed my bike and mostly healed from it, watched the Kentucky Derby, played in an end of the year recital, finished two term papers, been rejected from two possible jobs, turned in two other job applications, recieved an award on stage, and got a ride on a motorcycle for the first time in my life.

That last one might be a little surprising, since I crashed my own little bike not quite two weeks ago and still have the marks and a couple of sore spots. But I've always wanted to ride on a motorcycle. Not drive on, mind you, just ride one with an experienced driver at the controls. So when Jim was giving rides to whoever wanted, I jumped at the chance. Yes, mother, I wore a helmet--one of those fully enclosed ones with a visor that makes it look like you could be on your way to Mars. And it was so much fun! A little unnerving at first, but then I got used to the idea of leaning into the curves even though my brain was screaming at me to lean the other way lest the machine tip over (even though it's the other way around). When we rode past Canaries stadium there were fireworks going off. I guess it was their first game of the season or something special like that. I counted seven other motorcycles on the road that night, and that was only on the route we took. Now I know why they're always so exited to get they're bikes out when the weather gets warmer--the speed is intoxicating. I still don't think I want to ever drive a bike myself, but I definitely want to ride one again. Jim took his home this weekend, so I guess I won't get another ride for a long time. It's funny, I never would have pegged him as a motorcycle guy, he's just so quiet. But then, quiet people tend to be full of surprises. I know there will be plenty of people surprised I even went on this ride.

I wonder what I'll learn about my friends and classmates two weeks from now in the Boundary Waters? I've never been there or on any real wilderness experience before, and I'm absolutely stoked to do it. I've been looking over the list of supplies, and it looks like I need to pick up a few things before we head out, which means I really ought to be getting them this weekend. For the longest time it's felt like the trip far off and rather nebulous, but now it's in just a matter of days. Weird. I hope I'm ready for it by the time we leave.

Anyway, finals are next week. At the moment I'm finding it hard to concentrate on preparing for my essay tests. I'm far too distracted by the fact that I still don't have a summer job lined up, hence the blogging rather than studying. I suppose though, that I ought to wrap this up and work on my portfolio or something and prove that I deserve the English award I got the other night. Or I could practice the music I'll be playing at my brother's wedding. I think that's a good compromise.

-Kim

Quick and Dirty Career Test

Okay, so I found this silly test online. I thought it would be funny to compare their answers with what I already think about myself and careers I would enjoy, so I took it. Oddly enough, my top choices are indeed on their list. Of course, so are a lot of other things that I would never ever want to do. But then, these things have to be terribly general, otherwise we'd realize they're just as fake as fortune cookies. Still, with a name like "Quick and Dirty Career Test", how could I not try it in the name of research for Kirby's class? And when they say quick, they mean it. It took me maybe ten seconds to answer their four questions. Anyway, here are my resultsl, which look a little different from the strengths finder.


***Your Career Personality: Idealistic, Service-Oriented, and Future-Oriented***


Your Ideal Careers:

Alternative health practitioner
Architect
Environmental lawyer
Librarian
Magazine editor
Museum curator
Novelist
Nutritionist
Photo journalist
Playwright


The Quick and Dirty Career Test
http://www.blogthings.com/quickanddirtycareertest/


Now if only this list came complete with summer job listings in the Sioux Falls area, I would be all set to go...

-Kim

Well, one thing is certain--I will not be working at the Brookings public library this summer. What else I could do is still very much up in the air. Prayers and suggestions would be very much appreciated at this point.

jambalaya

or, an experiment in excessively long paragraphs

I'll begin today with a lament: I can't seem to do anything without hurting myself. This past week was full of fun activities, and I managed to be a part of most of them, though that did mean sacrificing time I could have spent working ahead on my semester projects. They are now looming over me larger than before, but I'll choose to ignore them for the rest of this post. The week's activities culminated with the Salvador concert on Friday night and the Spring Formal on Saturday. We actually set up for the concert on Thursday, and that's when the first injury occurred. I had somehow become the one in charge of setting up the stage--apparently not everyone had the same comprehension of the physics involved in flipping pannels, because they were doing it the hard way before I stepped in. Anyway, as we were flipping the pannels and lining them up, I managed to get my finger pinched between a panel and a leg that had come lose from it (this happened all the time. I don't think we flipped a single panel that didn't lose at least one leg.). There was no blood, no breakage of bones, just a lovely purple bruise below the first knuckle of my middle finger. I'm just glad it was my right hand, since the left is more important for playing violin in my recital coming up. Then on Saturday, a few of us decided to take a walk by the river to enjoy the warm weather. But we were out for an hour and a half and didn't think of sunscreen, so I had lovely burnt shoulders that evening for the formal. I tell you, red skin and a vividly green dress are a very interesting combination.

Well, now that I've gotten that story out of my system, I can move on to other things. In work class tonight (which I left in the middle of to hear Dr. Bender give a lecture for the science and theology forum) we talked about our portfolios. The discussion reminded me that I have pieces I've written and never posted. since this blog is now my electronic portfolio, I give you some of my thoughts from early in the semester on work poetry/songs:


Paperback Writer – The Beatles

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

Paperback writer

It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

Paperback writer

Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)



Livin’ on a Prayer – Bon Jovie

Once upon a time
Not so long ago

Tommy used to work on the docks
Union's been on strike
He's down on his luck...it's tough, so tough
Gina works the diner all day
Working for her man, she brings home her pay
For love - for love

She says we've got to hold on to what we've got
'Cause it doesn't make a difference
If we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot
For love - we'll give it a shot

[Chorus:]
Whooah, we're half way there
Livin' on a prayer
Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear
Livin' on a prayer

Tommy's got his six string in hock
Now he's holding in what he used
To make it talk - so tough, it's tough
Gina dreams of running away
When she cries in the night
Tommy whispers baby it's okay, someday

We've got to hold on to what we've got
'Cause it doesn't make a difference
If we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot
For love - we'll give it a shot

[Chorus]

We've got to hold on ready or not
You live for the fight when it's all that you've got

[Chorus]



Why do the Beatles and Bon Jovie occur to me when I think about work? In their music, I get a glimpse of my future. At least, a glimpse of what it could be.
The Beatles song is all about the hardest part of writing—getting published. Once I finish my edits, that’s where I’ll be. I’ll be sending out my manuscript to agents, and any smaller publishing house that still accepts unsolicited material. It’s the scariest part of it all, because I know I’ll be rejected many times before anyone decides to pick it up. That might be part of why I find it so hard to finish right now. Writing and editing I can handle, but I’m not sure yet how to face the publishers. So I listen to the Beatles and remember that this is what I want to do, no matter how hard it might get. Every other writer is or has been in the same position I am now. And we all have to face the jury eventually. I suppose it’s best that I do it soon, while I still have knowledgeable people around to help me.
Bon Jovie’s song speaks to me because the life of a full-time writer is terribly unpredictable. I don’t have the guts to live like that, but sometimes I wish I did. To live form one day to the next, relying on only my art to support me would be an awesome adventure. But I’m to used to comfort. I don’t think I could handle not knowing when my next paycheck would be coming in. So I would need to have a real job on the side to pay the bills. The only problem with that is that the job would become the main part of my life, and the writing would be pushed to the side. The prayer I live on might become that I find time to write at all.
_______________

On that note, I'd like to mention that I had a wonderful meeting with my writers' group yesterday. Caleb and Dale have both finished reading my book, and we spent two hours talking through the second half of it. I love to have actual inteligent, constructive criticism. I know it's not done yet, I know I'm just beginning this whole writing game and don't have all the answers, and they can help me see what my problems are. It seems a little daunting when I consider the ammount of rewriting it will take to clean up my book, yet I can't wait to do it. I think it's because for all the suggestions the make, they tell me how good the whole thing is. Dale got so caught up in the story, he forgot for a while that he was supposed to be critiquing it. Caleb pretends to be mad that there isn't more for him to comment on and suggest revisions to. They said I'm actually ahead of them in that I have an engaging narrative with a feeling of history and depth, warmth even. I believe the word Dale used to descibe his mood while reading was "enchantment." I'm not trying to be a show off by writing this here for people to read. On the contrary, I'm humbled that they would say such things. It makes no sense to me that my first try at a real book should come out so well. Of course, it has been six years in the making, and I'm sure that has something to do with it. For nearly all of high school and college I've dreamed this story and breathed this world. My characters are as real to me as distant relatives I hear talked about but never actually meet. Actually, they may be more real, since I do interact with them on a nearly daily basis. At any rate, I think the point I meant to get to was how grateful I am for this amazing gift I have been given. And I don't just mean gift as in talent, I mean gift as in the story itself. I know it didn't come from me. So often during January I was pleasantly surprised (that doesn't sound nearly as strong as the emotion felt...) at what appeared on the paper as I wrote scenes. An entire community of side character turned up, that I hadn't given a thought to, previously. Now I couldn't imagine the story without them. I think that's how it is with life sometimes. I mean, we think we know where we're going: college, maybe grad school, and then a specific sort of job in a specific sort of city. And even if we go the places we thought we would, and pursue the things we thought we would pursue, we have no idea what will happen to us in the midst of it. There are other characters in the story of our lives, and they can affect our story in profound ways. Even if the bum on the street or the girl at the grocery check-out affects mood rather than actual plot, they still have an affect. No person's story is completely isolated, and we have no way of knowing what stories we will interact with from day to day. After all, we aren't writing our own story--God is. Dan Allander (whose book I read recently and passed it on to Kevin) would propose that we are invited to write our story along with God, to co-author it, if you will. It's a lovely idea, but it does have it's limitations. After all, we still don't know what's coming around the next corner, or whether the next chapter will be tragedy or comedy. We don't get to look at God's outline just because we decide to work with him. I think what Allander is getting at is that we need to be more aware of our stories than we tend to be. Life is not a series of random events. Rather, each event builds on the ones before, influencing choices we will make in future situations. When we decide to co-author our life's story with God, we choose to be deliberate about our actions, realizing that they have consequences that we might never see. We live out our stories in light of the piece of the outline we have been told--the end. We know that our story will eventually end (or not end, but any other word would be too confusing) with death, followed by the resurrection at the last day and the enjoyment of God forever in the new heavens and new earth. Put more simply, we live out our stories with hope. We become deliberate about our interactions with other people, endeavoring to make a personal connection and share that hope with everyone we encounter. We just never know for sure who those people will be that we get to connect with until the storyline brings us face to face. Sometimes I wonder how I've affected the minor characters in my life. I'm not good at making real connections with people, and I've lost touch with the majority of people I knew in high school. (No, facebook doesn't count, because I don't really talk to people there) I'm trying to be better about that, but that's one area where God and I are still revising my life.

At any rate, now that I've completely forgotten what I started out saying, I think it's a good time to call it a night. Tomorrow I'm sure I'll look at these ramblings and laugh at how quickly I move between topics. If nothing else, this post is an exercise in cooking, Peter Elbow style. I think my X became Y became 42. But I think that works.

-Kim

hope deferred

Today I feel very blah. It's funny: I spent all Easter break surround by sick people and managed to stay healthy, but less then a week surrounded by mostly healthy people and I get sick. Not terribly sick, mind you, but sick enough that I slept half the afternoon away and can't breathe through my nose.

But let's not talk about that, since it will only make me feel worse.

I had such good intentions for this post. Actually, I meant to write one during break, or possibly right after, but that never happened. I wanted to tell you the story of our search for shoes to go with the dress we bought me to wear when I play violin in my brother's wedding this summer. (Oh my, that sentence was awkward...) I wanted to tell the story simply so that I could share the revelation I had about my feet. Apparently my toes are long and gangly and do not look attractive in a thong sandal. At least that's what my dad said. This story may seem pointless and boring to you, but I thought the phrase "long, gangly toes" was too good to be allowed to go to waste.

I wanted to tell you about our Easter dinner, which we had on Saturday, sandwiched between sessions of shoe shopping. My family (and Liberty) spent four hours at the Coyote Canyon buffet, eating second, third, and fifth helpings and solving all the world's problems. Well, the paratransit and pool issues here in Sioux Falls anyway. If even half of our ideas ever became more than just words, this world would be a much better place.

I wanted to tell you about my job interview on Monday. I talked with two of the Librarians in Brookings about working for the summer in the children's section, helping with all the special programs. I think the interview went very well--and June already likes me anyway--but now it's a waiting game. They still have to talk to the other applicants before I'll get an answer. My biggest problem is that I have an awkward schedule at the start of summer when they would need to train me. But I don't think I'll need much training, since I've worked with them before. Besides, my wildreness trip is already paid for, and the wedding date is firmly set, so whatever job I get must work around that. All the same, I hope and pray that this one works out. It's the sort of work I would actually enjoy doing.

I wanted to tell you how much snow we got, and how this monring looked like a winter wonderland in April, and this evening half of it was gone.

I wanted to tell you how excited I was to go see Tarah's senior project, "Waiting for Godot," tonight, even though I feel a bit sick. It's a doozy of a play, but I think the girls did a good job of it. From what I understand, the audience is supposed to come away confused. I know there are deeper truths there, but they haven't settled yet in my mind.

I wanted to tell you all these things, and then I didn't. My brain is sick and digesting philosophy and cannot do justice to any of them. So I'll sit on my futon and close my eyes, and maybe when Godot comes, I can tell you all I meant to tell you.

-Kim