I actually have a dance in mind that will have a very similar feel to this. I think a parody done by MTV, but I think it’s still valuable. Isn’t this how many Chrisitians are perceived, and with justification I think. I want to make an evening long pece that would start out criticising this happy-go-lucky-Gap-commercial Christianity and then go deep into the beauty Christianity is built on.
Check out the site. Those of you who know Spanish could tell me more.
Here’s a version of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” that I did in church around Christmas last year and decided to record it before I forgot it. I love hearing great hymns to a new tune because then I can hear the words new. Let me know what you think.
I have to apologize for my entries last night. I usually don’t write when I feel like that, so I thought I would. It’s pretty uninteresting and mostly whining and complaining. It’s still me though. I am starting to move into another phase of writing because I am feeling I am ready to move from where I’ve been. No need to worry because I’m not going to be writing in those funks for my change. Actually, it’s probably not going to be very noticable. It’s just something I need to do every so often to keep myself from getting bored and sick of what I produce. There’s mostly a difference in the way I approach my writing, my frame of mind. Slightly different ways of phrasing things, a slightly different use of puntuation, a slightly different voice. Still my voice, but just a part I might have not used for a while or has been subdued. So therefore, I thought I’d try experimenting last night.
Mr.O, go to bed you dimwit.
Yep
I’ve got this dull annoying headache, probably from not eating soon enough or eating crap, that puts me into this being sick of my life and I can’t do anything about it place. It’s always best if I sleep when it comes on, but when I can’t sleep, because I have a rehearsal or something, it sucks. Like suction cups. I don’t really like anything and everything that comes through my senses is tepid oatmeal. I try searching the refridgerator to eat it away, but again, everything’s oatmeal. It’s times like these that I am tempted to find some kind of thrill distraction to get myself out of this funk. Tonight I won’t, though. Sleep, Eddie, sleep.
I still have to take a shower and I am stalling because I feel like I’d like to not move and be brain dead. Stupid body too tight from not stretching enough lately. Stupid social skills that disappear when it’d be nicest to have them. Stupid apartment that smells when I have the windows closed but it’s not my fault and I can’t find where it’s coming from and I think it’s from my downstairs neighbor so I open the windows as soon as the weather permits and I am cold right now. Stupid eyes that ache. And Stupid left eye that gets smaller when I get tired. Stupid car cell phone charger that I bought at a mall kiosk. Stupid knee that still hurts from when I slammed it into a railing a week and a half ago. Stupid, stupid, stupid shower. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t even say it….
I just did a Googlesearch for “Ode to Nutella” to see if possibly my poem would come up, and this guy’s comes up. And he wrote it over two years before me! What a crock of… It’s too calculated to be a true ode! It should come from the gut! And what’s all this white, black, green junk? It’s all about the brown! The brown!
Please!
There are some days where I get home and I look at my cat and have to say, “yeayuh!” It is because even if half of the day was crappy, later the pooper-scooper man comes and cleans it all up for you. It’s like waking up early Christmas morning and finding under the Christmas tree some new downhill skis that fit you perfectly and your step-father coming downstairs to tell you that “they’re for your mother” and “go back to bed,” and then coming back to the tree later that morning to unwrap the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Part Wagon!
That you knew cost more than thirty dollars! AND the Casey Jones action figure! Yeahyuh. The crappy part, the throw-up in your throat, is covered and replaced with butter. And not the waxpaper-covered wands you get at Cub, but the real deal. That you could eat with a spoon. That’s what it’s like.
That, and Nutella!
Ode to Nutella -or- If I Could Brush My Teeth with Nutella
O Nutella, lovely, lovely,
Licky, licky with my tongue.
O Nutella, not rubeola,
Choco-hazelnutty bung!
Give it to me, give it to me,
Mm-mm-mm-mm,
Chicka-berka, Chicka-berka,
Lips coated with thick, brown paste!
Check this out. The end is rough, but his transitions and execution are well done.
I have to take the back routes to my home now because about a month ago I hit a deer. The encounter took out my left front headlight, my left rearview mirror, and a medium-sized doe. So, now I’m targeted by the Inver Grove Heights police whenever I drive down my usual route on Concord Blvd. I’ve been stopped twice now for equiptment violation. I’ve wanted to go to the junk yard and find parts, but it’s been rainy lately so I’ve been forced to avoid the authority rather than drive by, five miles over the limit, with confidence. I should be thankful that the neighborhood police have little better to do, but I am not presently finacially willing to pay for their excitement and their pastries.
