Reading

Editor's note: the opening paragraph has little to do with the rest of the post.

There are many different types of reading.  I don't read many books.  I'm just not very good at it.  I tend to gravitate toward interpersonal interactions.  That's how i was made.  Get me to orate Shakespeare and i'll do more shaking than spearing (just ask anyone in Mrs. Dav's SPARK classes in high school...not a pretty picture).  I scored a 12 on the Reading Comprehension component on my ACT, which would translate to something like a 550 on the SAT.  (pause for lols). I mean, seriously, how could i enjoy something so much but be so terrible at it?  That's for me to deal with, sorry.  Good thing that the dignityof a human being inherent and not relative to his performance in an academic evaluation.

But like i've always said (mostly to help myself cope at not being good at books) reading consists of more than words on a page.

Y'all know Alison Zeik, right?  Well, if you don't, she's an outstanding young lady with an inquisitive mind who, on occasion, asks thoughtful questions and has a knack for saying the poignant.  The other day we were at a social gathering and talking about the future (the future, Conan? ...in the yeeaaaarrrr two thousaanndd...in the yeeearr two thou-saaaaaand) and how it (the future, not the year 2000) is yet to be determined.  So i says, "it's like what Natasha says, 'today is where your book begins. the rest is still unwritten.'"

(quick confession: i occasionally listen to girly pop music. In this case, specifically to "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. I like to think it's my way of valiantly supporting the other sex...i like to think that because it's more embarassing than saying that i like it...some songs are so flippin' catchy!)

Anyway, i said what i said, and Ali playfully replied, "maybe it is written but we're just not reading it." >*explosion*<

hey, now. there's an idea.

Yeah.  Come to think of it, you're absolutely right, Ms. Zeik.  Maybe what we're supposed to do is already written.    Maybe there's an author out there that has composed for us a beautiful story and we're just not reading it.  And not only are so many of us not reading it, but we refuse to open the book! Maybe we don't have time to read.  Maybe we're too busy reading another book.  Maybe we're afraid we won't like it.  Maybe we write it off because we don't read well.  Maybe we're jealous of someone else's book.  Maybe we dismiss it because we think reading is a crutch for people who don't have original thought.  Maybe we give up altogether.  Maybe...we're just wrong and we make excuses because reading is tough and we don't want to deal with the struggle.

In case you didn't get the metaphor:
- by "reading" i mean praying
- by "what is written" i mean God's will in our lives
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(break in the metaphor) I read a lot when i was a child. My parents taught me how.  They helped me sound out big words. They were patient with me, helped me understand the plot and answered all my questions even if the answers weren't what i wanted to hear (goodness were there questions. my family affectionately called me the "what if..." kid).

(reinstatement of the metaphor) If you're having trouble reading, read your favorite children's stories. Read your little heart full. Read with someone who knows how to read.  Read every day.

Read what is written.

Peace,
Daytona

Check Yoself

hello boys and girls (and all...you...others? out there)

straying a bit from the immediate theme of the bloggity blog blog, i have a story to tell.
a curious thing happened at l'hotel this past weekend. maybe i was bothered, sour and surly at the fact that i inconveniently had to work Friday, Saturday and Sunday afternoon (thus missing a grand portion of Festival), or maybe the cause was my insistence on promoting personal responsibility. Either way. here's a story for y'ens.

i have pet peeves. and i've been known to be a jerk sometimes. to be fair, yeah. i can be a jerk, but usually it is because i'm calling someone out. some of y'all might call it 'being real'. i call it...taking preventative measures.

(sidebar: uh oh.  i found out how to embed photos...this is bad news bears.)

back up

story time:

i'm behind the desk at work, doing what i do, when a visibly agitated lady storms up to the desk.


Lady: excuse me. there are about seven 6-year-olds in your pool and their parents are just sitting outside while the kids are just going nuts! They are jumping in the pool! They're splashing water all over the ground! It is ridiculous!

Me:  yes ma'am. i can see how this can be upsetting. have you spoken with the parents outside?

Lady in a crescendo-ed anger:  Like hell, i will! It isn't my job to tell these people that!

Me calmly:  Well, ma'am...it seems that you're having an issue with the parents and their children, not with me. I'll gladly speak with them, but for future reference i encourage you to speak with the source of the problem rather than avoiding it.

...to which she storms away.

i'm pretty sure i'll be getting written up for that. que sera sera.  but honestly, i've been at the hotel for nearly 2 years now and most issues i tend to diffuse are the result of a passive-type "it's my problem but i don't want to look it in the face and want someone else to fix it" attitude.
i'm sorry. i'm not okay with that.

 (getting all psychy here). we'll call her Sally

Sally's attitude encourages what we in the biz (i'm not technically in the biz) call learned helplessness. it reduces Sally's need for (and ability to activate) critical thinking skills.  with no problem solving exercise, Sally's brain goes into panic mode at the first sign of disorder.  when she's alone and conditioned to let someone else take care of her problems, Sally's brain sends signals to her heart, shuts down the already under-utilized reasoning functions and increases stress levels, potentially leading to bouts of hypertension.

Not only that, but Sally becomes a dangerously susceptible candidate for dependency, seeking everything she lacks in others.  Relinquishing her understanding of personal responsibility (owning this shit), her agitation and aggression to others could possibly increase based on their inability to fill her dependence.

it kinda reminds me of one of those directv commercials.

Just a thought.

Every effect has a cause...

Peace,
Daytona

I still think of him, too

Today was a particularly beautiful day. I'm sorry if we didn't share the same sentiments. Now, if you'll excuse me, i have a blog to compose. Allow me to be me.

My grandmother likes to talk. A lot. So spending four hours in a car with her can be trying. She doesn't appreciate silence like i do. Her talking is understandable, though. She lives by herself and we don't see each other that often. Still, as much as i love her (and i do, dearly), there's only so much i can hear about (so-and-so's uncle's nephew who worked on the farm until he went to work at the mill...). Honestly, it can be a bit drab. But kids, here is an example of when patience pays off.

btw, we rode together in order to witness the baptism of my baby nephew, the now newly sanctified Duane Anthony Watson. And those of you who know me, i love baptisms for multiple reasons: 1. i love the Sacraments, 2. I love babies, 3. Baptism reminds the parents and godparents of their responsibilities as educators (and examples) of the faith, 4. Satan gets pwned again, 5. I love the smell of chrism, so, so much (sensory win).

Right, so

After we enjoyed a wonderful lunch, nap and cake, it was time to travel back home with bright-eyes and bushy beard.

So i turn my ears to auto-pilot for about 50 minutes until she mentions my grandfather. It's not often she talks about papa Pervis. He passed away about 17 years ago and i don't remember much of him. I just remember that he was loving, joyous, liked basketball and didn't like blue jays (they messed up his garden).

I have been around a few funerals too many over the past 8 months and so i have become fairly well versed in funeral etiquette. Mostly it's filled with accepting condolences, thanking people for paying their respects and other hum-drum distractions and hollow noises. But every now and then, someone shares a story with you on how how much the departed meant to them...and it blows you away..

and my grandmother told me a story from her husband's funeral that a young mane told her nearly 2 decades ago:

in her paraphrased words:

A week before Pervis passed away he was wrapping up some work one evening and happened upon sharing a cup of coffee with one of his younger friends (and by younger, i mean about 40). They shared some conversation about life and all that jazz and then he told me Pervis said, "you know, (guy), i'm not sure what you believe on this stuff, but i think God wants us to suffer. I don't think people really understand that now-a-days. You know, life isn't all about getting what you want all the time. I don't think that's how we're supposed to be. I think to make this life worth something we have to suffer." The young man said he never thought of it that way but Pervis made him think about it. He told me that he'd never forget what Pervis told him...a week before his death...

...and neither did my grandma. To remember something for so long says that it won't soon be forgotten. She still has coffee with the not-so-young man every now and again.

She also told me how my grandfather was lonesome for us when we lived away, how he loved us so much always and how he would always share pictures with everyone and tell his younger co-workers how great it was to be a grandpa...our grandpa.

She told me that she still thinks of papa Pervis every so often.

I do, too, grandma. I do, too.

Peace,

Daytona

All Clear

In late October, the year 2010, i drove home from one of my little brother's high school football games when a rock hippity hopped off the ground and pelted my windshield. to be fair, the velocity of the car caused most of the damage. what i failed to realize until October 2011 is that my vehicle couldn't pass inspection with a crack halfway across the windshield. durmp.

I replaced my windshield last week.

that's right, folks. if you've been counting, that's 5 months i been ridin' dirty. In that time i had to replace a headlight, tail light, windshield wipers and of course, that furshlugginer windshield. multiple reminders that i be ridin' dirty.

from the month of November jusque'a last week, i've been very conscientious of the po-po...leery would be a better word. i've often leered. i didn't want to get caught. i knew i was doing wrong and didn't do anything to fix it. even when my right tail light went out i altered my route to make as many left turns as possible. what's that say, my friends? GUILTY!

all these things are true, by the way. but all is good now, so double jeopardy, right?

so last week the fine people at AOK windshield fixed up my windshield (and it is looking dapper, thank you) and i say to myself, "alright. now we're on the right track."

of course, i still needed to do the deed (state inspections, people), so i was still illegal. can you guess what happened next??

a) stopped by the po-pos and got a ticket?

b) got hit by another rock while pulling out of the driveway?

c) commençais a parler en français sans but?

d) made it to the inspection station and am legal now?

cliff hanger!!

though i considered all those possibilities multiple times, the correct answer is d (of course it's D. have you met my family?).

what happened when i got my car inspected; when i finally faced my months of malfeasance; when i abided (abode? aboded? about?) by the law?

it's funny i should ask. a curious thing happened when i righted what i once wronged. the cloud was lifted. i was set free. there was no fear. i wasn't altering my route. i was driving how i was operating a vehicle how it was intended to be operated.

then i reflected...

...then i went to Confession.

such is the beauty of the sacramental vision.

Peace,

Daytona

No Big Deal

so, having a minimally functional computer has relegated my blog-ourtunities to picking the lock of my roommate's locked door at 2:00 a.m. and sneakily (and creepily) hunch in the corner while i reconnect with that alluring typing sound that fulfills my ambitions. yes...type, Dayton, type.

(i'll keep you updated on each song that plays on Tyrone's 'Sleep' Playlist on iTunes. so far i've heard "The Dance" by Garth Brooks and "U Got it Bad" by Usher. i love this guy.)

as previously promised by the author of an archaic entry (yes, me), little needs to be discussed...and staying true to the overall mantra of this bloggity blog blog, we shall address a topic through a story.

first, the reference:

the fall semester, for me, began with the death of my grandmother; a beautiful woman who gave all her life and love to her family. she lived in a small life, but with great influence and impact on the lives she touched. (more on that in my next entry)

i now realize that the pronoun 'that' is a bit ambiguous. 'that' is referring to the smallness of actions; the "Little Way" if you will.

("Mr. Jones" Counting Crows, top 25 for me, btw)

a couple months ago i hit the links with Dane and Dono (that means golf). now, we aren't the best golfers in the world, but i challenge those who enjoy their rounds as much as we do. i mean, three lefties in a group naturally lends itself to awesomeness. natural law...ish. so long story short we're on the par 5 tenth hole and i hit a drive well enough to put me in position to be aggressive and put the second shot on the front lawn (that means green). *pause to pat myself on the back, uh thank you*. in preparation for my shot, i grabbed my 5-iron (which i rarely hit well) and surveyed the land in order to see any hazards i needed to negotiate.

("My Immortal" Evanescence)

so i stand over the ball, take a practice swing, take another look at my target and...

see folks, this is what i find so interesting about the human mind: that in any moment, under any circumstance, inspiration happens. well, i call it inspiration, my doctor in middle school called it ADD. but at that moment, between my practice and actual swing, this thought monologued through my mind:

little things. get the little things right. St. Therese was onto something. something much grander and deeper than i, no doubt, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere.

("Something in the Way She Moves" James Taylor <- awesome)

if we get the little things right, the "big" things take care of themselves. Like what blessed Theresa of Calcutta said: "We can do no great things; only small things with great love." so get the little things right. gosh, i've had awesome role models from my youth. My parents, grandparents, priests, teachers and friends...what'd they all have in common? they pay attention to detail. little things matter to them. we need more people who care about little things.

("Where We Gonna Go from Here" Matt Kearney)

...so i hit my shot on the green, then snickered to myself as i three-putted.

and here we are. we cut corners, glaze over footnotes, brush away the little things. go ahead. pay attention. it's around more than we realize. we snitch a brownie bit when nobody is looking. we push in the margins a half-inch to lengthen our research papers. we skip class because we can just get the notes online. we take a $.10 mint because "it's only ten cents". we speed. it's no big deal. everyone does it and nobody is really paying attention anyway.

except that we are. everyone is watching you. muuaahahahahaha...j/k...but really, these things DO matter. maybe not much monetarily, but in principle. in themselves, these menial motions reveal our innermost character. they ARE the big things that tell others who we are. were we called to greatness, to honor, to glory, to Christ (who, in fulfilling the Law, had to be preeetttyy poignant). so go ahead: choose wisely.

("Fifteen" Taylor Swift <--aww, tyyyrrooonneee)

...really, Tyrone? Fifteen by Taylor Swift? Really? :-p

and that's where i leave you for now.

until next time:

Peace,

Daytona

P.S.: while labeling tags for this post, the last song playing was "A Song For Mama" - Boyz II Men. gets me every time. yeah...i love my mom...wanna fight about it?

Christmas

Happy Feast of the Incarnation, y'all.

see previous post

the same holds true today.

Life, Death and a BBQ Sandwich

aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnndddddddd nous sommes back!

goodness, where to begin? i've nearly forgotten how to write for fun. paraphrasing Ms. Annie Connolly "the world needs you to write, Dayton". You're right, Annie. You're right...but not handed. left-handed is all right with me. (see what i did there?).

I've been so wrapped up in the world of academia that i've long abandoned my speck of dust in the vast universe of cyberspace. In summation of the past 8 months or so, allow me to share with you an excerpt of a conversation i shared with Mr. Daniel Bollich (forgive me if it's not verbatim):

Me: "that's your term paper?"
DB: "yeah. it's on the psychology of fans and sports."
Me: "hey that sounds like a fun topic."
DB: "10 pages can take the fun out of anything."

onto the discussion of our title...but first, a little reference. let me, how you say, mis-un-scene:

the fall semester, for me, began with the death of my grandmother; a beautiful woman who gave all her life and love to her family. she lived in a small life, but with great influence and impact on the lives she touched. (more on that in my next entry)

a month or so later, a dear friend of mine, the beautiful Emily Richard, tragically lost her mother; deeply affecting her and her community of friends. now, i didn't know Emily's mom, but to have raised a daughter like Emily, she must have been a beautiful woman.

the following week we (my family and i) discovered that the cancer in my aunt's body had returned aggressively. she died a week later.

and not two weeks later, the mother of my soon-to-be roommate passed away after her bouts with sick.

death is real. and it is not fun. (fun fact: the leading cause of death is life.)

between losses i spent the majority of my time working a l'hotel and reading and evaluating french novels. i didn't go home much. the most i saw of my family was at funerals or wakes.

finding myself in the midst of this whirlwind of death, i naturally began to evaluate life and how i wanted to live it.

what's this all have to do with a BBQ Sandwich?

i like the night. i find that it contains a certain and appealing tranquility. i do most of my driving at night for that reason...and i don't like traffic. the drawback of driving at night is that most restaurants are closed by the time i get hungry. such was the case when i went to visit the folks late one night (stay with me. we're getting closer to the BBQ sandwich).

on that particular night my car needed gasoline. on that particular night i was quite hungry. on that particular night i stopped at the 5-Star Quick Stop in Moss Bluff, LA. on that particular night i ordered a (ready for it?) BBQ pork sandwich from their 24-hour grill.

(why are you still reading this?)

i unwrapped the sandwich (i took it to go) in my parked car in the driveway of my parent's house (i wasn't ready to go inside and it was 2 a.m.). like i said, i like the night. i appreciate it's tranquility. contemplation is rooted in tranquility. and in that tranquility i consumed my BBQ sandwich (have you realized that i really like the word 'tranquility'?). about halfway through, i noticed that the next bite was about to be the best bite of the sandwich. great bun/pork ratio, appropriate juiciness; just great. and so i took the bite. and it was delicious. then i looked at the rest of the sandwich and asked, "now what? now what can you offer me? the best part of you is done. finished." In my arrogance i sat; just finishing it off.

and with that i was snapped back into thinking about life, it's quality and how it's to be lived. you know, because i have all the answers.

i don't.

but i'm here in my mid-20s, looking at everyone around me. watching people take bites out of life.

some knit-pick at the edges, thinking what little they have is safely sufficient and never experience a great bite. some ambitiously or aimlessly bite off more than they chew, just rushing through the sandwich to finish it. some try to meticulously plan exactly when and where they're going to take that perfect bite (sometimes it works, sometimes it all falls out right when they're ready to take it). some are off-put by the texture and don't bother with it at all. some have it taken away before they can fully experience it. and some take it for what it is, and realize that while not every bite is going to be the best, they're still eating a pretty darn good sandwich.

so while you eat your BBQ sandwich, i hope that you can appreciate it in it's entirety. i hope you get a perfect bite. and i hope you finish it worthily.

Peace,
Daytona


“To live without faith, without a patrimony to defend, without a steady struggle for truth, that is not living, but existing.” - Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati