Reunion Tour

A dialogue on the process of growing up, and not liking it.

I suppose it began in kindergarten, when I was told quite sternly that Elmer's Glue was to be used only in the fine arts, and never during snacktime. I do not even remember the specific attraction of Elmer's Glue. There was nothing quite appealing about it, but nothing very threatening either, so naturally, as a boy of five, I put it in my mouth. It was not a defining moment. Anyone who has enjoyed a sample of this quality craft item knows that its taste is as unspectacular as its artistic results. Rather bland, but better than most food items we label "pasty".

Actually, it began sooner. I was well brought up, and while you're still five years old, that means: well behaved. In fact, I was a darling little child, according to my mother, whose perspective is not only naturally skewed in my favor, but thrown into confusion by the stark contrast between my quiet little self and the whirlwind of temper we call my sister. This being said, there was no surprise at my gooey chastisement. Clearly, I was not behaving properly. I knew this, though I secretly questioned the real harm in eating glue. After all, who hasn't pondered what to do with the small hardened nobule of glue that always forms at the top, that peals off in a most satisfactory way after you twist the orange cap? Perhaps wipe it just on the underside of your desk, the realm of boogers and gum. Perhaps carry a tissue to discard it in, or make your way carefully to the nearest garbage. Why not eat it?

But this is beside the point. The truth is, you're a little more grown up if you don't eat glue. This, thought I, was attractive (Keeping in mind that a boy of nine was, in my mind, old). This fallacy stays with us children forever. Boys sacrifice spit-wads, burping, giggling at silly names for our genitalia and running rampant whenever at all possible, all for the illusion of age. Girls sacrifice almost everything, being taught nearly from the womb that they mature faster than boys, they blindly assume the role of superiority and effectively remove the fun from their early life. This lasts throughout elementary school.

By eighth grade, you are a towering colossus of adulthood, not deigning to favor the "kids" with your glance, and in my sad generation, placing life and death on the institution of dating. You see, a boy or girl who has managed to attract a partner is infinitely better than one who hasn't. One may be catapulted to either pole of popularity by a simple word from the popular girl, or by aligning yourself with the right clique. In fact, dating in middle and high-school begins to resemble feudal Europe, and is much more accurate a representation of the period than most world civilization classes give. In eighth grade I managed no more than a few windmills, and, for those of you who know the story, was equally successful as our favorite Don.

More accurately, I never saddled my horse. I moved to a new school in eighth grade and managed to offend the most popular girl in school by the third period. It literally took no more than two hours to ruin my chances at popularity entirely, leaving me bound forever to the crowd of kids who entertained themselves by drawing large carnivorous and combative plants. I'm serious.

I was stuck again... A glue eater, a dork, the last picked for kickball. I made awkward jokes and laughed at them myself. I was not in a good way. The unmistakable solution was to grow up. In this context, growing up was good. I managed with moderate success to avoid the general small town highschool trends: driving up and down the largest street in town for hours listening to the only radio station, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and breeding like rabbits. I became better read than my peers, I was comfortable with adults, I knew how to tie a tie, and most of all, I was well behaved.

Highschool seniority begins to lose some of this appeal, however, I never experienced highschool seniority, as I spent my senior year lording over the underclassmen furniture of my living room and initiating several houseplants*. So we move into college, where I begin the real tale.

Because now, you are grown up. You, are a college student. This is where you do things your way, where you are liberated, where you can vote, smoke, drink(even legally by the end), and order stuff off TV. More importantly, you begin to revert to all the things you didn't do your entire life, while you were trying be grown up. We play childrens games, watch cartoons, know all the disney songs by heart etc. This is a phenomenon confined to college, because afterward those defeated individuals we know as management arrest your undevelopement and force you back into dress shoes, and take away your toys, and sit you in a corner to be quiet. But for now, we are living! In part, this regression has been enjoyable. I have managed, on a large scale, to find gaseous emissions humorous, to enjoy foodfights, and to admit to playing Halo, and if that's not bad enough, before finishing (or starting) my homework.

More recently, I have experienced a second and less pleasant relapse. This emotional nose-picker has snuck up on me and called me a butt-head and taken my favorite seat on the bus. Yes, I am reliving emotional middle school. And we know what that means? Girls.

I have, for the most part, remained aloof from the paltry world of hormone driven dating and crushes and what we call at Westmont "DC Crushes". I continue, for the most part, to avoid it. Just not lately. There is no great secret I wish to impart, no long hidden crush. In fact, it takes less and less for me, the king of slow moving affection, to find myself daydreaming about someone. For example. Scenario - Girl: Beautiful. Number of Words Exchanged: About two dozen. Point of Relationship: "Nice to meet you." Taylor?: Completely taken. After a number of days of reflection I have come to the painful realization that I am in fact still thirteen. Just with more hair.

The startling conclusion? I love it. I haven't felt so ridiculous since childhood. My emotions are outright silly, and for once, I'm completely comfortable with it. There's no dramatic change, I'm just finally enjoying the beautiful people around me. Now I can't help but see beautiful people everywhere. I'm constantly amazed and surprised how wonderful people are, even people I've known all this time! This has been a fulfilling weekend to say the least. Here's a toast to childhood!

*homeschooling rocks!

*Gasp*

What a life I have: amazing people, amazing place, amazing opportunities. On Thursday night I resurfaced out of a sea of work. Six tests, four large significant papers, 700 pages of reading and a stress related mental breakdown* later, I finally have a week to breathe. The past five weeks have been by far the strangest, if not quite the hardest weeks of my college experience. Not quite the hardest because, after Thursday, my life has soared back into full swing. I got to be with old friends, go to the symphony (and meet great people), watch wonderful movies (Ice Age - a timeless classic). I recieved Billy Collins' new book of poetry, which has so far been... different, but always delightful.

Let's see, where did we leave off? Holy crap! September fourth? I've grown new limbs since then!... or at least some unsightly facial hair (yes Crystal, I am aware. No Crystal, I'm not shaving it off... completely) But who needs updating, the only readers on this blog have watched me gradually lose a hold of my life before their eyes.
There is no great mystery to my madness. I love learning, I love school. But after much consideration, the real reasons I'm at Westmont are my friends, connections that will last a life time (and more). People are, after all, the only important thing in this life. What else lasts? However, my bank account cares about those false friends called grades, and so, that I may continue my stay at Westmont, I must from time to time attend to them. The first two weeks of madness I handled with characteristic grace: complaining every moment and grumbling incessantly. Then when the third week got complicated, I began to doubt my ability to handle that much sustained work. At the end of that week (4-day) I pretty much gave up and settled into a funk that lasted until... well, this Thursday, two weeks later. I might add that Lady Fortune placed two lovely tests on Friday, which I have a good chance of failing.

Despite all this, I live. And in high fashion I might add. I'm very comfortable in my identity, though my self assurance of masculinity is wearing a bit thin. For example, yesterday I sat at a table eating lunch with several girls, discussing the wonderful things about Colin Firth and the fantastic roles he's played, namely, Mr. Darcy. Today I had a little chat about the color scheme of a friends room, and fixed her lamp shade (it was turned around, of all things). And I won't even mention that I teared up during Ice Age, because, though I've seen it many times, the emotion is too much. I cried during chapel on friday (everyone should have) and I do, on occassion, cry at Ben Patterson's messages. And by cry, I mean moist eyes and stomach flutters, and it's usually at happy, triumphant things.
Ah, honesty. I'm a sap. Though all this comes amidst a spiritual and emotional high point. The past weeks (read: this school year) have been somewhat of a grinding stone on my relationship with God, and these last couple days have been encouraging and healing. But anyhow... more important things await me than this silly blog, and I'm off to enjoy them. I'll most likely write again during my long confinement to the computer lab tomorrow. Ciao


*I played video games, watched movies, ate junk food and desserts for four days straight, hardly leaving my room. Speaking of which, I had four chocolate chip cookies and a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast... yuck!

And So It Goes

So... Summer happened. What?

I might as well tell you now that I am bitter and resentful of all financial institutions, corporate or otherwise, and will always be. And notwithstanding a severe blow to the head, I will never mention them again in my blog, excepting only necessary comments degrading and undermining their nature and purpose.

I needed to get that behind me.

So. I finished that summer job. A long time ago. I wish that I could have waltzed out it's infernal doors into a month of bliss and merriment. I envisioned painting, reading, relaxing, writing, tanning (what?). But instead, I was thrown into a whirlwind of commitments and "vacations", and by "vacation" i mean a long trip with a destination in mind, not a relaxing hiatus from normal activity in which an individual is relieved of stress. That is not to say my vacations weren't fun. In fact, they were the highlights of the summer. Just not relaxing.

First was a road trip up the coast of california (i'd never been up Highway 1!). It was only three days long, but we packed in ... the coast, hearst castle, carmel by the sea, cambria, my mothers early haunts, San Fran-noleftturn-sisco and John Miur National Forest. Most of the stress of the trip was driving in san fransisco... and rest assured, we didn't turn left. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful way to hang out with my mom before I returned to college.

Then there was Montana. Good ol' Montana. I am still undecided on what to think. On one hand, I connected with my high school friends again (most of them... Alice *makes angry fist*). There is something very special about being around people who you know so well, and that know you just as well. Very comforting. On the other, larger, uglier hand, there was Montana itself. Not that Montana isn't a very large beautiful place, it's that it trully is... small and ugly. I love the country, but the modern "small town" is definitely a little romanticized.

That's the negative part. The positive part was much more potent. I ended up in the Wal-Mart Super Center parking lot after getting off the plane, while my ride grabbed some stuff, and the most bizarre thing happened. A driver stopped, of his own accord, to let us cross. He actually looked ahead, saw that we were about to cross, and waited politely. Then (and I had forgotten what this was like)... He waved. A complete stranger waved and smiled. With all his fingers, not just one. People say hello and wave. People are nice.

I think I've decided against narrating my montana exploits. It would take too long, and this already promises to be a friggin long post.

Back To School
Westmont is still Westmont. My classes have me assuming the position regularly. Just for fun, we'll check my progress as of Today, the first day of the second week of school.

Number of Classes: 7
Number of Units: 18
Number of Papers Written: One
Number of Pages Read: 563
Pages of Notes taken: 18

I love school. Second year is definitely less exciting, and harder on friendships. Generally (maybe not me), freshman run around meeting everyone and making thousands of new friends a day. It feels good, it's new and exciting, the location is new, the people are new, the independence is new. It's Heaven.

This year though, I'm torn between wanting to meet new people and make new friends, while at the same time not wanting to miss out on any of the amazing friends I made last year. This is complicated by new living arrangements, "we" are all spread out. People I never even spoke to last year have been saying hello and people I couldn't wait all summer to see have disappeared off the face of my little world. Anyhow, things are different, and I'm not sure I like it.

I just entered the new world of Facebook. That crazy thing. I started joining community pages like facebook when I was 14, I thought by now I'd have a life. However, Facebook has one draw the others didn't... Way old friends. I found friends I haven't seen since 1st Grade! I'm very excited to get in touch with them. Ok. Long infomational post is over. I'm done.

More Bogus Adventures

I have a very brown cubicle. The surface, somewhat misused, remains its lifeless tan, the beige walls covered with fabric for convenient thumb-tacking.

I have no thumb tacks.

The monitor, the standard old-computer-beige a fashionable fit, stares at me without blinking. Its luminous lens is crossed and lined with optical scratches, large sections of blur and distortion mar its display. I sit slumped toward it, staring back. The small grey floater in my right eye, a gift of my crippled monitor, sneaks away from my line of sight, darting into my peripheral vision when I turn my gaze toward it, a little optical scar of my own.

A hand appears over the wooden railing of my cubicle. Out of instinct the eBay window, the blog window, and the webmail window collapse immediately, leaving a picture of red tile rooftops and an official looking Microsoft Outlook inbox, cramped into the space around the endless gray fields waiting for their rows of numbers.

I smile into the face of my boss, a very kind, very generous, very good boss who only stopped because I looked, beyond doubt, like I was doing absolutely nothing.
"Got plenty to do?" she says, smiling back.
"Yep!" I say, because this is true. I'm just not doing it.
"Good, good" She says. Office Space begins to play in my mind. Lumburg looms in my imagination, his hand casually on my cubicle, mug in tow.
"Could you stay another week? I mean, don't inconvenience yourself, I don't want to mess up any plans! But Susan's going on vacation next week and it would sure be nice to have you around."

Something deep inside me died that day. The whole left side of my body twitched, and the right side went numb. Somewhere in between I said "Sure! The longer the better!" And so it is. So it has been for the last 9 weeks. "I hope you don't mind, I extended you for another two weeks" "Could you stay another week?" "How does three more weeks sound" and on and on. At least until you reach nine.

This however. Is my last week. I simply have other plans. I'm helping out with my church's VBS program. I'm going on a road trip up the coast, I'm going to Montana to visit friends. So things are looking up. Meanwhile, in the eight hours a day I don't spend working or sleeping, my life has been fantastic.

For example. Wine tasting.

I love wine. Especially red wine. The only time to drink white wine is when all the red wine is gone. So. I went again to the winery pictured in the post "Work". This is by far the greatest place of all time. The wine is free. Sure you get an ounce at a time, but you can try the whole collection, and if you're lucky (like me) your sister and hubby are club members and friends with the owner. The atmosphere at this place can't be beat.

First off, it's not really a winery. It's a tasting room belonging to the son of the owner of Sunstone Winery, also in Santa Ynez. His name is Byan, and he is one of the best wine blenders in America. In my opinion the best, but I'm not even legal. Anyway. His wine is called Artiste, it's blended from wines all over California, and labeled and named according to a painting, mostly done by Aldo Luongo, who has quickly become my favorite contemporary artist. The only label on the wine is the painting it's named after. The tasting room however, is filled with paint and canvases, all set up for you to use and enjoy while you listen to live jazz and taste top quality wines, look at world class art and enjoy the company of one of America's finest wine connoisseurs.

All this I enjoyed. Until my mother, bless her, gaily chatting away with Byan's partner, responds to his question "How old is your son?" without even thinking. "19!" she says happily, pointing me out.

Wine glass in hand.

I smiled. Actually, I grimaced and blanched and blushed all at the same time. He didn't say anything, and Byan offered me some more wine a little later. But I might not be going to Artiste very soon. She didn't realize what she'd done until after I told her.

"Age dropping are we?" I said bitterly, already conscious of my favorite pastime slipping into the oblivion of two more years of waiting.
"Oh, he asked" She said sweetly, still not making the connection"
"Mom." I say, very significantly pronouncing the next two words "I'm nineteen"
"So?" Oh well for tact.
"I'm drinking wine."
Her eyes shot open. Finally

Aside from breaking the law, I keep myself busy with musical and artistic pursuits. (painting and piano, though not in that order). And reading. I'm almost done with War and Peace. Yes, it's really long. No, it's not very hard reading. Yes, it's pretty good. Especially when you get past page 950, it really heats up. I would have been done long ago if I ever read it at home. As it is, I squeeze it into my breaks at work. Like this one, which has lasted all morning. As they say in Office Space. "I'd say in a week I do about 15 minutes of good, hard work"

And when I get home I'll update this post with pictures. :)

Taylor's Adventures in Hell

A commentary on the intricate inner-workings of corporate accounting.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Everybody works right? Everybody puts on the most uncomfortable and unstylish clothes they own and winds their way through lane after lane of morning traffic to work. They, with the other sheep in other bad clothes, settle down in their cubicle with the most outdated computer the company could find (There is a paid position available solely for the purpose of finding incapable computers). They then engage in a process similar to chewing cud, which for you non-ranchers, is the process by which sheep and cows etc., regurgitate their food and chew it again, to aid in the digestion process. Humans however, have very capable stomachs, and don't need this dez-ja-vous chew, so someone invented data entry.

Actually, that was what I was thinking. My Hollywood expectations of sharp clothes, fancy gadgets, beautiful single women (what?), and that fun, easy feeling of making a lot of money... are all gone. Like Office Space? you say, excited to relate vicarously and at the same time prove my Hollywood bashing bogus...?? no, Office Space was funny. An office, is not funny. An office is cruel. In fact, I spent the entire morning entering invoices for Inflatable Penile Implants. :) This could be your job!

This my friends, is my summer so far.

Santa Barbara

Wow!

I love the way southern california smells! you get used to it after a while, then all of a sudden, spring comes, everything blooms, the air is moist with a sea breeze, the jasmine fills the night, and citris fills the day... it's incredible. It's fun to enjoy every breath! *sighs* I'm in a small bit of rapture for the moment, enjoying my life! :)

Here is one of my favorites from our photo trip, it's the top of the Santa Barbara Courthouse.