No matter how many times I tell myself that anyone with a sliver of musical taste should not enjoy Fall Out Boy songs, I can't help but bounce along with some of them. Like this one.
Wow, it's Tuesday already. I leave tomorrow morning to go home for Thanksgiving and I could not possibly be more excited. Thanksgiving with my family entails the following every year: helping Mom in the kitchen when she wants me to, watching football with Dad, staying in my pajamas for most of the day, and laughing my ass off at the stories our next-door neighbors tell around the dinner table during the actual feast. There is nothing more I could want out of this Thursday than exactly that.
Didn't make it to the gym on Friday before babysitting Dylan, but I made up for it Saturday morning by going to a dance class that my hamstrings are still suffering from. It was awkward trying to catch up with everyone who already knew the routine, but the instructor was a blast and I wasn't the only one fumbling. Very fun. Babysat Dylan again that night, came home, and passed out. Sunday saw me back at St. Paul's for the first time since three weeks ago and I discovered I've started attending right at the beginning of the church's Capital Campaign. For those who don't know, CC's are the big fund-raising campaigns that churches do once every blue moon to get the necessary support for big changes in the programming, architecture, and development of the church. Theatres do them too, though they seem to have a much less difficult time getting donations than churches. Why is that, you may ask?
Because having a priest talk to people about how they need to give money to the church makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Perhaps they believe it's not the church's place to be concerned with earthly things like money, or perhaps they're having flashbacks to the medieval Catholic churches that demanded a tithe from even the poorest farmer. Whatever the case, it's a difficult time for any modern church. The woman giving the sermon was actually not a member of Saint Paul's: she was a Lutheran priest who's found her niche talking to congregations about giving money to churches. Her words were interesting and compelling--far more so than any other money-raising sermon I've ever heard--and she actually backed up her talk with some pretty great Biblical "facts". Example: 15 out of Jesus' 28 parables are exclusively about money. He talked about money more than any other subject except the Kingdom of God.
Hearing things like that, in combination with the woman's story of her own personal struggle to balance her human need of money with her calling to do God's work, got me thinking that I might end up donating to this campaign after all. I don't have much, but I've got some. Call me foolish or crazy or a pushover, but this place is bringing me a sense of comfort and home and I think I want to help it in return.
Got to talk to Melissa--my best friend at Barrington--on Sunday night for an hour. She's having a rougher time than I am and it makes me wish that my trip to visit her in January was much sooner. Also talked to both parents and Megan, who pleaded with me to look over and edit her Criminal Justice paper that was due at 9:00am Monday morning. Luckily it was only three pages long, but going through the familiar notions of paper-editing gave me a pang for college. Not that I want to write more papers--hell no--but for the memories that this time of year brings to me.
Last week I saw one of the most fascinating things. I got on the B train to go somewhere like normal, sat down, and started people watching like everyone does on the T. After a few minutes I noticed that a group of four students--who I had previously thought to be merely gesticulating wildly while telling stories--were not making a single noise. I looked closer and it dawned on me that they were all using sign language. It was bizarre and wonderful at the same time, seeing these people so into their stories and making fun of each other and conveying wit without saying a word. As I got off I looked through the other windows and saw that the train was filled with similarly-signing students. Perhaps the School for the Deaf was having an outing or something? In any case I much preferred their method of yelling to the piercing shrieks in Spanish or Chinese that I'm used to hearing on the train. On the one hand it's amazing that I can ride in a single train car and hear upwards of seven languages at the same time. On the other hand, it really gives me a headache sometimes.
Okay, I've got letters to deliver and files to file. Catch you on the flip side, world.
p.s. I saw my first Boston snow today. :o)