More thoughts:
- Sin can be very consuming.
- I like salsa and chips. By the way, Pace salsa is not pronounced (pa - chay).
- How DID he get get out?
- Nevermind I know now.
- Maximus!!!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Thoughts of the day 3-28-10
Thoughts (Sunday) 3-28-10
- Books by the bushel
- Village board meetings
- Future Business Leaders of America
- Catch Me If You Can - movie of Lies
- Brownies
- Nick
- Truth
- Jesus Christ died on the cross...weeping women
- Becoming one.
- Books by the bushel
- Village board meetings
- Future Business Leaders of America
- Catch Me If You Can - movie of Lies
- Brownies
- Nick
- Truth
- Jesus Christ died on the cross...weeping women
- Becoming one.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Forests and trees
I'm not sure if it's because the Forest Preserve is in Mahomet, but I have heard this "seeing the forest for the trees" and "seeing the trees in the forest" several times in lots of contexts.
What's up with that?
And which one is worse?
Don't mean to get all philosophical, but seriously is it better to see detail or is it better to see the overall picture?
I have my thoughts but I want to see if anyone replies first. ;-)
What's up with that?
And which one is worse?
Don't mean to get all philosophical, but seriously is it better to see detail or is it better to see the overall picture?
I have my thoughts but I want to see if anyone replies first. ;-)
Mahomet
For the past week or so, I have been learning about Mahomet. And in the coming weeks, I plan to learn more. And thus far, I like it. I like this town. I like its people.
Everyone has been warm and welcoming. And everyone has been supportive and helping me out with content and filling in news holes.
But what I have liked most so far is learning about the town's rich history. And what a rich history it is.
While I like journalism for the stories I get to hear, I think it is the idea of documenting history that really gets me. Flip through an old newspaper, and perhaps you'll see what I mean. Perhaps you won't, though, and in that case, I will try to explain.
Pick up a tattered paper, the corners curled, the sides ripped. Pick up that tattered paper, yellowed with age, fragile to the touch. Pick it up and flip through it. Carefully, now, you don't want to rip it. And read it. Read what is said. Read about what has happened. Read about the past, even if only a few years ago. And it's amazing that while editors have passed through the town, their words are still there. Frozen in the pages of the newspaper. That's cool. Or maybe it's not and I just like it because that's the nerd in me. But regardless, you get the drift.
But it drives the point home that because those words are frozen in newsprint, accuracy is vital. The words printed on those pages will give insight to the town in the future, and it will be important to have that documented right. The truth must prevail through those pages. It's important. Ever ever so important.
Anyway, while I'm talking on the point of truth, let me tell my favorite myth I've learned.
My favorite piece of information I have learned is that if you dip your feet into the Sangamon River, you will be stuck in Mahomet forever. That certainly plays to my sense of humor. Smiles.
Everyone has been warm and welcoming. And everyone has been supportive and helping me out with content and filling in news holes.
But what I have liked most so far is learning about the town's rich history. And what a rich history it is.
While I like journalism for the stories I get to hear, I think it is the idea of documenting history that really gets me. Flip through an old newspaper, and perhaps you'll see what I mean. Perhaps you won't, though, and in that case, I will try to explain.
Pick up a tattered paper, the corners curled, the sides ripped. Pick up that tattered paper, yellowed with age, fragile to the touch. Pick it up and flip through it. Carefully, now, you don't want to rip it. And read it. Read what is said. Read about what has happened. Read about the past, even if only a few years ago. And it's amazing that while editors have passed through the town, their words are still there. Frozen in the pages of the newspaper. That's cool. Or maybe it's not and I just like it because that's the nerd in me. But regardless, you get the drift.
But it drives the point home that because those words are frozen in newsprint, accuracy is vital. The words printed on those pages will give insight to the town in the future, and it will be important to have that documented right. The truth must prevail through those pages. It's important. Ever ever so important.
Anyway, while I'm talking on the point of truth, let me tell my favorite myth I've learned.
My favorite piece of information I have learned is that if you dip your feet into the Sangamon River, you will be stuck in Mahomet forever. That certainly plays to my sense of humor. Smiles.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
free verse
A poem of Masters II
Truth bleeds through the many characterizations.
With every revelation – perspective, point of view.
But sadness continues through the hard, cold Spoon River.
And the small-town remnant gain insight.
But for what to realize there is no hope.
No hope? Alas, what truth can these poems bring?
But of tyranny of a banker, judge, or harlot?
But what of the happy ending?
Should there not be one?
Truth bleeds through the many characterizations.
With every revelation – perspective, point of view.
But sadness continues through the hard, cold Spoon River.
And the small-town remnant gain insight.
But for what to realize there is no hope.
No hope? Alas, what truth can these poems bring?
But of tyranny of a banker, judge, or harlot?
But what of the happy ending?
Should there not be one?
free verse
A poem of Masters
Tormented until the end, this man –
Who tried to be Whitman, Homer or Faulkner.
But it was Frost who outshined him,
And buried Masters on his own Hill.
Among his own kind -- he judged and condemned.
Must have thought he was better.
But two wives he went through,
Hurting with a touch of masochist,
Leaving a son who will never forget.
But the clack, clack, clack,
Of the passersby speak,
Telling him clearly there’s only crickets.
Tormented until the end, this man –
Who tried to be Whitman, Homer or Faulkner.
But it was Frost who outshined him,
And buried Masters on his own Hill.
Among his own kind -- he judged and condemned.
Must have thought he was better.
But two wives he went through,
Hurting with a touch of masochist,
Leaving a son who will never forget.
But the clack, clack, clack,
Of the passersby speak,
Telling him clearly there’s only crickets.
Happy New Year
Nothing says "Happy New Year" like beating on a set of electronically simulated drums. I wasn't very good at it. I'm not sure if that's because the drums weren't calibrated to the TV or what. But no matter. It was fun regardless.
I don't really have any new year's resolutions. But I will tell you what. I am on a mission to move out of my parent's house. Not that I don't like living at home...it's just time. I'm pretty sure any one of my friends would agree. ;)
Now for some thoughts for the day:
1) I've got the best of both worlds!
2) Sweet niblets!
3) I've been watching too much Hannah Montana?
4) Deep Impact is now a classic.
5) So is Men in Black
6) Did nothing productive. My to-do list is so long.
7) Why is House crazy? I feel tricked.
8) I watched a lot of TV today.
9) I read, too. I like Thomas Rhodes. Even if he's some kind of villain.
the end
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