I *love* driving. Having the windows down, shades on because there isn’t a cloud in the sky, great driving music blasting on the radio, singing along with friends, driving a little faster than I should, using traffic as my own set of cones to slalom around. There are few things better in the world than this.

I *hate* driving. Feeling my wheels spin when they shouldn’t be, or not spinning when they should be, windshield wipers not keeping up with what’s coming down, listening to traffic reports or no radio at all so I can concentrate, my body tense, rigid, my jaw clenched, too many cars. There aren’t many things I like less than this.

I can’t think of anything in my life where my enjoyment is as affected by environment as driving. Soccer I could play in any weather. Praying to and worshiping God I could do alone, in the midst of a hundred people who aren’t singing or aren’t even caring, or with a thousand other people as into it as I am. But driving, driving I have a love/hate relationship with. It is one of my favorite things in the world, something that relieves stress for me; and it is also one of my least favorite things in the world, adding all kinds of stress to my life. I wish the lows weren’t as low as they are, but then I wonder if the highs wouldn’t be as high, either.

Who’s with me for this ride? Where are your love/hate relationships?

As soon as he stepped around the defenseman and into the zone creating a two-on-two, people around me started yelling shoot. And T.J. Oshie could have. As soon as he got to the top of the circle and had a man screening Vancouver’s goalkeeper, the shouts around me became louder. “Shoot it!” And he could have. After he cut across the top of the crease and all that was left between him and a goal was the goalkeeper, the shouts were deafening: “SHOOT IT!” And he could have.

But he didn’t.

Oshie held on to the puck, outlasting the goalkeeper until all that he saw was the white net, open, awaiting his shot. And then, and only then, did Oshie shoot.

This is my fourth year as a season ticket holder for the St. Louis Blues. The first year, the Blues led the league in all the things you didn’t want to lead the league in: lowest attendance, worst home record, worst road record, everything. It was terrible. They were finding new ways to lose: scoring on your own goal while a delayed penalty on the other team had been called, having the puck rebound from the glass off the goalkeeper’s back and into the net (…in overtime), and two short-handed goals against in one power play.

Since then, things have gotten better, slowly, each year. I passed the time and the losses by counting moral victories and baby steps, watching the players drafted a couple years before mature, enjoying the unexpected surprises in players that wouldn’t have had a chance with other teams. Sometimes it was tough, but I was there almost every game, cheering on my team.

Now the Blues sit a single point out of a playoff spot. And it is still an uphill battle. The chances of them making it are still pretty low. But that patience, that not listening to the crowd but following the instincts, the plan, that waiting and waiting and waiting until the goal is plainly in sight, has paid off. These games ARE playoff games. The team lives or dies with every victory or every defeat. And it’s fun as hell to be a part of.

As the Blues management has said over and over, “We are going to follow the plan. We are going to follow the plan. We are going to follow the plan.” I am seeing, right now, that plan take off before my eyes.

(In case you want to see the goal I refer to above, you can find it on NHL’s site here.)

old.

There, I said it. Old. Old. Old. I can’t eat the same things I used to, at least not without ramifications. I can’t recover from injuries as quick as I used to; I feel the aches and pains of my activities far longer than before. My eyes aren’t as strong as they once were. My academic skills not as sharp. The change that bothers me the most though, is how big of a wuss I am.

When I was young, my mom once told me that I didn’t let minor illnesses slow me down. A mild cold would go unnoticed. A sore throat only noticed by a slightly raspy voice. She knew when I was really ill because only then would I complain about it.

Now, however, I complain at the slightest illness. If my nose starts to get stuffy, I’m done for the day. And forget about coming near me if my throat hurts; I’ll complain your ear off. Where I used to get awards in school for not missing a day, I now cannot get through a season without calling in sick.

Being sick sucks, now more than ever.

I don’t recall the last time I paper machéd. I remember making some recycled paper out of newspapers in about 6th grade, but I’m not sure if we ever paper machéd in grade school. I’m sure that I haven’t done it since. So when my boss came to me and told me that he would like me to head up a project to make a big paper maché high-heeled shoe for an event the hospital was putting on, I was curious, and a bit excited.

It isn’t always easy to walk in someone else’s shoes (in this case, a sculptor’s), but it is nearly always a learning experience. There is a lot of time spent figuring out how they do what they do, how much work goes into it, and how much knowledge and expertise it actually takes to do what they do. This project was not a simple one, but the learning process was extremely fun, and is definitely something I hope I can investigate in the future. Who knows, maybe I just stumbled upon my next hobby. (:

View more pics (as well as the process) after the jump.
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The other day, I finished reading Beverly Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse (link). Despite the book being well under my reading comprehension level, as my sister was sure to let me know, I was super excited to get the chance to read it again. It was one of my favorite books as a kid, and reading it again brought back a lot of memories.

This isn’t the first time recently that I’ve purchased and read through a book that I used to love, and it won’t be the last, either. I have another book on my list that I will get to eventually, and am always running across others that I think about buying. It’s nice to go back to that place and time for a little while, when the most important thing in the world was seeing how Ralph was going to fix his motorcycle. Sure beats stressing about the economy. (;

So I ask, what were your favorite books as a kid? Do you still have them? When was the last time you picked them up and read them?

I’ve been thinking about this question abstractly for awhile but was unable to put it into actual words until last night. I’m really not sure why it took me so long to do so, quite honestly, but I’m glad that I finally have. It will allow me to better investigate the topic and hopefully, someday, come to some kind of personal closure on the issue.

In case you have no idea what I’m talking about with the question, basically, I’m asking if one can believe that something is right in (for this discussion, let’s say “all”) individual circumstances, but not necessarily the right thing when speaking of a population as a whole. For instance, can one believe that, say, contraception is always wrong between two people, but see the value of contraception for the population at large? Can one believe that abortion is always wrong on an individual basis, but feel differently when speaking about tens of millions of people?

I’m really looking for comments here. Usually I don’t specifically ask for them, but usually, at least hopefully, my thoughts are already (half) complete. This time, I’ve only just begun to think about whether there can be a difference between one’s micro- and macroethics and would love some more input on the topic. Thanks ahead of time.

I’ve been thinking for awhile about what I want to do with my 2009. And now that it is upon me, I figure I better make that decision. Recently, a couple of the 437 million people who read my internet ramblings told me that they find some worth in my posts. They might have been lying…but maybe, just maybe, they were telling the truth and I should be writing more. So here is my present to you, world (wide web), for 2009: more internet ramblings. I intend on posting 1,000 times this year cumulatively on soupmagazine and the following sites:

• ::Cletusyouth.net:: (click me)
  Cletusyouth.net is the site for St. Cletus’ youth group, where I volunteer a lot of my time. I blog once or twice a month on there about my spirituality, or about an event we’re doing, or occasionally something that is going on with the Catholic Church in general. Fortunately, I’m not the only one blogging. You can find a variety of different viewpoints from current Core members and some of our graduates.

Subscribe to the site by: email | RSS
Subscribe to just my posts by: email | RSS

• Prayanewsong (click me)
  Prayanewsong is a new project I started a couple of weeks ago with a couple of friends. Here is what I said about it on the “about” page:

  This blog was born in response to three different things: my (chris’) love for Christian music and the effect that it has on my prayer life; a collection of Christian music to which I haven’t fully listened; and most of all, my desire and need to pray more often/deeply. Prayanewsong is an opportunity, first and foremost, for God to speak to me through each of the songs in my collection, and also to share what I have felt…

  Each weekday, my friends and I will reflect on a different song from one of our collections. The insight might be big and powerful or it might be small and simple. It will likely be different for each of us. Each day, we will have the opportunity to pray a new song.

  If you think you might be interested in joining me, I may be adding a person or two in the coming weeks. It’s a pretty serious commitment (20-30 minutes a day, five days a week), but in my experience thus far, it has been well worth it.

  Subscribe to the site by: email | RSS
  Subscribe to just my posts by: email | RSS

• ::Twitter:: (click me)
  And then there is Twitter. Twitter is a microblogging site. Basically, it answers the question, “What are you doing right now?” You won’t find anything revolutionary from me there, but you will be able to see what I’m upto at any given time. It’s more of the day-to-day stuff. Eventually, you’ll probably find this integrated into the sidebar where “Thinking Outloud” currently resides. In the meantime, check the page by clicking the link above or subscribe below. (Though, I have to question your stalker tendencies if you do subscribe.)

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So there you have it, world. You asked for it. (:

I was in line at the supermarket the other day waiting to check out. While doing so, I overheard the conversation of the customer ahead of me and the clerk at the counter. They were talking about Christmas, which I figured was appropriate since it had happened just the day before. The clerk mentioned to the customer about how, while she enjoyed her holiday, she didn’t like it as much as she used to. She blamed it on a phrase that I’ve heard multiple times in the past month or two: the “commercialization of Christmas.”

I blame it on growing up.

Think about it. I doubt anyone between the ages of 3 and 13 cares about how early Christmas music is playing in the stores, or how early the displays go up, who has the best Black Friday sales, or how much is being spent or not spent by the American public. Instead, they are lost in the mystery of the season.

Somehow, as we get older, we miss the anticipation of the season, the joy found in the celebrations, and the love that is wrapped up in each gift. We tend to focus more on fact, and less on feeling. Anticipation, joy, and love are replaced with dates and dollar signs.

The challenge is not in battling the corporations vying for our money in a struggling economy (who can blame them?). The challenge is in rediscovering the feeling of Christmas. As usual, my hindsight is 20/20. (;

Somewhere throughout my 28 years, I grew up. (Or, at least, partially.) And in the process of doing so, I’ve discovered that I just don’t like snow anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure that there is an inverse relationship between “enjoyment of snow” and “responsibility.” When I was young and my only worry was exactly how big the snowman would be, snow was great. But now that I have this place I have to be at a certain time each morning five times a week, snow is a lot less fun.

Driving in it is no fun because it takes five times as long to get anywhere. Walking through it is no fun because it gets my pants, the pants I have to wear for the next 8 hours, all wet. Playing with it isn’t that much fun either; it doesn’t hold the magic that it used to.

Snow does bring with it one redeeming quality. I love the peacefulness that a good snowfall brings. A couple inches of snow seems to be the sound equivalent to a black hole. Nothing escapes it. Not the sound of cars bustling down the road. Not the voices of two people talking while meandering down the street. Not the *clink clink clink* a metal gate makes as the wind pushes it back and forth against the fence. Everything is silenced. Peace flows from a good snowfall.

I almost wrote that I wish I could extract that peace and use it when it wasn’t snowing, but I think I’m glad that it is locked inside those tiny snowflakes. For it is the last enjoyment that I have when the ground has been painted white. May that peace be with all of you.

One month ago today, these United States of America elected its first ever minority President. In terms of historical significance, this is right up there near the top. It will be written about in history books, and discussed as one of the most pivotal moments, regardless of what Barack Obama does in office, of our young country. That’s pretty exciting.

However, for the moment, what is more exciting to me than the freedom of a country to elect who it thinks will be the best (or at least, “better”) President choosing a minority, is the return of a freedom that I have not experienced in quite awhile: the freedom to think for myself.

I feel like, over the course of this electoral season, everyone from my friends to my church (of all places) decided that I apparently did not have the moral fiber nor the conscience to vote for the person I think would be best for this country…*my* country. I was told which issues were important, and which were not. I was told which propositions should pass, and which should not. I was told who I should cast my vote for, and who I should not.

I was rarely, if ever, told that I have the capacity to decide for myself for whom and for what to vote. I was rarely, if ever, told that God had implanted in me a good conscience, and that I should use it. I was, I feel, in large part, not trusted by some of those closest or most important to me.

That lack of confidence, more than anything, is why I didn’t vote. What good is a vote, if it isn’t mine?