Love, Hate, and War

I have often been accused of being argumentative, and out-spoken... perhaps sometimes a little cynical and sarcastic. My childhood was a bitterly surpressed one, so it's no wonder that I have grown to realize that if I am to have a place in the world as the youngest sibling of my family, I must fight for it. My family knows even that statement is sarcastic, so it's no wonder that those closest to me consider me a great burden.

I believe my greatest conflict with debating comes because I know I'm right, but I can prove myself wrong. My brother-in-law Eric just read that statement over my shoulder, and spit in my hot-chocolate with his laughter. Let me explain that statement. (Now he's trying to attest to his innocence, and he says I'm not being very nice right now.) I have discovered that any discussion I come upon can have many answers (duh), and that the more one studies an issue, the more gray one can observe amidst the black and white. Best yet, I know this sounds wierd, but one can honestly take an opinion and just take the opposing view and go at it. It's kind of fun, and one finds the weaknesses in their own arguments. Many people (including myself) often want to take an adament position on issues, and it does feel good to be able to take a stand and fight for all your worth for that position. But any of us can find moments where we are confused when we defend our positions, because there are just many ways to look at an issue.

That's just something I noticed recently, so in a way that's a defense against being called argumentative, but in reality it's more just an observation.

I greatly appreciate those of you who contacted me by email, and by letter to express interest in my graduation. The ceremony actually went greater than I ever expected it could be except that my grandmother fell and went to the emergency room. Otherwise, it was so exciting! I was so touched by those who made such a big deal of the affair, and I was overcome when I looked to the back of the auditorium and saw one of my very own customers, Antony, sitting in our little church pews! Grace was there, too (with 25 dark red roses), and my family, and so many long-time friends and... wow I was just so overwhelmed with love for the world.

Then today, I was back at PotBelly, totally out of my element, and I hated the world. Heh, thus goes the endless cycle of love, hate, and war. Makes life more interesting, no? I figure, I don't aim for perfection, because I'd much rather feel something real and make the most of it. Wow, that was so profound. I do feel quite old and mature now that I've walked the magical aisle. La, the stages we go through in life. On that note... I will be leaving you to your summery evenings and hoping you the greatest peace in your life.

The Weather of Death, Speedway Cappuccinos, and the Showdown of Debates

Romney has dropped out of the presidential race, and about the only thing captivating my interest now is the weather. It’s friggin cold. My dad, brother, and I were traveling home from church tonight, and I moaned, “This is how I will die.” And then I shuddered violently, for good measure.

Luckily for Jon and I, my father is a Speedway cappuccino fanatic. I do mean fanatic. Church comes hand in hand with cappuccinos. On the way home from evening services, we always amble into Speedway and fill ourselves up THE stuff. “Do you think tonight is a CAP night?”, my father asked casually. (we have become so intimate with cappuccino’s - that they are now CAPs). We looked at him dryly, knowing there was no response necessary, and my brother maneuvered us smoothly into the front most Speedway parking lot. I opened my door, narrowly avoiding an iceberg of snow to my right, and we entered our Speedway with the utmost familiarity. My Dad nodded friendly-like to all of the gas-station attendants. (We are some of their most faithful regulars, so they nod back and smile.)

With steaming cappuccinos’ in red-and-blue mottled fists, we ran to the car. It’s funny to see people run in odd weather. Have you ever noticed that? Rain brings it out in most people. If you ever sit in a parking-lot long enough during a rain-storm, you can watch people dodging and flailing over cement and then fumbling with umbrellas so they can dive into the safety of their car. It becomes amusing. Cold, therefore, is doubly amusing, because people have nothing to dodge, and yet there they are - running with scrunched up shoulders and pinched faces so that they may fumble with their keys and dive into their cars.
As the car warmed up, and I continued chattering (I’m sure the two had no connection whatsoever), a discussion arose.

Question stated: How many electrical lights are there in Milwaukee?

A thought for pondering, to be sure. Jon provoked my thoughts by adding, “I have one for you. Are there more street lights than people?”

“No,” I said easily. There was no debate there for me.

But he continued, “What makes you so sure?”

“Think of all the cars that pass by the street lights. There are dozens more cars than streetlights, and there could be dozens of people represented by a couple cars.”

“But I’m not referring to cars. The cars may just be a passin through. I’m referring to people within residences.”

“Still, there are far more people to my right and my left than there are street lights before me.” (I thought that was profound)

He pointed to my left, “Ah, but there are street lights to your left.”

“No, those are parking lot lights. You didn’t say parking lot lights. You said street lights.”

Sparring often doesn’t need much of a reason in my family, and it’s strikingly evident in our most avid debates.

The man came out in my dear brother and he challenged, “But I meant parking lots, too. All lights.”

“Then, where is the end? No, you said street lights, and since you did not specify clearer, the parking lot lights are parking lot lights, not street lights.” I sat there smugly, and could see I had won the issue.

“Still,” he defended bravely (for it takes a certain amount of bravery to defy me), “There are two street lights on every pole.”

“Ah, but did you say poles? No, you said street light. Oo -- and if you think about it, light that floods a street is ONE continuous light. So, my dear brother, you see you are beat. There cannot possibly be more light than people, because light is one continuum. This light here is all street light.”

His knuckles gripped the wheel hard, and if my peripheral vision served me correctly, I’d say his silent, grim face was a testament to my victory.