A verdant meadow full of wildflowers far out in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of the city? Nope. This meadow is right next to the Steel Bridge on my commute to work every day. Lovely.
One of my goals this year was to reread the Harry Potter series before the last book comes out. I did this because, frankly, I forgot what happens in each book and I’m not a huge fan of the movies (I’ve only seen 1 and the DVD extras of 3) so things aren’t really solidified in my mind. I decided to read one per month which would have me finishing in June.
“What are you going to do for the rest of June and most of July?” asked Matt. We were arguing about whose reading schedule was better. I told him I would review.
I’m really glad I reread everything because I didn’t really remember much of the second book and only a little of the fourth book. The third book was less murky for me because I saw parts of the movie, but most of that was pretty unfamiliar too. Still, even with all of my reviewing, I got to the part in the sixth book when the big spider dies, and there was a reference to an earlier book when Ron and Harry encountered it. I had no idea what she was talking about. But I’ve got a good foundation for the last book.
Without further ado here are my predictions for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
This assumes you have either read all six books or don’t really care if you find anything out.
•We will spend 80% of the book thinking that Snape is evil, and 15% wondering if he might be good and 5% finding out that he is good. Although he did KILL Dumbledore. So this might be way off.
•One of the Weasley’s will die. There are just too many of them. They can’t all be in mortal peril forever. I’m guessing Charlie as he has been in Romania for the entire series and we haven’t gotten attached to him.
•Dumbledore is dead, but will advise/aid Harry in some way.
•Harry will die, and even though this will be tragic and sad, it will make for a somewhat tear sodden happy ending.
•If Harry doesn’t die, he will defeat Voldemort and become a quiddich player.
From “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert.
The following morning, I arrive right on time for the 4:00 AM meditation session which always starts the day here. We are meant to sit for an hour in silence, but I log the minutes as if they are miles—sixty brutal miles that I have to endure. By mile/minute fourteen, my nerves have started to go, my knees are breaking down and I’m overcome with exasperation. Which is understandable, given that the conversations between me and my mind during meditation go something like this:
Me: OK, we’re going to meditate now. Let’s draw our attention to our breath and focus on the mantra. Om Namah Shivaya. Om Namah Siv—
Mind: I can help you out with this, you know!
Me: OK good, because I need your help. Let’s go. Om Namah Shivaya. Om Namah Shi—
Mind: I can help you think of nice meditative images. Like—hey, here’s a good one. Imagine you are temple. A temple on an island! And the island is in the ocean!
Me: Oh, that is a nice image.
Mind: Thanks. I thought of it myself.
Me: But what ocean are we picturing here?
Mind: The Mediterranean. Imagine you’re one of those Greek islands, with an old Greek temple on it. No, never mind, that’s too touristy. You know what? Forget the ocean. Oceans are too dangerous. Here’s a better idea—imagine you’re an island in lake, instead.
Me: Can we meditate now, please? Om Namah Shiv—
Mind: Yes! Definitely! But try not to picture that the lake is covered with…what are those things called—
Me: Jet Skis?
Mind: Yes! Jet Skis! Those things consume so much fuel! They’re really a menace to the environment. Do you know what else uses a lot of fuel? Leaf blowers. You wouldn’t think so, but—
Me: OK, but let’s MEDITATE now, please? Om Namah—
Mind: Right! I definitely want to help you meditate! And that’s why we’re going to skip the image of an island on a lake or an ocean, because that’s obviously not working. So let’s imagine that you’re an island in…a river!
Me: Oh, you mean like Bannerman Island, in the Hudson River?
Mind: Yes! Exactly! Perfect. Therefore, in conclusion, let’s meditate on this image—envision that you are an island in a river. All the thoughts that float by as you’re meditating, these are just the river’s natural currents and you can ignore them because you are an island.
Me: Wait, I thought you said I was a temple.
Mind: That’s right, sorry. You’re a temple on an island. In fact, you are both the temple and the island.
Me: Am I also the river?
Mind: No, the river is just the thoughts.
Me: Stop! Please stop! YOU’RE MAKING ME CRAZY!!!!
Mind (wounded): Sorry. I was only trying to help.
Me: Om Namah Shivaya…Om Namay Shivaya…Om Namah Shivaya.
Here there is a promise eight-second pause in thoughts. But then—
Mind: Are you mad at me now?
–and then with a big gasp, like I am coming up for air, my mind wins, my eyes fly open and I quit. In tears. An ashram is supposed to be a place where you come to deepen your meditation, but this is a disaster. The pressure is too much for me. I can’t do it. But what should I do? Run out of the temple crying after fourteen minutes, every day?
|You scored as Classical Liberal,You are a classical liberal. You are sceptical about much of the historicity of the Bible, and the most important thing Jesus has done is to set us a good moral example that we are to follow. Doctrines like the trinity and the incarnation are speculative and not really important, and in the face of science and philosophy the surest way we can be certain about God is by our inner awareness of him. Discipleship is expressed by good moral behaviour, but inward religious feeling is most important.|
I had never made out, smoked, drank, broken a law, set fire to a car, vandalized a cemetery, or worn socks that matched. But I had the passion for rock and roll; I was a regular Dr. Johnny Fever in the body of a Les Nessman. Nobody could truly understand my quest to rock—except maybe Annie, my favorite Solid Gold dancer. I was totally clueless about social interaction, and completely scared of girls. All I knew was that music was going to make girls fall in love with me.
I was still serfing away at grad school. My friends and I assumed that we would soon be tenured professors, which is an excellent life goal—it’s like planning to be Cher. You think, I’m going to wear beads and fringed gowns, and sing “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” on the way to work every morning, and then one day, I’m going to get a call saying, “Congratulations! You’re Cher! Can you make it to Vegas by showtime?
There’s a lot I miss about the nineties. It was an open, free time of possibilities, changes we thought were permanent. It seemed inconceivable that things would ever go back to the way they were in the eighties, when monsters were running the country and women were only allowed to play bass in indie-rock bands. The nineties moment has been stomped over so completely, it’s hard to imagine it ever happened, much less that is lasted fix, six, seven years. Remember Brittany Murphy, the funny, fizzy-hared, Mentos-loving dork in Clueless? By 2002, she was the hood ornament in 8 Mile, just another skinny starlet, an index of everything we’ve lost in that time.
When Avril Lavigne sings “Sk8tr Boi,” a song about how lucky she is to wait backstage for her rock boy, how is anybody supposed to remember that the Avril Lavignes of yesteryear were sold pop fantasies in which they had a place onstage, too? (“Sk8tr Boi” is a great song, too—which is part of the reason why there’s nothing simple about these questions.) Something was happening in nineties music that isn’t happening anywhere in pop culture these days, with women making noise in public ways that seem distant now. Nirvana brought mass appeal back to guitar rock, and the mass appeal made the bands braver—some of them even had something to say about the real world, which is way more than anybody has a right to expect from musicians. A kind of popular song existed that didn’t before and doesn’t any more, as arty guitar bands sized the moment to communicate with huge numbers of fans and go to extremes and indulge their appalling drug-addled muses and say dangerous or dumb things and expand the emotional/musical languages with which people communicated.
I remember the summer of 1996, at a drunken wedding with one of my professors, a Hendrix-freak baby boomer, when he was complaining about the “bullet-in-the-head rock and roll” the kids were listening to today, and he asked Renee, “What does rock and roll have today that it didn’t have in the sixties?” Renee said, “Tits” which in retrospect strikes me as not a bad one-word off-the-dome answer at all. The nineties fad for indie rock overlapped precisely with the nineties fad for feminism. The idea of a pop culture that was pro-girl, or even just not anti-girl—that was a 1990s mainstream dream, rather than a 1980s or 2000s one, and it was real for a while. Music was not just part of it but leading the way—hard to believe, hard to even remember. But some of us do.
The Bike Project:
In which I attempt to ride all the yellow, green, blue & purple streets on the Bike There Bike Map while increasing strength, stamina, aerobic capacity and exploring Portland’s Nooks and Crannies.
Weather: A bit windy and threatening to rain. Very grey
Ride Average Speed: 11.2 mph
Time: 1h 14m
Distance: 13.90 miles
Best Pace: 2:21
Best Speed: 25.4
Rest Time: 1.35
Rest Distance: 0
Total: 1h 16m
Average Heart Rate: NA
Lombard & Denver
N on Denver
R Jantzen Beach
Over the bridge to Washington
Turn around and come back
R on Marine Drive
L on Portland Road
L on unnamed bike path by Triangle Lake
R on Denver to start
I wanted to test ride over the bridge to Washington, something I knew could be done, but I had never done before. Then I wanted to make a big old square and take out a long purple bike path that I had never done before. The directions to are somewhat vague because the map didn’t really have names for a lot of these streets/paths/interchanges.
How did I do?
· Bike Riding in North Portland is a study in contrasts. I rode on a lovely neighborhood street to an industrial slew to a huge shopping megalopolis to a sidewalk on an Interstate bridge to a beautiful bike path on the Columbia River to a beautiful bike path surrounded by railroads and auto wrecking yards to another bike path that took me past the waste water treatment plant then a golf course.
· The sign on the Marine Drive Bike Path near the Expo Center says: “Welcome to the Peninsula. Gateway to Nature.” I laughed a little because the Peninsula, like many slough-y areas, has been a bit of a dumping ground, historically. Hence the reason I rode past a waste water treatment plant, and a lovely marshy area has an Auto Wrecking yard in the font of it. However, right before I got to the auto wrecking yard, I came upon a fellow biker who was very quietly following two geese and their goslings. We both followed them as they waddled along the bike path. Only when they turned off into the grass did I pass them.
· Other bird sightings: Two yellow birds flew along in front of me for about a quarter of a mile before they turned off. I interrupted a dove resting on the path and also maybe a killdeer? I’m such an ornithologist.
· Just after turning onto Denver there was a pile of garbage, but on the top was a ball peen hammer! I stopped and grabbed it. Free ball peen hammer! Excellent ride bonus!
I grew up in the 80s. I was five when the decade began and 15 when it ended, so music from those years brings me straight back to my childhood and adolescence. Hearing this mishmash of music: leftover disco, metal, pop, new wave and rap inevitably calls up very vivid memories.
It’s 1988. I’m 13 and in that period where school doesn’t really take up much of my time and I am too young to have a job. I’m not so much into sports and so most of my spare time is spent with Adam Curry and the top 20 video countdown and MTV viewing in general. This might have been the year when I watched all 10 hours of the top 100 video countdown. Hearing some songs now, nearly 20 (!) years later, I can clearly recall their videos.
“Lost in You” Rod Stewart. Not one of his better known songs, but boy, did it make an impression on never-been-kissed me. The song: Rod Stewart sings of pining for his unnamed woman, who he has been separated from for unknown reasons. The setting: Rod is working as a bartender in a strip joint, looking sad and unsatisfied. There may have been inter-cutting to the unnamed woman he was pining for. She may have been writhing on the bed. I’m sure there was some writhing, it was a staple of 80’s videos. All I know about writhing, I learned from MTV.
The lyrics still transport me. They were so adult, and I was old enough to understand what he was singing about; I just hadn’t experienced it.
You’ve been on my mind tonight
I’m so lonely
I just had to sit down and write
I spent all yesterday
Trying to figure out what I’m gonna say
A letter from the heart
is so hard to start baby
How’s your mama, how’s the weather
How’s that son of mine, yeah
Been a long time since we made love
I’m stone cold, the bed’s hard
and the work is tough
I’m never gonna leave you again
This job ain’t worth the pain
No money in the world
ain’t worth being away from you
Ooh baby I don’t sleep
without you by my side, listen
It’s a common known natural fact
And I’ve found what I’m looking for
And it’s so much more than that
I’m lost in you, I’m lost in you
you don’t know what you’ve done for me
I’m so happy
as any man can deserve to be
I was living in a life of sin
God knows what a mess I was in
So glad you found me
I ain’t getting any younger
Hey baby I just hope
it ain’t all a dream
I miss our baby crying
I wanna lay you out
and kiss you all over
I’m coming home real soon
Be ready cause when I do
I’m gonna make love to you
Like fifteen men.
I think was the thing about being an adolescent. So many adult things sounded so great to me. They also seemed so very far away. How romantic; life forcing a separation. Would this exciting event ever happen to me? When I actually experienced it, it wasn’t so great at all. It was boring and lonely and there was a lot of pining. I don’t think I thought of this song once.
I’ve been mulling “Lost in you” for a few days, and My favorite TV columnist, Peter Ames Carlin, also deconstructed a song this morning in his column. (go here)
On Monday and Tuesday, I was the super me. I rode to the gym, ran, lifted, rode to work. At work, I was productive all day and cheerful and so super. Today, that all came crashing down. I was awake in the middle of the night last night, so missed the gym, though did ride to work. My cold, which was receding, returned to me. I made it through the school day, but came home pretty quickly after school got out at 1 p.m. It’s 8:10 p.m. and I am about to head for bed. Maybe tomorrow I can be the medium me, returning to the super me next week.
David Bailey: Tonight I’ll be the super me.
Steve Dunne: What if the super you meets the super her and the super her rejects the super you?
David Bailey: Then it’s no problem.
Steve Dunne: Uh-huh. Why?
David Bailey: Because it was never you, it was just an act. I live my life like a French movie, Steve.