May

Here are my plans for the day after Nate and Katie's wedding...


"We've got an announcement..."

William's Latest Compostition

William Crum March 5, 2010
Seikei’s Journey

The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler tells the story of a young Japanese boy who yearns to be a samurai. Because his father is a tea merchant, Seikei thinks there is no hope of his ever becoming a samurai. While staying at the Tokaido Inn, Seikei wakes up at night and sees a ghost. However, he finds out that he actually witnessed a robbery and becomes involved in helping to solve the crime. The thief, an actor named Tomomi, has a good reason for stealing a jewel which originally belonged to his family. Tomomi, a former samurai, has great sword fighting, acting, and acrobatic skills. Surprisingly, he and Seikei become friends. Tomomi finally gets revenge on the man who stole his family’s honor and jewel. But, Seikei is the main character of this story. The loyalty, bravery, and respect found in Seikei lure you into the story of his journey to become a true samurai.
The loyalty of Seikei may be the most important element in this story of a merchant’s young son. Seikei’s journey begins when a ruby is stolen from the daimyo, a local nobleman, and is found in the room of a girl named Michiko, but Seikei saw the real thief and truthfully tells the judge, whose name is Ooka, what he has seen. This was loyal because Seikei rescued Michiko from trouble. Seikei soon becomes the judge’s assistant. Seikei proves his brilliant loyalty to Judge Ooka by doing everything in his power to safely retrieve a magnificent wooden sword, which was given to him by the judge, after it was taken from him in a fight with Tomomi. As the book, continues Seikei is told by the judge to stay with Tomomi whose real name is Genji. Unexpectedly, he finds out that Genji is a Karishitan (Christian). This is against the law. Seikei, loyal to Genji, does not turn him in. Because of the many things Seikei does for his friends, he shows the passion to be a loyal samurai.
Since it is extremely important to a samurai to be fearless, courageous, and brave, this is exactly how Seikei acts. He is dauntless. First, Seikei fearlessly follows what he thinks is a jinkininki even though he believes the jinkininki, which is a ghost that eats people, might devour him. Secondly, when Judge Ooka found a dark, creepy tunnel in the ground into which he thought the criminal had escaped, Seikei bravely crawled down into the pitch-black hole. Convinced that a samurai would do the same thing in his position, Seikei courageously continued. Finally, Seikei valiantly walks to the Shogun’s palace by himself not knowing what will happen. Unmistakably, Seikei not only knows a lot about samurai courage, but acts bravely and fearlessly himself.
Seikei is polite and respectful. From the beginning of the story to the end, this young man, although only a merchant’s son, shows respect to Tomomi and the Judge even though he may not understand their requests. Even when Seikei did things or knew things better than others, he never bragged. At one point in the story, Seikei and Genji have a sword fight. Seikei sees Genji’s next move, which is a blow to the head; skillfully dodges it; and knocks him down. Although it is just a play fight, Seikei does not boast about defeating the master. Back at the Shogun’s magnificent palace we observe how polite Seikei is. The Shogun is hosting a tea ceremony and brags about his tea. Because Seikei’s father is a tea merchant, Seikei has tasted better tea but says nothing. Seikei shows the politeness and respect of a samurai.
Although Seikei was not born into the samurai class, he had the character and heart of a true samurai. Seikei works hard to become loyal, brave, and respectful. These characteristics should be true of Christians, too. Just as Seikei strives to be a samurai, we should strive to be godly. Loyalty to Jesus, bravery in sharing one’s faith, and respect for others are the character and heart of a true Christian.

2-4-Tuesday

Today we're listening to something a little different, so bear with me. The music Pop listened to while I was growing up has had a big impact on the kinds of music I listen to today. There was always a lot of classical music in the house (especially in St. Louis with 99.1 KFOU, Classic 99). So today we get a 2-4 featuring a 'classic' performance and a jazz variation on Vivaldi's first movement from The Four Seasons (Spring I. Allegro); the vote is up to you:

Classical - London Chamber Orchestra, Christopher Warren-Green

Jazz - The Jacques Loussier Trio

Vote

poll by twiigs.com

Broken Bells

Brian Burton (Danger Mouse from Gnarls Barkly) and James Mercer (Shins front man) team up to make the coolest record so far this year... sorry Ke$ha. Listen to the entire album on NPR.

Our trip to Mexico

As you all (probably) know, Ben brought me to Mexico. We vacationed on Isla Mujeres, and Daniel and Zion stayed with my parents. Although we were worried that we would have a hard time enjoying ourselves because we would miss the boys too much, I am pleased to report that, although we did miss them, it did not in any way prevent us from having a wonderful trip! It was kind of a birthday-Christmas-Valentine's Day present all wrapped up in one. I have yet to see whether it also encompassed our five-year anniversary, which is coming up in May. Ben worked very hard freelance designing a website, and that paid for our trip. Thank you, Ben!

Believe it or not, I had never been to Mexico before. Ben was pleased to give me another stamp in my passport. It's kind of embarrassing to me--I've been to Africa three times and visited six different countries on that continent, but I had never visited our neighbor Mexico (I've also never seen the Pacific Ocean--don't tell).

A summary of our trip: we almost missed our flight out of Indianapolis (after keeping us waiting over an hour at the front desk, they called ahead and we got to the gate at 1:21pm--the flight was supposed to leave at 1:20) We spent the first night in Cancún and caught the ferry over to Isla Mujeres in the morning. We spent the next five nights in Los Arcos, a little hotel in the center of the tourist-y area of Isla Mujeres. Isla Mujeres is a skinny island that is only about 5 miles long and half a mile wide. We inadvertently planned our trip for the duration of "Carnaval", the week leading up to Mardi Gras. This meant that every time we tried to go anywhere we were treated (whether we wanted it or not) to dances, mostly performed in the middle of streets by groups of ten to fifteen scantily-clad overweight and past-their-prime women. It was special, as my family would say. We arrived on the day "Carnaval" began, and left the day it ended. Oops.

We took lots of long walks. We had blisters on our feet by the time we came home. The second day we walked seven miles. We walked to a Sea Turtle Farm and back. I enjoyed it. Ben did not. We especially enjoyed walking along the east side of the island because it was always completely deserted. You can't swim on the west side of the island, so I guess that's why no one went over there.

We went snorkeling and saw all sorts of fish. Here are some pictures interspersed of the ones I remember seeing. I'll bet you'd never guess what the middle one right here is called--that's right, donkey dung. I was scared of the barracuda and the urchin. The rest were pretty cool, especially the one at the very top. The squids were pretty cool too, because we could watch them change colors to blend in to their surroundings as they swam over different surfaces.

We ate lots of delicious food--Mexican food, sea food, Cuban food. Yum. We also discovered our new favorite drink--mojitos. Thanks for the tip, Katie.

We stood on the southeastern tip of the island, which is the easternmost point in Mexico. The morning we left, we got up early and watched the sun rise on the east side of the island.

On the way home, our flight got delayed in Cancun, so we had to take a later flight out of Chicago. We didn't get home until 2am, though we should have been home by 11:30. American Airlines sucked, but the rest of the trip was great.

Tune in next time to hear how Daniel and Zion kept us busy for the next few days.

2-4-Tuesday

I don't know how many different artists have covered songs from the Beatles. What I do know is that most of them fall flat. Even when I hear one and think "hey, that's not too bad" it still never comes close to the original (think Blackbird by Sarah McLachlan or Come Together by Aerosmith). So I know I am going out on a limb with this one, but the vote is up to you:

The Beatles - I Will

Alison Krauss & Tony Furtado

Vote

poll by twiigs.com

Two Trick Dogs

(Author's Note: Words in bold are words for Jesse to look up the meaning.)
As there is no video footage to verify the validity of claims that I was a trick dog I see it as my duty to come forward with a first-hand account of the events from my past, offering up my memories and matching those memories against the performance of a modern day trick dog (and real live dog) Chipper.
As many Trickers (industry term) know, the human attempt at dog tricks, in itself, is a feat that requires the utmost level of practice, skill, and God-given ability. To even attempt such tricks, it should be noted, requires the nerves or Lassie and the courage of Benji (The Hunted). Tapping into the dog psyche (syke) is the first and most important step.
Obviously safety should be at the forefront of all tricks. But in my day we spit in the face of safety. No nets were used, no safety harnesses, no ambulance was waiting to whisk me away should injury befall. I was at the mercy of the elements, risking life and limb for the entertainment of a few—who I liken to the raucous and blood-crazed crowds of the Circus and the Coliseum.
When I would take the floor, a whisper could be heard. The ringmaster would have the crowd in his palm, time stood still.
“Speak” was shouted and from my being would come the perfect bark… “Arrf, arrf.” Many have fallen into the snare with such a simple command, trembling at such a demand. “AARRRF, AARRRRF,” I would repeat, the crowd shuttering at the sound of my alpha-male dominance.
Again silence.
“Roll over.”
As tricks come this one is to stare death in the face. The crowd would again be on the edge of the sofa. “Can it be done?” they would wonder. Mom would look away for fear of seeing the hand of the reaper take her beloved son/dog.
Huzzah! He’s done it. A perfect roll, executed with the stealth of a ninja, and the wisdom of a thousand monks.
A second roll, a third. This is true greatness.
The performance would go on for several minutes, leaping off of furniture, more roles and twists and moves that would make a contortionist tie up like a pretzel, a recitation of the birth of Christ from the gospel of Luke, and tricks that would make Helen Keller sing like Celine Dion. To see me as a trick dog was to experience Nirvana.
Modern day.
As sports so often do, they mutate into a technical form that bares little resemblance to the “golden days.” Such is the case with Trick Dogs. Having unionized, the sport feels empty and gray. Certain tricks have been labeled as “too risky.” Others have simply faded into the past as adventures and whimsy.
But don’t you think for one second that a master of the craft would neglect to pass on such ancient tricks to his own beloved canine.
Chipper is released in a blur from the macabre of his cage. With speed unseen before on earth, or elsewhere in this universe, he navigates the narrow passages and perilous terrain of the arena. And in an instant he is as still as a statue. He hangs on my command. He lives for the words that I speak. His soul yearns and the anticipation is almost too much—his stub of a tail as it wags, the only motion he makes.
“AARRRFFF.” He speaks before the command is even off my lips. Dog and handler are of one mind, a connection that cannot be broken. Muffled at first, the bark becomes louder and louder with each command. Chipper has taken skill to the next level. He is in his own doggy Matrix where the realm of reality can be altered to his wishes.
“Shake,” I say.
“Which paw,” he replies.
“The left one.”
“You mean this left one,” he laughs as he holds up his right paw.
“No, your other left,” I rebut.
And in a puff of purple haze he plants his left paw perfectly in my palm, sealed with a lick of his tongue to taste the success that is his due.
He’s up, he’s down, he’s almost in a roll. This fur-ball of fantastic is a sight to see. Helen Keller would stand and applaud at his performance.
And as soon as he has arrived, he is gone. Only in the distance can you hear the sound of a rawhide bone.
To see Chipper is to see true artistry and grace, poetry in motion. Comparisons cannot be made to two Trickers such as these. One was before his time, a one-of-a-kind find. The other is a throwback to days of old in a time when tricks had but all been forgotten. One might even say that the majesty in which I performed somehow was years later breathed into the body of a young pup, a pup we all know as Chipper.