I think I've decided to stop feeling sheepish about believing in God. I don't really have any apologies about it; everyone has inconsistencies in their world views. Show me someone who's built their house on a rock, and I show you a rock that's going to turn to sand sooner or later. You could just not build a house at all, maybe, but what sort of a life is that? Home Depot stocks would plummet, the real estate bubble would burst, and Alan Greenspan would STILL not give a shit.

The other night one of my friends got into an argument about whether or not the Catholic church should actively discourage the use of condoms and other birth control. In the end it sort of came down to the idea that the church, if it is to be a moral institution, ought to be consitent in its arguments--and it is. The problem is that many of us have a different organization of priorities and values; I happen to believe that it is better for someone's physical being to be free of HIV than for their soul to be saved. I can't put words into their mouths, of course, but I think it's safe to say that Catholics might think that eternal damnation is a shade worse than hepatitis. I have plenty of half-assed convictions, but I still consumer my not-so-fair share of fossil fuels, eat tomatoes that were probably picked by desperate people, don't call my parents often enough, neglect to answer emails, AND I never, ever return library books on time.

We saw Prairie Home Companion last week and I came away convinced that the thing I need most in life is probably an autoharp. It was hilarious how well Garrison Kiellor and his folks know his audience. His impressions of kids in the car whining for Mom to turn off NPR hit eerily close to home--and hit even more eerily close to the assertion that I am slowly turning into my oppressors--one day I will be my mother.

Potlucks have thus far been exquisite and ended in singalongs.

Things are going bump in the night! Shit! Here comes the future! I am responding to fellowship deadlines like a deer in the headlights. Today was the first really craptastic rainy day in the Twin Cities, and even though i had a great time lounging around on the couch with Jon and Charles, it made me start to think seriously about what's going to happen when it's time to make like a banana and split. Actually, I still have faith that if I do not very much right now I'll still turn out okay; it's just that I don't want to neglect great opportunities like the Watson just because I couldn't get my act together.

Went to another peace protest on Sunday. Protests here in the Twin Cities are small and heartening compared to the tumultuous crowds of DC. For some reason that day I was particularly irked by the fuzzy messages sent by conflicting signs, chants having to do with fascism and flags that proclaimed nothing more than rainbows. When you are trying to convey the clear message of "bring the troops home now," I no longer feel that it is productive to use symbols like that...having rainbows on your side automatically antagonizes those with whom you're trying to reckon as "anti-rainbow." It's like responding to a fire with calls for "justice" instead of bringing water. Although I relish the motley that shows up, and the comraderie that tends to grow, I sort of would like to make certain protests a venue where the "normal" people can show their faces without being ashamed or associated with unbathed bearded men shouting profanities. I think the very "liberalness" of liberal movements stands to scare away many would-be followers. I also went to a bike film festival on Friday. There was one particularly long one that had people in black sweatshirts bike really fast through construction sites, up one way streets the wrong way, and whizzing past disgruntled pedestrians while loud punk music blared through the speakers. Don't get me wrong, it was really cool, but if the bike movement wants to be taken seriously, we can't say that "taking back the streets" means acting like a jerk. Otherwise, bikes are the shit, and even though I groan about how much time this job has taken thus far, I wear my cuts and bruises and bike grease with pride. My friend Claire, who managed to make every program she touched bloom and flourish into something incredible, is going to be biking from Santiago to Quito (4000 km) on a grand tour of schools and villages to talk about climate justice. Damn.

Contrary to what I'm supposed to be feeling, I've been ecstatic to be here at Macalester, and it's hard to believe that I was back in Baltimore just a week ago. I guess I was getting kind of tired of extending olive branches that didn't really need to be extended in the first place to people who weren't there anymore. Somehow whenever I go home I'm so happy to be with my family, but always so restless, so frustrated that I need a car and a premeditated plan to see anyone I know that it is a relief to leave. It hurts that I just wrote that. If I were to re-start in Baltimore on a clean slate, to manage to meet the same kinds of people I met at the bike coop instead of re-kindling half-assed relationships with the ranks of Towson graduates, it is indeed possible that I could be happy there. After this summer, and realizing that certain parts of Baltimore are the US's version of the third world, and that internationalism is just a bunch of ego and exoticism all bundled up with a bunch of otherwise useless crap...I don't know, it would be pretty gratifying to go back there, be satisfied with life, and make a little change. Something about that kind of hits the spot. Then again, the west coast calls. Bus something always calls, I guess. I've been writing yet another stupid guitar song to that effect. I may regret it in a few weeks. As I often do. It seems like my more honest portrayals of my loser-dome are my more popular songs. My latest rebellion has involved a protest against alienating language. I am convinced that any concept can be conveyed in simple language, eventualy...good vocabulary is just a shortcut. When I was nine I tried to learn Esperanto (I really thought that it would save the world someday), and the only phrase I remember is "you are an ugly camel."

They made the work study position I created! After our short-lived triumph over Coca-Cola and the community banking towards the end of sophomore year, I was worried that it would all go to shit after I left. And I had thought it did, until I discovered that they did indeed creat the jobs (not one, but two!) and they have moved half a million dollars to a community bank. I am excited, to the point that I mutter it to people who obviously don't care or don't understand what I'm talking about. That's the way life is. Most of the time, people don't care--and--most of the time, you don't really care either. Maybe not caring and not understanding things are one and the same. We're doomed. In any case the social responsibility stuff is back, I have a seat on the committee, and the piece of my life here that had been missing has returned with a vengeance. Around this time of the week I am always debating about whether or not to go to Quaker meeting. I guess I better. Right now I'm craving whatever routine I might concievably cling to, and am even more clingy to the people that might come to represent consistent companionship here...there are plenty of people to meet, but I've lost my willingness to cast my nets far and wide. I'd rather go ice fishing.