words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Tuesday, January 28, 2003
I wrote the following and posted it to the forum in respose to the NYT article, The Fanatical Sports Parent
My dad did a lot of coaching and pushing me when I was younger, for multiple sports although he finally decided I should be a football player. Growing up with bicycling, skiing, and hiking were great; they were noncompetitve but athletic activities that helped the two of us spend time together. When he forced me to play football and berated me for not being aggressive enough, he crossed the line from being supportive of athletics to being tyrannical about athletics. The years we spent lifting weights for 2 1/2 hours a day, five days a week certainly elevated my status around high school and forced us to spend time together, but more than anything, they developed a deep dislike for my father and a total avoidance of him in any situation that he wasn't forcing me into. I played football another four years, expressly because of his lies that I couldn't get into college without it, and because I wanted to please him. I hated every minute of football and still have trouble facing him as an adult, as someone who I sacrificed so much for who never thanked me or congratulated me. When I began to succeed in shotput, he never attended my meets and never cared although it was something I thoroughly enjoyed. I went on, after college, to being a competitive amateur triathlete. I know that I owe a lot of my ability to push myself from the times he and I spent biking and lifting, and I am thankful for that influence. I was able to laugh at him when I learned from my mother that although he was proud of my triathlon accomplishments, he had trouble talking to me about it because he himself had never finished the few triathlons he had attempted and was simply jealous. I know he was mainly selfish and wanted to see me succeed in football for his own reasons; but I also know that when he was supporting me instead of blindly pushing me, I benefited greatly.
8:46 AM
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