The Queenstown Luge

So about this time last year, I was traipsing around the South Island of New Zealand with my brother.

One of the funnest things we did was the luge at Queenstown. I highly recommend it to anyone. Here's how it works...first you take a gondola ride up the side of a mountain, unless you want to hike up, which we definitely didn't. At the top is the luge ride. The ride goes like this: you get a helmet, and then sit down in a little plastic sled with handlebars and the ride operator gives a short safety talk, which basically consists of "Here's how you stop, here's how you go, don't hit other people, have a nice time." My brother and I kept waiting for the release waiver that would absolve the luge people from any responsibility should we lose control of our little sleds and go careening off the track, over the mountain cliff, and down to the valley below, but no waiver was given. Kiwis obviously aren't too worried about getting sued. My brother and I looked at each other.

"Cool," he said.

"Yeah," I said.

"So..you wanna race?"

"Duh."

On went the little plastic helmets and we were off. Forget safety, kids...we had learned to drive in LA, and we were going to put those valuable skills to use. Well, one skill anyway--speeding.

There are two luge tracks. One is the beginner track, and you have to do that one the first time. It is nice and scenic, and as you putz along in your little plastic sled, you can take in the beautiful view of the jagged peaks that make up the Remarkables on the other side of the huge lake below.

You do have to be careful about how you slow down on the sleds, because the method for stopping is pushing forward on the handlebars, and if you do this too suddenly at high speeds you will probably upend your little sled, and fall right out of it on the hard pavement of the track. I was nervous that I would do this; it seemed pretty typical of the sort of thing that I manage to do to myself, but the solution was quite simple really: don't use the brakes.

That was my brother's method, anyway, and it seemed to work for him. If he had been a cartoon character, you would have seen a trail of fire on the concrete track behind him as he wildly slalomed down the hill. There was one section on the advanced track with a sudden drop, of off which I think he actually caught a fair amount of air, then zoomed down the rest of the hill, blazing past a yellow sign on the side of the track with a big exclamation point and the word "SLOW." (Or maybe it said "Brake." Either way, it was pretty ironic.)

The fun didn't stop when our five rides were over. We stood on the side of the track for awhile and watched people come down, and cheered them on. We saw one guy go by, very cautiously, and we shouted encouragement to him. "No brakes, no brakes!" were the actual words we used, as I recall. He smiled nervously, but I noticed that the next time he came down the hill, he was going a bit faster. The time after that, faster still and he seemed more intently hunched over the handlebars, more tightly focused. It was a big improvement to his first run. And by his last time, I think he really wasn't using his brakes! Mission accomplished. My brother and I were very pleased and applauded enthusiastically.

We also saw a few luge accidents, where people lost control and hit the padded sides of the track. We applauded enthusiastically for them too, since they did a good job of providing amusement for us.

Ah, good times on the Queenstown luge. Check it out if you get a chance. And take me with you...

Flirtations Remembered

Driving home from church today, a black beemer pulled level with me on the freeway and I looked over in time to catch a sleazy guy's "hey babe" grin. I'm afraid I couldn't help from rolling my eyes. I mean, come on, what does he expect me to do? Pull off to the shoulder and wait for him to come and sweep me off my feet and into his life? Puh-leeze.

But the encounter reminded me of one of the most creative ways I've ever been hit on, and that also happened on a freeway.

I guess it happened about five years ago. I was driving on I-5, on my way to the Bay Area from Los Angeles. I had a little red sports car at the time, a 92 Toyota Celica, and I was cruisin' along at about 80mph--er, I mean, I was going exactly the speed limit, as I always do. Ahem...anyway, at some point, I noticed that a big white pickup truck was keeping pace with me. I looked over, and there is this guy smiling at me (he was in the passenger seat, and there were probably at least 2 other guys in the truck). He was kinda cute, so I smiled back.

Well, we kept driving along, and the next time I looked over, I was surprised to see that he had a laptop computer which he was holding up to the window. To my amazement, he'd written a message in what must have been 1000 point font, and it said, "What is this, the Cannonball Run?"

I had no clue what he was talking about, so I just shook my head and kept driving. But of course, I couldn't resist the urge to look back again shortly thereafter, and then I saw, "Why are you in such a hurry--do you have a date?" (He must not have noticed that I was going exactly the speed limit, by the way. Riiight.)

I had to laugh. The "conversation" went on for the next half hour or so, with him writing questions and me "answering" by nodding or shaking my head. And in the end, I got his phone number.

Of course, I never did call him. But he was cute. And like I said, at least he was creative!

The worst hit-on was when I was about 17. I was going to a sports event with some friends, and as we were walking into the stadium, this guy came along who was trying to scalp tickets or something. He fell into step with us and kept talking even though we didn't want to buy tickets, and then he says to me, "You have really strong legs. Do you play soccer or something?"

Now, it happens that I am a little sensitive about the size of my legs, because they are a bit on the muscley side, and I wasn't pleased at all that he would pay attention to them. This is not the way to my heart, men. Don't ever comment on my legs if you want to go out with me. Don't even say they are nice, because I won't believe you, and I just will be all self-conscious that you were looking at them.

So, much to no one's surprise, I didn't go out with him.

Also men, try to remember that when you ask me out, you are asking ME out, not just my breasts. I was 14, on vacation with my family at Newport Beach and while I was out in the water one day, this guy comes over and asks me out--but the entire time (and I really do mean the entire time), his eyes never met mine. He seriously couldn't seem to stop looking at my chest! I was like, "Hello! I have a face!!! Please look at it!" But he didn't.

I didn't go out with him either.

Funny Things Happen

I don't actually have a funny story to tell today, I guess I'm just making the observation that funny things do happen. And I'm glad they do. I really like to laugh, and I just can't resist being drawn to the ridiculous and ironic happenings that make up our lives as human beings on this planet. I know God has a sense of humor, because He's generous enough to share that capacity with us, His creation. I do have to admit that I don't always find His sense of humor as funny as, say, my own, but it's growing on me as I get to know Him better and trust Him more.

All that said, I must reiterate that I have no funny story to tell today. Well, hang on, let's see...ok, there was this dog and he walked into a bar...nah.

I hope you guys are all having a great weekend, wherever you are. If you are where I am right now, it probably isn't totally great. It is probably a little stressful. And if you guessed that I am at work, well, TA-DA! You are completely RIGHT!!! Good work! If I had prizes to give away, I'd give you one, but I really don't, so I can't. Sorry.

Am I making any sense at all? I have a feeling I'm not, but I'm very tired, so I'm not sure. Is that funny?

Schizophrenic

Lately I have felt like I'm being torn in two; like deep inside me two people are fighting with each other over which one will be the one people see on the outside, and the one they do see right now isn't either of the fighting ones.

If that sounds crazy, it probably is. But please don't send the white coats yet.

I guess this is what Jesus meant when he talked about the struggles between light and darkness, and what Paul the apostle meant when he said our fight wasn't against flesh and blood, but against unseen spiritual forces. Believe me, I never quite know which side is going to win on any given day in my life. My soul is like the poor rope in a game of tug-o-war. Unfortunately, the stakes for this particular game are pretty high.

Sometimes I wish to God I wasn't a Christian. And if that sounds ironic, well, it probably is.

But life really would be so much easier if I left it all behind. I wouldn't agonize over decisions--is this God's will or isn't it? Is this going to please Him or not? Am I on the right track? IS there a right track? Is there a wrong one?

It's tempting, oh it is so tempting to just walk away. To start over with a blank, atheistic slate and just write my own story without any interference from God.

I walk close to the edge, but then...I feel the pull of the light as I lean over the gaping black hole opening up inside me and peer down into it. The light always draws me back. And when it does, I wonder how I ever contemplated jumping into the hole.

It's all Jesus' fault, really, the fact that I DON'T jump. If it weren't for him, I think I would have an easier time saying goodbye to God. And I don't say that with any sense of being pleased with myself; it's a sad commentary really. But the thing is, Jesus gave God a face. God can sometimes be so abstract, so "out there." Jesus brought him "down here." I look at Jesus and I go, "Oh. So THAT'S what God's about...loving the unloved, helping the poor, healing the sick, having compassion, and giving, giving, always giving. Who knew?"

Jesus makes me stick around. I love him. I can't explain it, I just do. Not particularly faithfully, I'm ashamed to say. Not with any great passion even, at times. But that is the one constant in my schizophrenic wanderings, is that I always seem to come back to Jesus and I realize I don't really want to go to anyone else, least of all myself.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

--John Donne, Holy Sonnet 14

Climbing

Went hiking this morning with my brother, up in Ventura County. I'd been wanting for some time to tackle Mt. Bony. I know, it's a weird name. Well, it wasn't my idea. The name, I mean--the hike definitely was.

We started out at about 7:30am. The sun was out but it was cold in the shade. We weren't sure of the trail, and neither of us had a map, but we figured all we had to do was keep going up and we were bound to get there.

And get there we did, in only an hour and 45 minutes. The last 45 minutes was probably the toughest--a lot of scrambling over rocks and under and through tangled undergrowth. At one point I couldn't see my brother who was ahead of me on the trail, so he raised his walking stick high into the air as a guide to let me know where the trail was. For some reason I wanted to call him Gandalf at that point.

We finally got pretty much to the top where we broke out the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we'd brought. By that time I was so hungry that I think rocks might have tasted pretty good, but I was glad we'd brought the sandwiches. That was the best PB&J I've had in a long time.

We met some people along the way. Which was good because we met them just at the point where we thought we were lost and wouldn't be able to make it to the top. They set us straight. We left them behind, but they caught up to us later. One of them, an Asian man named Koe (I don't know how to spell it) caught up and then left US behind. This guy was amazing. He must have legs like iron. My brother and I followed after him awhile later, and got lost again. As we scouted around looking for a trail, we heard...a harmonica. We looked around, but couldn't see anyone at first. We began to make our way up again, since that was where the harmonica seemed to be coming from. Eventually we stumbled back onto the trail, and not long after that met Koe again, coming back down. He was pleased to see us, and surprised that we had heard him playing the harmonica. Yes indeed, he was our phantom musician! How he managed to have any breath left in him to play a wind instrument after blazing his way to the top of the peak was beyond me, and I was just a tad in awe. We said goodbye, and then he zoomed off down the trail. The guy must have had rockets in his shoes or something.

It took us another couple hours to get down the mountain, and by then I felt like my legs were fed up enough that they might just detach themselves from my body and lie down in the middle of the trail, refusing to go any farther. I wouldn't have blamed them in the least.

At noon we made it back to the car, exhausted but pretty pleased with ourselves for accomplishing what we had set out to do. It's always nice when that actually happens in life, isn't it?

Ponderings

Went for a run this morning. Well, ok, it was more like a walk, then a jog, then a near-collapse, then a walk again, an attempt at jogging, an asthma attack or two, and finally a triumphant run--which only happened because I'd finally reached the part of the trail that went downhill.

But it was a good way to start the morning, getting the blood flowing, feeling the muscles working, the lungs nearly exploding. Ahhh, exercise! Very much needed after yesterday's sitting on airplanes, in airports, and in airport food courts (mmmm, lukewarm Domino's Pizza for $2.00 a slice!).

I felt a little depressed on the flight from Denver to Los Angeles. Maybe it was because when I looked out the window at the night sky and saw the stars, I remembered that I can't see the Southern Cross from this hemisphere, and suddenly I missed New Zealand and all my friends there. Maybe it was because I'm missing a friend that I had to say goodbye to recently, with no knowing of when I'll be able to say hello again. Maybe it's because I'm turning 30 in a little over two months and I wish my life looked a little different then it does right now.

Or maybe it's because I was listening to a lot of Matchbox Twenty. That actually might have had a lot to do with it.

Anyway, the run this morning did me a lot of good, in spite of nearly killing me. Once I was able to breathe again, I felt quite cheerful and excited to be alive.

Now it's time to get ready for work. Have a great day, kids. Be good and I'll catch ya later.

Leaving Minnesota

So my time in Minnesota has nearly come to an end. My friend's wedding was great, and the reception was lots of fun. It was a little weird to go to a wedding where literally the only person I knew was the bride, but I made a lot of new friends, especially on the groom's side, which is cool because he is from England, so now if I ever want to visit the UK again (which I certainly do) I have lots of places to stay!

I didn't actually get to sightsee much here. I thought I might try and see the Mall of America tomorrow, just to say I've been there, but to be honest, my idea of a nice little day trip does not really encompass trekking all around a three-story testament to blatant consumerism, with an amusement park thrown in for good measure. So I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow before I have to catch my evening flight. I guess I'll just have to surprise myself.

One thing I have to mention about Minnesota is the way people drive. Very different from California, where you can pretty much take for granted that, on any given freeway (but especially I-5 from LA to SF), people will be going anywhere from 5 to 100 miles per hour over the speed limit. So you can imagine my consternation when I found myself, at 70mph, breezing past every car on the Minneapolis highways as if they were parked on the side of the road. I swear some people were actually going under the speed limit--which in some places is 55mph. Can you believe it?! At first I thought everyone was just old. But I was wrong.

Hey, many thanks to MB and Kenny for putting me up (or putting up with me?) for the weekend. Maybe I'll see you in California one of these days, in which case I'll be happy to return the favor.