And I say your uncle is a crooked French Canadian. . .

I return to blogland tired. John has nagged me without cease about this blog and my lack of the promised commentary. I will get there, John. Might I remind you of your own sporadic blog habits?

I am listening to July, July by The Decemberists. Fine band, lovely song. Soundtrack to my procrastination. School is almost over!

I am working on a piece on Avril Lavigne, so keep your eyes peeled. And also, last weekend. And Cantonese Chai! Perhaps a piece on ORANGINA too.

Work now. Sleep soon. More later.

Ezekiel, Mark Strand.

Commentary later. Now:

And he said to me, "Son of man, eat what is before you, eat this scroll; then go and speak to the house of Israel." So I opened my mouth, and he gave me the scroll to eat.

Then he said to me, "Son of man, eat this scroll I am giving you and fill your stomach with it." So I ate it, and it tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth.

Then he said to me, "Son of man, go now to the house of Israel and speak my words to them. . . ."

Ezekiel

and




Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man,
I snarl at her and bark,
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Mark Strand

Cries for Pity, Missed Excitement, Taco Bell, and an Bonus Discussion of My Disappointment with Underground/Indie Hip Hop.

Well, many things happened tonight. Unfortunately, due to an ethics test, I was unable to participate in many of them.

Here is an abbreviated list:
John tromboned in a jazz concert to which he provided me with comp tickets.
OU lost to OSU in a very close tennis match.
Elie Wiesel spoke at OCC.
Dinner.
RUF.

I saw the doubles matches (we beat OSU), but had to leave before the singles ended.

And skipping dinner meant I got Taco Bell.

But I am a little sad about this ethics test. Perhaps I will rename my blog "Please Pity Me Because of the Tests I Must Take and the Things I Am Unable to Do Because of Them." That would probably make it more interesting.

Tomorrow I am going home! I will post a piece on antiquated grammar rules and Invisible Children.




An unexceptional, boring post about hip hop I wrote this morning:

Listening to Mechanical Royalty on Napster. It is a fine album, for the most part, with a few exceptional Aesop Rock feats. Reminds me of the two week underground/indie hip hop phase I explored a few months ago. Nothing too deep underground, just your typical Saul Williams, Sage Francis, Aesop, etcetera. Eventually they dissapoint, because they fall into the same bad habits of more popular rappers: violence, profanity, and poor treatment of women. It frustrated/s me that they too talk about themselves in such grand, vain terms. They don't all claim to solve these problems , but they do talk about "the state of hip hop."

They are quite talented. I saw Saul Williams at the Engine Room with Kevin (who won free tickets on FM 91.7)--incredible show, with a band.

I have never seen a man look as white as Sage, and I've never heard a white man have as much a natural sense of rythm as Sage.

Why does it seem impossible to make good hip hop with no profanity (I mean an artist's entire body of work.)? I'm sure there is someone, somewhere. The "Christian Rap" I have heard sounds like it is five years old (From the year 2000 and like it is written by a child). Visit that web site and you will see what I mean. I have at times had a soft spot for Grits.

I guess the world is waiting for my rap debut--but I'm still looking for my Dr. Dre. . .

Prayer for night.

Breath into flesh the stone in my chest.

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

Ezekiel 36:26 (NLT)

Nuts-o!

Iron and Wine. Popped rice tea. Stale air exhaled by vents. Lovely afternoon on a cloudy day.

To be ruined by class at one thirty and ethics studying.

Many comments as to the alleged randomness of my blog. I think it is pretty straightforward:

poetry, tea, occasional music, exciting pictures, and the day-to-day happenings of Jones 204. I plan to integrate some "devotional" type entries soon.

My friend Dan-o is begining to use the term "nuts-o!" I think I have finally taught him the beauty of American English (as opposed to that of Singapore).

Need to prepare for class. I am sure my procrastination drive will be fired up later when I should be studying, so expect a thrilling update.

Crud City, and a Ping Pong Revelation.

I have an ethics exam on Thursday. I did not know of this until five minutes ago. Crud city. I am also supposed to read Rawls for a quiz tomorrow. Not happening. Deep depression.

Also, Damien Rice is playing a free show on the South Oval Thursday night AFTER I leave for Houston. This is the third time I have missed him, slightly. Deeper depression.

While playing/losing ping pong I came to a great revelation, or perhaps it came to me--however these things work, it happened: "Oh, my word." equals "Oh, my God." because "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

Maybe this is obvious and has been common knowledge for some time. The idea of the Word being God is an interesting one to a linguistics major (and perhaps to lesser English majors of higher than average intelligence), but one of too much note to be discussed this late and in such a short blog entry. To me, this "taking in vain" was a revelation. Why? I don't know. If you were as bad at ping pong as I am, you too might be subject to mid-game epiphanies of little brilliance.

Food pictures, tea dependency, Horton Foote.

This morning I was advised. Excitement! I hate being advised, because the advisors are always unaware of my hobby of mapping out every course I will ever take. I also don't like their rants about what I could do with a degree in linguistics. Which leads me to point out that I formally declared my major: linguistics.

After that I went to the ConocoPhillips Writing Center, because my anthropology teacher requires that I do so. So, I made up some "relevant" questions and then asked the "writer" to tell me some Serial Subject Jokes. Their offices are significantly nicer than their web site.

Then I consumed a mediocre lunch of overbreaded chicken tenders, undercooked green beans, overcreamed creamed corn, and a delicious black cookie. It is amusing to me how much attention I pay to my own food. Maybe that points to why no one reads my blog--I amuse myself only.

Interestingly (How pathetic is it when I must insert phrases like these to denote the interesting content of my blog, since most of its drab body bores even the most boredom resistant humans.), Sydneyann and I are going to China in August! It should be our first post-honeymoon trip. It is a 4000-level architecture course--three hours in eight days and five cities (and too many hours travel time). Needless to say, I am pretty excited.

Imagine the teas of China! Yesterday I became the ultimate pathetic tea addict/junkie/bizarrely-obsessed-tea-a-holic when I bought Green Tea: The Natural Secret for a Healthier Life by Nadine Taylor, M.S., R.D.. I picked it up at Jamba Juice to mock it. The book looked like one my grandmother wouls read (Think, The Healing Power of Coconut Oil.). I opened it, read a page, and bought it. Soon I will post a discussion of tea production, because I am learning some fascinating things. In other tea-related news, I bought a handful of peppermint leaves and a handful of spearmint leaves. I am currently mixing them with eucalyptus to make a delicious sleepytime brew. I need more mason jars for my teas, as I have used eleven of the twelve I bought last time. I also bought a popped rice tea. According to some legend or another, a Japanese Samurai's servant accidentally popped rice into his tea. The Samurai chopped his head off with his sword, drank the tea, enjoyed it, and regretted having chopped his servant's head off. Here is one transcription of the story.

I need to go to Dodson's this week.

I saw Horton Foote speak on Thursday. His response to the audience members who overanalyzingly decided he wrote of small towns to support/promote their morality: I just write stories about people--some of them live in small towns. Good answer, Horton, no wonder no one likes English majors. After the reading I listened to Foote talk with Boren. Maybe I should say I listened to Boren lecture Foote on how great OU is. He was saying true thing, bragging a little. What I found interesting was how forced it seemed. It was obviously a speech Boren routinely spoke, and I wondered how many poor visitors/donors/students/etcetera had had to hear it. After a while it disgusted me somewhat--just the fakeness of it, though I realize I do it all the time.

I am going to take a quick nap, instead of reading ethics. Josh, why/how do you like philosophy?

Later, an observation on the number of pictures of people "in the act" of throwing up found on Google.

A time to tear.

Oh sweet Crocs, why did you kiss the chain of my Huffy Cranbrook? And, why the day after your purchase?

I have realized I am my only faithful reader--soon I will stoop so low as to post my own comments.

Tomorrow a poem by James Tate.

I am ill. Not this ill. More like this. Goodnight.

Crocs, Ping Pong, Teeth.

Well, after my blog about shoes, I go out and buy a pair today. And new too. So much for self-control. They are, however, quite lovely. They remind me of a pair of Birks Mackenzie would wear last year (only avalible for purchase in Germany). Mine are of a similar design, but with holes in them. Crocs! Coral Crocs! And coral crocodiles!

Today's stresses have so far involved money, Continental Airlines, anthropology tests, finding RUF, and John Stuart.

Good day though, all considering. I was able to beat Dan in ping pong. We also picked Sydneyann's wedding band up from the mall. Interesting phrase, that "picked up."

Well, I better brush my teeth. More soon.

Why Word Court Gavel?

If I had frequent commenters, I imagine they might ask, "Why is your stupid blog named 'Word Court Gavel?'"

I don't have the commenters yet, but I do have the answer.

We can break the answer down into two sections: the word court and the gavel.

The word court is the court I imagined when I was three and four and learning to read. A judge presides, a jury listens--basic courtroom setup here, with a little more glory (We are dealing with words, after all, and not law.). A panel suggests new words to the jury. They vote on the aesthetics of the words--how they look, if they roll off the tongue appropriately, if their spelling is organic to their meaning.

A majority vote elicits a tap of the gavel, and, voila! It is a word!

I have heard a similar court exists in France, to make sure their ugly tongue does not deteriorate. In fact, I have found their web site, but since it is in French I will not link to it. Here is something interesting.

A Cornucopia of Shoes, Dissapointing Blog Content, Unfinshed Books Mentioned, Tea Rant.

Today I am wearing the white shoes Chaco bought in Cancun and gave me in Costa Rica. They are nice for walking. And while on the subject of shoes: I have too many. I wear two pairs--both are Rod Laver's, one in blue and one in green. The interesting thing about this is that I buy shoes all the time. I came to Norman in January with three pairs, I think, and now I have about fifteen. I must have brought more. Maybe I brought seven and bought seven. What ever the case, that seems like a lot of shoes. For two main reasons: 1)I am a man. 2)I don't wear them. Keep in mind that these shoes are not terribly expensive (most hail from Goodwill or Ross). That is probably all the information about my shoes you can stand. One last thought: I think they would nicely fill a cornucopia. I don't know why this occured to me, but they would. They are lovely different colors and styles and materials. A cornucopia of shoes.

Something like three days and already my blog content is deteriorating. Maybe because of all of the things I should be doing instead of this.

I will finish The Tipping Point this week. It is by Malcolm Gadwell. It is pretty mind blowing. I will detail a few of its studies here once I have finished it. They will blow your mind.

Last night I sipped a fantastic tea, Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime. It is a bagged tea, which I tend to dislike due to my pretentiousness concerning proper tea habits. I bought it at Albertsons because I recalled my father's having a box of it in Mexico City, circa 1999. It is quite a lovely medley of chamomile and spearmint. Speaking of chamomile, I bought a package of loose flower chamomile at Moe's Indian Grocery Store across the street. Haven't tried it yet because the sickly sweet scent of it gags me.

I found an incredible web site for tea two days ago, Pekoe Sip House. I want to order most of the exotic greens and a few flavored blacks (almond, coconut). I need to get a few oolongs, just for the sake of comparison. In case you don't know what I am talking about: the three varieties of tea (actual tea, from the tree/bush/whatever) are green, black, and oolong.

I guess I better work. Crud. More later, I suppose

Lucy the Elephant, Arabic, Magazines Bought: in no particular order.

Well, it is Monday. I woke in time for lunch and ping pong. Anthropology was a tad boring, but perhaps because the whole time I was trying to figure out my schedule for next year. I want to take a sixteen hour session in Arabic the summer of '06 in Washington, D.C.--with a few more classes I would be able to add a minor in Arabic. It's in the air, since I haven't taken a single course in the subject yet. I should be set to graduate with a few extra hours in spring of '07. We'll see.

I have been listening to the Es in itunes today. Ed Harcourt to Eisley to Elliot Smith, repeat. Ocasionally I will mix in a little something, some French Kicks or Teenage Fanclub. Duke lent me the second Album Leaf CD last night and it is pretty incredible. I especially like the last song, entitled, Over the Pond.

I purchased the April edition of Poetry yesterday, with a lovely cover for NPM. Also bought the April issue of The Believer, which I have so far enjoyed, despite its at-times-obnoxiously-so self-conciousness.

Makes me think about Common Tongue, my nonprofit. I need to work on the web site. I am going to edit the bylaws tomorrow and prepare my packet for the lovely IRS. I need to inform the DA of OK that I will be operating in Oklahoma. I need a few multi-million dollar grants to make a building similar to Lucy the Elephant. Mine, however, will be in the shape of a donkey. Perhaps I will install an elevator in a leg, and an auditorium in its belly. I think I would name it Eliot. Any ideas for suitable donkey names?

I guess that is it for now. The Harcourt song, Born in the 70s speaks of how sensational life is. Reminds me of a quote I thought was by St. Augustine. I can't find it though--I'll have to make some phone calls. It has to do with the miracle of each day, and our failure to recognize it for what it is. More on this later.

More on many thing laters, actually. I am going to bed.

One line strophe.

But if You can make a star from nothing You can raise me up

Franz Wright, The Last Supper

Sun Kil Moon, Cissus quadrangula, Thursdays. Post 1.

Well, it is Thursday, the last day of my school week. I am starting to figure out this blog--establishing a pattern of three topic titles.

My Veldt Grape is not rooting as quickly as I'd hoped. It is an incredible plant, though. I hold high hopes for it.

I am listening to Sun Kil Moon, the latest brainchild band of Mark Kozelek.

Nothing else too interesting is happening. I have to write a paper comparing the utilitarians with Kant--easy but not exciting. My teacher uses an online grading system where we grade each other's papers. It is a bad system--I attribute its use to his laziness. It makes me quite angry, in fact, since he is paid by the U to teach a class (which involves GRADING papers). I also have an anthropology project I need to write up. This one is more exciting. It is about Serial Subject Jokes. More on this later.

Things I will discuss later: the rich young ruler, composition concert, The Tipping Point, Franz Wright, and poetry pamphlets from the late 30s.

Regret, inspiration, ethics, etcetera.

Topics in order of title:

Regret. Well, I never wanted one of these. And it is going to waste time.

Inspiration. I guess I owe Dave Mitchell some credit for inspiring me to establish this. Maybe he will read it.

Ethics. I should be reading contemporary rule utiliatarianism. I am not.