I've always heard that the term "spooning" is derived from the fact that two people in the spooning position resemble the way that spoons in a drawer stack upon one another.  This is untrue.  It is actually in reference to a now outdated Welsh tradition in which a man would present a "love spoon" to a woman as a token of his desire to marry her (like we do nowadays with engagement rings).  The man would design and create the spoon himself, carving into it symbols of the couple's relationship.  For example, a carving of two stems twisted together might represent togetherness.  The spoon would be carved out of a single piece of wood and there were usually several different symbols carved out of the handle.

I guess this is just another example of how we tend to oversexualize things until they lose every bit of meaning (or completely change the meaning) that was originally intended.  How we can take such a beautiful tradition and turn it into a completely meaningless idea (not that "spooning" as we now know it is bad...just understood incorrectly) is beyond me.  I feel sick with myself and the society in which I was raised that always ends up doing these sorts of things somehow.  I want to take back this tradition.  Screw engagement rings....I say spoons from now on....yes please.  Well, no, I don't really mean that....I like the symbolism behinds rings too (although we have even hurt that idea by placing more weight on things such as price and flashiness versus the actual meaning behind them)...I just like spoons too.  Let's have both.  Hooray.

Sorry this post isn't profound or anything...just observing.

Currently Listening The Life Aquatic Studio Sessions By Seu Jorge see related

I'm watching myself fade away.  I feel everything crumbling...deteriorating...even raising its head in an ugly, physical way.  I feel like I'm in withdrawal...every part of me screams for something that I cannot have, no matter what I do.  How did I lose what I held so dear?  How can someone manage to let the very things that make life worth living slip through their fingers?  Why do we not fight to hold onto happiness?  No, instead, when we reach a point when things are better than ever, we get apathetic and assume that the joy we've found will always be within reach...and that is exactly when it fades away...like a sweet scent that quietly slips out an open window.  Before we even realize it's dissipating, our nostrils are struck with the ugliness that it masked.

What a strange feeling...to be completely drained, while simultaneously ripping apart at the seams with a growing emotion that has no way to escape.  Eventually it will tear through, unless it finds its home once again.  And, yet, how appropriate that would be...a reflection of my identity that I somehow manage to fracture into a thousand pieces just to avoid looking at myself as a whole.  Where did I go wrong?  What a ridiculous question...each of us can easily look back and see those moments where we steered our lives in the wrong direction....and now I'm lost on some country backroad with my gas tank on empty.  I drove right through my destination without even stopping to realize what I had found.

Everyone talks about Heaven as a place where pain and suffering simply do no exist.  We spend every moment completely submerged in God's beauty, which is completely unfathomable to us as mere human beings.  Oh, how appetizing that sounds.  I can't think of anything better...and I find myself wanting to escape to that place more than ever.  I don't know why, but everything always seems to happen at once.  The anniversary of my dad's death is only a matter of days away, so I guess it's appropriate that all this is happening at the same time.  In less than two weeks, I will have officially lived over half of my life without him.  That is a day I have been dreading for so long.  I don't want to see that day....I don't think I can.......

...hopefully I won't...

     I had never wanted to live in the city. I grew up in a small redneck town in Arkansas with my mother and sister. I always hated it, constantly fantasizing about the day when I would leave it all behind, maybe to an Italian villa or a house on the Caribbean surrounded with exotic wildlife.  My sister had always been enamored with city life and dreamed of moving to New York to “make it big” or at least live amongst thousands of other lost souls working to achieve the impossible, but I always responded with disinterest, claiming that big city life was too cold and heartless for me.  I was just fine with my awaiting home in Toscana or Venezia, far away from cow pastures and mullets.  And yet, there I was, attempting to navigate the ominous streets of San Francisco in my oversized van.  Unsure of my exact destination, I vainly read each quickly passing street sign, hoping to find some sort of salvation amidst the unforgiving car horns of people already hardened by years of living on those very streets.  I soon realized that attempting to reference an atlas with seemingly shrinking print while driving was next to impossible, so I abandoned the road.  My safe-haven turned out to be an Arco gas station, overflowing with cars clamoring to fill their tanks with overpriced fuel.  I stepped out of my van and headed over to the pay-booth in the center of it all, in hopes that I could find some sort of direction.  As I approached, I saw a small Middle Eastern woman seated behind the booth’s bulletproof window.  At this point, I was almost ready to join her behind the safety and comfort of her transparent shield.  “Can you tell me how to get to Somer Street?,” I timidly asked.  She responded only in broken English, pushing out the words, “No, thank you.  I do not understand.  I’m sorry.”I knew this was a dead end, but found some comfort in her sympathetic eyes.  Even though it was impossible for us to hold a spoken conversation, she knew that I was lost and knew even more so what it was like to be new in a foreign place.  I thanked her and broke myself away from her soothing gaze as I turned back toward my van.  I pulled out a cigarette, searching for some sort of familiarity.  The brightness from the flame of my lighter brought my attention to the fact that darkness was settling in, revealing the city in a completely different light.  Before I had even become acquainted with my surroundings, I was already being thrown into a new environment, accentuated by flickering neon signs and blackened streets, which now seemed to be bottomless rivers surging against the eroding shores of the Island Arco.  “I shouldn’t be here,” I thought.“This is my sister’s dream.  She should be here in my place.  She never gets lost.  She would be overflowing with happiness right now.”  I realized that I was no longer smoking tobacco, but that the smoldering fire had now reached the filter.  The stinging in my throat snapped me back to the reality that my sister was still in Arkansas and that I was still lost.  I reached for another cigarette, the last of the pack, hoping to delay the daunting journey which still lay ahead of me.  As I wrapped my lips around this final connection to home, I inhaled deeply, taking in every memory of home and the consolation that came with it.  I held it in until my smoke-filled lungs screamed for the new breath that I knew I must take; a new breath that seemed sickeningly bitter, but would be my deliverance.  I watched the exhaled smoke quickly dissipate and become invisibly integrated into the San Francisco air, hoping that someday I too would so easily adapt to and join in with my now unfamiliar surroundings.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad....today would've been 29 years.

Currently Listening:  
"It WAS....Wonton Tommy"
By Blackie Black and Biggie Bax

So, here it is...my new home:

On Thursday, Sept. 1, I'll be moving to the town of Orvieto, Italy for the semester.  I'll be living in Instituo San Lodovico, a convent in the town (yes, with nuns).  I'll be there 'til about the end of December.  It's amazing to watch this dream become a reality...sometimes I just can't deny how blessed I truly am.  Anyway, while I'm gone, I won't have my cell phone or internet or any of that good stuff, so I probably won't be talking to any of you.  I'll try to check e-mail every now and then in internet cafes or something, but that'll be the extent of my communication with the good ol' U.S.  I will miss you, and look forward to catching up on everything when I get back!  Thanks to all of you who have been there for me through the rough times (and good times, for that matter).  You are beautiful to me...

EDIT:  The only contact I can have is with letters, so here is my address if any of you feel like writing!  (I welcome it with open arms):

Nathan Soliday
Instituto San Lodovico
Piazza Ranieri 5
05018 Orvieto, Italy

By the way, it apparently helps if you write "air mail" on the envelope somewhere.  Well, I'm off!  Best wishes to you all!

I'm learning more and more the value of life and everything in it...

  Farewell!

Currently Listening:  Denison Marrs - Twilight Eyelight   =)
                                    Like Lions - Cheap Seats
                                    Say Anything - By Tonight