Being in Italy is just like reaching the end of the rabbit hole, finding the other side of the looking glasss, getting tossed out of a magical twister, and reaching that world left of the north star and straight on till morning. Even though I am still existing on the same dimensional plane as America, I feel as if my home is another world away-and it basically is.

It is funny what Americans hang on to when they go overseas. I feel safe when I see that McDonalds on the side of the road, or sip that coke in the cafe, or see Charlize Theron's face on a billboard. We find comfort in the advertisements and propaganda and cultural icons of our homeworld -because they are the things that we have seen since we were too young to feed ourselves.

As Americans, we worship Hollywood as our pantheon of gods-yearning to see them, to touch them, to hear them say our names. And when they walk down the street, even when we don't particuarly like their movies or songs, we still scream their name. The tabloids are our holy scriptures, songs about partying all night, getting crazy, and single ladies have become our praises to wild life and fame. Our prophets sit in front of video cameras in suits and heels with tanned skin and too much eye-shaodw, sharing gossip and rumors and critisizing clothes. Our myths are not passed down by word of mouth or written in ancient tomes, but are put on the big screen, as long as you pay $6 to $12 for admission. We don't really want culture, we want pop-something to make our lives seem gilded and golden, like stars (but not the beautiful ones God created in the heavens). And when one of those stars falls, we want drama, we want gossip, we want excitment-we do not want to know that the stars really gleam as bright as we want them to. Whereas true stars gleam because they themselves choose to.

But to say that this is America is fiendishly revolting-because America is not pop, glitz, glam and cosmo girl. Those are invaders that wormed their way into culture by taking advantage of love-sick American girls. But my world is more than a giant logo atop a hill in L.A., it is the family living in ordinary suburbia that have dreams of, not grandeur, but reality. We dream to be among the true stars, the ones that shined all on their own and were not frivolous fads with the latest hit song. Instead, we have dreams of being nurses and saving lives, of being teachers and making sure the next generation is ready for life, of being biologists and discovering the plethora of little worlds that exist in everyday, of being writers and leaving behind words on a page that is kept within the nooks and cranies of dusty bookstores. We want to be the stars that don't need others to tell them that they are stars.

Living in the world of Brunelleschi, Leonardo Da Vinci, Galileo, Michelangelo, and countless others who decided that they were goinhg to be true stars, and now shine for near-eternity. America is still too young to contains those long-shining stars, but I think we still have a lot to offer the world, whether Europe likes it or not. And so here I am, trying to be a star, but the kind that does not shine on silver screens or billboard charts, but the kind that can tell God "I lived a story I am proud of, that changed a life and glorified You." In a world of strangers and strange places, God (who exists simultaneously in all worlds) loves to make the stars that love Him shine the brightest. And while the brightest might not be as well remembered as the David, God puts a whole lot more stock in them.

So I have a friend by the name of Kellum Tate who is a writer and is probably one of the very few people I know that has a mind as crazy as mine. The other day she posted a poem she wrote on her blog and I read it and it blew my mind. For those of you who do not follow her blog, you should, cause it is good.

Well here is the poem, and the link to her blog...

http://thesixteenthzephyr.wordpress.com


“The Seven Days of Creation”

I.

When God separated the light from the darkness, I wonder—

was it painful,

like the ripping of small intestines from the gut,

or wings plucked from the thorax of a housefly.



II.

Today, the world is an umbrella,

water above,

water below.



III.

In the hospital nursery, the attendant dims the lights.

Before she leaves for the night, the third baby on row five yawns,

tiny cherry mouth glistening like a red poppy after the dew,

the first poppy,

the first dew.



IV.

The universe is a lucky woman.

We boast of a strand of pearls but at her neck

cluster suns, cluster moons, cluster planets,

all forged from collisions and cataclysms

by her lover’s thousand-fingered hands.



V.

Fishermen bob in their skiffs a quarter after five,

their eyes alone watching as the fish jumps to reflect first sunlight,

scales now fluorescing coral like rose gold wedding rings,

now dripping scarlet rubies from the crush of the sea hawk’s talons.

Death begins so soon.



VI.

All day long, my dog sits at the window,

watching the goings-on of the neighborhood.

Her tails thumps the off-white carpet.

Look, she says in canine Morse code.

Mrs. Fairfax is checking her mail again.

It is good, oh,

it is so good.



VII.

Dust particles float inside the divinely snoring mouth.

The lungs exhale, and the motes dance, alive,

a solar system above the tonsils.

The lungs inhale, and the dust dies to drift in aimlessness again,

formless above the void.


It kinda puts it all into perspective...

So I have finally made it to beautiful Florence, Italy (or rather Firenze, Italia as it is more commonly known by the people who are common frequenters of it) after a too much time up in the air. Jan. 19th and 20th were some of the strangest days ever because they were meshed together by the jet lag. When I had landed in Italy and riding the 4 hour bus ride from Rome and thinking about "yesterday" it did not seem like yesterday. Instead, it seemed like I had an unusually long day in which the sun decided to take a nap while I was watching Harry Potter on the screen in front of me.

First off, the Villa is amazing. It is a little more cramped than I thought it would be, but it makes it all the better. The rooms are nice, the people are amazing and the food is fantastic. Right now it is nearing the end of Day 2 here at Harding University in Florence, and my we have had a full last two days.

Jan. 21-We went to Scandicci and toured the little town where the Villa is and I had my first cup of cappuccino (which was a mistake-even a little coffee can make something taste awful) and had 8 courses of pizza (each one with a different topping including french fries). Before dinner, however, we saw an old woman get hit by an Asian woman on a mo-ped. Man, did that little old woman scream and scream and scream. But I guess I would do the same. After dinner, a group of us went to Florence. We decided to kick off the first night by just going into the city by ourselves and walking the streets on our own. Along the way we saw the Duomo, the statue of Perseus holding the Medusa's head, and an opera singer standing on a street corner belting it out (oh and a musician singing James Taylor and the Beetles).)

Jan. 22-Florence again! We toured the city, listening to these handy, but extremely annoying, devices called whisperers that the director or tour guide speaks into. Really, it is just another thing to lose and pay way too much for. However, I did learn about the Medicis, one of the most famous families in history and how they basically ruled Florence-and they did it in style. Even though they were corrupt and mean, if it wasn't for them, Florence would not be the place it is today (plus Ponti Vochio would still be a pig-market, not a gold market). I finished the trip with a nice, small serving of gellato (spelling?)

So all in all, it's going well. I'm just ready to make new friends and get to know people I would never meet on campus otherwise. Oh well...

But to end this on a happy note, you can fully expect the Imaginarium to have a boost in creativity-and nothing boosts creativity like a good masquerade mask!!!

Bonjurno faithful followers!

For those of you reading from Harding's main campus-I STINKEN" MISS YOU SO MUCH!-I hope you all will continue reading this and do not forget about me as I depart these lands for a world across the Great Atlantic where the evils of social healthcare hold sway and communists roam free-and where I am going to have the time of my life. Right now my heart is thumping so hard my other organs thinking of leading a revolt and staging a coup. I can only ask that my body keeps civil order while I am hundreds of miles over the Atlantic, listening to Josh Groban and hoping I don't sit next to a clown again (poor fellows are fun to watch, not to sit by).

Right now it is 5:49 pm on Monday the 18th of January, and tomorrow will be Tuesday the 19th of January, a day I have been waiting for ever since my mom grudgingly put down $300 for the sign-up fee. Pray the pilots are hyper and ready and no stupid flocks of geese come flying into our turbines-cause I would be so mad!

I'm hoping that I get a creativity boost while touring the giant museums and taking the trains and hoepfully getting to see the Pope (which, even though I'm not catholic, is still a big deal 'cause he's the Pope. Maybe he'll like me if I tell him my grandfather was raised catholic (just leave out the bit where he switched to protestantism). But oh boy if Italy is even half as cool as France was I am going to have a fit!

You know, being a frequent reader of young adult fiction where American youths are given items of strange powers that lead them on rip-roaring adventures into the hidden magical underbellies of the world, I'm gonna keep an eye out for any old shops with peculiar names that sell antiques that may or may not be meant to be sold to heirs of King Arthur, Merlin, Dumbeldore, David Copperfield and other fantasy heavy-weights. That or any pubs (mind you not to drink but to find a hidden wizarding world) under the name, the Leaky Cauldron. But I probably won't be going off with any peddlars saying there's a portal through another world in his wardrobe-because chances are he's a serial killer that keeps bodies in his cabinetry.

So keep me in your prayers as I go "galavanting" across Europe and as this Imaginarium goes to another country, who knows-I might even meet a girl!

Alright so there I was, reading my dear friend Kellum's blog about this new movie...you might have heard about it...called Avatar. And I thought I would be unoriginal and write about it as well. May I say-it was amazing! Not just the visual effects, not just 3-D, and not just the I-MAX that I saw it in-I thought the movie was astounding.

But before you go see it, know this, I am pretty sure the movie is based on Pocahontas.

For those of you haven't seen this movie it is about a group military-trained soldiers and company bureaucrats (the English) who come from Earth and make a colony on another planet called Pandora (Pre-Colonial America), which is inhabited by scantily clad warrior tribes with blue skin and cerebral cord strands disguised as long hair-braids (the Native Americans) and they are called the Na'vi. The Na'vi have something the humans want, a rare mineral called obtanium (the gold the English think is all over the place). However, the Na'vi's home (a giant tree) is sitting right on top of the obtanium, and the humans want it. In an attempt to be diplomatic and keep the hippies on earth happy, they create Avatars for humans to use to get to know the Na'vi better. A human just lies in a pod, then his or her mind is transferred into a Na'vi clone body. There is one Avatar-using marine named Jake Sully (John Smith) who falls for the Na'vi princess, Neytiri (Pocahontas!!!). There is even a cruel military commander (Ratcliffe from the movie), a native desiring to marry the princess (Kocoum), and even an all-seeing, magical tree (Grandmother Willow).

If this isn't based on Pocahontas than you might as well say Christopher Paolini "accidentally" copied the story-line from Star Wars.

This movie had a lot of things most movies don't have today: a heart and soul to it. The characters were real and had their flaws. The movie wasn't just a mess of stupid, pointless graphics and annoying sex-apopeal. True the Na'vi could have worn a little more clothing-but they were aliens so no lust there.

This movie has gotten a lot of flack for being racist. If anything it is racist against white people-but I think James Cameron (the director) wanted to make the Na'vi look like indigineous people as we think of them so that we would make the connections. As for being overly "green", the movie did not have that "oh you are a stupid American because you drive a hummer and shop at Wal-Mart and don't recycle, so let's all go get dread-locks and discuss politics in dimmly-lit coffee houses." The movie was more about taking care of the planet because it takes care of you too.

I know there are lot of Christians who feel that we don't have a duty to take care of the world because this is not our home. Well, that's fooey. God still took time to create it and you should take care of it or you're saying "this isn't my mess to clean up and I don't care what happens to you beautifully-crafted oceans."

Sorry for going off on a tangent, but I think we do need to get a little more focused on keeping the enviroment clean and not bulldozing forests for another Starbucks.

The movie was great, and to you critics who review movies and gave it bad reviews-who gives a crap what you think?

So I'm sitting in the library writing this and listening to Lady Gaga's latest phenomenon-Bad Romance (right now it's at the french-speaking part). Oh, and I did I mention-it's raining...again.

I seemed to have developed a bad romance with rain. During my pre-Harding years, the rain was one of my great loves. The dark, sinister clouds crowding the sky, rumbling with thunder and frenzied electrons, hurling lightning bolts and sheets of water were enough to excite the imagination of any preadolescent. There was also another reason why I loved rain: no lacrosse. Lacrosse could not have picked a better season than the season of april showers and may flowers.

Rain is one of those epic/romantic settings God sent the world for love-lulled couples to kiss in and for dramatic scenes of good vs. evil facing off once and for all (Matrix Revolution anyone?)

Rain meant going outside, spinning around in the wet air, singing with the thunder and playing with lightning. But now , we have a bad romance.

Rain now means getting drenched on my way to class, trying to cross teacherous rivers of dirty water on my way to the cafeteria, having to change my shoes three times a day because they're sogging beyond repair. And Harding doesn't help any in that area. Thanks to our crudely made sidewalks and awful drainage system, Harding University quickly becomes the lost city of Atlantis, complete with currents that take you to your classes and mermaid ring ceremonies.

The sun has been hidden by darkness-but light always wins-I just hope it does soon and before I have to change shoes again.

Once you get past the blood-thirsty ice queen, the murderous uncle, and the fact that a little girl gets lured too easilyt into the lair of a shirtless fawn-Narnia seems like a really nice place.

For one thing: talking animals
For two things: Castles-cool ones
For three things:Aslan
For four things: If you're human-you're basically king
For five things: No pesky internet classes

Right now I should be working on a massive project for my internet communications class (the biggest regret of my schedule). We're supposed to be designing an entire website. It could be fun-right? Wrong! We have to deal with the boring, hard stuff called HTML. HTML-hypertext markup language-is one persnickety old wench that doesn't work right if you forget a semicolon out of 1,000 lines of code. The fact that so much code goes into the simplest website makes my brain angry. Angry because humans seem to make everything so stinkin complex. Let's take medical/anatomy terms.

For example: "The major neuroendocrine control centre of malacostracans is the X-organ–sinus-gland complex, which lies in the eyestalk or in an equivalent part of the head in which the eyes are sessile."

Who comes up with stuff: robots? Nancy Pelosi? Lex Luthor?

Why can't you just name stuff short names, like: the foop, the zoob, the yaak, the nama, the Gooop. That would make the world a whole lot easier to understand. Life is short-we don't need long terms.

Back to Narnia and its lack of the internet (and modern technology)-yes, technology was supposed to make our lives easier (and yes I know without the internet and technology I would not be typing this right now), but it just gives us a chance to be busier. Now that we can see the world wide web on our cell phones-big corporations that use employees as fine cutlery to grab their food (money), can now keep feeding whenever they feel like and keep those utensils a workin'.

We love to be busy-and our bosses expect us to love it so much-we buy a pull-out mattress for our office. Sure-you have a nice window view of the city, but that doesn't come in handy when you're trying to get a nice sleep.

Narnia looks so pristine, so untouched, so peaceful. I can imagine myself relaxing in the castle tower having a deep theological discussion with a burmese python-actually, I hate pythons, perhaps my st. bernard Sweet Pea.

Which is why I want to be a writer. It is an occupation that can be done from anywhere: home, plane, train, river side, in a boat, in a mote, wearing a coat. By the shore, at the store, standing in an open door. Eating apples, drinking snapple, listening to old women cackle. Okay, maybe I'm getting out of hand-but a writer's life looks simplistic-no cubicles, no cruel upper management, no board meetings-just you, a piece of paper and your creativity.

And a castle in Narnia would be the perfect place for a masterpiece.