I wish you could have been there. An entire auditorium of people, up on their feet, clapping and swaying and stomping their feet, a man in the corner actually playing the tambourine.

It was our Martin Luther King, Jr. Celebration, and it was beautiful. I sang, with University Singers, a bunch of gospel tunes. "Order My Steps" filled me with riotous joy as we bent and swayed, eyes locked on the conductor, the syncopated rhythm beating in my ears. A local gospel singer, Curtis Gulledge, joined us, wailing on the high notes, taking liberties with the music the way e. e. cummings took liberties with language.

But the best part, the absolute transporting moment of the evening, was Donald Sykes. This man played the Hammond organ like it was part of him, making it speak. At times I felt like I could hear words coming out as he improvised on "As the Deer." Somehow, in the middle of the song, it shifted into another old spiritual hymn and I didn't even hear the transition--it was seamless. Like Led Zeppelin in "Stairway to Heaven," Sykes started out soft and simple, adding variations, riffing on new rhythms, until the song had mushroomed into a grand orchestra of glory, hallelujah, and everyone was standing, clapping, wishing the roof would open up and a golden ladder come down, to take us all on our own stairway to heaven.

I wish that short, stumpy, sweaty man with the bald head would never have stopped playing. As it was, he did. The guy playing the trap set for him was exhausted. And I have resolved to learn the piano. If my fingers can learn that keyboard as efficiently as they've learned the computer keyboard, I might be able to do a little speaking of my own through music.

I'll finish my Masters first, though.

We can all breathe a deep, collective sigh of relief. *sigh* The Brothers Chaps are at it again. They put out a new sbemail this week, as well as--get this--a Trogday celebration. That's right--it's been three years since sweet little Trogdor started burninating. And he's still at it, that crazy kid.

Actually, for Troggie's b-day, they showed images of Trogdor fan stuff. People have done the following: put "Trogdor" on their license plates, made Trogdor birthday cakes, dressed up like him for Halloween, created the "Trogdor House" as a fraternity, and even tattooed an image of T-dor on themselves.

Homestar is truly the sensation that's sweeping the nation. Buy one today!

In other, non-nerdular news, I taught my first COMP 115 Class this week. It went well--I started out with an idea from John, to have the students interview and then introduce each other. I got to keep the 3x5 cards they used to help my poor teacher's memory. It was fun. The best part was when this guy walks into my class--tall, gangly, retro clothes, a little buck-toothed, and with a huge afro. He looked exactly like a black Napoleon Dynamite. I wish I could have kept him, but he was in the wrong class.

We discussed a quote: "Communication is the key to life." They had some good stories to tell about communication and why it's important, although I feel like maybe I cut them off a little short. That's me in general: I talk too much. I really want them to learn how to write well, but to do that, they have to care about it. I know I care about it, but how do I convey those reasons to them? Why does this matter? Why is communication the key to life, Mr. Blake?

My poor Homestar-loving heart is getting scared. They haven't updated the site since the fifth of December. It's almost been a whole month, AND it's been the holiday season. Where's our annual Decemberween cartoon? What about a short of Strong Bad being bitter and angry on New Year's Day while Strong Sad makes his list of improbable resolutions? There's not even a new puppet or Teen Girl Squad! WHAT'S GOING ON?

On the upside, I checked all of your blogs and they were all very interesting. Kudos for updating more often than the Brothers Chaps.

And, the Savage Chicken cartoon for December 23 is pretty funny. Now THERE'S a guy who updates well.

Anyone who has seen the movie "Pi" will understand when I say I'm bored out of my mind.

Break has been good. Really. I got to go hiking in the mountains, eat fabulous gourmet chocolate, see my grandparents twice, play games with good friends, and watch a lot of movies I've been wanting to see.

But when I wake up at 8:30, stay in bed until 10, and don't change out of my pajamas until noon--every day for three weeks--I feel that my life has no meaning. Funny how just taking a shower can give me purpose and a will to go on.

I live in extremes. It's either getting up at 7 am every morning to make breakfast, have worship, and run around all day, or it's sitting around until 3 in the same grungy clothes without having washed my hair. Relaxing gracefully is not something I do well.

And I've probably not fought with my family this much since I was seventeen. We can barely be in the same room without finding something about each other to pick at. Unless we have company over, in which case we're all smiles and graciousness.

So, I'm sitting here twiddling my thumbs until Thursday, when I drive back to Michigan. Thank the Lord for the Great White North. School. My boyfriend. A schedule and routine. A bathroom and kitchen of my own. MY CLOSET. I love my family, but not to live with, you know?