Old Friends Gone

Many of you have heard me rail against messenger bags. Too big or too thick, too short or too long, too many pockets, too many fasteners, too expensive: I can never find one that works for me, and I can't shut up about it.

But it wasn't always that way. Once upon a time in Korea, Gooneechy and I were walking through the marketplace near our house in Seoul when we spied the perfect bag. More than one, actually (they had it in several colors). I grabbed a blue one and he grabbed a black one and we haggled the four-foot lady running the booth down to like ten or twelve bucks each.

Man, that was a bag. Behold:


It was exactly the right size! It had just the right number of compartments! It held everything I needed and not a thing more! It held it's shape without being lined with cardboard or foamcore! I could get things out of it without having to disentangle myself from its clutch or yank on unnecessary buckles, zippers, or snaps! It matched everything I owned!

But you never know how good you have it till you lose it. Well, I didn't exactly lose it, but I gave it to my last companion when I left for home, thinking that in America a great bag like that would be sold any-and-everywhere. Better bags, even. Boy was I wrong. I've never come anywhere close to finding a bag to replace Old Blue.

Last night I was reading through the journal I kept in Korea, and I found this:


It's the tag from my perfect bag, taped in there. Here's the back:


Oh, to be one of those people, the happy people from the white sands and the blue sea. Once I had it good. Real good.

I miss my friend.

That's not all I got out of reading my journal. I also got a bit of that crippling nostalgia that keeps things like journals in a deep closet. Just a bit—a honeydrop inkling of who I used to be and where and why. What struck me this time, though, reading it where I am and when, was how much I miss having a companion. A missionary is with their sidekick twenty-four hours a day, and about twenty-three of those hours are spent concentrating on the same thing. You never have to rely on a single opinion or point of view, and you are never ever lonely. Being a missionary, you not only always know what you're doing and why; you know who's doing it with you.¹ I miss my friends.


¹In mine and nostalgia's defense, I realize that there are drawbacks to that arrangement, that it isn't all good times and ice cream, but you know, I always felt the benefits way outweighed the difficulties. I got along easily and naturally with everyone of my companions except one (whom I liked just fine but who hated me for a reason I could never figure out).

The Next Big Thing

I'm always having these brilliant ideas that ought to make me rich rich rich, but, being a Gemini, I never follow up on any of them.

This week's big idea is Frozen Leftovers. Think of it: for years college kids and bachelors have gotten by on well-matched meals from the freezer, things like Salisbury steak¹ with mashed potatoes and burritos with rice and beans. But that's not what they need. What they need is some variety, some excitement, and some practice for married life. What they need is Frozen Leftovers.

I'm talking about real-life food combinations made easy, of mac'n'cheese with egg rolls and a half-eaten slice of pizza. Of spaghetti and enchiladas with a corn and Doritos medley on the side. Of hot dogs cut up over half a serving of Rice-a-Roni topped with cream gravy and Oreos, served in a stale bread bowl. And there won't be any little compartments on the tray—the directions will read: "Microwave on high until the commercials end and 24 comes back on, stir entire tray together, top with cheese, enjoy. Warning: Pasta may be scorching hot; mashed potatoes may be freezing cold."


Think "Reality TV," but for your mouth. I'm gonna be rich.


¹Interestingly, Salisbury in this case is not a place, but a name. The steak was named for its inventor, Dr. J. H. Salisbury (who apparently invented it in an effort to combat diarrhea among Civil War troops). Wikipedia claims that "Salisbury was one of the earliest health food faddists and taught that diet was the main determinant of health. . . . He believed that human dentition demonstrated that humans were meant to eat meat, and sought to limit vegetables, fruit, starches, and fats to one-third of the diet." It also says that "H. L. Mencken reported (in 1945) that the name was used to replace "hamburger steak" during World War I as a political euphemism."

On a Roll

I drew this one at Donkey coffee shop last night while watching open mic-ers strut their singer/songwriterly stuff, on the back of a scratch sheet my two friends used to map out some chords for a jazz jam.

A Change of Pace

Today I drew some pictures in class. Here they are:

I think this pretty much speaks for itself.

I thought this was a pretty good idea, but Zach gave me some constructive criticism on the execution, so I redrew it...

Thanks, Zach.

Independence Day

Here is a picture I drew several months ago, on two post-its. Thanks to Leanne for both coloring and scanning it.

A Day's Work

Doodling

During orientation I remembered how much I like to draw. Here are some of the doodles that got me through the week: