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    • Tony79
      • hello Tony Sciarini
      • Username: Tony79
      • In response to: "What is the one thing you consistently spill on yourself?" my feelings
  • Tony79's latest answers
    • Movement
      • Coldplay's "Vida la Vida" has been stuck in my head for months now, so much so that I don't think I like the song anymore. Moments when I find myself hearing it in my mind are interspersed with other moments when I hear "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot in my mind. This has been a song that's remained with me since I first heard it in the early 2000s. It speaks of redemption and urges its listeners to pick themselves up from their despondence and to change for the better. The chorus words include, "I dare you to move... I dare you to pick yourself up off the floor." So it is that I used this song to end my first year as a leadership teacher as background music for a speech in which I told of all the year's events, both good and bad. The song is symbolic of my effort to be who I want to be. The words have become more telling lately, as I've seen my own faults staring me in the face. I need God's redemption, and I have it, but it certainly doesn't feel that way at the moment.

      • answered by Tony79 on 04/30/2013
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    • Lots
      • Realistically, now, the thing I like to do most alone is run. If there is no one around with whom to do something, running is relaxing (honestly, because it is mindless), yet rewarding. In one-on-one conversation and in small groups, I honestly just enjoy talking about meaningful things, topics that stimulate the mind. If the group is large enough, it is a tie between playing soccer and watching baseball games. Taking second in things I like to do alone is reading; for things in small groups, watching movies; and in large groups, going swimming in the summer and a variety of things in the winter.

      • answered by Tony79 on 04/01/2013
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    • Strolling Through Life
      • The following is a travel guide through my own life (a local experience) looking through the lens of music.

        The path through which I have walked with music has at times been broad and spacious, giving ample room along the way to meander here and there through the variegated patches of green and gold; at times cramped and directed by clear markers, posted as reminders of where I was and where I'm going; and at other times blocked completely, stopping me cold on a path mute of all manner of bird and beast. Shifting in sight and sound along its route, this path has always reflected a larger world to me, where the landscape is either fogged by trial or illuminated by joy.

        I had the chance along this path to look backward with my father, whose oldies revealed to me a vista of beaches with surfboards and classic cars. The Beach Boys and Chuck Berry shared this space, alongside artists like the Monkees and the Beatles. We peered long at this landscape, for this was where my father had grown up. Along with the old shows found on "Nick at Night," this anachronistic thrust into the past impressed on me the notion that the 1950s, 60s, and 70s were an ideal time to be alive, and in that way allowed me to share my father's nostalgia. Of course, even the music itself told that the 1960s and 70s especially were not ideal years to live, with songs like Credence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" and Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" expressing the turmoil of the Vietnam War. While I looked back on this path with my father, though, it mattered more that I believed they were.

        Over time, though, I needed to strike out on my own. So it was in my junior high school years that I turned to face the present, and began to wade in my inexperience through the thick foliage of Christian contemporary music, of artists like Carman and DC Talk, whose songs pealed through the speakers of our local roller-skating rink on Christian skate night and gave me the impression that Christian living-- with cassette-taped songs like Carman's "Satan, Bite the Dust" and the Newsboys' "Real Good Thing"-- meant war and guilt. Apparently, I didn't pay the same attention to more hopeful songs, like "Shine." To paint a picture of the awkwardness of these years, it might suffice to say that it was during them, and at this same roller-skating rink, that I was summarily denied a request to couples-skate with a kind girl whose acquaintance I made through school. Like many in junior high school, this was a time of growing independence, of exploring values and beliefs. The path during this time, then, was overgrown with self-doubt, and I could not see my own feet.

        I saw them again in high school, however, as the foliage of my confusion about life thinned and the path on which I had struck out grew somewhat wider, and where my traipse grew into a reluctant but rhythmic stride. Here, I was exposed to different varieties of music, which included the burgeoning grunge and alternative rock planted on this part of the path by the likes of Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden, but adapted and cultivated by artists like the Dave Matthews Band and the Wallflowers. It was then, too, that I paced through that parallel path hewn and cleared by Christian alternative bands like Jars of Clay. At the end of these undulated lanes, however, was a veritable fork in the road; and while I could very well bestride both musical worlds by going one way, I chose instead to focus on my studies, and walk in near silence by the other. One exception to this brought me into unexpected beauty along the lanes of big band, as I learned to dance to the orchestral goodness of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, and others. While narrow, this quieter path gave me clear direction as I focused on school.

        Such silence could not last, however, and the path inevitably expanded into a relative boulevard as I experienced a musical renaissance some time after school ended and into my career. While my musical experience is still lacking in many regards, I found growing pleasure in wandering through the more diverse terrain of Mozart, Switchfoot, and Maroon 5. This wider path became the culmination of all former ones combined, and I suppose this is the path I am walking now. Like life, the boundaries of our paths through music are set by the experiences-- in this case, musical exposure-- that we allow ourselves to encounter, and by the ways in which we avoid, meet, or even trespass upon those boundaries. Like many other boundaries in life, it is our attitude toward them that helps determine our vision of just how beautiful the songs and sounds of life truly are.

      • answered by Tony79 on 03/29/2013
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    • What I Know of Deja Vu
      • We've all experienced it. Some people experience déjà vu so frequently, though, that they aren’t interested in watching TV or reading the newspaper because they think they’ve seen it before; and still others treat strangers like people they know. Although psychologists don’t completely understand déjà vu, they have found that you are more likely to experience it if you (1) are younger (people who are in their 20’s might experience it three times per year, for example, while middle-aged people might experience it only once every ten years), (2) are wealthy, (3) are educated, (4) are liberal, and (5) have traveled a lot.

        What do these things have in common? Maybe déjà vu happens to people who stimulate their minds more. The younger you are, the more you need to learn; the more money you have, the more opportunity to do things others couldn't; the more you've read and studied, the more active your mind; and the more you've traveled, the more you've been exposed to a variety of people and places. This is only opinion, of course, but it seems like an active mind would be more likely to cause this otherwise mysterious thing we call déjà vu.

      • answered by Tony79 on 03/26/2013
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