Obstinate Toy Soldier

Things I wasn't surprised to hear at the haunted house.

2010-10-08T23:45:00.000-07:00

There are three different Jessie James' but I'm pretty sure they are all related.

If you have to pee you better go now because there aren't any bathrooms in there! Repeat this statement ten to twenty times.

Wait, your VIP?

These energy drinks taste like beer and apple juice.

That's a lot of people, did they just wrap the line around?
No, that's the line to take a picture with the bunny.

If that old guy tries to punch us he's gonna go to jail.

Insomnia. I already have that so I can't get that.

Body Odor. I know that's not something you hear, but still, I wasn't surprised.

My fingers are cold and my face is hot, so I just touch my face a lot.

There's stuff in there that's worse than me.

Technically there is turning back because we could go through that gate right there but then that would be a waste of money and I didn't spend ten dollars on this just so I could leave when I am suppost to be saving money for homecoming and oh my god are you going to homecoming?

I'm a zombie, I don't even know how to tweet.

Football makes for funsies.

2010-09-08T23:49:00.000-07:00

Talent

2010-07-26T22:12:00.000-07:00

They say that if you write fast you can write like an animal. They say that if your pen or pencil never stops moving, not even for those words you can't place your fingers on, not even for punctuation and spelling, that you can become fierce and ferocious and wonderful. But don't you dare stop and think things through. If you just keep that pen's tip flowing through the blank page in ruthless ambition you will eventually hammer out a miracle. You will somehow tap your way into something you could never dream of. Just don't stop writing. You keep that pencil flaring and you ignore those pains in your hands and that ache of slow moving ink that can never keep up with the words in your head. If you don't stop writing, never-ever stop writing, you can tap into the window of your soul.

I don't know if all that is true. I'm not sure I can believe it. My hand just hurts too often and all the words just seem so... so, ordinary. I'm no miracle worker and my hand cramps up like the first week of football practice. But I must follow the formula because I never know what to write anymore. I've lost a gift and a love to much greater miracle workers than myself. Thank you very much Mr. Raymond Carver. Thank you John Steinbeck. You've made me ordinary again. Average. Normal. Nothing special. I'm just a river of incomplete ideas and a lost cause. I much more prefer floating atop the current of characters and big ideas sent down stream almost effortlessly from the hands of men.

I don't have many ideas of my own. I can't paint a picture with a brush, a breath, or a fountain pen. I can't make the real seem surreal any better than I can fight a bull or win the heart of a lady. I can't throw down crisp letters and words that somehow manage to stay both seamless and broken. I can't point out the injustices of life any better than I can point out life's true beauty. It doesn't really matter how fast I keep my pencil moving. The words still remain just that, words. Mere words, jumbled and broken. Nothing to make a heart skip a beat. Nothing to wrap a mind around.

Maybe that is why I change hobbies faster than puberty changes little boys. I could never take my own breath away. I could never jot down something to be proud of. I could never work hard enough to impress myself and I always fall in love with that next medium. It's all so amateur. Little words from a little man afraid to grow into something bigger. Afraid to allow talent to mature through that awkward stage. Afraid to let puberty run its course and endure those late teens and early twenties. My hands will never find themselves because my mind is so far in front of them. Yeah, that hand drawn pick axe is cute, but its no Mona Lisa. That's a pretty little essay you got there, too bad you'll never cast a character quite like Adam Trask. Enjoy that riverbank you so casually fish from because you'll never release anything quite so profound as the day's big catch.

What is talent anyway? Is it merely another man's work? Is it simply the right place at the right time coupled with the heartache of ignoring one's own shortcomings? Is it the industrial age stomping out the individual's individuality until he can't take it anymore? Is it a man grasping, reaching, crawling just to stay himself? Is it the wonderment, the angst of trying to be understood by at least one other person? Is it a blind effort to be seen as something other than flesh and bones? Is it the inside of a man desperately trying to make its way out any way that it can? Is it a child's effort to hold the attention of a parent? Is it stomping out all the mistakes and smoothing them over and over again until finally you can spot no flaw and there is no choice left but to allow others to stomp on what's left until finally you don't care anymore and you move on to the next idea?

Let's let those run on sentences run their course. You are no Hemingway. Both of your ears are still intact and you will never be hung for an idea that is bigger than yourself. You know this. But you still don't stop trying. There is no choice but to let that pencil flow across the page no matter how average it all is. So what if you are amateur? So what if you can't fake talent? You can't fake beauty either but the world continues its cosmetic obsession because humanity refuses to accept its homeliness without a fight. You keep on trying because you don't know how to go on without that pencil and those words. So your ideas are small and your words may be without miracle. They still remain your words. And you love them, homeliness and all.

Frozen Lasagna

2010-05-10T13:41:00.000-07:00

My world came crashing down on May 13th 2002. The night before my eighteenth birthday was the night my mom passed away. Eighteen is considered the symbol of adulthood, but I literally grew up over night. The only birthday present I got that year was the realization that life is short and the ones you love won’t be around forever. To make matters worse she died the day after Mother’s day. I didn’t get her anything. I didn’t even take her out to dinner. I spent the entire day asking if it was okay to do something with my friends. I made three different phone calls: the first to see if I could play some Frisbee after church; the second to get some pizza with the guys; and the third to catch a movie. Every call ended with an “I love you” and a “have fun dear.”

I got home some time after midnight and went straight to bed. The next morning my mom caught me in a hug as I was heading out the door. I was running late for school so I tried to make it quick but my mom insisted on this one. She told me that she missed me. I hadn’t been around much and she wanted to have a “just the two of us date.” I agreed, kissed her on the cheek and told her I had to go. This was the last time I talked to my mother. She died later that night.

I celebrated my birthday in a vain attempt not to show other’s my pain. I put on a fake smile as the Red Robin work crew sang me a happy birthday. I told myself, “If they only knew they wouldn’t bother with the false sincerity.” I skipped a week of school only to spend most of my days in bed. I ate nothing but the frozen lasagna that stuffed the freezer as friends and family offered condolences. A bittersweet meal, lasagna had always been my favorite. But no one’s lasagna was as good as my mom’s. Dinner became a symbol of my loss as I choked down the frozen counterfeit. I would never eat my mom’s lasagna again.

I greeted family at the memorial service and tried not to look crushed in front of my friends. I went through the motions until graduation. Prom. The SAT’s. College Applications. I really didn’t care about any of it. My grief turned into guilt as I recalled my mom’s last Mother’s Day and everything I failed to give her. Soon days became weeks and the pain wasn’t leaving. I blamed myself for anything I could think of. Maybe if I had acted differently she might still be alive. Reports came back that her death was ruled an accident. It wasn’t suicide. She couldn’t have known the low dosage of pain meds would mix poorly with her prescriptions. But it still felt like suicide. It felt like I was the one to blame.

I had prided myself on my ability not to blame God. An achievement made less impressive once I realized my anger was directed at myself. This realization didn’t free my shame. It took an entire year for the grief to turn to anything other than guilt. I understood that the blame was irrational, but I still experienced it. Every new day introduced me to another decision not to sit in self pity. Eventually, I learned to experience my grief guilt free. I didn’t have to make the effort not to blame myself, but turning back to the accusations is a temptation I still face today.

How to Write a Paper

2010-01-06T12:42:00.001-08:00

Start with the research. Search the library for a book that deals with your topic, find said book in the lower stacks and then pull all of the surrounding books off the shelf. Put said book on top of your pile and climb the stairs with your pile stacked from palms to chin, arms straight. Spend three hours writing your bibliography. Use all of the books in your stack. Open your original book to its bibliography and copy any titles you may have missed that you think will impress the teacher. If needed, do a quick scan of the library for those books. Check your facebook and your email. Change facebook status. Tim Elliott is a blank slate. Update twitter. Wonder if your status was too vague. Facebook chat with a friend about how boring and frustrating homework is. Use the restroom. Return and look out the library window for about five minutes. Isn’t it beautiful outside? Actually, it’s January. But still, that wind is breathtaking. Glance at the clock, oh man, its lunch time. Ponder whether you can afford to eat and still finish the assignment on time. You probably can, but you are working a double tomorrow, so maybe not. Decide that you should get a good start on the assignment before eating. Flip through a few of your books until you realize you have no idea what to do next. Write down as many questions about the subject as you can think of. Flip through the books again. Write down a few more questions. Check facebook. Eat lunch. Buy coffee. Return to your work. Write an introduction paragraph. Quote something from one of the books. Delete your introduction paragraph. Keep the quote. Stare at your screen. Google the word “thesis”. Google the phrase “working thesis”. Write your working thesis, never reword it. Expand the thesis into an introduction paragraph. Check your facebook. Return to your work by drumming along to the Pandora playlist you’ve been listening to. It’s so beautiful outside, all windy and cold. Stare at the bald man with the sweet goatee walking down the sidewalk. Is that Tony the Beat Poet? Probably not. Read an entire chapter from one of your books. Oh shoot, its getting so late. Figure out how much more work needs to be done. Count the hours till the due date and the minimum amount of pages the paper must be. Realize that if you write a page an hour you just might get the assignment in on time. Get down to business. Pound the keyboard with fingertips as forceful as fists. Use a lot of quotes. Get stuck and stare at the screen. Check your facebook. Chat with friend about how hard this paper is. Get back to work by reading what you’ve written up to this point. Fix all typos. Cut and paste for better structure and flow. Scan your list of questions. Write a page. Check facebook. Go to espn.com. Examine trade details between Mariners and Red Sox. Read three articles. Stare out the window. Holy crap, its getting dark. How many pages do you have? Search books for a strong, long quote. Analyze quote for a page. Check facebook. Update twitter. Hum along to Pandora. Was that too loud? Look around the room. No one is looking, you’re probably good. Use the restroom. Write a couple more pages. Count your total lnumber of pages. It’s getting down to the wire now. Ponder your grade. What’s the worse you can do? This paper is at least a D. How can you get a C? Is a B possible? Delete part of your long block quote. Summarize the part you deleted and the main argument that author is making. Analyze main argument. Find something from another book that contradicts it. Summarize contradiction. Wonder if you are citing properly. Use a quote from contradiction to get another page worth of analysis. You are so bad at writing papers. Wish there was some trick to this whole paper writing thing. Write until the library is about to close. Check out a couple of books. Take work home, complain to your roomates about the amount of work you are doing. Eat dinner. Watch part of the Blazer game. Check your facebook. Write until three or four in the morning. Wake up at six. Take a shower and make coffee. Eat cereal. Write until you are finished. Compare conclusion with introduction. Check for typos. Save to jump drive. Walk to computer lab. Print paper. Turn in. Work a double. Drive home while keeping your eyes open. Fall asleep on top of your bed’s blankets while still wearing your work clothes. Forget to return the books you've checked out for five weeks.

Discovery Number 1

2009-04-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

I learn something new everyday. Or, as the saying goes, you learn something new everyday. Here is today:

Sometimes I need to wear sunglasses on cloudy days.
You can eat chicken marsala and lasagna for only fifty cents more when you dine at italian factory outlet stores.
I still like Jonny Cash. Alot.
Alot isn't really a word.
I am most stubborn when behind the wheel.
This might just be the highlight of my week.
I am ENFP.
Anger can be logical. Example: Tim gets angry at things but not people. Tim's computer is a thing. Therefore, Tim get's angry at his computer.
Ben Harper wrote a pretty good song called Power of the gospel. This is how it goes:

It will make a weak man mighty.
It will make a mighty man fall.
It will fill your heart and hands or leave you with nothing at all.
It's the eyes for the blind and legs for the lame.
It is the love for hate and pride for shame.

That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the mighty, mighty power.
That's the power of the gospel, well.
That's the power of...

Gospel on the water,
Gospel on the land.
The gospel in every woman,
And the gospel in every man.
Gospel in the garden,
Gospel in the trees.
The gospel that's inside of you,
Gospel inside of me.

That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the mighty power.
That's the power of...
That's the power of the gospel.

In the hour of richness,
In the hour of need.
For all of creation comes from the gospel seed.
And you may leave tomorrow and you may leave today,
But you've got to have, got to have the gospel when you start out on your way.

That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the mighty power.
That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the gospel.
That's the power of the gospel.

Metal Heart

2009-04-20T01:26:00.000-07:00

Metal Heart from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

Last Year First

2009-01-06T02:35:00.000-08:00

1. Read thirty books. (15 classics, 15 others)
I'm pretty sure I fell short. I made the mistake of losing count, and allowing one of my roomates to move out (jerk took his books with him). I think I hit around 20-25. And I mostly read classics, so that should be 15 of those bad boys.

2. Go on at least three dates.
Two. And do double dates count? Because if they do then that would make it two.

3. Keep track of money earned and money spent.
I have the earned down, and good old IRS will reinforce my bookkeeping. Does subtracting money in possession from money earned count as keeping track of money spent?

4. Get at least a 3.5 GPA.
Fail.

5. Follow up on Post Graduation Plans.
Maybe I should just focus on graduating.

6. Make bike riding a habit.
I don't even own A bike, let alone enough bikes that would necessitate a habit.

7. Lose 20 pounds.
I managed to complete this one. Coincidently, I also managed to gain enough weight to do it again this year.

8. Start a mourning routine.
I'm pretty sure I meant morning. But maybe this was an omen about the upcoming sports year? The closest I got to an actual "morning" routine was walking into class five or ten minutes late.

9. Check two items off my things to do before I die list.
I invented a sandwich. Its called Grood? and it is amazing. Think of a mashup of grilled cheese, PB and J, and PB and Banana. I also gave up coke (aka soda or pop) for lent. Ironically, I forgot these items were on my list until I re-read them. I even accidentally do things right.

10. Don't move back home. (Dad's house)
I still very much don't live at my Dad's house.

Seattle FanFair?

2008-12-30T01:15:00.000-08:00

Loyalty, at least in football terms, is not a moral choice like bravery or kindness; it is more like a wart or a hump, something you are stuck with for the rest of your life. I discovered this in January of 2003 when Hasselbeck wanted the ball and was going to score. He is remembered for dropping this line as Seattle won the overtime coin toss during the first Seahawk postseason game I had ever witnessed. (I missed the 2000 Miami game because I was stuck in an airport in San Fransisco. I don't even remember where I was going, but I remember sitting miserably at my gate listening to the cheers and groans from the guys crowded around the bar TV. The bar TV that had its back to me and would tease me with hauntingly blocked views from every surrounding angle I attempted. That TV was to Austin Powers' genitalia as I was to the immensely embarrassed and slightly amused twelve year old watching with his grandma. Every houseplant, table light, and glazed ham sat directly between me and that TV.)
Hasselbeck is also remembered for following his famous line by throwing an interception that Al Harris would return for 52 yards and a game winning touchdown. Read it: A GAME WINNING touchdown. A game winning touchdown that left me clutching a couch cushion on the living room floor. This is the first time I have actually hurt physically after a loss. This is the first time I have to catch my breath and physically recover before I can begin to filter through seventeen games worth of emotion. This is the first time I want to hurt an opposing team's fan and the first time I have to calmly ask said fan to change the subject or leave me alone for a bit. This is the first time he will comply mercifully. And, as they say, this isn't the only time.
When you are a Seattle Sports fan you know your loyalty as well as your tall vanilla chai, your organic whole food farmers market, your polar fleece, and your ninety minute commute through the rain. Marriages are nowhere near as rigid. You won't catch any real fan slipping off to St. Louis for a bit of extra-marital foreplay, and though divorce is a possibility (you can just stop watching if things get too bad), getting hitched again is out of the question. There have been many times over the last year where I have pored over the small print of my contract looking for a way out, but there isn't one. Each humiliating defeat (Buffallo, San Fran, New York, Green Bay, Tampa, Philly, Miami, Arizona, Dallas, Washington, New England) must be borne with patience. Each hair-pulling headline with fortitude and forbearance. (Lets review: The Mariners are the first team with $100mil+ payroll to lose 100 games, The Huskies lose to BYU, WSU, EVERYGAME!!!, The Mariners use a third string catcher in extra innings AS A PITCHER!!!, Holmgren coaches his last game in Seattle, The Tuba Man is murdered, and the Sonics get hijacked by an oil tycoon from Oklahoma City.) There is simply nothing that can be done about the tragic loyalty tattooed on our sleeves, and that is the realization that makes the Seattle fan squirm with frustration.
Of course I hate the fact that Seattle is losing franchises almost as fast as games. Of course I want them to score a gazillion touchdowns, hit a gazillion home runs, and play with the ferver of eleven Paytons, Largents, Edgars, and Juniors. But I know the score and it isn't going to happen, certainly not in the foreseeable future. We are still down by too much with not enough time left in the fourth quarter.
I was unable to defend my team's inadequacies all year. I could see them for myself, and I hated them. Sure we had eleven injuries at wide reciever alone. Sure we had a GM that practically begged for a losing team (signed Scott Spezio and Rich Aurillia? traded Freddy Garcia for Miguel Olivo? Carl Everett? Matt Lawton? traded Moyer?) After each feeble attempt at a pass and every misplaced pitch I would join the crowd's collective groan and brace myself for the silence that follows. It is during this silence that we add another game to our mental rolodex and throw another loss on the back end of our teams record. Our L column is now heavier than a high schoolers backpack. The sportsfan is chained to our L column and our L column is chained to Seattle, and there is no way out for any of us.

Gonna Let It Shine

2008-12-28T02:41:00.000-08:00

A Night Shifter's Day

2008-12-18T05:19:00.000-08:00

I tend to wake with some sort of loud chatter or laughter shared between two or three my roommates. Their voices usually escalate to bothersome proportions at some point between noon and three in the afternoon. They are as welcome as an alarm clock's buzz and something must be done about them. But in my slumbering state I can only respond as any other logical man would. I roll over and bury my head under the pillow. This only muffles the noise but it buys me time. It is my metaphorical snooze button.
Eventually I give up the warmth of my bed, allow my feet to hit the floor, rub the crap out of my eyes and give my hair some sort of heavy inspection with my palms. As I stand and allow my knees to find their proper balance I must decide my next venture. I can don athletic shorts and scour the laundry pile for the most comfortable/least rancid t-shirt, or I can grab a towel and head straight for the shower. I usually decide based on what time I have to work or if Around The Horn is on. Essentially everything comes down to whether I shower before or after an hour or two of ESPN and its Sportscentered glory. Life is rough when you've just woken.
Ultimately that fateful hour strikes and I must transform into the working man. I hygene up, pile on the black attire, grab the ol' apron and name tag, force my feet into their potholed cavern of a shoe, and head out the door. I invest six to ten hours of my day crafting an immaculate dinning environment and attending to the needs of the work crew around me; or, three to four hours pleasing the guest with speedy, spruce, and proper plate management. Sometimes I do both in one day. This all depends on a schedule I never write and rarely like. I enjoy my job, but the highlight of my day comes when I am told I can finally leave that stress infested hell hole.
It is then that I can truly be alive. I drive on through that drive-through and arrive home with a paper sack and a plastic cup shaking with Dr. Pepper. I'm just in time to discover the score of whatever it is that happened that night. And when I have finished my breakfast lunch and dinner I can wind down with a book, movie, internet, replay of the game I missed, or sitcom streaming through the Xbox. I better be quick though, I have a strict dawn-o'clock bedtime to make.

Updating the Alphabet

2008-12-07T23:06:00.000-08:00

Books Added:
D: Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman
H: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
J: Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne
K: King Solomon's Mines by H. Rider Haggard
P: Post Office by Charles Bukowski
U: The Untouchable by John Bannville

Books Finished:
As I Lay Dying
Cats Cradle
1984
The Road
The Yiddish Policeman's Union

Still Searching For:
L
Q
X
V

Considering A Revision:
Replace Man and Superman with My Name is Russel Fink by Micheal Snider
Replace Bridge to Teribithia with Babbit by Lewis Sinclair

Life Post ABC's:
The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible As Literally As Possible

Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game

Bigger Deal: A Year Inside the Poker Boom

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Gossling IS the Man

2008-11-11T05:52:00.000-08:00

The debate has been waging for quite some time now. This should settle the score.

Gossling's best movie.

In other news, I own this shirt.

If I Were A Band

2008-11-06T04:50:00.000-08:00

I came across this random band creator on another blog. Your band's name is a random wiki link. The album title comes from the last few words from the first quote on the random quote generator. And your album art is your choice from flickr's interesting photo page.

My Band

The Candidate
Album
Doesn't Seem To Be Working

My band is hip, indie, politically charged and fond of irony. Only your cool friends have heard of us. This album can also be purchased on twelve inch and I have a good voice. If I were to photoshop our artwork for a more marketable product the band name would be in all caps above our president elect and the title would start under Progress' P and trail off towards the lower right corner. I mentioned I can sing right?

I am no Joe

2008-11-04T18:40:00.000-08:00

Over the last few years I've received quite a few phone calls intended for a "Mr. Joe Langston." I am not sure how I came to be mistaken for this Joe but from what I have gathered the two of us have very little in common. Joe is a business man and receives voicemails about upcoming strategies and agendas. Joe also returns phone calls. If Joe fails to return a call Joe will receive numerous messages imploring Joe to respond with an update of accomplishments/needs/data/tools/various business apparatus demanding acknowledgment. Joe is also acquainted with a Hispanic lady who speaks little English. At one point Joe owed someone some money. Joe was not threatened, but collection agencies can be very intimidating and have heard the "wrong number" excuse before. Joe is also a handsome young fellow, or at least considered so by the elderly gent who kept inquiring of Joe's whereabouts while avoiding referencing him by name.

Unspoken Broken

2008-10-28T04:54:00.000-07:00

Way back in January I made it a goal to try to take one picture a day. This lasted about a week. The idea was that I would generate blog ideas and post some good shots. But once I lost my daily internet access and the charge on my camera I gave up. But hey, these are the daily photos from six days of persistency.

The "New" Apartment

Best Milkshakes Between Tacoma and Portland

A Good Plan(ner)

Pete's Sweet Ride

Red Express O

White Guys Can Only Jump When Out of Focus

Alphabet soup?

2008-10-14T16:05:00.000-07:00

Seeing as that I'm slightly behind pace to reach the thirty book goal, (Darn you Brothers Karamazov!) I need a new challenge to boost enthusiasm. Thus the alphabet list. My new goal is to read a book for every letter of the alphabet. The rules are simple. A-Z, no author repeats, titles beginning with A or The will count for the second word. (The Kalevala = K) Numbers will count as they are spelled. (1984 = N) I may decide to throw X a curve ball and just choose a title that has the letter in it. So here's my list so far:

A: As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
B: Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patherson
C: Cats Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
D:
E: Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die: Or The Eschatology of Bluegrass by David Crowder
F: Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby
G: Guliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift
H: I Am Legend by Matheson Richardson
I:
J:
K:
L:
M: Man and Superman by George Bernard Shaw
N: 1984 by George Orwell
O: Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton
P:
Q:
R: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
S: The Shack by William Young
T: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
U:
V:
W: The Watchmen by Alan Moore
X:
Y: The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michal Chabon
Z: Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your...brains by Ryan Mecham

Thought for Food

2008-08-24T15:55:00.000-07:00

What am I going to do without Bella Carollie?
First Tomatoes, then Jalapenos, and now Hot Pockets?
Can Jimmy Buffett write a song that doesn't involve food or drink?
How much must I pay for invisibility?

Grit and Grime

2008-06-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

In an effort of grand exploration I went for a float down yonder river. It was grand. It was exploratory. It was hot. It was muddy. I was barefoot. I made it home and tried to convince my roommates that the most Christlike response would be to wash my feet.
"What Would Jesus do?" I asked.
"Jesus would wash your feet. But society would deem that....weird," Dale responded, "I'll pass."
John was my only remaining hope and I continued to press the argument. John, get in here and wash my feet!" I yelled this time hoping my pastor like enthusiasm would elicit a response.
"No."
"What Would Jesus Do?"
"Jesus is in here sitting on the couch watching TV."
You just can't beat that argument. These days even Jesus can't resist the Simpsons.

On Summer and Roosters

2008-06-11T16:46:00.000-07:00

I read much faster when it isn't for class.
I've underestimated mustard for quite some time now. We have some catching up to do.
Contrary to popular belief Christian Slater isn't a smuck.
Tillamook Ice Cream is really really good.
Doctors should recommend ten hours of sleep. Society would benefit.
The Corn Flakes commercial is deceiving, Roosters don't crow once, they crow until the sun has reached the highest point in the sky.
My neighbor has a Rooster.
The city doesn't discourage Rooster enthusiasts.
The city probably should.
Rooster enthusiasm is rather selfish.
The alarm clock has rendered city Roosters obsolete for some time now.
Roosters should probably go back to their roots: egg making.
If doctors recommended ten hours of sleep Rooster enthusiasm would decline.
Society would benefit and I wouldn't hate my neighbors.

Prostrate Fate

2008-05-27T17:02:00.000-07:00

The problem with class extensions is that there is still the deadline to meet and procrastination to defeat. To stare seven papers in the face with only three days left to prepare ponder and process only proves that I am a foolish foolish man.

Why I Am Not An Active Blogger

2008-05-08T21:54:00.001-07:00

I do not own the internet.
I value spare time.
Facebook
Cooking for yourself is difficult.
The Multnomah Bloggershere hates fallacy driven posts.
Creativity + Academics = Maybe Next Time
I cannot spell.
I am often on the fence.
I am literally "between" my job.
I once ran for president
took dating nominations
and tire of tooting my own horn.
I went to Germany again, which has become an annual post stopper.
I buy books faster then I read them.

Bucket List

2008-01-30T14:59:00.000-08:00

Click to Enlarge

That Thing Going Around

2008-01-05T02:32:00.000-08:00

I've been a little under the weather lately. I'm suffering from a classic case of privileged amnesia. Basically, I forget just how spoiled I am. Usually chicken soup is a good solution, but in extreme cases like mine the broth is cold and unsatisfying. Bed rest isn't much help either. The privileged amnesiac is sensitive to bed sores and prone to late night pillow fluffing and sleeping on an arm. Drinking plenty of liquids can help; however, alcohol is not recommended. The best prescription is a strong dose of humble reflection, but I like to throw in a little sarcasm and public self ridicule. My petty complaints could all be worse. That pain in my stomach (literal, not figural) could have been appendicitis, but it's probably just gas. My two hour drive to Portland could have been a two hour walk for water. My bad hair cut could have been a freak chainsaw accident. My speeding ticket could have been a loss in the Iowa Caucus. A little perspective confirms that my snivels are slim in comparison to real complaints. After all, I still have my head. And, despite the haircut, I'm not Hillary Clinton.

My Demographic

2008-01-02T01:38:00.000-08:00

Usually I loath all things church marketing (see toungue speaking t-shirts), but I managed to drive past a pretty creative church sign. It read:

JANUARY SERMON SERIES:
NEW YEARS RESOLU-
BLAH BLAH BLAH!

It pretty much restored my hope in church creativity. All while making me wish I had put a bit more effort into my resolution avoidance. I'm sad to say all it took was a little competition and I was salivating at the mouth with ambition and goals. Anyway, here is my BLAH BLAH BLAH...

1. Read thirty books. (15 classics, 15 others)
2. Go on at least three dates.
3. Keep track of money earned and money spent.
4. Get at least a 3.5 GPA.
5. Follow up on Post Graduation Plans.
6. Make bike riding a habit.
7. Lose 20 pounds.
8. Start a mourning routine.
9. Check two items off my things to do before I die list.
10. Don't move back home. (Dad's house)

Extended Adolescence and the Church

2007-12-06T11:53:00.001-08:00

I stumbled upon this article by John Piper. Essentially it describes the phenomenon of extended adolescence and how the church should respond. Which I just don't see happening. Everything I've experienced leads me to believe that "Adultolescents" will continue to be one of the most neglected groups within the church.

Piper writes:

How might the church respond to this phenomenon in our culture? Here are my suggestions.

1. The church will encourage maturity, not the opposite. “Do not be children in your thinking. Be infants in evil, but in your thinking be mature” (1 Corinthians 14:20).

2. The church will press the fact that maturity is not a function of being out of school but is possible to develop while in school.

3. While celebrating the call to life long singleness, the church will not encourage those who don’t have the cal to wait till late in their twenties or thirties to marry, even if it means marrying while in school.

4. The church will foster flexibility in life through living by faith and resist the notion that learning to be professionally flexible must happen through a decade of experimentation.

5. The church will help parents prepare their youth for independent financial living by age 22 or sooner, where disabilities do not prevent.

6. The church will provide a stability and steadiness in life for young adults who find a significant identity there.

7. The church will provide inspiring, worldview-forming teaching week in and week out that will deepen the mature mind.

8. The church will provide a web of serious, maturing relationships.

9. The church will be a corporate communion of believers with God in his word and his ordinances that provide a regular experience of universal significance.

10. The church will be a beacon of truth that helps young adults keep their bearings in the uncertainties of cultural fog and riptides.

Mark2.14

2007-11-13T02:15:00.000-08:00

As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector's booth.
"Follow me," Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.

Oh, To Hear That Call.

To Drop Everything.
To Follow.

Top 10

2007-11-05T17:08:00.000-08:00

Posting your top ten books list seems to be in vogue and in an effort to stay hip I will contribute mine. However, I am in no position to list books in any sort of order. So I will step out in true trend setter fashion and post my favorites from the last year. In mind boggling order they are:

The Knowledge of the Holy by A. W. Tozer
The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning
Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster
Hurt by Chap Clark
Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell
The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborn
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon
Shaping the Spiritual Life of Students by Richard R Dunn
Under the Overpass by Mike Yankoski
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephan Chbosky

Combustable Class

2007-11-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

When I took this semester off from school I had no idea I would be trading my pen and paper in for my steering wheel. These are some of the notes from my recent lectures on the road:

It is possible to rake from atop an electric scooter.
If in a hurry, you may honk twice at an intersection. Once before the light turns green and again after it has turned green.
Jesus can purchase billboards.
Honor students can't fight.
If you have the right of way you must yield to others.
If you don't have the right of way, and you haven't taken it you are holding up traffic.
To change a diaper in a moving vehicle, set the baby on the dashboard.
It is easier to find a Starbucks then a parking space.
Yellow ribbons can reproduce, but must not crossbreed with black ribbons.
Eye contact with the driver next to you will earn you the finger.
Oregon drivers can't drive.
The merging speed is 45mph.
Only hemroids can tailgate.

The Vine and the Branches

2007-08-16T21:19:00.000-07:00

I Knew Star Wars Was Prophetic

2007-03-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

It's for real.

The Dicotomy of Deutschland

2007-02-28T19:15:00.000-08:00

Feb. 19, 2007

It is 8:40 in the morning, day four of our excursion. I've noticed quite a lot of differences between ministering to the high schoolers here and the middle schoolers back home. A lot of it just goes with the differences between middle and high school. I'm not sure if the rest is cultural, significant to only army brats or what. One difference is that there is no defiance here. The students are always happy to comply and you never have to tell them anything twice. The staff here equates that to the fact that they are the student leaders. Anothere difference is that there is no need to probe the students to open up. None of them are shy and they aren't afraid to let you know who they are. As I've watched them interact I've noticed that they have formed a bond, but it doesn't look to run very deep. This is just my assumption, its hard to say with much accuracy without really knowing them. My guess is that with moves every two to four years it would be difficult saying goodbye if you have connected with them at that deep of a level.
Today is the last day of the retreat. Every part of this weekend has really come together. The highlight has to be Saturday's chapel. Rob, our youth min teacher, spoke about forgiveness. He opened with a clip from Lost, so you knew it was going to be good. The clip highlighted Sawyer and the letter he has carried around with him since he was a child. In the letter he writes to the man who killed his parents. He promises to find him and kill him. Rob then shared about what had happened to him and his parents' death in an auto accident. He then pulled out a letter of his own, written to the man who killed his parents. Rob read his letter to the group. He wrote that he hopes to find this man so that he will know that he has been forgiven by both Rob and God. Rob then invited the group to work out the issues that they have been holding on to and to work on being able to forgive themselves.

The Faushing Parade.

A German cell phone.

My Bratworst and B...sprite.

Coolest bathroom ever.

We had a Vday shindig.

A German Journal

2007-02-26T01:45:00.000-08:00

Feb. 17, 2007

It's 11:23pm American time, or 8:24am in Germany. I can't change the clock on my cellphone for some strange reason, so I've developed a system the reveals the time here in Germany. I call it "The what time is it over here?" system. I take the American time and subtract it by three hours, then i switch the pm to the am. It's weird thinking that if I were home I'd probably be avoiding my homework by aimlessly wandering the dorms as opposed to having just waken up. I am no longer chilling in a castle, nor is there any hot water. Lame. I need to shower like Rosanne needs marriage counseling. We have finally met our students and have kicked off the camp. We spent most of the day yesterday working on last minute arrangements and awaiting their dinnertime arrival. it's been a blast over here so far, I defiantly have to come back. Maybe I'll jump at that summer internship. It'll get me back in time for wedding season, unless Jon has something he's not telling me about.

I got locked in the bathroom.

The view from the bathroom window.

Tempting, I know.

I guess when its overcast you can smell the rubber.

I spent a lot of time in that bathroom.

The German Memiours

2007-02-24T09:13:00.000-08:00

Feb. 15, 2007

I write from atop a zebra bed circa the Rocky Horror Picture Show from within a German "castle." That's right, a castle. It's more like an ancient mansion then a castle, but it has the spiral staircase, chandeliers down ever hallway, that drafty castle feel, and more rooms then my dorm building. I went for a wander last night and got lost. Apparently this place was built in the 1600s by some bishop. It is currently seven something in the a.m. I'm not really sure because my cellphone is dead and set to American time, which is probably two or three in the am. (Its actually ten pm) I have a whole new respect for jet lag. I've always underestimated its powers, but now I know the extent of its grasp. We flew out yesterday, or rather, day before yesterday at 1:30pm (Portland time) and arrived at eight in the morning (Germany time). But I'm pleased to sacrifice a days worth of sanity in order to say that I've witnessed a sunrise and two sunsets within 24 hours. Although I was to disoriented to fully appreciate everything I'm impressed with what Germany has to offer. The cars are all incredible and the vandalism is beautiful. I have no clue how the people here navigate the roads but they sure do know how to drive. I feel as if I was born for these roads.

The Exit signs here rock.

The "castle" of residency.

The Rocky Horror Picture Bed

Your average castle driveway.

I guess Ashton is a cell phone mogul.

Contentment.

2007-02-01T00:32:00.000-08:00

How long has it been since we have focused on what is there instead of what is missing? We call it contentment. It is being completely absorbed with a moment. Ignoring want or need. We often confused contentment with complacency. Which makes its quest a rare occurrence. But it still manages to catch us off guard. A moment beside a waterfall, a child's giggle, a rush of wind through the hair, and a warm cinnamon bun give us all a reason to pause and breath in. We are content. But we soon move on, looking forward to bigger and better days while continuing to pay our dues. Contentment becomes that pause between heartbeats. It is no longer that whistle while we walk but rather that distant bleep on our ever crowded radar screen. Paul says that contentment comes "through him who gives me strength." It is divine adequacy, being dependant on God and not the circumstances of our lives. It is much harder these days to be dependant on either. Dependence on a God who is neither finite nor definable is a difficult task. Likewise our lives never climax. The next stage of life is always greener.

Is contentment in a world that constantly thirsts for more attainable?

It is a world of discontent and I walk it well. In high school I couldn't wait to go to college. In college I couldn't wait to go to "big boy college." And now... Now I'd like to be married, or at least know who I'd like to marry. I'm sure that will be followed by the quest for kids, and finally retirement. Where I will look back at life and wish I could do it again. But this time I won't exhale.

In Over My Head

2007-01-12T13:54:00.000-08:00

"Turn over your syllabus. I want you to write down three words that describe how you feel at this very second."

Excited
Anticipating(full)
Curious

We read the course objectives, a twelve point list of what the student will learn throughout the semester. Point one was followed up in more detail. More big words, adjectives, and syllables were spit out then the word of the day toilet paper company has printed. After about forty five seconds of described theories and polish scientist name dropping I wasn't quite sure what point we were on. As my hand slowly made its way up the teacher looked up from his notes and declared, "And that's just number one." He then moved on, adding unpronounceable words to the end of every point. When he finished he took a breath and said, "Now I want you to write three more feeling words that describe your current state of existence at this very second."

Humored
Nervous
Confused

After reading a few of them out loud he joked about how the moods had changed and then he implored us to "pay very close attention to these next ten minutes because they are the most important ten minutes of the entire year."

"How much you know has very little to do with how much people learn from you."
"It is easy to impress people, but it is hard to help them grow."
"It's not what we know it's how we convey what we know."

He then apologized for our previous education and how it has failed us. After his ten minute lecture we jumped back into the syllabus to discuss homework and assignments. He then told us how we are to take notes. We will make a t-chart on our paper. On one side of the t we will write down what we are talking about. On the other side we will write down what he does. How he teaches. Because he is intentional he wants us to pay close attention to his methods.

And then he hit the caution light.

"This is a dangerous class. This is a dangerous class by intention. I do not want you to attend this class, I want you to experience it. My intention is to change you. My intention is to raise more questions then answers. My intention is to keep you up late at night squirming in your bed. My intention is to fuel more self examination then you are comfortable with. If I have done that then I have not failed you."

He then asked how many of us wanted to go into positions of leadership within a ministry setting. Most hands went up. He smiled and said, "Good. Just remember, most people want to improve, few people want to change."

Class dismissed.

Mount Hood Adventures

2006-12-04T20:25:00.000-08:00

Ah the snow. It's amazing. My first day out was everything I needed. Amazingly bright, clear, and beautifull. Cheap. Five bucks for gas, ten bucks for food, no lift ticket. Just the old hike up the hill, build a jump, and spend the day in incredible flight. Okay, incredible for those of us who don't actually live on the moutain.

I Need A 'Book It' Program

2006-11-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

I've made the mistake of buying a novel Saterday. Not that a book is a bad thing, it's just that now I want to read it. All the time. Which also isn't a bad thing. Except that I still have homework and pretend I have a life. Really my life is wandering the campus looking for people to talk too. Which is why I bought the book in the first place. Sure I read other stuff, lot's of stuff considering I'm a college student. I've pretty much allready knocked off most of the Old Testament. It's just that I wanted to find myself lost in a book. A book where I don't have to read and think at the same time. I just wanted to unfold the pages and find myself in someone else's world. Well now Nick Hornby has me lost in four people's world's. It's The Virgin Suicides meets the Breakfast Club. I tried looking back the last few months to count how much of my life has been spent between the pages, but I couldn't figure it out. I couldn't even count the number of books I've read since leaving school last year. Is all that reading really worth it if you can't remember all the books you've read? I guess so, its fun to get lost in another world sometimes.

We will become a happy ending

2006-11-12T00:37:00.000-08:00

Swing, like a chariot
At the trupet call
When were all unsaved, swing
Like a wrecking ball
Like the heart of god
What a mystery
Filled with the wedding feast
For the snakes and bees
With the angel teeth, swing
Come and carry us
Come and marry us
To the blushing circus king

Dance like elephants as he comes to us through a fiery golden rain
With a violin and a song to sing as he brings for us our wings
Now he's one of us, plays the tambourine
Breaks the bread for us and sings.

Page France, I'm now in love.

Genius. Simple. Amazing.

Fire come and carry us
Make us shine or make us rust
Tell us that you care for us
Let your body stand with us
Or let our rags be turned to dust
Chariot you swing for us
We think that you can carry all of us
So we will become a happy ending

Measured Waters

2006-10-31T00:52:00.000-08:00

There is something magical that happens when men pile into a car, fill it's tank, remove it's air freshener, and hit the road. With inhibitions on hold they cannot miss adventure. Led by the anticipation of what will be found on the other end of the speed zone they open up their senses and absorb the sights and smells that pass them by. The doors fly open at every bathroom break and the men scatter, only to find each other again at the most intriguing discovery. The bridge used to conceal urination becomes the gateway to the convergence of two creaks. It is nature's playground and it is theirs for the taking. It isn't long before the rocks take flight and one must dodge the descending water. Shoes become optional. One can challenge the force of the rushing water from within or hurl their body from rock to rock above. Soon they find themselves alone. It is a moment to reflect, a moment to snap pictures, a moment to stand back and inhale the surroundings. It is during this moment that one can ponder the reality of the world and one's place among creation. it is during this moment that one is humbled by a leaf and the willingness to open them self up to what it can teach. It is during this moment that one must let the leaf go and watch it swim off slowly alongside others only to lose it downstream.

Idealized Blundering

2006-10-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

I have this ability, its more of a gift really, I can take any moment that has any shred of romance and make it about as awkward as possible. One would think that I could just sit back and enjoy the moment, but I can't. I don't know how. I'm always worried about ruining it by stumbling accross that perfect mistake. The one that steals the moment and leaves you as helpless as a blind man playing hide and seek. My first kiss was a flash of beauty. It was the memorable occurance that can only be stumbled upon and is never intentional. At least it should have been. It's the end of an outstanding date, were saying good bye and there's that pause. It's the pause where both of you know what is about to happen and all it takes is the initative. So there I am, about to lean into my first kiss, only I freeze up. I'm afraid to make that step. She's waiting patiently and I don't know what to do. The nostalgia boils into a blundering moment of unmanageable embarrassment. Finally she gives me this look, its the "What are you waiting for you big goof?" look. This of course raises the awkward intensity level to eleven. I have to do something to stop the bleeding. So with a hurried effort I announce, "That's it! I'm going for it." And I lean in. i thought it was a good line at the time. I thought it was the kind of line that Hollywood would admire. Now, everytime I look back on it, I blush. It is because of this haunting moment that I must sabotage every endearing moment I am a part of. (It happens) I don't know what to do with romance anymore. So instead I play the comedian and intentionally make things akward. Everyone knows its better to mess up on purpose then to do so accidently.

Proccupation With Self

2006-10-22T16:51:00.000-07:00

"A poet has written, 'The desire to feel loved is the last illusion: let it go and you will be free." Just as the sunrise of faith requires the sunset of our former unbeleif, so the dawn of trust requires letting go of our craving spiritual consolations and tangible reassurances. Trust at the mercy of the response it recieves is a bogus trust. All is uncertainty and anxiety. In trembling insecurity the disciple pleads for proofs from the Lord that her affection is returned. If she does not receive them, shi is frustrated and starts to suspect that her relationship with Jesus is over or that it never existed.
If she does receive consolation, she is reassured, but only for a time. She presses for further proofs--each one less convincing than the one that went before. In the end the need to trust dies of pure frustration. What the disciple has not learned is that tangible reassurances, however valuable they may be, cannot create trust, sustain it, or guarantee any certainty of its presence. Jesus calls us to hand over our autonoous self in unshaken confidence. When the craving for reassurances is stifled, trust happens."

Brennan Manning
The Raggamuffin Gospel

"But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away..." JN16.7

Complilation #2

2006-10-06T01:26:00.000-07:00

Since I enjoyed the last one and the whining that followed I thought I would follow up with more. Enjoy:

"The Canada trip was fun, but man, those guys are wierd. I only heard 'Eh' once. That was kinda disappointing but the sinks in the 'washrooms' said Cranada on them."

"I got glasses, and they suck. It's like living through a magnifying glass. Lame. For the price of uglyness I get eyesight, which I really wasn't missing all that much in the first place."

"My Dad just told me I should become a stripper. I don't know what to do with that. Well, besides puke."

"I've hit rock bottom. I'll never climb Mt. Raineer. The closest I'll get to class 5 rapids will be when I fall in the bathtub, and I'll probably have shampoo in my eyes anyway. I'll never surf, unless it's possible to catch your own wave when you jump in the pool. When my kid is trapped in New York and we're at the edge of an ice age it'll be, "Good luck son. I'll see if I can get a chopper out there when the storm clears." I won't be the hero who shows up just as the last book goes into the fire and the remaining suvivers are inches from death. I'll be watching everything unfold on the news with my extra 30 pounds to keep me company."

"For best taste I have to finish this can by January 17th, 2005. Something tells me I've got that covered. I wonder, though, can I really leave this on my desk for 7 months and still enjoy it's best taste when I finish it Christmas morning?"

I have figured out the root of my girl problems. Apparently I haven't been eating enough Monterey Jack Cheese Quesedias. Thus not sparking the 'Monterey Match Up.'"

"There's nothing I hate more then starting the day out with a cold shower. What's worse is when you find out it's cold somewhere between lather and rinse, repeat if desired."

"Turns out it wasn't a power outage, just my brother blowing a circuit. He wanted to find out what would happen if he put a combination of plastic and metal in a socket. I guess he found out it's not much different then when you put a key in the socket, a lesson he learned at four. I think after ten years those lessons pretty much expire."

"I've discovered that at night people think my Jimmy is a cop car. The confusion mostly comes from the fact that the car is green, and a ski rack can easily be mistaken for the lights. This discovery has brought me great joy. You guys don't know how much fun it is to sit on the side of the road with the parking lights on and watch people slam the breaks as they pass by. Tonight, upon the discovery that I was five minutes early for drum lessons, I pulled off to watch traffic. I got three cars to creep past at the dreary 25, realize I'm an impostor and speed off. Now that's entertainment."

"Did anyone catch tonight's sunset? It was breathtaking. Unfortunately the sunset didn't know CPR, and no one else was around to help. I almost died. It was scary."

"Ingaged in conversation about nothing, I casually picked up my coffee mug. It met my lips, and I gave it a gulp. Of course I completly forgot that the waiter had just walked away, and the coffee in my hand was no longer it's gulpable, bottom of the cup self. But rather it's less sweet burnable counterpart. So here I am. With white tastebuds."

"You know how you get spam from random names. Ever have those random names be someone you know? Anyway mine was from Jamie Pennington. And of course it was about Penile enlargement so I know it's not actually from her."

"Don't you think that after the third weekend people would start to notice that Bernie is dead. I mean, don't people start to smell after three weeks? Wouldn't Bernie get pale? And hello, the guy never talks! He either just stands there between his two friends who talk for him, or he's dancing. Stupid Voodoo. And by golly, I don't think I would want a dead body strapped to my side. That's not really my idea of a great time, wouldn't he get heavy? And the guy never changes his clothes, it's always that blue blouse."

Consider It A Compilation

2006-10-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

In one of boredom's most inspiring moments (what I like to call 'no homework, no happenings') I decided to cruise an old blog to discover some of my most humbling moments. But hey, the internet is for embarrasment right? Enjoy the random quotes, I'll probably do this again considering that homework and writer's bloclk inhibit any posts of value/insight.

"My dog is laying in the pile of socks that's been growing on my floor. Yesterday he learned where dogs go when they die. I don't think he's too happy about that one. Where do dog's go again Sobe? That's right, compost pile. Why is that Sobe? Becuase they don't have a soul. Good dog. Here's a treat."

"I could use some cheese in a can. Minus the diarria."

"Yesterday was a good day. Long but good. I ran all the errands I've needed to run, except for the change the oil and the get new tires for the Jimmy part. As well as being the horse I rode for all my errands the Jimmy celebrated 100,000 miles. We took pictures. Threw a party. That young buck deserves it. I know one of these days when I run out of the saloon all shot up I can just hop on the hood and say, "Home Jimmy, home." and he'll carry me away to safety."

"We all get busy, grow up, get stuck in traffic. We run out of reasons to pout. We stop the pity parties. We grin at the girls and we don't care when they don't grin back. We grow our hair out into ridiculous arrangements and skip the daily hair fix. We pump gas, shiver, watch our breath and remember when ten dollars bought thirteen gallons. We wake up before the alarm and still manage to skip breakfast. We actually do our homework, and we study for tests. We smile, we laugh, and we can't wait for baseball."

"Has anyone else noticed that the bad drivers have marked thier cars with yellow ribbons?"

"With Strength And Right"

2006-09-16T02:29:00.000-07:00

I've just discovered the history of my family name. We were pretty big stuff in way back Scotland. We pretty much rode around and kicked people's butt's, then we controlled the region between England and Scotland's border. We basicly kept England out for three and a half centuries because we were so cool. We have a tartan too.

Dorm Daze

2006-08-31T13:45:00.000-07:00

This is nice. A blessing actually. This thermostat has been averaging a good 20 degrees more per day, making the room unbearable. Thanks to the shift of cool weather, I can actually breath in my room.

I managed to make it through the first day of classes without falling asleep. Two lectures and homework on what should have been just the average syllabus day. The guys and I made the mistake of talking into the wee hours of the morning. We paid for it today. Nap is pending.

Matt and I are also the reigning South Aldrich Foose Ball Champions. We went 8-2 yesterday, dropping one of a best of three for the championship and losing some random game by one point. It was my fault, I should have blocked that shot.

Someone Stop Them

2006-08-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing I can't stand it is
church signs.

So is the NIV.

Home School Them.

Excellent choice boys.

This one might be my favorite.

Timmy Bank

2006-08-20T02:08:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream where I needed to gain weight, so I decided to eat my spare change. It was at some point after my third nickel that I realized this wasn't a good idea. I'm not sure what tipped me off but it may have had something to do with the fact that every time I shook my belly the coins could be heard jingling from within. These three nickels had to be extracted and I believed the best way to do this was to use the finger down throat method. Do you know how hard it is to throw up 15 cents? Neither did I.

What happened?

2006-08-16T17:55:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I could write. A time when passion flowed through my fingers and the words weaved themselves together with ease. My ideas were endless. The perfect sentence was as easy as dotting the lower case j. Today I find that constructing the perfect sentence is much like predicting the weather. I just go with a hunch and most of the time I'm wrong. My words are left without an umbrella in which to deflect the rain away from my craft. My sentences are as predictable as playdough. I type either snakes or pancakes and in the end it always ends up brown and crusty. I reread without much hope. I post with embarrasment. I lose my best material to sentence fragments and a poor vocabulary. I can turn an amazing piece into Grandma's knitted blanket: pretty, warm, too many holes.

James Bond Got It Right

2006-08-02T17:18:00.000-07:00

This is me at the park. I'm invisible.

Study Break #3,489

2006-07-13T03:30:00.000-07:00

If you haven't seen the pilot for Nobody's Watching you have too, it's hilarious. Unfortunately, it's allready been turned down by NBC and the WB decided that "Twins" was a better option. What smucks. No wonder the sitcome genre is dying. The execs wouldn't know comedy if it lit them on fire. There is hope however, thanks to YouTube they've picked up on the show's rising popularity.

Unleash the Anonymous Body

2006-07-11T21:31:00.000-07:00

"True Religion confronts earth with heaven and brings eternity to bear apon time. The messanger of Christ, though he speaks from God, must also, as the Quakers used to say, 'speak to the condition' of his hearers; otherwise he will speak a language known only to himself. His message must be not only timeless but timely. He must speak to his own generation."

-A.W. Tozer

I wish the church could be a little more like Jesus, but seeing as that its' made up of all us humans I don't see it happening. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the church. As baffling as it may be it's there for a reason. It is Christ's bride. I just wish it were perfect. I'd like to see no collateral damage. I tire of hearing all the horror stories of those hurt by the church, of staff fired for little reason, and of failing those who watch from the back row without ever learning anyone's name. If we are lucky the onlookers make it to the Easter alter call. Unfortunatly, they usually don't stick around long enough. Curiosity becomes casualty by week three. I'm glad my pastor is so good with names and that he makes it a priority to introduce himself to the new faces. It's too bad I don't. I hardly know the old faces.

If the church isn't perfect it should at least stop pretending it is. Why do we have to be so perfect in order to attend church? The Lamb of God was nailed to the cross because we aren't perfect! Grace is born in the Lord's mercy and in our imperfections; maybe we should stop pretending our imperfections don't exist. I bet we'll have an easier time letting go of those imperfections when we no longer ignore them. Perhaps then we'll stop alienating the outsiders and hanging the insiders out to dry. Forgivness is easier when you are aware of your faults.

Perhaps its time for the church to step out of the nineties. Or the eighties, or the sixties for that matter. We may or may not be ready for it. We should, however, be willing to take the risk. It's hard for the church to "Be still, and know that I am God," when we know that the service is up to par, or that it isn't falling into place. How does a modern church be still and still reach the modern man? I wonder what would happen if for one week we didn't use the stage. What would church look like when power point doesn't lead the way? Or a sermon isn't prepared beforehand. I wonder what would happen if I simply raised my hand and asked a question instead of waiting in line after the service. A dialoge during a sermon? Unbelieveable. I wonder what would happen if crying babies were encouraged. Loud and annoying? Yes. Life? Yes. I wonder what would happen if we let one of the guys with the hearing aids begin the service with prayer, and then handed him a bible and let him speak for as long or as little as he wanted. I wonder what would happen if we didn't stop him when he started talking about the war, his trip to the grocery store, or his prostate exam. I wonder what would happen if the church bought tickets to a baseball game, and no one sat in the back row. I wonder what would happen if we recognized God's majesty when we prayed. Perhaps we wouldn't leave for lunch, or we would tip if we did.

"We Christians are the church and whatever we do is what the church is doing. The matter, therefore, is for each of us personal one. Any forward step in the church must begin with the individual."

-Tozer again

FORZA Life

2006-06-21T11:56:00.001-07:00

At the moment I am sandwiched between three cell phone conversations. Each one equally interesting. Kevin is patentiently enduring the Indian induced annoyance that is Dell tech report. Christina is juggling all those camp prepareing calls that the deadline deams important while Dan sits across her table doing the same for a Canadian camp. This slight insanity leaves me with the predicament: Which one do I easdrop on? Who do I distract? And more importantly, who needs a backrub?

Olson Ripoff

2006-06-19T16:57:00.000-07:00

Torn.

Ripped.

My heart set in two seperate worlds.

Or maybe I just miss this:

The life of Sheep

2006-06-18T17:15:00.000-07:00

There are two passages of scripture that have scared the crap out of me the last two months. Both being found in Mathew and both being the words of Jesus. The first is that of the sheep and the goats found in chapter 25. This being where Jesus seperates the people into sheep and goats. The sheep being heavenly creatures and the goats the hellish creatures subjected to the eternal punishment prepared for Satan and his angels. The scary part is that both the sheep and the goats seem suprised to be seperated into their chosen catagories. Jesus states that he was fed when hungry, was given a drink when thirsty, was provided clothes and shelter as a stranger, and was visited when sick or in prison by the sheep and was ignored by the goats. They both reply by asking when they did this. Jesus' answer, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

Everytime I come across this passage I am left pondering my place among the sheep and goats. Am I a sheep because I happily empty my pocket or hand away my to go box to each reaching hand in the street? Or am I a goat because I never actually feed those who are hungry? I walk away as soon as the hand off is made. I assume that my buck thirty eight will enter a cup that will accumulate enough change for a Big Mac. I assume that my smile and eye contact is pleasing enough. I assume I have done my job. Is this enough to please Jesus? And of course, I can't invite strangers into my suburban home because it isn't exactly mine and they never enter my suburban land. I donate my clothes to salvation army. Is that enough to please Jesus? Or does it even matter considering that I shop at Goodwill myself?

I also have to ask, who is Jesus refering to when he says, "these brothers of mine?" Does he limit charity to only Christians, or is 'a brother of mine' simply a human? Are the goats suprised because their charity doesn't count or because they never came across a hungry Jesus?

The next passage that haunts my sleepless nights is Mathew 26:24-25. It reads, "Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it...' " I try to lose my life, but I often find myself trying to save it like the drowning child who grasps desperately at thin air looking for an arm to pull him up. Is this really losing my life or is it searching for a comprimise as if to say, "Here you go God, I'll give you my life, but these are my terms."

Jesus died on His cross. How can I die on mine? I often wonder, how big is the cross? How much must I endure in order to consider my life lost. Jesus defeated death with his resurection. No task I can accomplish. It is Him who lifts me up as I try to subject myself to His will.

"But who ever loses his life for me will find it."

To Quote St. Augustine

2006-06-14T21:58:00.000-07:00

"To whom am I narrating all this? Not to thee, O my god, but to my own kind in thy presence--to that small part of the human race who may chance to come upon these writings. And to what end? That I and all who read them may understand what depths there are from which we are to cry unto thee. For what is more surely heard in thy ear than a confessing heart and a faithful life?"

2006-06-12T02:08:00.000-07:00

I take steps daily, that's how I walk. One foot in front of the other. I usually know where I'm going, but most the time I'm not sure why. Sure there's the pacing, which is always a problem. And the unfimiliarity of crowded rooms. I can walk a room full of twenty freinds and have no idea where I should stop walking. When my feet tire of that cherade I resolve to standing. Heck, I'll even sit if there's an empty chair. Maybe even smile and start up a conversation. I usually just drift from wall to wall. One foot in front of the other. Pacing without a clue why.

My specialty is finding a spot near the back, just close enough to take in the whole room. But not too close as if taking up the whole room. I'll lean back in my chair and inhale the laughter. Possibly even throw out a punch line, usually ignored, if I know most everyone. Which I do.

It's goal setting time

2006-06-09T01:10:00.000-07:00

I'm doing it. It's official. As soon as I'm done reading The Screwtape Letters, probably tomorrow, I will read all of the bible. Cover to cover, aiming for chronological order, with an understanding of what it is I'm reading. That last part might make the minor prophets difficult, but let's see what happens. To make matters worse I'm aiming to slam this bad boy down in three months. Believe it or not, I have the time.

Life

2006-06-08T03:52:00.000-07:00

They say life begins at thirty, or forty, or some middle aged moment when one stumbles across some sort of epiphany. That awe inspiring moment when you finally get it. "It" of course being so ambiguous that there really isn't much room for error. They say that your twenties are spent figuring out who you really are. Awkwardly walking through the daily routine hoping for discovery. Sipping on coffee cups or puffing at cigarettes, enjoying moments of depression and loneliness with pen in hand. Our whole life is in front of us and we stall. We haven't figured it out yet. We don't get it, and we won't for another ten or twenty years. That's what they tell us.

Is it possible they could be wrong? Do we delay the epiphany? Are we afraid of it? I am convinced I won't have to spend a decade staring at my watch before tasting whatever this life thing is. I am convinced that life has already begun. Life began at four when I bought my first popsicle and tried as hard as could not to bite at that melting hunk of ice. Life began the first time I held hands with a girl and she didn't pull away exclaiming, "This game is stupid, Miss Weaks, boys are gross!" This being no insult considering girls were equally disgusting. Life begins everyday, even if it begins with that annoying alarm clock buzzer. Life begins with the windows down on the freeway. Life begins when someone sneaks up behind you and you are forced swallow your heart and scream like a school girl. Life begins at birth, or conception, or somewhere in between depending on where you stand in the whole life/choice debate. Life begins when you can finally take off your shoes, wear your flip flops out at night, lose your breath laughing, or crunch leaves as you walk. Ladies and gentlemen, life has already begun. Why are we stalling?