Three blank, white walls
enclose what has passed.
They offer no calm;
comfort does not last.
Drink in the sky,
what's left of the chains
shuts out all the light--
black as the night rain.
The smoke is inhaled,
it waits in the lungs;
but life can prevail
with a headlong plunge in the fire
The choice we all must make
between the heat and the fire:
there lie sinful graves
between the heat and the fire.
Rooms which held your youth,
halls in which you perspired
held such childish truth;
halls in which you perspired.
Follow, headfirst into the flames!
The red and black ink says you'll never be the same.
Headstones, burnt in the cliff-side,
will always mark what we left behind.
19.8.08
10.8.08
Game review: Disney's Pirates Online
Under the influence of my "friends", I decided to download and try out Pirates Online. This game was an awful waste of time. I give it a -9.5/10, and I would not recommend it to anyone, ever.
Now, I'll explain.
First of all, on the website, the required system specs to run the game could be found on a computer that was built to survive the Y2K virus. However, I found my computer (which is significantly better than the required system to run the game) was constantly trying to keep up. I would take a few steps, freeze. Another couple of steps, freeze. This took place on an island where it was only me walking around, making it very difficult for me to slay a sand crab before it pinched me to death. Ugh.
Next was the name system... I can understand what they were trying to do with this, and I understand why they want it this way. You're only allowed to have a "piratey" name. It makes sense, doesn't it? Now, they give you a set of pirate names they've provided that you may choose a combination of for your pirate. I didn't like any of them. After a little deliberation, I decided on the name "Tiny Hands Flannigan." After all, he was my pirate, and he had a mohawk. I followed the long list of rules they gave me, and turned my name in for approval; I was temporarily given the name "Pirate." This afternoon, while I was loading the game and simultaneously wondering why I hadn't already uninstalled this stupid game, a message box brings word that my submitted name had been rejected. Seriously? Seriously. Apparently, "Tiny Hands Flannigan" has some innuendoes or drug references of which I was previously unaware. I had to settle for "Isaiah McWrecker."Ugh.
Finally, the commercial says the game is free and it lies. While you can play the main story quest (and believe me, it takes a while) and get a few goodies and upgrades for free, the vast majority of the game is available for $10/month. Give me a break! So, after getting stabbed to death by a giant scorpion on a deserted island for a sufficient amount of time to afford a nicer ship, Isaiah McWrecker gets to look forward to sailing around in the same frickin' sloop he started off in. Ugh.
There are redeeming qualities. The most obvious is the fact that you can be a pirate, which rules. The ability to run around and slay baddies with weapons such as a cutlass, pistol, or even a voodoo doll is pretty wicked-- and the fighting was admittedly cool when I stumbled upon a ten-second lapse in the walk-freeze-walk cycle. Finally, I loved to sail and take down ships in the open water. But it's tough when you can't see what's happening most of the time, and even tougher when the only ship you can sail in is constantly inferior, because you haven't handed any money over to the Disney empire for a digital galleon. "Captain McWrecker" doesn't really have a good ring to it, anyway.
It's a pretty good idea, but the epic-failitude in fundamentals (such as allowing the game to run smoothly, giving me my creativity, or the ever-important free of cost) hurts this game way too bad for it to ever be fun.
By the way, I apologize for yelling "Stop blowin' 'oles in my ship!" every twenty seconds in the lobby this afternoon. I couldn't help it.
Now, I'll explain.
First of all, on the website, the required system specs to run the game could be found on a computer that was built to survive the Y2K virus. However, I found my computer (which is significantly better than the required system to run the game) was constantly trying to keep up. I would take a few steps, freeze. Another couple of steps, freeze. This took place on an island where it was only me walking around, making it very difficult for me to slay a sand crab before it pinched me to death. Ugh.
Next was the name system... I can understand what they were trying to do with this, and I understand why they want it this way. You're only allowed to have a "piratey" name. It makes sense, doesn't it? Now, they give you a set of pirate names they've provided that you may choose a combination of for your pirate. I didn't like any of them. After a little deliberation, I decided on the name "Tiny Hands Flannigan." After all, he was my pirate, and he had a mohawk. I followed the long list of rules they gave me, and turned my name in for approval; I was temporarily given the name "Pirate." This afternoon, while I was loading the game and simultaneously wondering why I hadn't already uninstalled this stupid game, a message box brings word that my submitted name had been rejected. Seriously? Seriously. Apparently, "Tiny Hands Flannigan" has some innuendoes or drug references of which I was previously unaware. I had to settle for "Isaiah McWrecker."Ugh.
Finally, the commercial says the game is free and it lies. While you can play the main story quest (and believe me, it takes a while) and get a few goodies and upgrades for free, the vast majority of the game is available for $10/month. Give me a break! So, after getting stabbed to death by a giant scorpion on a deserted island for a sufficient amount of time to afford a nicer ship, Isaiah McWrecker gets to look forward to sailing around in the same frickin' sloop he started off in. Ugh.
There are redeeming qualities. The most obvious is the fact that you can be a pirate, which rules. The ability to run around and slay baddies with weapons such as a cutlass, pistol, or even a voodoo doll is pretty wicked-- and the fighting was admittedly cool when I stumbled upon a ten-second lapse in the walk-freeze-walk cycle. Finally, I loved to sail and take down ships in the open water. But it's tough when you can't see what's happening most of the time, and even tougher when the only ship you can sail in is constantly inferior, because you haven't handed any money over to the Disney empire for a digital galleon. "Captain McWrecker" doesn't really have a good ring to it, anyway.
It's a pretty good idea, but the epic-failitude in fundamentals (such as allowing the game to run smoothly, giving me my creativity, or the ever-important free of cost) hurts this game way too bad for it to ever be fun.
By the way, I apologize for yelling "Stop blowin' 'oles in my ship!" every twenty seconds in the lobby this afternoon. I couldn't help it.
7.8.08
The Hand, The Furnace, The Straight Face
The tension is mounting here. Students all over the area are anticipating our return to this school, whether grudgingly or excitedly. What's even more urgent-- the days are falling off the countdown even quicker this month.
This will be a test. As with every major step forward in life, this school year will shake out what we've decided to keep in our souls. Sure, we can allow God to be the potter to our clay. We respond joyfully, like good disciples, to our shaping. However, a vessel in this state is absolutely worthless.
It is made whole in the fire.
How will we react to the heat? The intensity of the kiln of our lives, will it leave us cracked? Split, disfigured, useless? Will we discover that our preparation was flawed, leaving us to deal with such gross inequities and an inherent inability to cope? Will we be stricken by despair in regard to our new-found worthlessness?
No.
We will be solidified. We will be transfigured. Our souls, in their fragility, will contain the joy and love of the living God. We will see with our own eyes what God has decided we will become, and we will be overjoyed at the sight of the virtuosity of his intensional craftsmanship. But for this to occur, one thing is certain:
He must be the potter.
No one else can take our most troubling, depressing, recurring-nightmare-causing issues and form them into such, as beautiful as this. We must stare down our wills on the dust-swept roads of our hearts. We must order our sin to be put to death. We must be willing to be put in the fire.
The prayer of Hezekiah, a man in the fire:
"O Lord, God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, you alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth. Give ear, O Lord, and hear; open your eyes, O Lord, and see; listen to the words Sennacherib has sent to insult the living God.
It is true, O Lord, that the Assyrian kings have laid waste these nations and their lands. They have thrown their gods into the fire and destroyed them, for they were not gods but only wood and stone, fashioned by men's hands. Now, O Lord our God, deliver us from his hand so that all kingdoms on earth may know that you alone, O Lord, are God."
Hezekiah had no reservations in his trust in God, even with an incredibly mighty and insulting Assyrian army breathing down his neck-- threatening to destroy his nation, his wealth, and his power. He trustingly admits that he is not the potter. He puts the situation into the hands of a god that was not created, but creates. I don't want to ruin the ending for you. I will say that Isaiah got involved, and this king came out of the fire as a beaming, glowing hot, bright red vessel of God's glory.
2 Kings 18-20 tell the story, and I highly recommend it.
This will be a test. As with every major step forward in life, this school year will shake out what we've decided to keep in our souls. Sure, we can allow God to be the potter to our clay. We respond joyfully, like good disciples, to our shaping. However, a vessel in this state is absolutely worthless.
It is made whole in the fire.
How will we react to the heat? The intensity of the kiln of our lives, will it leave us cracked? Split, disfigured, useless? Will we discover that our preparation was flawed, leaving us to deal with such gross inequities and an inherent inability to cope? Will we be stricken by despair in regard to our new-found worthlessness?
No.
We will be solidified. We will be transfigured. Our souls, in their fragility, will contain the joy and love of the living God. We will see with our own eyes what God has decided we will become, and we will be overjoyed at the sight of the virtuosity of his intensional craftsmanship. But for this to occur, one thing is certain:
He must be the potter.
No one else can take our most troubling, depressing, recurring-nightmare-causing issues and form them into such, as beautiful as this. We must stare down our wills on the dust-swept roads of our hearts. We must order our sin to be put to death. We must be willing to be put in the fire.
The prayer of Hezekiah, a man in the fire:
"O Lord, God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, you alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth. Give ear, O Lord, and hear; open your eyes, O Lord, and see; listen to the words Sennacherib has sent to insult the living God.
It is true, O Lord, that the Assyrian kings have laid waste these nations and their lands. They have thrown their gods into the fire and destroyed them, for they were not gods but only wood and stone, fashioned by men's hands. Now, O Lord our God, deliver us from his hand so that all kingdoms on earth may know that you alone, O Lord, are God."
Hezekiah had no reservations in his trust in God, even with an incredibly mighty and insulting Assyrian army breathing down his neck-- threatening to destroy his nation, his wealth, and his power. He trustingly admits that he is not the potter. He puts the situation into the hands of a god that was not created, but creates. I don't want to ruin the ending for you. I will say that Isaiah got involved, and this king came out of the fire as a beaming, glowing hot, bright red vessel of God's glory.
2 Kings 18-20 tell the story, and I highly recommend it.
6.8.08
Night of the Walking Rave
What happens when the power goes out in the village?
RAVE.
I'm gonna admit, I was feeling pretty good tonight. I had rocked my finals in phlebotomy (written and practical), and I came back to hang out with my friends. All of a sudden, during a video game...
ZAP mmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow. Bye bye light.
We only had the emergency lights on, and that was pretty much all. We're all freaking out, because 1) a certain couple was going at it in the lobby, and we all faced it when we walked out of our rooms 2) our alarms were toast, and there was really no sure way that we'd be on time for work tomorrow 3) no A/C meant that we'd probably not get to sleep anyway. As I wander around the campus to measure the situation, a couple of campus safety officers approach with light sticks, in order for us to see in our dark rooms. They handed them out to us as we stood in a huddled mass in the parking lot, complaining. Of course, my mind swam in the ocean of only one, truly beautiful idea...
RAVE.
I run in and get my computer, load a bunch of sick dance music on a playlist, bring the computer out to the parking lot, and blared it. It was awe-inspiring. After a while, it began to lose steam. People got tired, or were just not feeling the need to dance with lightsticks in the parking lot. Go figure. One of the officers tells us that it would be okay to go chill in the student center while the power was fixed. Thus began
the Night of the Walking RAVE.
I carried my computer, and so ensured that we would continue to soak the air with obnoxiously contagious beats and samples as we walked across the campus. We stopped at Gainey, and shared the experience with the Highbeamers. We raved on the Concept. We raved in the library. We finally stopped at the Fireside, where we raved until about midnight. At the signal that the power was then restored, we returned to the village. But we will never forget the rave.
RAVE.
I'm gonna admit, I was feeling pretty good tonight. I had rocked my finals in phlebotomy (written and practical), and I came back to hang out with my friends. All of a sudden, during a video game...
ZAP mmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow. Bye bye light.
We only had the emergency lights on, and that was pretty much all. We're all freaking out, because 1) a certain couple was going at it in the lobby, and we all faced it when we walked out of our rooms 2) our alarms were toast, and there was really no sure way that we'd be on time for work tomorrow 3) no A/C meant that we'd probably not get to sleep anyway. As I wander around the campus to measure the situation, a couple of campus safety officers approach with light sticks, in order for us to see in our dark rooms. They handed them out to us as we stood in a huddled mass in the parking lot, complaining. Of course, my mind swam in the ocean of only one, truly beautiful idea...
RAVE.
I run in and get my computer, load a bunch of sick dance music on a playlist, bring the computer out to the parking lot, and blared it. It was awe-inspiring. After a while, it began to lose steam. People got tired, or were just not feeling the need to dance with lightsticks in the parking lot. Go figure. One of the officers tells us that it would be okay to go chill in the student center while the power was fixed. Thus began
the Night of the Walking RAVE.
I carried my computer, and so ensured that we would continue to soak the air with obnoxiously contagious beats and samples as we walked across the campus. We stopped at Gainey, and shared the experience with the Highbeamers. We raved on the Concept. We raved in the library. We finally stopped at the Fireside, where we raved until about midnight. At the signal that the power was then restored, we returned to the village. But we will never forget the rave.
2.8.08
For an optimist, I'm pretty pessimistic
I know that's flipped around. I did it on purpose.
My thoughts have been bothering me as of late. If the tagline for my blog is "do not stand in the center if you do not wish to be shaken", then I guess the appropriate summary of these thoughts has been: "do I get anyone to stand with me?" You know. Lonely thoughts.
It's easier to get wrapped up in this kind of thought train when there's really no one around during the summer. When school hits, I don't even think twice about it. In fact, I enjoy the freedom that being single brings, because I don't think I'd be able to do the things I'm doing if I wasn't single. It kinda sucks to admit that, but I know it's true. Most of you know that I need a cowbell sometimes in order to find me on a weeknight (because I NEVER carry my cell phone. give me a break, it's prepaid). And with my plans to go into international medicine... how can I attach to anyone without letting go of my dream? In all seriousness, that situation is probably not as severe as it sounds. Still-- it makes me wonder how effective I would be either way.
The apostle Paul has a nice little presentation in Corinthians about this issue. I try to steer clear of that chapter (like just about everyone else at SAU), but I'm finding he raises some good points. To serve God, he points out, is a higher calling than any earthly relationship can replace. And to tie in with a recent morning devotion from the last chapter of John, my calling is to put my faith and love into practice, not just words. That sounds familiar. Oh, yes...
"Deeds without words." The family motto since my crusading ancestor, Johann Grosshans. (I kinda laughed when I found this out, since it was close to what I had decided to live by, anyway.)
From time to time during my growing up, I would seriously ponder this thought of God's will for my relationships. I would constantly remind myself that if it must be, I'll remain single (gulp). Upon the mention of this, my friends would be friends; and they would interject that I was "James Grant", and that this somehow meant that I was bound to be bound someday. And I refused to believe it. After all, it was the truth that I loved so dearly (see My Steadfast Lover) that I valued greater than their opinions.
After thinking about all of this, I compare this summer to last summer. If you didn't read my blogs from last summer, then let me bring you up to speed-- it was the worst summer of my life. I did a lot of growing, at the expense of my heart nearly turning to cold ice. In total contrast, this has been one of the best summers of my life: and the ever-bold optimist in my soul screams, "Be grateful, will you?"
I recently bore witness to a friend of mine done wrong in a relationship; in a horrible, despicable way. I don't think that anyone saw it coming, especially not me. I never wanted to say this, but maybe it pays for me to be single. For now, in the fog.
My thoughts have been bothering me as of late. If the tagline for my blog is "do not stand in the center if you do not wish to be shaken", then I guess the appropriate summary of these thoughts has been: "do I get anyone to stand with me?" You know. Lonely thoughts.
It's easier to get wrapped up in this kind of thought train when there's really no one around during the summer. When school hits, I don't even think twice about it. In fact, I enjoy the freedom that being single brings, because I don't think I'd be able to do the things I'm doing if I wasn't single. It kinda sucks to admit that, but I know it's true. Most of you know that I need a cowbell sometimes in order to find me on a weeknight (because I NEVER carry my cell phone. give me a break, it's prepaid). And with my plans to go into international medicine... how can I attach to anyone without letting go of my dream? In all seriousness, that situation is probably not as severe as it sounds. Still-- it makes me wonder how effective I would be either way.
The apostle Paul has a nice little presentation in Corinthians about this issue. I try to steer clear of that chapter (like just about everyone else at SAU), but I'm finding he raises some good points. To serve God, he points out, is a higher calling than any earthly relationship can replace. And to tie in with a recent morning devotion from the last chapter of John, my calling is to put my faith and love into practice, not just words. That sounds familiar. Oh, yes...
"Deeds without words." The family motto since my crusading ancestor, Johann Grosshans. (I kinda laughed when I found this out, since it was close to what I had decided to live by, anyway.)
From time to time during my growing up, I would seriously ponder this thought of God's will for my relationships. I would constantly remind myself that if it must be, I'll remain single (gulp). Upon the mention of this, my friends would be friends; and they would interject that I was "James Grant", and that this somehow meant that I was bound to be bound someday. And I refused to believe it. After all, it was the truth that I loved so dearly (see My Steadfast Lover) that I valued greater than their opinions.
After thinking about all of this, I compare this summer to last summer. If you didn't read my blogs from last summer, then let me bring you up to speed-- it was the worst summer of my life. I did a lot of growing, at the expense of my heart nearly turning to cold ice. In total contrast, this has been one of the best summers of my life: and the ever-bold optimist in my soul screams, "Be grateful, will you?"
I recently bore witness to a friend of mine done wrong in a relationship; in a horrible, despicable way. I don't think that anyone saw it coming, especially not me. I never wanted to say this, but maybe it pays for me to be single. For now, in the fog.
31.7.08
"Christian."
It pains me to admit this, but I will flip through my friends' Facebook profiles when I'm bored. Okay, it had better pain you, as well, because you know you do it, too. Anyway, I was particularly interested by all the different descriptions next to the "Religious Views" line.
There are so many different ways to describe a relationship with the Trinity, and I find it fascinating.
So, naturally, I start to think: where's mine? How come I don't have a sweet, resounding, specifically-descriptive phrase to put on my profile? Thinking about this further made me change my mind. After reading the book
The Great Omission by Dallas Willard (incredible book, I will let you borrow it if you want), I've put a lot of emphasis on myself to be covered in the dust of Christ, as Rob Bell puts it-- to desire to become a perfect copy of him so much that I end up right up on him wherever he goes. After all, this is what his disciples did. And what dirty feet they had!
So is that my phrase? "Disciple of Christ"?
No. It's not good enough for me. Of course, I admit my faults... I'm going to be the last one to admit that I'm perfect. But I do not desire to be a mere disciple... I want to be like my rabbi! That's the goal! But I can never be him, right? Hmmm... that makes me... a lesser version of Jesus Christ. A more human facsimile of the Son of God. A little Christ. Oh-- wait.
"Christian."
That'll do.
There are so many different ways to describe a relationship with the Trinity, and I find it fascinating.
So, naturally, I start to think: where's mine? How come I don't have a sweet, resounding, specifically-descriptive phrase to put on my profile? Thinking about this further made me change my mind. After reading the book
The Great Omission by Dallas Willard (incredible book, I will let you borrow it if you want), I've put a lot of emphasis on myself to be covered in the dust of Christ, as Rob Bell puts it-- to desire to become a perfect copy of him so much that I end up right up on him wherever he goes. After all, this is what his disciples did. And what dirty feet they had!So is that my phrase? "Disciple of Christ"?
No. It's not good enough for me. Of course, I admit my faults... I'm going to be the last one to admit that I'm perfect. But I do not desire to be a mere disciple... I want to be like my rabbi! That's the goal! But I can never be him, right? Hmmm... that makes me... a lesser version of Jesus Christ. A more human facsimile of the Son of God. A little Christ. Oh-- wait.
"Christian."
That'll do.
30.7.08
Mercy of the Father
Humbly, I seek you, Lord
God, reveal yourself to me
Beauty that cuts chains
Raise me as I'm crushed
Lift my head when I bow down
Call me beloved
Name me as your son
Slave no longer shall I be
My rest is in you
God, reveal yourself to me
Beauty that cuts chains
Raise me as I'm crushed
Lift my head when I bow down
Call me beloved
Name me as your son
Slave no longer shall I be
My rest is in you
...and out come the fleas
If you caught the punk rock reference in the title, I will give you a hug.I'm still scratching my head about this, even eight hours after our crew discovered fleas in apartment E. Yep. They were every-stinkin-where.
Back story-- About three weeks to a month ago, we were sent to paint one of the apartments in this building, but called away when the neighboring apartment in that building was found to have fleas. This room was then bug-bombed with extreme prejudice. We don't know where they came from. Speculation afterwards led our crew to believe that whoever lived in the apartment was a total slob, seeing as pets are not allowed in these buildings.
So, after three weeks to a month, they're still in there. And what's worse: they've spread their blight. Tiny, irritating little jump-aholics... getting all over my legs. It was like a very anti-climactic nightmare. At least it was only Chase, Travis, and I in the room with the fleas. So, after about fifteen or twenty minutes of brushing off the little blighters and sulking about the rampant pest infestation, the three of us walked (you didn't think they'd let us ride in the van, did you?) back to the village. We then bagged up our clothes and took showers... long showers.
I can't afford to burn these clothes. A curse upon you, whoever brought this menace to our feet (and ankles, and sort of calves)! A curse of irritating red dots all over your skin!
25.7.08
My Steadfast Lover
The loudest noise, the faintest whisper
are your eager tools of seduction
For so long, I replaced you with words
And worshiped only my induction
I heard about your face
and the gift of a fearless heart
Solemnly, I dare to approach
You dare me come closer
Once again, of you I boast
My only steadfast lover
I am encased in your beauty
Trembling hands are soaked with admiration
Unfailing love, so sweet upon my lips
The brilliant light of a new day
What I can be, you remind me of this
The face of God in a jar of clay
I swear to you, I will see your face
My heart will feel no fear
[Psalm 27]
are your eager tools of seduction
For so long, I replaced you with words
And worshiped only my induction
I heard about your face
and the gift of a fearless heart
Solemnly, I dare to approach
You dare me come closer
Once again, of you I boast
My only steadfast lover
I am encased in your beauty
Trembling hands are soaked with admiration
Unfailing love, so sweet upon my lips
The brilliant light of a new day
What I can be, you remind me of this
The face of God in a jar of clay
I swear to you, I will see your face
My heart will feel no fear
[Psalm 27]
22.7.08
Crap.
I'm sure you already heard the sirens blaring about a complain-a-blog coming. And of course, it's phlebotomy. During the examination of venipuncture technique on me (a reluctant volunteer), my classmate accidentally slips the needle out with the vacuum tube engaged, and then...
... accidentally stuck the needle back in the vein about a quarter inch distal. Distal = further away from the shoulder. Med terminology lesson for the day, eh? But anyway, that freakin' hurt! Instead of a normal puncture hole, I got a pretty decent scratch: plus the bonus hole. I'm a lucky dude.
Oh, and in case you were wondering... yes. Blood everywhere.
Spitefully, as always, I got a perfect score on my evac tube draw. Money.
... accidentally stuck the needle back in the vein about a quarter inch distal. Distal = further away from the shoulder. Med terminology lesson for the day, eh? But anyway, that freakin' hurt! Instead of a normal puncture hole, I got a pretty decent scratch: plus the bonus hole. I'm a lucky dude.Oh, and in case you were wondering... yes. Blood everywhere.
Spitefully, as always, I got a perfect score on my evac tube draw. Money.
20.7.08
16.7.08
The Test
First of all, I should thank Mr. Donald Brooks as prime inspiration for the way I wrote this... I love the way he writes, and I envy him. And the Apostle James; he was pretty heavy on this, too.
It was yet midnight as I stared at the mirror,
knowing not what I stared at;
I soon realized that its eyes were unfamiliar.
My reflection was glaring back.
"Who are you?" I cried-- "and what is your name?
Oh God, how can this be?"
It replied, "be assured, this is not a game--
I am Inevitability."
"Dreadful," I sighed, "you are the first I fear,
the last that I suspect."
An onerous, watchful, and savage peer
ensures my fate correct.
Inevitability opened a tiny hatch,
just above Its "waist:"
and to it proceeded a peculiar, homespun batch
of things I've been taught to hate.
The head of Rage emerged from the dark behind It:
an eye of envy, and one of pride,
scaled and vicious, I feared its fangs, rescinded.
Loved ones knew only its bite.
My stomach turned at the sight of the translucent face of Fear--
evil stitches its vision controlled!
It jumped, shuddered, scurried away from Rage when it came near,
whose countenance it did not know.
The last of these was Vanity, so lovely and handsome
with the first warm kiss of an eye.
I wept sorrowfully upon my examination;
the face as hollow as mine.
I sobbed, "OK, all right! They are not new enemies.
Now explain the hatch to me!"
Its eyes glowed bright as Rage's tongue hissed,
my heart sank to the floor.
It grabbed my wrist, and told me this:
"I'll show you what this is for!"
At once, the three began to squeeze through the tiny hole,
which the opening forbode.
My tears fueled them as red-hot coals;
I felt my veins explode.
My soul opened up, my nerves were aflame--
my legs betrayed me to the ground!
I cried out, hopeless, as waves of torment overcame
my whole body, every pound.
"Their wrath is great, but you know that such is the price
for a disciple wishing to grow.
You make great claims, and even that you follow Christ!
Do you walk in love, or no?"
"I do! Truly! I believe every word I say!"
I screamed, as I rose to my feet.
I looked and searched, but all in vain.
Inevitablity ceased to be.
It was yet midnight as I stared at the mirror,
knowing not what I stared at;
I soon realized that its eyes were unfamiliar.
My reflection was glaring back.
"Who are you?" I cried-- "and what is your name?
Oh God, how can this be?"
It replied, "be assured, this is not a game--
I am Inevitability."
"Dreadful," I sighed, "you are the first I fear,
the last that I suspect."
An onerous, watchful, and savage peer
ensures my fate correct.
Inevitability opened a tiny hatch,
just above Its "waist:"
and to it proceeded a peculiar, homespun batch
of things I've been taught to hate.
The head of Rage emerged from the dark behind It:
an eye of envy, and one of pride,
scaled and vicious, I feared its fangs, rescinded.
Loved ones knew only its bite.
My stomach turned at the sight of the translucent face of Fear--
evil stitches its vision controlled!
It jumped, shuddered, scurried away from Rage when it came near,
whose countenance it did not know.
The last of these was Vanity, so lovely and handsome
with the first warm kiss of an eye.
I wept sorrowfully upon my examination;
the face as hollow as mine.
I sobbed, "OK, all right! They are not new enemies.
Now explain the hatch to me!"
Its eyes glowed bright as Rage's tongue hissed,
my heart sank to the floor.
It grabbed my wrist, and told me this:
"I'll show you what this is for!"
At once, the three began to squeeze through the tiny hole,
which the opening forbode.
My tears fueled them as red-hot coals;
I felt my veins explode.
My soul opened up, my nerves were aflame--
my legs betrayed me to the ground!
I cried out, hopeless, as waves of torment overcame
my whole body, every pound.
"Their wrath is great, but you know that such is the price
for a disciple wishing to grow.
You make great claims, and even that you follow Christ!
Do you walk in love, or no?"
"I do! Truly! I believe every word I say!"
I screamed, as I rose to my feet.
I looked and searched, but all in vain.
Inevitablity ceased to be.
Blog links
Time for some plugs.
To your left, here, you will see some interestingly named blogs that I link to. I find them fascinating, so maybe you should check them out.
First of all, WTF? Nature is an old livejournal community to which I am subscribed. People are free to post animal (and sometimes human) pictures of a "WTF?" nature. It's pretty wicked. If you look on there now, there's a post about the velvet worm, which hunts down prey by shooting a sticky, quick-hardening goo at it-- yes, just like Spiderman. Also, kinkajous.
Second is Garfield Minus Garfield, which is a morbidly funny comic with an innovative premise. From the blog: "Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb." Hilarious.
Finally, my newest link is to Matty G's Pop Culture 101. This is my friend Matt's take on pop culture, obviously. He's definitely got information I don't have about all sorts of movies, music, and the like to keep me busy reading for a while.
There's my plugs. Check em out.
To your left, here, you will see some interestingly named blogs that I link to. I find them fascinating, so maybe you should check them out.
First of all, WTF? Nature is an old livejournal community to which I am subscribed. People are free to post animal (and sometimes human) pictures of a "WTF?" nature. It's pretty wicked. If you look on there now, there's a post about the velvet worm, which hunts down prey by shooting a sticky, quick-hardening goo at it-- yes, just like Spiderman. Also, kinkajous.
Second is Garfield Minus Garfield, which is a morbidly funny comic with an innovative premise. From the blog: "Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb." Hilarious.
Finally, my newest link is to Matty G's Pop Culture 101. This is my friend Matt's take on pop culture, obviously. He's definitely got information I don't have about all sorts of movies, music, and the like to keep me busy reading for a while.
There's my plugs. Check em out.
14.7.08
Scare tactics.
This is acute necrotizing ulcerative gingivitis (ANUG), better known as trench mouth.
BRUSH YO TEETH.
11.7.08
Coincedence?
I find it ironic that my Calvin shirt chokes the crap out of me every time I have to deal with it.That's all.
10.7.08
Celebration of viability
I'm recording the events of the day right now, so that I do not forget any details. Hopefully, I'll be up for work tomorrow.
So, the day started off with a "Happy Birthday!" sign in my mirror over a bottle of Gatorade. Oh, suitemate. In his honor, I continued to say, "i haz a bloo" when I held up my Gatorade each time today. Work was pretty cool-- we started painting a house with the wrong type of paint. It was wicked. Then, I suggested that the rest of my crew was unfit to live in the Jackson area for so long without ever tasting the donuts of Hinkley's Bakery... which led to Matt (manager) suggesting that the entire crew goes to the bakery for morning break. Glorious.
After work, I find my wallet to be missing. I freaked out a bit, especially since I was out of food and needed to shop. I bought two cans of Spartan soup (poor decision) and some pop tarts with the cash I had on me. When I returned, I drove to the physical plant to check the van. No wallet. Maybe in the house we were painting-- money.
I had a bunch of friends over to watch Hot Fuzz (one of my favorite comedies) in my room for the first movie night since I left for Montana. Never gets old. I think this was the very first time I ever totally packed out my room for a movie this summer. The movie was even interrupted by my parents calling and singing Happy Birthday to me over the speakerphone... which was unfortunately with spotty reception.
Carrie got me these cupcakes of indescribable awesomosity. I'll keep it simple, so that you may understand. Twelve cupcakes. Red icing.
NOM
NOM
NOM
NOM
Indeed, they were nomcakes. I am a pretty happy guy.
Then, I took four of my friends (Shane, Stephanie, Travis, and Hamm) out to Applebee's on a $30 gift card my mom gave me. I figured this would not be a problem with half-off appetizers. When inquiring on the availability of said appetizers, the waitress replied, "Yes, those are on." Upon receiving three samplers, we discover, by courtesy of our snippy attendant, "Oh, by the way, those aren't half-off." This was not a big deal, seeing as it wasn't that much over $30 anyway. But it gets better. Much to my dismay, my "friends" indicate that it was my birthday. Of course, this means that I get to be embarrassed and sung to, and collect on free dessert. However, the ever-snooty waitress responded to Stephanie in this manner: "Oh, there are only two of us tonight. I don't think we'll be able to do it." Depression abounded. This depression transfigured into anger as a flock of ten waiters and waitresses gathered around another customer to sing their Applebee's happy birthday chant. We left shortly after this, though we had a ton of laughs and interesting conversation anyway.
On the way home, as Applebee's was destroyed by fire and sulfur, I notice red and blue flashing lights in my mirror. At the on-ramp of M-60, I pull over for the fuzz. I provide my license and insurance as I dig around in the glovebox for my registration, silently praying to God that the officer does not spot the full box of .22 caliber ammunition in my glovebox. Success. I provide the registration as he asks about my donor sticker on the license and the age of everyone in the car, then leaves to his car. He returns with my things, and asks me to have a good night. Done and done, sir.
Good night, indeed.
So, the day started off with a "Happy Birthday!" sign in my mirror over a bottle of Gatorade. Oh, suitemate. In his honor, I continued to say, "i haz a bloo" when I held up my Gatorade each time today. Work was pretty cool-- we started painting a house with the wrong type of paint. It was wicked. Then, I suggested that the rest of my crew was unfit to live in the Jackson area for so long without ever tasting the donuts of Hinkley's Bakery... which led to Matt (manager) suggesting that the entire crew goes to the bakery for morning break. Glorious.After work, I find my wallet to be missing. I freaked out a bit, especially since I was out of food and needed to shop. I bought two cans of Spartan soup (poor decision) and some pop tarts with the cash I had on me. When I returned, I drove to the physical plant to check the van. No wallet. Maybe in the house we were painting-- money.
I had a bunch of friends over to watch Hot Fuzz (one of my favorite comedies) in my room for the first movie night since I left for Montana. Never gets old. I think this was the very first time I ever totally packed out my room for a movie this summer. The movie was even interrupted by my parents calling and singing Happy Birthday to me over the speakerphone... which was unfortunately with spotty reception.Carrie got me these cupcakes of indescribable awesomosity. I'll keep it simple, so that you may understand. Twelve cupcakes. Red icing.
NOM
NOM
NOM
NOM
Indeed, they were nomcakes. I am a pretty happy guy.
Then, I took four of my friends (Shane, Stephanie, Travis, and Hamm) out to Applebee's on a $30 gift card my mom gave me. I figured this would not be a problem with half-off appetizers. When inquiring on the availability of said appetizers, the waitress replied, "Yes, those are on." Upon receiving three samplers, we discover, by courtesy of our snippy attendant, "Oh, by the way, those aren't half-off." This was not a big deal, seeing as it wasn't that much over $30 anyway. But it gets better. Much to my dismay, my "friends" indicate that it was my birthday. Of course, this means that I get to be embarrassed and sung to, and collect on free dessert. However, the ever-snooty waitress responded to Stephanie in this manner: "Oh, there are only two of us tonight. I don't think we'll be able to do it." Depression abounded. This depression transfigured into anger as a flock of ten waiters and waitresses gathered around another customer to sing their Applebee's happy birthday chant. We left shortly after this, though we had a ton of laughs and interesting conversation anyway.
On the way home, as Applebee's was destroyed by fire and sulfur, I notice red and blue flashing lights in my mirror. At the on-ramp of M-60, I pull over for the fuzz. I provide my license and insurance as I dig around in the glovebox for my registration, silently praying to God that the officer does not spot the full box of .22 caliber ammunition in my glovebox. Success. I provide the registration as he asks about my donor sticker on the license and the age of everyone in the car, then leaves to his car. He returns with my things, and asks me to have a good night. Done and done, sir.Good night, indeed.
9.7.08
Value
This is what I think about when I stare at a white wall for several hours.
Randomly, my mind turned to a topic that we discussed in history of civ last year: the Force Publique in the Congo. These were all white, Belgian soldiers and mercenaries in a colonial army; inevitably, they used nasty methods to ensure that the peace was maintained. The most appalling aspect of this, I thought, was the "right hand policy." To ensure that money was not wasted on ammunition, soldiers of the Force Publique were required to provide a right hand for every bullet fired.
I'm sure you can see where this went.
Anyway, I started to think how this atrocious concept could be applied to viewing today's new concepts of international occupation and ethnocentrism. Piecing together what I'd come up with about our occupying forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, I came up with this simple logic, which justifies our presence there:
We are Americans. We become angry and sad when other people kill Americans, and rightfully so (I'm talking about 9/11). This has led us to kill others in their countries, so that they may not kill Americans in America.
Such is the motivation for the War on Terror. I have been a supporter of this war since it began, but not anymore. I'm sure you're wondering how the right hand policy of the Force Publique fits into this, and I'm getting there. Right now--
The underlying sociological premise upon which the right hand policy was built was this: the Congolese are not equal in value as Belgian colonists. Looking back, can't we see that this is remarkably far from the truth? I've never met a person from the Congo, but I'm sure that I would find the value of that person equal to someone from Belgium, and my government would probably agree. So, if that is true, then how does the War on Terror follow?
How does trading ten Iraqi lives for mine follow?
As Christians, this should be even more obvious to us, but it seems that this is not the case. In fact, we were, as the American church on the whole, more susceptible to vengeful ideas and vigilante politics; a crowd of hurt lovers, wishing to take the hurt back to those who sought to kill us in the form of an again-romanticized crusade. It is now appearing to me that swords do not mend wounds, they only cause more.
There must be another way. Indeed, we should be more inclined to lay our lives down for our enemies than wish their destruction! In Jesus' name, we must seek peace-- this would be His glory.
Randomly, my mind turned to a topic that we discussed in history of civ last year: the Force Publique in the Congo. These were all white, Belgian soldiers and mercenaries in a colonial army; inevitably, they used nasty methods to ensure that the peace was maintained. The most appalling aspect of this, I thought, was the "right hand policy." To ensure that money was not wasted on ammunition, soldiers of the Force Publique were required to provide a right hand for every bullet fired.
I'm sure you can see where this went.
Anyway, I started to think how this atrocious concept could be applied to viewing today's new concepts of international occupation and ethnocentrism. Piecing together what I'd come up with about our occupying forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, I came up with this simple logic, which justifies our presence there:
We are Americans. We become angry and sad when other people kill Americans, and rightfully so (I'm talking about 9/11). This has led us to kill others in their countries, so that they may not kill Americans in America.
Such is the motivation for the War on Terror. I have been a supporter of this war since it began, but not anymore. I'm sure you're wondering how the right hand policy of the Force Publique fits into this, and I'm getting there. Right now--
The underlying sociological premise upon which the right hand policy was built was this: the Congolese are not equal in value as Belgian colonists. Looking back, can't we see that this is remarkably far from the truth? I've never met a person from the Congo, but I'm sure that I would find the value of that person equal to someone from Belgium, and my government would probably agree. So, if that is true, then how does the War on Terror follow?
How does trading ten Iraqi lives for mine follow?
As Christians, this should be even more obvious to us, but it seems that this is not the case. In fact, we were, as the American church on the whole, more susceptible to vengeful ideas and vigilante politics; a crowd of hurt lovers, wishing to take the hurt back to those who sought to kill us in the form of an again-romanticized crusade. It is now appearing to me that swords do not mend wounds, they only cause more.
There must be another way. Indeed, we should be more inclined to lay our lives down for our enemies than wish their destruction! In Jesus' name, we must seek peace-- this would be His glory.
8.7.08
The rundown
All right, I had to do this too. I was a little bit surprised by my results, but the questions were a little miffed and generalized. It's hard to put my political ideology into the terms they gave me. =P
Your Results:
Your Results:
 | 1. | Theoretical Ideal Candidate (100%) |
| 2. | Barack Obama (72%) Information link |
| 3. | Ron Paul (concedes nomination not possible) (68%) Information link |
| 4. | Kent McManigal (campaign suspended) (67%) Information link |
| 5. | Bob Barr (65%) Information link |
| 6. | Bill Richardson (withdrawn, endorsed Obama) (63%) Information link |
| 7. | Christopher Dodd (endorsed Obama) (61%) Information link |
| 8. | Hillary Clinton (defeated [BYAH!], endorsed Obama) (60%) Information link |
| 9. | Dennis Kucinich (withdrawn) (59%) Information link |
| 10. | Wayne Allyn Root (is now Bob Barr's running mate) (58%) Information link |
| 11. | Ralph Nader (56%) Information link |
| 12. | Joseph Biden (withdrawn) (56%) Information link |
| 13. | Wesley Clark (not running, endorsed Clinton) (56%) Information link |
| 14. | John Edwards (withdrawn) (54%) Information link |
| 15. | Alan Keyes (withdrawn) (54%) Information link |
| 16. | Mike Gravel (withdrawn) (54%) Information link |
| 17. | Al Gore (not announced) (53%) Information link |
| 18. | Alan Augustson (campaign suspended) (53%) Information link |
| 19. | Chuck Hagel (not running) (50%) Information link |
| 20. | Michael Bloomberg (says he will not run) (50%) Information link |
| 21. | John McCain (47%) Information link |
| 22. | Newt Gingrich (says he will not run) (47%) Information link |
| 23. | Tom Tancredo (withdrawn, endorsed Romney) (41%) Information link |
| 24. | Mitt Romney (withdrawn, endorsed McCain) (40%) Information link |
| 25. | Rudolph Giuliani (withdrawn, endorsed McCain) (39%) Information link |
| 26. | Duncan Hunter (withdrawn, endorsed Huckabee) (38%) Information link |
| 27. | Sam Brownback (withdrawn, endorsed McCain) (36%) Information link |
| 28. | Mike Huckabee (withdrawn) (33%) Information link |
| 29. | Elaine Brown (withdrawn) (32%) Information link |
| 30. | Fred Thompson (withdrawn, also the scariest man alive) (31%) Information link |
| 31. | Jim Gilmore (withdrawn) (30%) Information link |
| 32. | Stephen Colbert (campaign halted) (28%) Information link |
| 33. | Tommy Thompson (withdrawn, endorsed Giuliani) (24%) Information link |
7.7.08
Make me one with the music
Someone once asked me, "If you were to get an mp3 player, what would you want on it?" I replied, "Just make me one with music." So, I got a Zen. This is what it looks like.Corny. Well, technically, it's a "Zen Stone Plus", because it doesn't have a f'real screen or anything like that. But it's real nice. Allow me to elaborate.
First of all, 2 GB of space. This allows me more than enough songs to which I may rock/dance/air guitar/ embarrass myself entirely. On shuffle, it can go from "Du Hast" to "The Rockafeller Skank", and that is strictly quite awesome. And it's so little! I would never have expected this tiny little thing to hold so much music, but it do. This moves me to my next point.
This thing is about the third the size of my cell phone. As I'm working, I don't have to worry about it being in the way, or becoming uncomfortable, or feeling bulky. It's just there. Heck, I forget it's there most of the time. But there's one thing that always reminds me of its presence...
That'd be the built-in speaker. And it's not really a crappy speaker, either. Being built by Creative, it pretty much has everything that I would be looking for. So, when I feel the rockitude reaching critical mass, I just switch on the speaker and continue to rock. It's a beautiful thing.
By the way, that switch is just a simple press of a button. Everything on this beast is simple. I don't have to bother with lame iTunes or Windows Media Player (sorry guys), it comes with some software. And it's easy, too. Just select the songs you want, and poof. They're in. You can even put them in folders to organize them (into, say, "running", or "painting", or even, "rocking"), and select playlists.
All you iPodders don't know what you've missed out on. =P
Finally-- I made this post because Brian asked me to do so. Brian is the stuff, for real. You should check out his blog (and new haircut) if you haven't already...
<--- over there.
1.7.08
I've got a river of life flowing out of me
Well, I did. Funny story:At phlebotomy class tonight, we all did our usual rounds poking each other with needles. Much to my dismay, I seem to be the only Y chromosome left in the bunch-- which means veins are gonna be harder to find on the whole. Tonight, we were instructed on how to use winged infusion sets. See?
They're a smaller needle diameter, and they're supposed to be easier to use. Must be why it took me three times to get it right... whatever. It looks really cool when the tube fills up, and turns all red and such. So, our hands are all poked to bits with these things, and we go back to regular arm venipuncture. This is what I'm good at. I've never missed. I tell one of my classmates that if she lets me poke her, I will let her poke me. She agrees, and goes first.
Let me be the first to tell you that one could probably see my veins from twenty feet away. That was not the problem, and let me first applaud her for being the first of my classmates to strike oil on me (after six previous dry attempts by others). While reaching for a new cotton swab to plug my arm, she releases the multisample device... and the needle. I watch, in oh-dang-that-car-is-about-to-break-my-legs-slow-motion, as the needle slowly succumbs to the inescapable persuasion of Earth's gravity and falls out of my arm. This would not have been a big deal, had the vacuum tube drawing my blood not been engaged: just as luck would have it, the tube was engaged. The powerful sucking force of the vacuum pulls venous blood out of my arm like this:
Just, you know, red. Without a doubt, one of the weirdest things that's ever happened to me. After the mess was taken care of, and she apologized profusely, I go ahead and poke her...
Money in the bank. Maybe I should go pro.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)