old.blog.alan.schram

Tolerating Intolerance

2008-11-09T16:26:00.003-08:00

After a splendid morning watching "Flags of our Fathers" instead of going to church, a light salad for lunch and a brisk walk down Marine Drive, Ashley and I hopped on a bus to complete our journey to Park Royal. As with most buses, ours was moderately full, and filled with all peoples of all ages. We settled on two free seats at the back of the bus near a younger Asian gentleman and across from a young white man who seemed to have forgotten to leave his angst in his teenage years. Ashley and I started to engage in discussion of some sort, most likely about Obama, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye an elderly woman a few rows behind me turning around in her seat to address the people sitting behind her.

"Excuse me, do you know what country you are in?" She asked this to the obviously foreign seat dwellers behind her. Their reply was too quiet to be heard. She continued to ask, "do you know what the official language of Canada is?" At this point I was quite stunned. First of all, most people on buses do not address one another, unless it is an almost inaudible "excuse me" as one attempts to get past another. Secondly, this type of interrogation seemed more fit for the dark corner of an American intelligence office rather than the brightly lit fairly crowded public transit system. It was especially shocking coming from a gray haired woman who seemed to have to raise herself to be seen behind the seat backing.

"That's right, it's English, and I'd appreciate it if you would speak in English".

At first I was able to keep myself from laughing out loud, but my looks of incredulous shock were matched by Ashley's reaction to the rather vocal conversation. I soon noticed that our almost emo brother was intrigued by this as well. The fact is, this lady was insulted that people would come to her country and speak in a foreign language, as opposed to the official language of English "Oh, and French" she added, twisting in her seat to throw that quick quip back over her shoulder before returning to face forwards. At this point, I was actually laughing, in short shocked bursts, as the complete insensitivity, and the utter intolerance displayed by this woman. Now, I too have been bothered by numerous people coming on buses and loudly discussing whatever it is in a dozen different languages. But I have never thought to myself that this "did not belong in Canada". In fact, that is the beauty of Canada. Sure, we have two official languages, but one is only used as the predominant language in Quebec. We also have six or seven unofficial languages that make their rounds in China Town, or Little India, or hell, even Newfoundland.

You know, I was so proud of America for finally getting past their racial roots because I felt as though they had raised themselves up to our standards. I had forgotten that in a democratic society, as our Asian bus friend reminded us, every person has a right to their own opinion, no matter how much I may disagree with it. So even Canada has their fair share of bigots, racists, and intolerant old women. I suppose that I'm okay with every person having their own opinion, but the one thing that I struggle to tolerate is intolerance.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

2008-11-05T08:50:00.002-08:00

Last night was, and will always be, a historic night. It was one of those nights that we're going to teach our children about, and our children will describe to their children how grandpa was there that night, watching CNN and their fancy "hologram" technology for the first time.

America has taken a huge step forward in the election of the first black president. Watching CNN, reading Time Magazine, I'm reminded by the fact that the entirety of the world has come behind this man, proud of America for taking this step forward. Yet I can't help but be saddened at the result from Proposition 8 in California. It's not official as I write this, but at 95% of the vote, 52% voted in favor for the "protection of marriage".

My major question is this. If your marriage feels threatened by two homosexuals who love each other, your marriage has far greater problems than the definition of marriage. If you feel as though your marriage is tainted, or dirty, because of same-sex marriage, then you need to re-evaluate your own marriage before you evaluate others. If you are worried that your kids will turn gay because his friends parents are both female, then you need to be concerned about your own parenting, not theirs. In my opinion, proposition 8 shows me that hopefully, someday in my lifetime, I will also be watching history being made as the first homosexual presidential candidate gets elected. Maybe then we can give gay people the same rights as us straight blacks and whites.

A Hopeful Beginning

2008-11-04T22:58:00.002-08:00

It has now become apparent the irony of my last post's title.

I'm sitting here in my apartment's living room, listening to CNN replay Barack Obama's acceptance speech. America has reached a period of transition. As one president of the United States prepares to leave office, the new President Elect prepares to move his black family into the White House. As a Canadian observer, I feel the need to note a few things, so that one day we can look back and remember this day. Our feelings, our hopes, our fears.

I was very nervous leading up to this day. I've been watching and admiring Barack Obama for about a year and a half now. I remember first seeing him on "The Daily Show", as some throwaway additional Presidental Candidate. As I got to know some of them better, I started to pick out my favorites. Ron Paul, Mike Huckabee, Barack Obama. These guys seemed to talk straighter than most other politicians. They represented something to me. As the race narrowed to a few candidates, I clearly chose Barack Obama as my favorite. He was the dark horse, quite literally, and I was excited to witness history in the making. I was hopeful that America could finally, at least symbolically, move past a terrible past that has haunted them. Yet I was still afraid. Of an assassination attempt, of the "Bradley Effect", of a man that seemed too good to be true.

This is something that has astounded me. That a man, black or white, who promises to speak to Americans as though they are adults is something that is too good to be true. How far have our hopes and expectations fallen (and I definitely include Canadians within this) that the idea of an honest man causes us to recoil in fear. What deep secret might he be hiding? Is it that he will be tolerate of homosexuals? Dare he allow his faith to influence his moral, but not political decisions? Will he be the acclimation of all our hopes?

One thing I do know for sure is that Obama will dissapoint some of us. He will either be too liberal or too conservative. He will be too cautious, or too rash. He will be too open, or too closed. He will not satisfy us all. But he has promised to explain the reasons behind his actions, and that is something that none of us have had for far too long.

If nothing else, Barack Obama promises hope. At this point, none of us know whether or not he can deliver. Regardless, this shows us that the American people are not who the Bush administration have portrayed them to be. Perhaps they too are a little more honest, a little more tolerant, and a little more hopeful than we give them credit for. I witnessed history today, and I pray that I will continue to witness history for the next four years.

A Hopeful Conclusion

2008-03-09T10:20:00.002-07:00

Well, I think the burden of the wisdom teeth is coming to a pass. For 9 days I was on pain killers, and yesterday I managed to make it through the entire day without taking one.

Now, I did feel pain, and brushing my teeth sucks, and eating is often less than pleasant, but overall I believe that the pain threshold has been lowered, and that gives me hope. I was supposed to go to a dentist on Friday, but I never got around to it until the afternoon, by which time it was too late for the offices, which are reopened on Monday. So my only choice was to wait it out, and I'm pretty glad that I did.

Ideally, from here the pain will eventually entirely recede, and I can return to eating normally. Worst case scenario, something gets infected, which would be a thrill within itself.

But hey, here's hoping that the saga has concluded, and this is something I can tell my children about when they get theirs removed with lasers.

Dry Socket

2008-03-06T08:07:00.002-08:00

Wisdom Teeth sockets are troublesome.

So, 8 full days after getting my Wisdom Teeth removed, I still have a lot of pain. At first, I thought that I was just being a wuss, and that I should be able to take it. However, while I was at work last night, I sneezed.

And that hurt, my jaw, and my wisdom teeth sockets, a lot.

So I looked up dry socket again, to reinform myself of their symptoms, which are:

Partial or total loss of the blood clot at the extraction site, which you may notice as an empty-looking (dry) socket
Visible bone in the socket
Pain that increases between one and three days after tooth extraction and that typically becomes severe and unrelenting
Pain that radiates from the socket to your ear or eye on the same side of your face
Bad breath or a foul odor coming from your mouth
Unpleasant taste in your mouth
Swollen lymph nodes around your jaw or neck

I have 5 of the 7. While my pain may not be jaw-dropping (ha!), it does seem to be quite "unrelenting", and spreads from my sockets to my chin and forehead. When I sneezed yesterday I got the same taste in my mouth that I got when I first had them removed. That weird bloody/puss taste. Delicious.

So anyways, now my assumption is that I have dry socket, which sucks, hard.

Meanwhile, I still can't eat anything crunchy without suffering dearly for it. I just want to eat some chips, or a toasted sandwhich, or lettuce!

Wisdom Teeth (Story, Medication, Schedule, Diet)

2008-02-28T08:13:00.010-08:00

I apologize for the length of this entry. I don't expect anyone to actually read this, I think it serves more as a journal of this experience for myself more than anyone else. However, if you are going to get your wisdom teeth pulled, it might be worth a read to learn from what I experienced.

Story

Wisdom Teeth are troublesome.

Back in December I went to the dentist for the first time in about two years. I had just been busy at school and camp and unable to make it to an appointment. Something I wanted to find out about was my wisdom teeth, as they had never been mentioned to me before during a check-up. So when the Dentist came in, I asked about them, and he replied that it was now time for them to come out, as otherwise they could prove to be difficult later. I figured it was time, as most others have them removed a little while before that. So we scheduled a time for Reading Week and that was that.

Going into the surgery I was a little apprehensive. As with most everything that I am unsure about in this world, I looked it up on the internet. According to Wikipedia, there are numerous potential implications and post-extraction probelms, such as bleeding, oozing, dry socket, swelling, and nerve injury. I even found some interesting reports where some scientists claim that the preventative removal of wisdom teeth is not helpful, and sometimes even harmful.

The night before I have to make sure that I don't eat or drink anything 6 hours before the surgery, so I stop eating at 9:30 Tuesday night. Wednesday morning arrives, and I wake up at 6AM. My appointment is at 7:45AM in Kelowna, which is about a 45-60 minute drive from Summerland (or more, if you're my mother). We leave around 6:30 and arrive around 7:30 at the office. We arrive just as they're opening, and the receptionist calls us early birds before giving us the first set of forms to fill out. After that is painfully completed, we're ushered in to the first room, which has the standard dentist chair. Here is the consultation. We're given another form that lists the potential complications, most of which were already cited on Wikipedia, but now include the risk for permanent nerve damage and broken jaws.

The oral surgeon comes in and goes over the form with me, circling "dry socket" and "bleeding", say that those are the two most common problems associated. He said that after the surgery the nurse would explain to me the things to eat, how to gauze the bloody holes, etc. Once I, and my mother, signed the form, I got moved to another room by two lovely nurses, who insisted on putting me at ease by singing some song that I didn't know. They were a little insulted when I didn't know it, and then realized it was from before I was born, and therefore forgave me. They then put an IV in my arm, put a heart rate monitor on my thumb, and made sure I uncrossed my legs so I don't get a cramp. They then asked me if I knew who Ronald Regan was, made some joke I don't remember, and then said that they're going to put in the stuff that makes me fall asleep.

After that point everything got really really fuzzy. I remember saying something about knowing who Ronald Regan was, the actor of course. And oh, the President of the United States, his other job. Then I don't remember anything. Apparently some people talk still after they're knocked out, and I do remember mentioning to them that I was planning on saying something embarrassing about myself just to keep them entertained. They promised they wouldn't tell anyone.

The next thing I vaguely remember is being woken up and taken somewhere with a place I could lie down. I'm pretty sure I walked there, but I'm not positive. Anyways, I remember some nurse coming in, I don't know who or anything, and she changed the gauze in my mouth. It came out covered in blood. She said some stuff to me, I don't remember anything. My mother told me that she was there, and was giving me instructions about how soon I can take the gauze out (1 hour), what I should eat (soup broth, not too hot), but I don't remember any of that. I remember being led to a door that let me out. Apparently it was a side door that was locked when I tried to walk out of it (which I don't remember), though I do remember thinking "sneaky door". I don't really remember any of the drive home, though apparently I was doing charades for my mother and wrote jokes on paper for her. I even turned on the radio to a station I liked (I have no memory of this) and was mumbling to myself. Hurray for knockout drugs.

What I do remember doing next is being in my house. I took some drugs. The dentist recommended that I take two Tylenol 3s with codine, and one advil. So I did. I changed the gauze right away (apparently not supposed to, but there was a lot of blood in my mouth). I was worried about the blood not clotting like it has to to prevent dry socket. My mother said I was only supposed to have it in for that one hour, and I disagreed, so she called the office to see what they would say. My mom asks, and the nurse asks to talk to me. I suddenly am feeling very tired, as I stand in the kitchen. It's very difficult for me to talk, my mouth is very frozen and my tongue doesn't respond as it should, so I mostly grunt in response. She asks how much it is bleeding, said that it was mostly normal, and I don't remember anything after that. I was leaning on the counter, my mom was trying to get me to hold the phone to my own ear, but I was holding myself up. I suddenly slump forward, too tired and exhausted to hold myself upright. Again, out of nowhere, I feel incredibly nauseated. I feel like I'm going to puke. The phone conversation is done, I say to my mom that I'm going to go and puke. She said no, as obviously that would be quite bad for everything, especially my freshly stitched gums. I ignore her and head for the bathroom because I know that I'm going to puke.

The next thing that I remember is being pressed up against a wall. After that, I remember waking up when I hit my head on the floor. I definitely fainted. I don't really remember much at that moment, or what was going on. I know my mother was freaking out, and that my dog was barking, and that I felt incredibly calm. I remember my mother saying, "Oh Alan, you're worrying me!", and I calmly replied, "Yes, I am aware of that". Proper grammar seemed suddenly important. As soon as I hit the floor, the feeling to puke left me. Apparently the first thing I said when I hit the ground was "Oh, that feels good". I lay on the floor for awhile, the hard cold tile, and eventually my mom brought a towel for my head. After a few minutes I got up and went to lie on the couch.

I figured that it was probably the multiple T3s plus the lack of food. I had just eaten some tofu shake (fruit, yogurt, tofu, like a protein shake of sorts), but not very much, and hardly had any water. That is probably as close to an overdose as I've ever gotten. Crazy weird.

Medication

Speaking of the medication, my oral surgeon always prescribes three medications for his patients. T3s w/ Codine, Penicilin, and one called Dexamethasone, which is also to prevent allergice reactions, infection, and swelling, and also a pain killer, I believe. The pharmacists were also kind enough to give multi-page info sheets for each drug, describing the use, how to take, when to take, and potential side effects. One side of T3s, for example, is dizziness and nausea, and should be best taken with food. Hey, I figured that one out.

Each drug is different, and needs to be taken at different regularities, at different times of the day, some with food and some without. It took me the entire first day to slowly figure out when to take what.

Penicillin should be taken one hour before eating food, or two hours after, four times a day, at regular intervals.
T3s should be be taken with food, every 3 or 4 hours depending on pain
Dexamethasone should be taken with milk or food, on a regular basis, starting at 9pm the first night.

Schedule

Here is my daily schedule for drugs and food:

8:30: Breakfast
9: 1 T3 [1], 1 Advil [1], & 1 Dexamethasone (except on day 1) [1],
10:
11: Penicillin [1]
12: Lunch / 1 T3 [2], 1 Advil [2]
1:
2: Penicillin [2]
3: Snack / 1 T3 [3], 1 Advil [3]
4:
5: Penicillin [3]
6: Dinner / 1 T3 [4], 1 Advil [4], & 1 Dexamethsone [2]
7:
8:
9: Penicillin [4]
10 or 11: Snack / 1 T3 [5], 1 Advil [5]

Advil Extra Strength, 400mg - x5: Total 2000mg (do not exceed 3 unless directed by physician, which I was - I skip them when I feel I don't need them)
T3 w/ Codine, 30mg - x5: Total 150mg (take 1 or 2 every three or four hours as needed)
Penicillin, 300mg - x4 (take one tablet 4 times a day)
Dexamethasone, 4mg - x2: Total 8mg (take 1 twice a day starting at 9pm)

In the schedule that I have there, I take Penicillin every 3-4 hours throughout the day. One possibility was to take it earlier, right after I woke up, but then I'd have to wait two hours before I could eat breakfast. The Dexamethsone could alternatively be taken with the 10 or 11pm snack, to keep it more consistent.

Day 1, I took all drugs
Day 2, I've started cutting back on the advil as the pain decreases
Day 3, I traveled back to Abbotsford, so I missed a Penicillin. I also skipped one T3, and just took an Advil instead. The second T3 of the day made me nauseous when we traveled. I also skipped the last T3 of the day, meaning I only took 3 T3s on Day 3, and two Advil.
Day 4, Might eliminate all pain killers, depending on pain, of course.
Day 5, the Dexamethsone runs out, I stop taking it then.
Day 7 or 8, the Penicillin should run out. Will continue to take it regularly, 4 times a day, until then.
Day 8 or 9, no drugs should be required, hopefully. Will update as time passes.

Diet

So there's a wee bit of controversy about this part. The dentists gave me a sheet that recommended "clear liquids (for example, apple juice, lukewarm broth) for the first 24 hours". I definitely ignored that. Searching around on the internet seemed to find a wide variety of potential options, and a couple of repetitious ones. I do not think that one can simply recommend one simply diet for all people, it depends on the severity of the surgery and how long you've been healing for.

I started out by eating liquid foods. So far this has included: tofu shakes, yogurt, scrambled eggs, and soggy cheerios.

The tofu shakes are pretty much just a smoothie with tofu thrown in there. Canned peaches, pears, some yogurt, some orange juice, and some tofu. Not sure what kind of tofu, my mother made it for me. Thanks, mom. It tastes pretty darn good, and has the added benefit of protein.

Scrambled eggs were another delicious one, which I'll probably have for the third time in two days later this afternoon.

I only tried the cheerios today, fearing that they'd have to be chewed. I waited until they were quite soggy so that they would mush if pressed against, lessening the chance of damaging anything. I, as with most of the food I've had so far, place it on the middle of my tongue and just swallow. It worked out pretty well.

I'm about to eat some Kraft Dinner, and I'm planning on using the same technique as the cheerios.

I've read about people eating and enjoying some mushy rice and beans, but that seems to be too much work.

I didn't stick to the "clear liquids" as prescribed but I haven't had a problem yet. If one develops, I'll let you know.

Also, now that it is day 2, I've begun to rinse my mouth with salt water (1/2 teaspoon per cup of water) after each meal. Tomorrow I'm going to brush the front of my teeth, and avoid the back, just so that my mouth doesn't feel as horrendous as it does right now.

If you have any questions, feel free to comment and I'll do my best to respond.

Update:

Things that are good to eat:
Soggy Cheerios
Oatmeal (thanks Ashley)
Scrambled Eggs
Kraft Dinner
Boiled Perogies (chop them up into swallowable sized bites - eat them while they're still a little wet, or cover them in butter to help them slide)
Yogurt
Pudding
Tofu Shake

Things that are not so good to eat:
Icecream Shake (too cold, have to press it against roof of mouth to eat, therefore brain freeze)
McDonalds fries (tried some, have to spend a LOT of time mushing them with hands, chewing with front teeth, too much work)

A Letter to Arithmetic

2007-12-08T21:52:00.000-08:00

Dear Math,

I don't like you, and I never have. I often ask God himself why, on earth, would he ever have allowed you to come into existence. I equate you alongside mosquitoes. To me, you are disease ridden and blood sucking. You take the sun from my sky and the blood from my vein, and for that, I don't like you.

But I do respect you, as paradoxical as that may seem. I have no choice but to admire you. You're so consistently neutral about everything! It's like you haven't a care in the world, and maybe on some level I envy that, and so I respect you, but not enough to do much with you except use you for your talent, and then leave you, as far from my mind as possible. The only thing we have between us, math, is physical.

I don't want a reunion. When I left you in grade 11, I left you for good, and I won't ever go back. There were too many late nights and too many early mornings. There was too much stress and too much damn WORK in our relationship, and for that I won't forgive you. Sure, people said we were good together, but they didn't know how I truly felt. So no, I don't want to get back together with you, I like our arrangement the way that it is.

Cold.

Hard.

Calculating. Just the way you like it.

We'll see who wins in the end of this little relationship. You never had any love for me, let's face it, and now I'm just returning the favor.

Sincerely not yours,
blog.alan.schram

A Letter to Falling Frozen Precipitation

2007-12-03T22:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Snow,

Greetings! It has been some time since we last met. I do believe you were in the final stages of death, and my merciless boots aided in your demise. What can I say? After you've been around for a couple of months, I get quite sick of you.

Anyways, seeing as it has been so long since we last hung out, I have no problem with your current presence. Just know that you should really learn the social signals given to you when it is time for you to leave. You're like a poor uncle, pillaging the coffers my parents worked so hard to fill for us children. You're welcome to come, but you're even more welcome to leave.

Sincerely yours,
blog.alan.schram

A Letter to George H.W. Bush (Sr.)

2007-12-02T08:46:00.001-08:00

Dear President Bush,

Greetings, Mr. President Sr. I must admit that I am not used to speaking with one who was once in such a position of power. I am sure that your time is valuable, and as such, I will be brief.

I have heard rumour that you were tried and convicted of war crimes during the Gulf War. This makes me wonder what your son is doing over there as well, also being accused of war crimes. Is he finishing what you started? Is he righting your wrongs? I am confused, Mr. President, and I would like some answers.

Sincerely yours,
blog.alan.schram

P.S.

http://www.alternet.org/story/68843/

A Letter to The Communicative Device, Letters

2007-12-01T22:28:00.000-08:00

Dear Letters,

Thank you for being so awesome. There's nothing quite like finding you in my mailbox.

I must admit, sometimes you can be quite hard to deal with. You are not the easiest method of communication I've tried to get along with recently, but let me tell you, when I do set time aside to spend with you, I do enjoy it. There's just so much about you that I like. I like your form factor. The greeting, the salutation, something about it just rings true in my heart. I always know where you stand, who you're from, and where you're going. I simply love the clarity of your thought.

I also love your past, letters. You have been the one consistent long range method of transporting thought. You've been a part of church history, you've helped make Lewis famous, and you've brought tidings of war and peace. That's another thing that makes you so special, letters. You are so capable of conveying such a range of thought and emotion. You've done everything. You've told a wife that she's become a widow. You told ordinary people that they've become jurors, or are being audited. You transported my childhood sweetheart's love into my bedroom with me. For that, you are quite indispensable.

So for that reason, dear letters, I must apologize for ignoring you of late. I don't write with you, and I should. I've been an adulterer, flirting and flaunting with the pornographic electronic version of you.

Please know, that e-mail will never replace you letters. Not in my heart, anyways.

Sincerely yours,

blog.alan.schram

Success

2007-10-30T10:51:00.000-07:00

"The secret to success is sincerity, once you can fake that you've got it made"
- Jean Giraudoux

Sunday Morning Church

2007-10-17T14:40:00.000-07:00

I've fought it for a long time, but I've finally been able to admit that I don't like church.

If nothing else, church becomes counter-productive to my spirituality. The moments where I've experienced the most spiritual growth (whatever that means) have always been outside of the church. When I am honest about the condition of my soul, I am not holding a bible in my hand. I am not wearing slacks and a pressed shirt. I am not playing bass, teaching, or pew-ridden. I am alone, with God.

Sometimes I am with a friend, just one, and it is dark in the room so that I feel comfortable. Maybe I had a beer so my inhibitions about being honest are lessened slightly. Sometimes I've just had a cup of tea, I'm in the corner of a coffee shop, and there's a buzz that drowns out my hushed words. I never come to soul-saving realizations while singing "Blessed Be the Name" with 400 other tired and slightly hung over Christians.

At church there's a series of established rules that are true for all evangelical services. You stand when they tell you to, you can sit if you're disabled. You sing along with the bouncing ball or mistimed power point, you don't have to if you're playing the music. You're quiet when the pastor's preaching, you leave if your child is noisy, and if you're over 50 you can sneer when those under 30 don't put money in the offering plate.

Church is work. I can't relax at church. I can't be honest in church.

I learn more about God watching ducks do yoga on a concrete pipe by the side of a dirty lake.

I learn more about God listening to grown men weep, and even more when I let my own soul weep.

I feel more in community watching Batman cartoons and eating banana pancakes than visiting an institution of 150-1000.

I feel more in awe when thunder rumbles than when a preacher mumbles.

So I've given up on church. For now. I like the idea, and I've tried lots of churches. I've been to postmodern, modern, and premodern services, but none of them match what I experience in life. Mundane life. I understand that church is not "for me", but the church has no place for what I want to offer: doubt, fear, anger, and mistrust. So until church decides to become more like life, less like a business, and more like my friend, I'm giving up on church. The law of diminishing returns demands it.

In Rainbows

2007-10-04T09:01:00.001-07:00

Do yourself (and radiohead) a favour. Head over to their new website and preorder their new album.

"In Rainbows" was scheduled to be released in 2008, so having it come out this early is a huge surprise. I know that I am terribly excited for it. What's even more impressive is that they're releasing this album independently, having completed their deal with their label. Beyond that, the release of the album is primarily online. You have the choice of buying the DRM-free mp3s, downloading them on October 10th when it releases, or ordering their $82 collectors box set.

I chose to order the mp3s.

Oh, and did I mention that when you order the download, you pay whatever you want. "It's up to you", says the site. "No really, it's up to you". You insert how many pounds you want to pay for the album, and that is what it will charge your credit card. If you think the music should be free, it is. If you think it is work $20, it is. According to their publicist, most people are paying close to retail price for the album. Whether or not that is true, I hope we'll find out.

What is true is that the overwhelming response to the site shut it down.

So do yourself (and radiohead) a favour. Go buy their new album.

The Absurdity of it All

2007-09-28T23:49:00.000-07:00

If you have the chance, and the stomach, I suggest watching "Dexter". I do believe it airs on HBO. It's a twisted, dark portrayal of a serial killer working as a blood splatter analysis for the Miami police. He only kills those that have "escaped justice". Meanwhile, he tries to live as a "normal" human being, though entirely incapable of emotion.

He does, however, "fake it" all the time.

The first few episdoes turned my stomach, but the more that I watch, the more I pick up on the things behind the crime scenes and seemingly inhumane murders. There's a touching subplot about what it means to be human, and how so many of us are always faking it. There's a lot about relationships, and what it takes to be in one. Can a person genuinely fake love?

My favorite moment thus far is when the hero of the story, just before he's about to kill a married couple who were running illegal immigrants as far as their dollar would get them (and then drowning them if they couldn't pay), stops to ask them their thoughts on love and relationships. "How long have you been married?" "How have you stayed in love" "A shared dream?"

And then, of course, he kills them.

And goes home to his girlfriend.

And shares his dream with her. To build intimacy. False intimacy, of course, but perceived intimacy nonetheless.

Twisted.

I like it.

Prayer

2007-09-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

I find that God is silent only when I ask the wrong questions.

I Hear God Through Corporate Slogans

2007-09-27T16:32:00.000-07:00

"You can do it, we can help"

Past, Present, and Future

2007-09-25T10:58:00.000-07:00

Augustine is smart.

He argues that the past and the future do not exist, except for their reality in the present. Only the present exists.

The past exists only in memory within the present, and the future only exists in expectation within the present. The present is the only reality.

He also has thoughts on hell.

Apparently, "weeping" always refers to regret over the past, and "gnashing of teeth" is always linked with dread for the future. So in hell, where there will be only weeping and gnashing of teeth, your existence is utter separation from the present, and eternity is spent regretting the past and dreading the future.

Augustine is smart.

Corporations, Movie Quotes, and Bannanas

2007-09-20T00:05:00.001-07:00

Did you know that there is a science of exploitation?

I got to watch a few bits of "The Corporation" tonight. Every time that I watch that film I get a little more angry. It frustrates me not that there are people out there that want to make money and own things; I can understand that.

What frustrates me is that we've created this ideal "American Dream" and its come to the point where the dream is beginning to own us.

I like when we watch movies like "The Matrix" or "I Robot" or even that episode of The Simpsons where their house tries to kill the whole family. It's been a classic question ever since we created the computer: how long before they rise against us and try to kill us? How long before our own creation turns against us?

What are the chances that it is already too late, and we just don't know it?

I'm not saying that your TV is going to pick up a knife and slit your throat, and I highly doubt that your clock radio purposefully "forgets" to go off at 8:30AM, though the possibility is not out of the question. I sincerely do not believe that we will one day have to EMP the entirity of the earth (if we still have control of the EMP, that is) just to rescue the human race from an onslaught of PCs (lets face it. Mac's are too cute to be evil).

A corporation is not a human being. A corporation is a legal structure. You cannot kill a corporation; just the people that own, operate, and are affected by them. A corporation is legally obligated to place the financial interests of their owners above competing interests - even over public good. A corporation cannot make an ethical or moral decision. It is not human. A corporation cannot kill itself; it has a responsibility to the stock holders.

We, as humankind, have already begun our own destruction. We have created a monstrosity that is destroying the earth, increasing poverty, decreasing healthcare, privatizing water, denying human rights, exploiting women, children, and the oppressed, and it has no way of stopping itself.

But hey, it's alright.

We have a solution.

Buy local produce. That'll show 'em.

TV Shows

2007-09-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

I like TV. A lot. Probably more than I should. I've got a fair number of favorites, like The Office, Firefly, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, Jeopardy, Heroes, Scrubs, House, and more (read: Grey's Anatomy, Beauty and the Geek, anything else I ought to be ashamed of).

So the Emmy's interested me. I didn't watch them (I don't have cable. ha.), but the results are available online. The one that surprised me the most was the winner for "Oustanding Comedy Series". 30 Rock won. I have to admit, I had never seen it before. But seriously, when you go up against the brilliance of Steve Carrell and BJ Novak, you've got to be good to win.

So when 30 Rock won, I assumed it was good. And then I watched two episodes. I'm less than impressed. Sure, there were some moments of genius (read: dancing and hot dogs), but overall it was pretty standard for a comedy series. Racial jokes, physical comedy, make a person feel awkward and "shock" the viewer. It's been done. And done better.

I wish that The Office won.

I also wish that Stephen Colbert won, as now we'll have to put up with his hatred of Jon Stewart (who did win) for another year. Seriously, just because he begs for an Emmy doesn't mean you shouldn't give him one.

Oh well.

Here's to another year of fantastic TV. Who else is going to get up early on Saturday to catch all the new cartoons? No? Let me introduce you to a little something called: SKUNK-FU? Saturday morning. 9AM. WB Network!!

Honesty... Honestly?

2007-09-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

Moral dilemmas piss me off.

So after my PC a'ploded into a small smattering of fried electronics, I had to get a new computer. I ended up choosing to get an Apple (gasp!) iBook. I also ended up choosing a battery that was issued for recall, with the expectation that I would get a new one from Apple, for free, as per their battery exchange program.

Brilliant, I thought.

A free battery, I thought.

Well, I called and confirmed and haggled (as someone had already used my battery serial #) and got them to send me one. I waited a few days, and lo! There be a box for Alan! Egads, I exclaimed! I opened said box and thought, by golly, that it was a large box to hold a battery.

Inside, there was no battery. There was, instead, an envelope.

Within that envelope there was a static free plastic wrapper.

Inside that wrapper there was a MacBook logic board. Retail: $650.

So I debated. Should I sell it on eBay for $350? Should I take it to the MacStation and see what they'll give me for it? Should I buy a MacBook case and keep it? It was a brand new MacBook logic board. The box was addressed to me. It was, essentially, mine.

But was it?

A dilemma is, according to the dictionary, "a situation requiring a choice between equally undesirable alternatives." I had two choices: keep/sell the board, get money (which is needed), sell my soul. OR, call Apple, tell them what happened, see what they say.

So for a week I waited. And thought, and wondered. I waited for Apple to call and ask if I had received anything out of the ordinary. I priced out how much I could get for the logic board (anywhere from $250-600. One guy would've traded me for a mac mini, monitor, and eMac).

And today, I called Apple. I waited on the phone for 84 minutes, talked to a CSR and Product Specialist, and the only conclusion that they came to was: a) they want it back, and b) they don't know how I got it. So they're going to call me back. Whatever. We'll see where it goes from.

While I wish I would've got a couple hundred dollars out of the deal, I know that it was the "wrong thing to do". And that pisses me off.

Hell In A Handbasket

2007-09-16T17:16:00.000-07:00

To "going to hell in a handbasket" is a phrase that essentially describes a situation going from bad to worse. The origins of this phrase are unclear, however, there have been documented phrases that are similar, such as "going to heaven in a wheelbarrow".

I want to go to heaven in a wheelbarrow. Someone push me!

Anyways, the last two weeks could be described as pretty hellish. I've basically disappointed most everyone that I know and love. That's always a good way to bring depression upon oneself. Other calamities include: my PC's motherboard, which I so dearly loved (see: 2006 blog posts), decided that I had punished her enough over the last three years and went to be with the Lord. The bunkbed that I had sitting in storage all summer refused to vanquish the bedbug infestation of April '06; thereby forcing me and my roommates to sleep on the floor for a couple of days. Also, my roommates eat my pickles, and by jolly that just ain't right.

Regardless, not all things are bad.

For the past number of years (read: 9) I've tried to be better at schoolwork. It is not that I'm poor at academics; far from it. What I do lack is the discipline to put my full effort into assignements. Ever since highschool I've been finishing homework at the last possible minute. I clearly remember sitting in the hallway, eating my kaiser bun sandwich, writing out the answers to my Chemistry questions, or throwing down a 500 word historical essay on the library computers in thirty minutes at lunch. Every year I'd promise myself that I'd do better this year.

Except, of course, grade 12, where David (best friend) and I actually decided that we'd slack off as much as possible and still graduate. Which we did. I took three classes and he did trades work.

Regardless, this trend continued through college. I'd wait until 11pm to start writing a 5 page paper, finish around 2:30AM, and hand it in the next morning. The very idea of "proof reading" was laughable.

Yet, things change.

I'm proud to announce that, this year, I've finished every assignment ahead of time. I'm "working ahead" in classes. I'm actually reading the books for book reviews! Sweet mercy hallelujah; praise Jesus himself I have been redeemed!

Well, so far anyways. It's only been one week, really. But, there's been so much other stuff occupying my time (see: paragraph 3) that I have no choice but to be studious. Oh, and losing my PC meant I got a laptop, and it's a MAC at that, and it's old, because I'm poor, so I suddenly don't have as much opportunity to watch: Heroes, The Daily Show, The colbert Report, that painter guy, all 9 seasons for Seinfield, friends, Scrubs, the Office, Chuck, Dexter, House, Grey's Anatomy, or a movie or two. Or thirty.

Pray for me. I'm practically starving for media, to the point where I'm downloading Vintage 242 podcasts to keep myself entertained.

The Blogging Life

2007-09-09T23:32:00.000-07:00

Why do I blog?

I used to blog a lot. When I was working security at good ol' CBC, there ain't much else to do at 4:30AM but write about how much I like girls, kittens, and various inanimate objects. When you have no friends, it is easy to write about all your inmmost thoughts and feelings. When the people who affect your thoughts and feelings read your blog, you can get in trouble.

I don't blog much anymore. I haven't for about a year straight, maybe more. Last summer I wrote a bit because I was at home in Kelowna, where again, I had no friends. This past year at school I didn't blog, and this summer I didn't blog, for various reasons.

Yet I'm considering blogging again.

If you ever read "how to blog" on the internet, the first thing they'll tell you to do is find a theme and run with it. Surely someone out there desires to read about origami, or about what you make your child for lunch everday, or about the thoughts and ramblings of internet personalities. If I blog again, I will not have a theme.

I'm considering doing some sincere soul searching over the next eight months, and perhaps I will allow you to come on that journey with me. Perhaps I will not.

This post is not to say that I'm going to start blogging again. This post is to say that I'm going to consider it. You have been sufficently warned.

In Memory...

2007-04-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

It has been an interesting past few weeks. Normally when stuff like this happens, it is blog worthy, and I guess in a sense by writing this, it is. However, the situation has demanded not public reflection, but inner monologue, as I wrestle and attempt to arrest thoughts that do not belong in my tortured mind as spring finally blossomed. Only to fade underneath a blanket of snow, April 2nd, 2007, and reawaken this past week, soaring into new heights. I don't think the metaphor is coincidental.

Coincidence. The dictionary defines it as "a sequence of events that although accidental seems to have been planned or arranged". "Mere chance". Sometimes in life we hit spots where we don't think there is any reason to the world. We don't understand why certain things happen; why relationships fail; why wars start; why we experience pain. This past week something terrible happened. One week ago Monday, there was an avalanche in the northwest corner of BC. A friend of mine was on that mountain, Kim. Another close friend was dating her, and he is living just down the street from me. I got to a fairly small school, where most everyone knows most everyone else, and their girlfriend. When we heard, we either knew Kim, know James, or are friends with their friends. It hit the school hard, and I don't think all the tremors have gone out yet.

Last week Monday I woke up in a daze. I hadn't gotten enough sleep, I was about to preach, and there was a layer of snow covering everything. As I watched, more and more snow piled onto of the existing layer, in April. This was madness. This was crazy. I preached, I attended classes, and just before dinner, I found out that Kim died in an avalanche. Coincidence.

Lori said that the snow was Kim's kiss goodbye. The same thing that brought her death slowed the city to a standstill. It was an already unlikely day. Coincidence.

Yesterday I listened to a sermon by Matt Chandler. It was about God. It was about the majesty, the power, and the presence of God. One of the points that he made was that God knows everything, from the macro (planets, the temperature of the stars), to the micro (he holds every atom together), to events throughout history (what Aristole ate for breakfast the day he died). Yet somehow we have the arrogance to think that we know better than God. Coincidence.

I sometimes wonder why Kim died. I see pictures of James and Kim together, and I die a little on the inside. I cry. I weep. I scream. I don't understand. I pray to God and ask him why. Over and over and over again. Because I don't understand. I don't get it, and I demand, like Job over his aching wounds, why.

I have this tension. I mourn and I weep over our loss, but I praise God for his majestic glory, his impeccable timing, and his merciful grace. In a very real sense, Kim has gone home. She is where she belongs; where she was made to live. She is more alive now than she ever was before, and for that I cry "thank you, Father". But that doesn't make her death any less real, or any less tragic. But it does make it bearable, as I know that God is sovereign, and there are no coincidences.

You Know You Have a Good MSN Name When....

2007-03-16T12:16:00.000-07:00

This is the second conversation that it has inspired. Again, slightly edited. This time I gave myself bold. My blog, my thoughts.

Matt D says:
I thought about giving up coffee for lent
Matt D says:
then I laughed at myself and poured another mug
GoAT says:
hah.
GoAT says:
***** gave up ****.
GoAT says:
except on Sundays.
Matt D says:
yeah well
Matt D says:
if ***** can give up ****
Matt D says:
**** can definitely giveup *****
GoAT says:
I just find that people give up things for lent that they really should've given up a long time ago already. They just want to use lent as an excuse to better themselves.
GoAT says:
Not to identify with the suffering of Christ.
Matt D says:
hahahaha I heard a thing on the radio about people giving up sex for lnet
GoAT says:
yeah, I know a guy that gave up premarital sex for lent.
GoAT says:
I don't know any married couples that have given up sex for lent. I think that would be difficult.
GoAT says:
unless your sex life is really bad, ha!
Matt D says:
wow thats soo amazing of him .... lame
Matt D says:
hahaha are you kidding, I could never give up sex .... once Im married
Matt D says:
I'd have to be like , ok i am moving far far away until easter
Matt D says:
then I will be back
GoAT says:
It depends. I know that there's biblical basis for temporarily giving up sex for spiritual purposes. So, say the marriage is having a rough time, you give up sex and replace it with fasting (from sex) and praying.
GoAT says:
Sure, it would be hard, but it is not about your physical pleasure, you know?
GoAT says:
It's about physical displeasure.. to identify with Christ...
GoAT says:
and boy, does our culture need a little of that.
Matt D says:
hmmm is it actualy displeasure though
Matt D says:
I can see if sex becomes a routine and has lost its erotic nature yes forsure
GoAT says:
Is what actually displeasure? Not having sex?
Matt D says:
giving up something to "better" a relationship with Christ
Matt D says:
to the world, yeah giving up something you like is displeasure
GoAT says:
yes yes! It is physical displeasure, right? I mean, there's a huge argument for giving up the physical things being spiritually benefical, or spiritually pleasurable, right? I mean, look at history's examples of asceticism.
GoAT says:
so yes, in one sense it is displeasure, but in another it is pleasure.
GoAT says:
but, of course, this is where we run into the risk of gnosticism.
Matt D says:
yes, that is what I was attempting to put into words
Matt D says:
isn'ts that kind of dualistic though? or maybe Im wrong
GoAT says:
good! that's exactly what I was saying about gnosticism. The seperation of the body and the soul, of which our culture (espceially men) are very guilty.
GoAT says:
I think it ought to be a fundemental Christian belief, and I think there's scriptural support for this, to say that our bodies and our souls are linked (hence no sexual immorality, abstience from food sacrificed to idols, etc. take care of body stuff)

Lent Rant - An MSN Conversation

2007-03-16T00:18:00.000-07:00

I changed my MSN name to "I gave up lent for lent" and a friend commented on it. This was my reply, to which I thought "Hey, I should blog about this", but I'm writing an overdue paper on baptism so I figure I'd just post the slightly censored conversation on here.

brad | 41-23-6 | says:
love it. gave up lent for lent, that's awesome
GoAT says:
lol
GoAT says:
you like that?
GoAT says:
you can use it next year, but this year I have it copywritten.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
hahaha
GoAT says:
Yeah.. this year when Lent was coming around I was thinking if I was going to do anything for lent. Lent eventually came and I didn't choose anything, so I just didn't really care.
GoAT says:
Then I kept hearing all these people who gave up things that they should NORMALLY give up that they gave up for lent.. like sugar, premarital sex (seriously), j-walking, just stuff new years resolutions.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
that was the same for me
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
oh i know
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
stupid
GoAT says:
So I decided to go on strike against lent, and that's when I got this idea.
GoAT says:
I mean, the classic/historical/orthodox view of lent is awesome. It's not "pick something you wanna change about yourself and pretend to suffer with Jesus while you're doing it".
GoAT says:
I mean, if you pick something GOOD, something where you really suffer, awesome. I'm all for giving up media (like, all of it, not just movies on weeknights), or giving up lunch, or something truly painful, because that's sort of the point. replace that time with Jesus time. Identify with suffering as much as we in the North American culture can.
GoAT says:
And I know ***** THINKS he's suffering by *** ******** ******, and maybe he is, but really he was ****** too much ***** before Lent started anyways.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
its true
GoAT says:
but I like the orthodox view of lent.. where the whole church decides to suffer together, where they have rules and regulations to guide people in their lent.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
it's like me giving up NHL hockey
GoAT says:
so much more communal.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
that would actually really suck
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
well
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
i guess
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
media
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
your right
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
all of media
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
hrm
GoAT says:
hah. there. that's my lent rant.
GoAT says:
free of charge
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
it's a good rant indeed
GoAT says:
thanks
GoAT says:
i've been practcing.
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
haha
GoAT says:
practicing*
brad | 41-23-6 | says:
alan, you are delightful
GoAT says:
thank you sir.

Life. A General Update.

2007-03-08T01:06:00.000-08:00

I'm still going to school. Columbia Bible College, to be precise. This semester I am taking:
Biblical Preaching
New Testament Theology
Timothy and Titus
Rock, Faith, and Pop Culture
Environmental Issues.

This semester I learned how to create a "sermonic sentence" by reducing a biblical text to one key idea the author was trying to get across. I also am going to learn how to teach for 35 minutes a biblical text to a class. I learned about liberal scholars, and their views on the divinity of Christ. I listened to music from the 50's, 60's, and 70's, including The Who and Pink Floyd. I learned that "environmental" has an 'n' before the 'm'.

I am still dating Lori Kuepfer. She just got back from a week long (10 days..?) trip to New Mexico to go caving with the Outdoor Leadership program. She had an excellent time and a wonderful adventure. Coming back the wheel on their van/bus fell off and her return was delayed, which saddened me and her as well. We wished to be reunited. It is odd when you become so used to someone being there that you're life completely changes when they're not. I was single again for a number of days, which was an odd sensation. Lori really didn't like it. This summer is going to be interesting.

This one time, I wrote a blog where I bolded certain words, and italics others. If you read just the bold words, they spell a sentence. If you read just the italics, they spell another sentence. I thought it was quite brilliant, and I hoped someone would catch on. They didn't. It is a lot of work, and I gave up on doing it more than once, but it may come again some day.

This weekend I will be taking Lori back to my house in Kelowna for the first and last time. My parents just sold the place, and are going to be making an offer on a house in Summerland. They'll be moving sometime in May. I won't be back in Kelowna after this weekend. That's an odd sensation, but one that is so far distant that it is merely a tickle on the back of my brain. It is not yet real, and it won't be until I see the new house, live in it, and a significant period of time elapses. Then, perhaps, I will recognize that the room I grew up in is now inspiring a younger generation. The tree I climbed will have smaller hands on its branches, and the driveway I walked will welcome new shoes. So this weekend I'm going to show Lori who I was, for years. Perhaps that will help her understand who I am now, and who I will become. I will show her my elementary school, and where my friends used to live. I will show her my former place of employment, and my high school. I will introduce her to my friends, and she will become a part of my past, in the hopes that she will continue to be a part of my future.

This summer I'm hoping to enroll in "Suicide Hebrew"; six credits in six weeks. I hope to fly to Ontario to visit Lori. I hope to work at Camp Qwanoes on Vancouver Island. I hope to live my life with integrity. I hope to finish this semester strong. I hope to return to CBC refreshed, full of questions about how my summertime ministry interacted with the theology taught by my professors in blank rooms. I hope that I will earn enough money to be able to afford to eat next year. Next month. Next week. I hope I blog more often, I hope I get more work done, and I hope I stop staying up so late at night, because I'm so tired in the morning. I hope I start enacting the changes I've wanted to see done for so long now. I hope I stop being so lazy. I hope I can break the addiction to CounterStrike, even though I love it dearly.

Obsure Reference to a Bob Dylan Song

2007-03-06T00:34:00.000-08:00

Tonight I was reading over my old blog entries. A blog that a friend had written reminded me of something that I had written in the past, so I went searching for it. While I was unsuccessful in finding that particular entry (if it even exists) I instead got the chance to re-read what I had written two years ago. It doesn't seem like I've been blogging for that long, but apparently I have.

I wrote better then, not to mention more consistently.

I found a number of themes that arose in my numerous blogs. One was cynicism and sarcasm, which pervaded every entry with startling force. It is not like all my entries were "woo is me" emo rants, far from it. Some of my blogs were laced with hope for the future. Others were filled with observations of the world's hidden beauty. I don't know how much I've changed in this fashion. I believe that in the past couple of years I've become more knowledgeable about the world, how it works, and humanities relationships with each other. This information hasn't managed to stifle my scathing rebuke of current social conditions. At the same time, this information has also provided me with a wonder for the world only matched by the first time that I saw a butterfly take flight.

Another theme was women, and oh my.. the times they are a changin'.

A lot changes when you go from being single to being in a committed exclusive relationship. I suppose my entry called "My War on Dating" wasn't as "victorious" as George W's war on terror. No, instead my whole viewpoint towards women has changed. I don't know what it was then, and I don't know what it is now. Perhaps one day I'll sit and attempt to sort out in my head exactly who I believe Lori to be, but that question is so huge that I can't comprehend the implications while procrastinating writing yet another paper.

One thing that hasn't changed is my thoughts on the eyes of a woman. I wrote once, "Anyways, throughout my years I have met many an eye, some blue, some brown, some green. I hope my wife's eyes will someday be more beautiful than any I have ever seen". That much is still true for me. To be perfectly honest (and that is what blogs are for, some would argue) Lori's eyes are the most beautiful I've ever seen. It is not because of their particular pattern (though magnificent) or their color (sometimes brown, sometimes green, depending on the lighting/the color of her shirt/how drunk I am). I'd say it is mostly because of the way that they look at me. When she looks into my eyes she knows me for who I am, and she's willing to keep looking there because she sees something beautiful. Sometimes for the life of me I cannot figure out what that is, but I trust that what she sees truly exists, and for that reason alone I can love her.

Strengths/Weaknesses

2007-02-27T18:15:00.001-08:00

There's always this question that pops into my head whenever it gets to this point in the year. It is the time of the year where I fill out scholarship/bursary applications, where I'm looking for work, and where I have to write out a number of times what I think my strengths and weaknesses are.

I want to tell them: I don't know. Ask the people around me. They know better than I do.

I want to tell them the truth. I want to tell them the things that nobody knows about me. They're asking, they deserve to know.

But I don't. I write about how awesome I am, and how well spent their money would be on me.

Maybe God can provide other ways, but so far my manipulations of this retarded system has gotten me a couple grand. So why stop now?

Isn't It Interesting...

2007-02-14T20:37:00.000-08:00

Tonight a group of us went to our professor's house for refreshments and discussion on anything that might arise from our class discussion. I think if I was there an hour longer I would have started talking, but there was enough to fill the silence so I let it go by.

One of the most profound thoughts that I came across was the realization that in our post-modern world, this younger generation is desperately looking for some concrete answers. Our hearts are in the right place, I believe, help thou my unbelief, but we don't know truth in some of the immense "gray" areas. I guess to an extent we as Christians have to be content with not knowing, but that seems to be the answer to all of our questions these days.

Another thought was regarding the idea of mentorship, and how it ought to look. This could be in regards to vocational desires (pastoral, teaching, etc) or spiritual. Though sometimes I wonder how separated those two really are. I think we're not doing a bad job of raising up our children, but we're having a tough time raising up mentors to train those children once they're no longer children. We're also having difficulty teaching people to be teachers, and pastors. How can you learn to pastor unless you're given the chance to minister, to speak with the dying, to preach to the congregation? How can you learn to teach until you're given the chance to communicate?

The only solution we have right now is the idea that we have to create for ourselves our own learning environment. I think we're too used to being spoon fed exactly how we're supposed to learn, so that we are prepared. I'm just glad we're finally realizing that our education system is not fully preparing us for ministry, as scary of a thought as that may be.

Dirty Christianity

2007-02-12T17:37:00.000-08:00

I recently began reading Stumbling Toward Faith, by Renee Altson. It scares me.

I'm terrified when I think of all the misuses of the name of God. I used to worry when I said "God Dammit" or "Jesus" under my breath that I was "using the Lord's name in vain". I've been known to use Jesus' name lightly, alluding to him being a close male friend who I've spooned with, or a pimp. I sometimes call him a self-righteous bastard, but that one's theologically correct so I think I won't be in purgatory as long as some people. I think a stronger violation of that particular commandment is when Renee was raped by her father while he recited the Lord's prayer. For some reason I think God is angrier when that happens.

I also get worried about the abuse of the church. There's story after story of her life how the church abandoned her when she needed help the most. The scary thing is, I can more closely identify with the institutions than I can with the author. Essentially, she was one rotten apple (no surprise) and as such, caused disturbances and distractions. It makes sense, democratically and financially, to remove the distractions so that the majority of students/church members could benefit.

I remember Jesus saying something about 1 in 100. I don't think he was joking, or exaggerating. I think we've cut our losses and gone home for the night.

Who have I injured without knowing? How many people have hidden pains, unthinkable pasts that I so callously ignore because it doesn't fit into my comfortable expectation of faith? Oh God, forgive me for my ignorant, life destroying actions that I thought were for the best.

I was wrong.

Dirty Jobs

2007-02-11T15:18:00.000-08:00

The other day while watching our regular "Dolbert Show" combo (The Daily Show with Jon Stewart as well as The Colbert Report), some guy named Mike came onto the show. He's the host of a show called "Dirty Jobs". Essentially he goes around the country and works the dirtiest jobs, from sewer technician to chick sexer.

It makes me glad that I don't work.

A Rainy Day Result

2007-02-07T15:58:00.000-08:00

http://www.myheritage.com

Sustenance

2007-01-26T09:04:00.000-08:00

sustenance

1.	means of sustaining life; nourishment.

2.	means of livelihood.

3.	the process of sustaining.

4.	the state of being sustained.

I think we, in the North-American culture, have a difficult time picturing God as our sustainer. I mean, for the most part we don't have an issue with viewing Christ as our Saviour, or Jesus as Lord and Master. That's simply ingrained theology from the time when we were prayed with next to our bedsides. God as Sustainer, however, has more difficulties.

I believe this is because we're really quite self-reliant in this post-Starbucks world. We no longer have any needs; we live in a world of our wants. Safeway, in all reality, is our sustainer. It is Save-On-More that provides for our physical nourishment, it is BC Hydro that accommodates our electrical necessities, and it is our paycheck that continues those services in our favour. My daily bread comes not from the Lord, but from minimum-wage's benevolent hand. Our mental stresses can be overcome with the power of positive thinking, and our emotional needs can be quelled, to the point of submission, by a variety of biologically and chemically manufactured prescriptions. In the quest to reduce human pain and suffering, our society has fabricated a world that no longer needs God.

I think that here, at CBC especially, we've idolized and idealized the idea of suffering. We learn about the heroes of church and Anabaptist history and we dream of having the faith to put our lives on the line for the praise of God's holy name. We believe that one day, when someone puts a gun to our head, we'll have the strength and courage to proclaim our faith to the nations. This, we think to ourselves, is truly suffering for the Christian faith. In a dream world of extreme situations, God exists in a seemingly desolate world. However, in the mundane Earth we currently reside in, God abandons us when we encounter the mildest of inconveniences. I think that we've forgotten that the martyrs first had to go through extreme physical and mental suffering before they were able to lay down their life. Surely they were held malnourished, beaten, and tortured for some time before their death. The knowledge of your family suffering because of your unwillingness to deny your faith, or being completely separated from your friends and fellow believes would be utter anguish. Dying is easy; suffering takes eyesight beyond the physical world in front of us.

I don't hold a theology of suffering. I don't believe that I have to be killed for my faith to be a real Christian. I do, however, recognize that the apostle Paul calls us to join with him in suffering for the faith. I have no problem with the fantastical impression of dying for my faith, in fact, I welcome Hollywood-esque moments into my life regularly. I do have a problem with suffering through broken relationships, stress, or the flu because of my faith. Surely, if God were real, he would have prevented these cumbersome annoyances from penetrating into my life of faith.

No. If I accept the theology of God as my sustainer, I will begin to recognize that God will get me through all things. He will give me the strength that I need for the day; or the moment that I am suffering and in pain. He will provide me with the encouragement to keep fighting, he will love me when I need to be loved. He will feed me when I need to be fed, and give me rest when I am too tired to go on. He will light my path only when it is too dark for me to see for myself. When I believe these things to be true, my relationship with God shifts from the stagnant binary to a wholesome organic where I am given just what I need, not what I desire.

The Left Behind Series

2007-01-21T15:31:00.000-08:00

For my Timothy and Titus class, I have to present to the class a false teaching that has affected my Christian thought and behavior. So this is what I ended up coming up with, and what I shall present to the class tomorrow. I wish I had something with more substance, but seriously, my theology has always been perfect! Tough life, this is...

It was difficult for me to come up with a specific false teaching that I could look back upon and say with certainty that it was this instance in which I was duped into misguided theology. Part of this is because of the similarities between my church's theology and the theology of CBC, and the other part is a combination forgetfulness and forgiveness, I'm sure. So it ended up being an outside source that altered my theology. This perpetrators in this instance are Time LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, authors of the infamous “Left Behind” series. I know that their theology has probably affected a number of you, but I get to go first.

For those of you that don't know, the Left Behind series is a fictional account of “the last days” which is based on the premise of the Rapture, a theory in which Christians are “taken” or “caught up” from Earth to Heaven. In the series, the bodies of believers simply disappear, leaving behind clothes, jewelry, dental fillings, and so on. This concept has only been around in the church within the last 200 years. So reading this, as a preteen and young teenager, I fully believed this work of fiction to be based on probable events. This was firstly because it was in my church library, and secondly because the authors referenced certain sections of text, namely Revelations, which seemed to align with the fictional events that were taking place. While I knew and understood the literature to be a fictional account, it promoted a theology different from the one portrayed in the Bible.

I specifically remember a time when I desired for the rapture to occur and to not be taken up into the heavens so that I might be able to be one of the Tribulation Force Elite, like on the newest video game released in the series, Left Behind: Eternal Forces. I wanted to be like Buck or Ray and fight in the clearly divided world of Christian versus non-Christian. I kept waiting for the end of the world so that I could start beginning to act like a real Christian. I stopped reading the series when I realized just how poorly they were written, and how bored I was becoming with the characters.

It was actually here, at CBC during my first year of college, with John Vooys, when I realized that there were perhaps other interpretations to the book of Revelations. From there and through classes like Church History, I've been able to see a variety of possibilities for a biblical interpretation of the last days, some of which are more biblical than others. Like the false teachers from Ephesus, the authors of the Left Behind series actually believe their theology, as according to statements that they've made on their website. However, I've come to accept a theology where these are, already, the last days, and now is the time in which I should be acting like a “real Christian”.

Comment, if you can, before I present on this so that I might take your suggestions.

Cold to Joy

2007-01-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

I've always grown up assuming that I'm a pessimist, perhaps a modern day Cassandra. I'm a critical sarcastic cynic that presumes the worst in people and events. Yet, for some reason, recently I haven't really minded getting sick.

I mean, it's not that I enjoy waking up at night with snot running out onto my pillow, or that I like it when I can't talk for the amount of phlegm in my throat. I don't take pleasure in spending a day with dirty Kleenex in my pocket, coughing at my girlfriend (woot!) or wincing every time I eat something. But sometimes, I don't really mind.

I mean, there's so much good about being sick. First of all, there's the obvious pity that is lavished upon they that are diseased. While I don't normally prefer to be pitied, when such circumstances are above your control, you might as well appreciate it. Along with pity comes others willingness to take on tasks that you normally would've been more than able to do yourself - like make dinner, walk to the grocery store, or wipe your ass. Now, there's always someone willing to do that for you, because, well, you're sick.

Beyond the pity, when you engage in sickly behavior you suddenly have an excuse for anything you do that would normally be unforgivable. It's like a blank cheque for human interaction. If you get bored with the conversation, you can sneeze or wipe snot from your nose. If you are caught feigning interest you can simply say that hey, you're sick and it's hard to concentrate. You no longer have to attend class for fear of infecting others (you're clearly being selfless here), and you can "forget" to do things because you were distracted by the overwhelming pain surrounding and impounding your entire body.

Also, when you're sick you can drink lots of tea, which is always good.

The Sickness

2007-01-18T11:19:00.000-08:00

My mind does weird things when I'm sick. I think it has something to do with the temperature of my overall body and how it's so much higher than it ought to be for normal healthy human standards. So when I sleep at night, I have crazy dreams, that don't necessarily stop when I wake up.

Last night, among other things, I dreamed that I was playing a game that I used to play a lot, Counter-Strike, except I actually was the first person character. I was winning, absolutely destroying the competition time and time again, to the point where one guy on the other team took a particular disliking to me and decided to hunt me down every round. He never got me though, and I kept stealing his gun from him. Then my brother in law was on the other team and I kept shooting him and trying to stab his head but he wouldn't die.

When I woke up I wasn't sure if I was still playing or not; or if I had to go pee or not; or if I wanted to get out of bed at all.

The scariest thing was deciding that no, I wasn't going to get out of bed and then finding myself wandering around the living room for no particular purpose, not at all remembering getting out of bed.

I also dreamed of playing my bass and of Lori, and I prayed a lot though I don't remember why or what.

I do remember sitting on the toilet at one point, fully aware that this was one of the worst nights in my life, perhaps second to that time I puked 13 times, though for some reason that ended up being fun near the end.

Being sick sucks. I had to cancel on playing bass for chapel today, had to call in a favor from a friend to take my place, have to wait and see if I'm going to class (probably not), have to wait for my dad to show up though he's supposed to be here 30 minutes ago, makes me wonder if the buzzer is not working again, etc.

I don't know why I'm writing this or what I've writing, my head hurts. G'night.

Aha! This Blog Is Mine!

2007-01-12T22:03:00.000-08:00

Blogger.com finally allowed me to switch from the Beta version of blogspot to the full real deal blogspot. I have subsequently updated my template, making it ever so pretty. I will be adding more and more to this blog as I find time to procrastinate in the coming days.

This blog is a blog about my blog, as opposed to a blog about my life, so I will not be using the label "life" for this blog. Hrm, perhaps the label for this blog will be "blog", so that if one wishes to see the "BTS" (behind the scenes) of blog.alan.schram, they could search for it using the label which I will have conveniently provided them.

Of course, it makes me wonder why I spend so much time concerned about readers that may or may not exist, when in reality I post so infrequently and about such rubbish that I actually get bored writing some blogs. I can hardly assume people find pleasure in dragging their lifeless souls through this mess.

Regardless, this has been posted and labeled. Let the blogging begin. Again.

It's Not That I've Stopped Thinking...

2007-01-01T17:12:00.000-08:00

...it's just that I'm too busy sitting on the beach in Hawaii to worry about posting a new blog.

Don't worry, fateful reader (whoo!), I will be back when I have time to sit around, think, and write. For now, I'm going to stare at my sunburnt nose in the mirror and grin to myself.

Anyone else go swimming on New Years Day?

A Metaphoric Siesta

2006-12-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

I fell asleep on my couch today.

I'm back home in Kelowna, in the house I grew up in. Everytime I come home something has changed, whether it's the location of furniture, or the color of a wall, or the absence of a tree. This time the most has changed, as my parents are getting ready to move. They painted a hallway, they replaced doors and put up a tree. They traced from the wall where we marked the progression of our height as we grew. This way, we can take it with us, wherever we go.

My family was just doing their own thing today. My mom baked some cookies and my dad shoveled the driveway. My sister and her husband just lay around and watched old episodes of Survivor, catching them up to the season finale that we all could watch as a family tonight. We made deep dish pizza and ate it together, as a family. This afternoon I threw myself into one of Douglas Coupland's novels, Life After God. It's a collection of stories about a postmodern world. One page says nothing but, "You are the first generation to grow up without religion". I knew this, but I never really thought about how badly it's impacted our society. We really are the first generation to be built without a faith system in place. We have the choice, and look at what a choice we've made.

Reading made my head tired, and as the sun set my lighting faded. I was sitting in our upstairs living room, my back to the open window that my dog was staring out of, perched atop two pillow cushions in the corner of this particular loveseat. I put the book down on the coffee table in front of me, rearranged the dog's tail so as to make room for my skull, and took off my glasses. I curled up into a little love seat, six feet fitting into four. My knees protruded far out over the edge of the makeshift bed, but I was balanced and I was tired. As I lay there, I entered into a world of transition; a world between reality and the supernatural.

I wholeheartedly believe that there's more to this world than what I see and hear and touch. There's something beyond us; something that is hardly expressable in anything except symbolic language. I am unable to literally describe what is hidden behind light and objects, all I can do is hope to allude to a metaphor of understanding. I think most people would agree that there's a God, or at least a celestial order or design that is exhibited in the world. Nature is too refined and organized to have been adventitous or inadvertent. Biblically, we believe that the apostle Paul had a "second sight" that could see beyond the current physical realm to something beyond himself. For centuries there have been countless numbers of people who were willing to lay down their present life because of their belief in the future. Something is out there, above and beside us.

As I lay on the couch, my mind played dreams through my head in the style of Douglas Coupland's writing. His disjointed sentences and fragmented narration clearly reflect the postmodern world. My dreams came and went, some were remembered but most were forgotten. The dog left her perch and I rolled from one side to the other. Now my feet were hanging loose, free for predators and assassins to strike. The scarf I was wearing around my neck began to choke and warm me beyond my original intentions, but I was lost in another world. The clock on the wall was my only source of sound besides the constant clatter of family member's movement throughout the house. The quiet drone of the TV downstairs drifted up the stairway to ears that were unwilling to listen.

Perhaps it was because I was reading postmodern literature, but I saw my torporific nap on the couch as a metaphor to how I often live my life. I like to take a backseat in the majority of affairs. I'm not the kind of guy that would willingly step forward in crisis situations to become a leader. I don't grab the reigns of the runaway horse, even if the woman in trouble is beautiful and potentially rewarding. Sometimes things happen that disturb me, that might "push me over the edge", but after a short, brief time of intermittent discomfort, I resume my previous path of self satisfied slumber. The things that I hold to most dearly in life, the things that I believe will keep me warm and safe, are often the things that choke me and slow me down. And sometimes, people will think that my behavior is odd and come to take pictures of me in the fading light of day.

I don't know if I'm reading into coincidental situations like that time I thought I was getting a pony for Christmas, but maybe there's something to this whole unlikely situation. Maybe there's something more to life than simply existing; just waiting for the next day to start so that it can finish. I seem to think it is conceivable that sometimes things happen for a reason, and that we can find reason, truth, understanding and beauty not in the literal, but in symbolic, in the metaphoric, and in the emblematic. I can't define God, but I can read you a fairy tale about Him. I can't grasp ahold of beauty, but I can allude to it. I can't describe my love, but my poems will shout it out.

Egotistic Labor

2006-12-19T23:12:00.000-08:00

I must admit, the most recent reaction to my blog has been swelling my already engorged ego. It causes a pleasant rush of endorphins to have nine comments (four of which are fake) in reply to my paltry thoughts. Surely, I say to myself, I am an important person.

Today I spent the majority of my time steam cleaning. I cleaned the carpets of my college's Columbia Hall, the local residence for female students. I will not lie, it is weird to be in their place of residence, normally locked down with key, pass card, and numberpad to prevent the atrocious and overbearing attacks of male pubescent boys. The spring air brings not aromatic wisps of love, it seems, but rape hangs heavy. Except for between 12 and 8 every other Sunday, where the gates are temporarily opened to the unsuspecting masses and where chemistry and biology are closely monitored. Yet here I am, walking freely amongst the skeletons and tumbleweed of an otherwise unoccupied citadel of death.

So the process of steam cleaning, as it was explained to me, is "not hard". He certainly wasn't lying. What he forgot to mention, however, was that this process not only involves what is, essentially, a wet vacuum, but that it inadvertently also sucks my soul. The high pitched whine of the two, count them, two vacuum engines is combined with the dull low roar of the spray pump. This enveloping sonority reaches through my oral canal to effectively disassemble my humanity. Beyond that, the motion of this banausic task has become a 50's film projector, complete with scarred and tearing frames, looping endlessly the seven seconds it takes to steam clean one three foot line of blue carpet. This archaic visual aid plays from behind my eyes, the clatter of the reels drumming through my skull, flashing its nightmare onto the back of my eyelids.

I must get to bed, I have to steam clean some more carpet tomorrow.

By the way, my thesaurus has become my new Bible. I read it more often.

Embrace the Adjective

2006-12-17T22:47:00.000-08:00

This is Alan with too much time on his hands.

Essentially over the last four months I've had this little thing called "Post Secondary Education" distracting me from the responsibilities of my blog. As my friend Rachel used to point out in her link to my blog, quite bluntly, "doesn't blog very often and won't get a more descriptive title until he does". Well, that was true. I've been quite reticent to blog recently mostly for time purposes. I spent the majority of my day thinking and writing, so why would I bother continuing to think and write when I instead have the opportunity to sit back and relax while watching mindless explosions?

However, seeing as school is finished (and I did rather well. Of the three classes I've gotten final marks back from, I've got straight A's. I haven't had that since elementary school) I have plenty of time on my hands to sit back and think; to reflect upon the world as I perceive it.

Last night I watched the movie "Dead Poets Society", featuring Robin Williams. I had seen it before, but this time I think I was better able to appreciate the message and/or themes of the film. One of the most obvious ideas that stems from this film is the idea of "Carpe Diem", or "seize the day". I'm not sure if this is the original that we're introduced to this Latin term, but it certainly has become an iconic moment in movie history, being parodied in various films since it's inception. Clearly the idea here is the encouragement for young boys to get what they want in life, and if they can't, blow their brains out.

Actually the thing I found most beautiful was the section where the main characters finally enter into Keating's English class, where he tantalizes them with this quick monologue:

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse." That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

We live to read and write poetry. What is it about the rhyming verse that touches our soul? Is there some hidden deeper beating of our hearts that is inaudible to the ear and insensible by the hand? Why, when I think of love, can I only paint pictures in my mind using the vocabulary that I've been breed to use? I must learn more words to begin to comprehend the vast entirety of this deep emotion that beats beneath my ribs; an unquenchable yearning for an intimacy so beyond myself it pricks at my skin to think about it.

Later on in the film this exact thought is played out between Keating and one of his pupils:

Keating: A man is not "very tired". He is exhausted. Don't use "very sad." Use, come on Mr. Overstreet, you twerp.

Knox: Morose?

Keating: Exactly. "Morose." Language was developed for one endeavor, and that is, Mr. Anderson. Come on, are you a man or an amoeba? Mr. Perry.

Neil: Uh, to communicate?

Keating: Nooo!! To woo women!

I cannot express the love that I have using biophysics. I am unable to dance out my desire to be intimate. One is too austere, the other too recondite. Language, somehow, captures the best of the abstract and the literal, combining them through simile and metaphor. Embrace the adjective, express your love.

The Christmas Bus

2006-12-16T16:45:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here in my apartment, with the curtains open. It's 10 minutes until 5 o'clock, and the sky is dark. There's just the last hints of blues that I can perceive near the mountains to the north of me, mostly hidden by the reflection of my dinning room chandelier. Behind me, my hide-away couch has revealed itself, and the comforting sight of a soft soaring eagle tempts me to curl up within it. I am seated upon a stool, the only object the right height and width that can fit between my living room bed and the wooden desk this keyboard sits upon. It is less than fully comfortable.

I'm sitting here thinking about all the things that I could've done with my day. I'm thinking about the people that I could've called and forced to hang out with me. I'm thinking about the book that I could've read, the letter I could've written, or the newbies I could have fragged. I'm thinking about how my whole day has been waiting for three people to call, whom I called first, who said that they were wanting to spend time with me today. I'm thinking about the TV shows I watched while I waited.

As I sit and think, I stare outside, my back hunched and growing sore. This stool is lacking in back support, and I lack in self discipline to sit up straight. The headlights of vehicles momentarily allow me the view of white and yellow painted lines. In one moment, a public city bus drives by. This bus has been decorated with Christmas cheer. Antlers adore the front and center of this fantastical contraption, alluding to none other than the red-nosed reindeer. The large shatter resistant windows on either side are bordered with blue and yellow lights, glistening and glowing in the freezing night air. From the outside, it appears like four quick dancing squares gleefully float past my view. From the inside, I'm sure, the added light causes reflection of the interior back to the passenger and driver alike. I'm forced to wonder if the accident rate of the public transportation system rises in the advent season. Anything else they see from inside must surely be tainted too blue and too bright.

It's interesting to consider the measures humanity goes through to celebration the passing of time. How much money is spent buying presents for other people that they may or may not fully enjoy? How much time is spent redecorating restaurants, houses, and city streets for three weeks of the year? What would happen if I forgot Christmas was December 25th and it slipped past, unnoticed? Would I feel a sense of loss, knowing that only 19 of my 20 December 25ths were spent reflecting on my presents and home cooked brunch, or would I simply shrug and say, "Oh well, I'll catch the next one", like the skytrain to Main Street.

Alas, one might argue that the Christmas/Advent season is about remembering the coming of Christ, and perhaps even the second coming as predicted by Stephen Colbert. I personally question whether or not Jesus would have supported exchanging hundred dollar gifts with other members of your upper-middle class white North American family or if he would have spent Christmas Day with the homeless in downtown Vancouver. Or whether he would have voted in favor of passing whichever bylaw allows public buses to "spread holiday cheer" like the Who's down in Whoseville.

To Say A Goodbye

2006-12-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

So I haven't been blogging much recently. As discovered the other night by those who ask, I usually only feel the urge to write when I feel tired, lonely, or depressed. It is safe to say that I have not felt such things for quite some time now. For me, the tantalizing emotional state of utter pain and sorrow becomes my askesis to initiate the writing process. Like Jonah in the whale, I am forced to spend endless amounts of time contemplating all that is meaningless and lost.

However, thirty three days ago I was made privy to the continual company of one Lori Kuepfer, ex-Amish, current "qt_pie", Outdoor Leadership, God-rockin' babe in who's presence my fears and depression shudder. They flee, taking with them common sense and my manhood. I would now best describe myself as a little school girl, complete with plaid skirt and knee high socks, giddy for the chance to learn enough English to comprehend the Power Puff girls.

These past few weeks have been hard weeks, as final projects and final exams have arisen together to unite against my anti-stress devices. It was a long and drawn out, arduous battle that climaxed yesterday with two difficult finals who's end result could only be comparable with that of the first time I attempted to make Kraft's Dinner, who really should make his own. Edible, digestible, and given the circumstances passable, but certainly not pretty, and most assuredly not tasty.

Kindly note the mention of circumstance, in many other dimensions known as laughable excuses. The night previous (Wednesday) was the last night I was going to see the aforementioned Lori, and it was this same night that her brother was to be sleeping on my couch, beginning at 11PM, the prime studying hour for all of us that wish to merely cram short-term notes into our minds seconds before they expire in order to convincingly fool the professor who so desperately wishes to see our hearts and minds changed. Of course that information was not made known to me until approximately 11:15PM, when I returned from walking Lori to her house, where I picked up Arlan, her brother's things for the next morning.

One might ask why he, the brother, did not accompany us to her place of dwelling, but surely that question could be answered by anyone who's seen two love-sick rabbits scurrying from prying flashlights beneath the bushes. One may be curious, but one does not wish to interfere. As we've only been dating for almost five weeks, a three week separation seems to have no less than the word catastrophe stamped impressionably upon it. We walked slowly, gracefully, solemnly, through the dimly lit parking lot. We were hushed by the inevitable. We reached her door, I stepped inside briefly so that I might take up information for the contact procedures to be undertaken while this forced separation must occur. We spoke in timid, haltering tones, convincing ourselves that surely this would not be as long as it is perceived. I opened the door to leave, she followed me halfway out. I stood in the cold, dark, and windy night, feeling the rain hit the cement sidewalk behind me. She stood upon the frame of the door, two inches closer to my chin that usual. Standing close together, breaching the separation from interior to exterior, she rested her head upon my chest, her eyes downcast. I kissed the top of her hair and sighed softly. We murmured unrepeatable loveliness, and I stepped back and away, into the night. Six steps away from her door the urban hardened ground turns sharply away from her sight, and I step into the dark.

I pause, call out to Lori, and go back and get her brother's dufflebag which I forgot. This time when I leave, it isn't as epic.

But I'm still sad.

CBC Talent Show Techno Workout of Mansome Men

2006-11-17T16:22:00.000-08:00

CBC Talent Show

Be in awe.

The Girl

2006-11-14T20:35:00.000-08:00

So I alluded to a girl a few posts back. Relationally-wise-ish. So here's the deal. I have a girlfriend. For the first time in my life, I have a girlfriend. I'm a boyfriend. I'm someone's boyfriend. Weird. I'm not single. I'm "taken". If you can't tell, this is odd for me. I'm not used to being anything other than single and sometimes looking. I'm not anymore. I'm done looking. I have found. Waldo would be proud.

Two days ago I asked her if she would like to be my girlfriend. Almost immediately she lept into my arms, her body weight causing me to fall backwards onto the ground (I was not physically injured, dear reader, as I was already sitting). Eventually she also said "yes", which I had assumed given the reaction.

This comes after three weeks of the awkward "i-know-you're-interested-but-we-just-really-met-so-lets-not-date-just-yet" phase. Ah, what good times. So yeah. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'm too in shock to think of what to say.

Before the Update

2006-11-14T11:42:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I'll give you the goods in a bit.

For now, do this: Go to www.google.com and search for "miserable failure". See the number one result.

Oh, how the internet pleasures me.

Also, buy t-shirts! Threadless.com has a $10 sale, perfect for the holidays! Buy now! They're releasing two new shirts everyday for 30 days! Go now! See link below!

Threadless.com - A Shameless Plug

2006-11-01T09:12:00.000-08:00

Threadless.com

Threadless.com is a fantastic website devoted to creating amazingly sweet t-shirts. Users submit their design ideas for shirts, and then they rate each other's designs. The company then takes their favorite designs, creates t-shirts out of them, and prints them up. You and I, the users, get to surf their website (see above link), check their sweet designs, and order shirts.

I'm here to say that threadless.com changed my life. Never again will I purchase a graphic t-shirt from a store in which I walk into. No longer. From now on, my t-shirts come to me.

Over the last couple months, I have orderd a few shirts from threadless.com. I encourage you to do the same. Most of them are priced for about $15 (US) and cost about $4 (or less) for shipping, up here to Canada anyways. So for around $20, you get amazing t-shirts that look great, feel great, and will last years. They're comfortable, fit well, and feel durable. I <3. Here are some of the shirts that I've recently ordered:

http://www.threadless.com/product/209/Fire_and_Ice
http://www.threadless.com/product/63/Damn_Scientists

If you decide to purchase anything from threadless.com, visit it first through the link that I sent you. The "referral" will get me $3 credit at their store, which I covet intensely.

Thank you for reading this product service announcement. I am in no way associated with threadless.com, I just like their shirts. Also, "shirt" without an 'r' is a potentially disasterous typo.

Your friend,

Alan Schram

Suddenly I Feel Grown Up

2006-10-28T20:28:00.000-07:00

The last seven days have been exceedingly interesting ones. There have been large decisions that I have made that will affect what's going to happen over the next weeks, months, maybe even years of my life. They come in two varieties.

The first is work related. I've been working at CBC as the "Parking Attendant", meaning that two or three times a week I check the Visitor parking lot to make sure students aren't parking there. Technically, there's a bit more to the process, but that's essentially it. It amounts to 1-1.5 hours of work per week, at minimum wage. Alright! That's a potential earning of $32 a month! Anyways, I could find a way to make more work for myself there, but I don't see the point and simply don't have the motivation.

Closer to the beginning of the year I was hanging out with some new friends. One of them, Ashley Harrison, picked up on the fact that I was pseudo looking for work. She told me to apply at one of her places of business, Linens and Things. I told her to get me an application. I figured I would throw a resume at them, more for entertainment purposes than actually desiring to work with a bunch of middle-aged women folding sheets. On Wednesday Ashley finally got around to getting me an application. I had some time, so I filled it out, whipped off a resume and went to hand it in. I gave it to one of their managers there, Ed. I was expecting him to take my application and then tell me that they'd call if they were interested. Instead, he told me to come in the next day for an interview with their Human Resource manager, Bob. Ed and Bob. Great manager names.

So Thursday I went in for an interview. This guy wasn't even aware of the fact that there was going to be an interview. He was confused. He then couldn't find my resume, and had to ask a bunch of people where Ed might've put it, found Ed, found the resume, the interview began. I was thinking "gong show" in my head the whole time. Clearly this guy wasn't in a hiring mood. Then the interview began. Quite frankly, the guy was all over me. Not sexually, as one person suggested when I mentioned such, but he sure wanted me to work there. They needed "more men" (not to be sexiest, he said, "but, yeah...") to work at Linens and Things, specifically in the back unloading trucks, playing with boxes, climbing stuff, moving stuff, etc. The general "be-a-man-in-a-woman's-store" type-biz. He kept describing how great a workplace it was, how fun it was to work there, and the great people that work there. Then he said if I liked how it sounded, the job was mine. So I took it.

I start Tuesday. I work at "Linens & Things". I am such a man.

In other news, last Saturday I spent the day with a girl. Her name is Lori. She's a first-year (yeah yeah, boo me all you want, she's 21. A year OLDER than me!) at CBC, in the OL program. I told her I liked her. She told me she liked me. It was awesome.

So yeah. Stuff's happening, and it's neat, and exciting, and now I have to be old and repsonsible and like, do stuff right. Properly. It's weird. I like it.

Whee! /schoolgirl

Another Checkbox Marked Off

2006-10-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

The other night I had a great idea. It was rainy and gross outside, about 8 or 9 in the evening, and I wanted to go puddle jumping. My roommate Ben was quickly behind the idea, and our friend Lori was eventually convinced. Her brother was visiting for the weekend (sweetest kid EVER) and he decided to come along as well. So we got changed into our trashy clothes and ran around in the rain, dancing in puddles and kicking water at each other. We found a grassy section of puddles, and proceeded to dive headfirst into them, splashing and sliding for many meters of goodness glory. We also wrestled on the field, trying to get as many grass stains as possible. I was hoping for blood, but alas, we failed.

We also ran to the nearby library, where they have more grass (glee!) as well as a fountain of sweet goodness. We engaged in such bleached, chlorinated water, completely soaking our fully clothed bodies in it's sickeningly cold goodness. It was awesome.

We then stood around and tried to pee ourselves. Lori did first, for which I am still jealous. I, however, peed the most, making it so that it could be visibly seen dripping from my pant leg into my shoe.

Checkmark.

Checkmark That Off My List

2006-10-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

I have a theory. I believe that every man needs to do a certain number of things before he dies. If he dies without doing such things, he has not lived a full life. Some of these things are normative, like having sex and peeing off a cliff. Others are.. interesting. Like shaving certain segments of body hair, or running naked through a field being chased by your choice of farm animal.

I completed one of the things that I've always wanted to do before I die last weekend. I hit on a girl in a bar.

And now we might go salsa dancing. Her name is Carolyn, and damn was she fine.

Blog of the Month

2006-10-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

What a great thanksgiving.

I had three thanksgiving dinners. One with my immediate family, one with the extended family, and one with a prof's family and some random friends from CBC. The first one, with my immediate family, was kind of rushed. I had to leave after dinner to attend a birthday party (which was also awesome, but I'll get there). I got there around 5, and the whole apartment was SO warm. It was already a warm day, so add to that a few hours of a turkey in the oven and you've got one HOT apartment. The day was just beginning to cool off, so I went out onto the porch to get some fresh air. As soon as I began to walk back towards the sliding door opening, I could feel a heat wave rushing out into the darkening night. It was intense. This was Laura (my sister's) first thanksgiving meal that SHE had cooked, so it was an epic milestone. It tasted just fine. And by fine I mean damn tasty. We also had wine with our meal, which is a rarity around my family. I ended up mixing it with this sweet fruit punch stuff and then it was REALLY tasty and even my mom liked it.

The second thanksgiving was our classic Klassen-family meal. This meant we all gathered at my Oma's apartment (tiny place). We waited for everyone to show up, and 5 minutes before they're supposed to arrive my Oma would start pacing and muttering how they're late and she hopes they remembered and are alive. Eventually everyone would show up (gasp.) and the feasting would begin. We'd sit around a table with far too much food on it, and we'd sit there until it was all gone. We'd all take the first portion, and then seconds and more until the bowls and plates were empty. We'd clap and cheer as we finished off one bowl, only to see my Oma go into the kitchen and refill it. There's always too much food at my Oma's place. Eventually we'd all be groaning in pain, and that's when the desert comes out. Then we sit there and eat that until we feel sickeningly full. Then we eat more. This year we had a lot of red, potentially stain-worthy edible products. Blueberry juice, cranberry juice, cranberries, and the salad had a red dressing on it. In the end, the salad was the worst because the dressing would spritz off the crunching lettuce onto the white tablecloth, and to the detriment of my cousin, her pants.

The third thanksgiving was at Gareth Brandt's house - a prof from CBC. Apparently he had made an open invitation to Thanksgiving at his house in one of his classes and my roommate had quickly accepted. Upon hearing such news, I decided to tag along for the fun and free food. It was a classic American-esque thanksgiving. We hung out with his family for a few hours in the afternoon before the eating began. We played football in the nearby field before the meal, as well as grounders on the playground. I ended up breaking skin on my left elbow, which allowed blood to be spilled before the food was even in sight. It was awesome. The food was excellent, the pie afterwards was splendid, and we hiked up their mountain after we were stuffed. After that we roasted some marshmallows in their backyard and laughed as Lori (1st year OL) reenacted Jim Carrey lines for our amusement. It was awesome.

Perogies are ready. A blog for the birthday party will later ensue.

Too Much Time: What My Homework Produces

2006-09-27T16:58:00.000-07:00

Title: Subtitle.

Oh youtube, so many hours wasted. Here's a classic vid for ya!

Nobody's Watching (edited)

2006-09-24T06:24:00.000-07:00

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Alright Blog, You and Me...

2006-09-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging lately. This is due to a number of factors, such as:
1) Moving from my home, Kelowna, back to school, Abbotsford
2) Not having the internet (which has thus been re-established)
3) Not having anything worth saying (fear of the intellectually powerful blogs)
4) Laziness

This, then, is an update of what has happened recently.

School

Columbia Bible College is back in action. I'm living off campus this year, which is a massive change. I still live very close to the school, but it's still very different. The main reason is that I don't eat my meals in the cafeteria anymore. This has saved my wallet and my waist from serious trauma, but as a sacrifice my social life has petered out. Meals times are social times, where you get to meet all the new students, learn about each other, laugh, and eat. Now I return to my apartment and cook myself something delicious - though alone. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

I am a third year after all. I already have all the friends I need.

Oh.

Snap.

...

Sigh.

Classes are mostly good. I dislike tangents from teachers that demand respect, so I'm not a huge fan of Intro to Christian Ministries. I also don't like profs that can't pace themselves properly, or don't have interesting material, so OT Theology is a bit of a drag. My other three though, Classics in Religious Lit, English Lit, and Church History are all awesome. I should be studying for my Church History quiz which is in 23 minutes, but I decided to do this instead.

Work

I've been trying to get a job here. Not really trying but more of an amusing side task when I've finished watching too many episodes of Buffy - The Vampire Slayer. Which, by the way, is awesome. I love the irony, the writing, the characters... so good. I did, however, apply at the school for a "whatever-they-give-me" type job. I didn't get one at first, but after repeated inquiries, I get to monitor the parking lot. That's right CBC students, park properly and with a pass, or else I'll slap a $35 fine on your windshield. I believe I start Monday. It's only a few hours a week, like, an hour a day type thing, but it'll be enough to pay for a bill or two. And really, that's all I'm asking for.

Love

No comment.

Music

I didn't make the Vespers team this year, mainly because CBC axed our former traveling worship band, Souled Out. Thus the available music ministries shortened, letting Steve Kim (resident bass-pro-expert) take the top spot. It's one of those things I can't be shamed by. Steve Kim is an amazing bass player/man of sexiness, and I'm alright with him being awesome. I'm on a chapel team, instead. This is the least involved I've been at CBC since I began. Even my first year I was on two chapel teams, and now it's only one. Oh well, more time to watch Buffy!

In Conclusion

I like kittens.

Ubuntu Linux

2006-09-02T23:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, the beauty of Linux.

So the past few days have been stressful, to say the least. My computer was giving me a headache and a half. It would alternate between not being able to connect to my latest favorite game, WoW, and randomly crashing in the midst of a game, program, idle, etc. It would hang, the sound annoyingly repeating itself, etc, etc. I went through a few weeks of half hearted attempts to get the problems resolved, to no avail. Finally, I decided that I would format my computer. I backed up the files I deemed necessary, waited a few days to make sure I was making the right decision, and then on Thursday morning (my day off, 1 of 2) I formatted my computer. I had the option to install partions onto my HD (sectioning off one section of the Hard Drive from the other), so I did. I wanted to do this so that I could, at a later date, either use the seperate partion simply for storage data (.mp3s, .avis, etc) OR use it to install Linux.

I installed Windows XP after formating (bye bye 10GB of music! Seeya 30GB of movies/tv shows!), booted it up, and BLAM. Windows has detected a virus on your computer. Windows has detected malicous software.

Already? (i thought to my self) I JUST turned it on!

Oh glory, the security flaws of Windows and IE, and the preconfigured package of Java that comes installed with Windows XP, etc.

I'll spare you the gory details, but over the next 38 hours I ran back and forth from my computer, to our home computer, to my mother's work computer, passing floppies and CDs (some old, some newly burnt) full of updates I couldn't download direct onto my computer (because of the virus/spyware/etc) in an attempt to get it up and running. Within that space I was also forced to REFORMAT my computer yet again (deleting PART of the virus, but not all), reinstalling Windows XP again (this time without an internet connection, and having a CD full of useful anti-spyware/firewall/anti-virus protection programs, though, outdated, as well as Service Pack 2 for Windows XP, etc, etc) and losing the partion that I had made earlier. FINALLY after that time I had a working copy of Windows XP, with absolutely nothing on it but anti-everything software. The most annoying part was trying to get Windows to update, which it wouldn't for whatever reason. It takes FOREVER for the windows site to determine that a) I have the software necessary to download updates, and b) which updates I need, after which it'll either tell me that it won't download, or after I got it to download, that it won't install.

In the next two hours I downloaded Ubuntu, a Linux distribution, burned it to a CD, installed it on my computer using it's default settings (which automatically repartitioned my drive WITHOUT harming XP), and updated it completely. It is now chock-full of every sort of software that I need. Instant Messanging (combining AIM/YIM/MSN/ICQ/IRC/etc), Photo editing, Word processing, Internet Surfing, Email, etc, etc, etc. If I need anything else there's a handy "Add/Remove" selection which lets me PICK from well over 200 different applications that I might want, which it'll download and install automatically for me.

I did all of this while watching Sin City. Movie length: 1 hour 58 minutes. I sometimes paused it while I hit "next" on the setup screens.

This is what Ubuntu looks like:

LINK

It's beautiful. Smooth, fast, secure, easy to work with. The only problem is that it isn't supported by as many developers as Microsoft, so I can't play most games without a bit of work. But I may be willing to put that work in. I love Linux.

So that's what I've done over the last few days. Thursday and Friday - installing Windows XP. Friday night, watching Sin City and install Ubuntu. Saturday, work, come home and install WoW on XP, then surf the internet with Linux. Hurray for a dual boot system. Computer geeks, eat your heart out.

The Countdown

2006-08-22T17:03:00.000-07:00

So many countdowns have begun.

I've begun counting down the days until I'm done at Costco. So are all my seasonal co-workers. Most of them gave notice awhile ago, so they're done in a few days. I've got 12 days left. I have tomorrow off, as well as three days next week (should I chose to accept all those days off, and not ask for more shifts). That makes only 6 more days of work that I have to attend. That's not very much at all. 40ish hours. Over two weeks. I'm ready to be done there.

It's been a good time at Costco, and all that. I'm just ready to go back to school. Well, not _ready_. I haven't done the customary school supply shopping, buying lined paper, pens, and all that. I also don't remember which classes I'm taking, if I'm going to be working a part time job, rockin' StuCo, Collegium host, or what. Too many decisions, too much fever.

I've also been counting down the cost of apartment, food, school, etc. Trying to figure out how much I need to save, how much I need to work if I don't save enough, the timeline of the financial situation. How much debt I am already in, how much I want to be when I graduate, and how I get from point A to point B.

Raych has been counting down the days until she comes back to Canada. I want to know if it's financially possible for me to leave Canada.

I'm sick of this continent. I've heard too many stories of too many different places for me to not be fascinated and interested. I want to travel with nothing but a bag and a desire to keep moving. Beyond that, I don't care. Europe, Australia, South America, or eastern states. Don't care. I just want to move. I'm tired of staying put.

Too many thoughts, not enough time. I've sat here all day waiting for the WoW 1.12 patch to come through, and work. They really ought to restart my server. I want to hit up the BG. Cross-realm means less wait time for pure pwnage. Let's rock this roast tonight, aight?

w0rd.

Seriously I need to get out of here. It's driving me crazy. I want a hotdog. Mmm.. hot dogs.

Fever Dream

2006-08-13T21:50:00.000-07:00

At the end of the fall semester, '05, I got sick. Real sick. I don't normally get sick, but this time I did. I guess the stress and lack of decent eating finally caught up with me, and I got sick. When I do succumb to disease, it's always hardcore. There ain't no sniffles or a slight headache when I get sick. I get man sick.

So I had a fever. And I was trying to sleep during the day, while Jeff (my roommate) was working on a final paper. Jeff was also sick, but his was like a "my-throat-is-congested-owie" type sick. Sadly, this drove me nuts as he constantly cleared his throat. I was lying in bed, during the day, with the lights on and Jeff typing six feet from my head, hacking and coughing. Making the exact same sound every 30 seconds.

Now, if you've ever had a fever, you know that a few things can become rather annoying. Light, of which there was plenty (Jeff didn't want to work with the lights off. Might strain his eyes), and sound, again, of which there was plenty (thanks Jeff!). So I wasn't in the best of moods. I was lying in bed, wearing my full day clothes (jeans and all), underneath two blankets, shivering and sweating. The sounds were driving me nuts, my eyes hurt from the light, and I was thirst. Always thirsty.

This is how my day went: I woke up with the fever, wrote an exam, went to bed while Jeff worked on his paper. Every two hours from noon until aprox. 10pm I would wake up out of my fever dream, drink 1 liter of water, pee, and go back to sleep, where the fever dream would resume. And when I say "sleep" I mean toss and turn, groan in pain, and generally hurt. I couldn't sleep because it was day, the lights were on, and Jeff made noise. I'm not bitter.

Anyways, I look back on this with a fond memory (except towards Jeff), especially regarding my fever dream. My fever dream was this: A pillow army. That's right. There was a pillow army, and I was making the army grow by my movements. A turn of the head, a shake of the dreads, a generally thrashing motion, that would increase the size of the pillow army. If I stopped moving, at any time, they would shrink. Probably because we were under attack, dontchaknow. They died, so I had to make more. And more. And more. So I kept moving, thrashing about in my bed, making my pillow army grow enough so it wouldn't run out. Thankfully, we never did.

I tell you this because it's a metaphore for my life right now. I am living the fever dream. Not the pillow army, technically (I can only hope...), but this (note to self: I just discovered, through a type, that the words "this" and "shit" have the same letters. go figure):

While the dream occurs, it's numbing. You don't feel the pain. You wake up every once in awhile and the pain comes back, but as soon as the dream is there, the pain dissapears temporarily. When you are awake, you're in a daze, groggy and disoriented. You feel like you have sweat crusted to every orifice of your body. You feel like gum dragged on pavement - sticky and worn thin. The dream prevents the pain from occuring for a time, allows your body time to heal.

I am in that dream. This summer is my fever.

One day, I'll look back fondly on most things and remember that summer I just spent working and living in Kelowna one last time. One day. For now, I'm just sweaty, thirsty, and generally quite cranky.

Roadtrip

2006-07-16T23:32:00.000-07:00

So, I went to church this morning to play bass. I got a decent amount of sleep last night, no complaints, just a little tired at 8am. Understandable, I've been assured. I had made a call the night before, to the lead worship guy, Jon, and his wife, Sharla, wondering if they were free after church to go to the beach or something. It was my day off, Sunday, so I wanted to do something other than sit here, out of the sun. They, sadly, informed me that they already had plans for that fine Sunday afternoon. They were going tenting at some former church member's RV campground.

They invited me along, but I was working the next day, so that would have been a bad decision.

Until I said I'd just come for the day, and drive home in the evening. Then that sounded like a great idea, so two more guys decided to come with. One double stacked burger, one sandwhich, one quick pack job and a dirty vehicle later, we're ready to go.

So we toss the stuff in the back of the very, very warm white leather interior car, and attempt to enter. We then are forced into a retreat by the scorching nature of black leather left in the sun for a few weeks. An improvised "towel" system is put into place, and we're off. The 2-2.5 hour drive begins.

We get to Winfield and decide to stop and buy some gas. My impulse purchase was an 8-pack of coke. We were thirsty, it was 2.99 (plus applicable taxes), and 8-packs are just way cooler than 6-packs or a couple of 1L bottles. Seriously. Way cooler. James paid for the gas, I paid for the coke. I figured it was a good deal.

The drive is beautiful.

I enjoyed the scenery. I used to work at a camp out near Salmon Arm (the area we were headed to), so I was very used to the drive. James was driving, so I could just sit back and enjoy the lakes and mountains as they peeled by.

We get lost, go driving down a wrong road that we knew was wrong for quite some time, and eventually James had to pee so we pulled over as the "No Thru Road" loomed behind us. Being pulled over already, we decided turning around was also a good idea. While James was peeing I got this video recorded.

Anyways, we got there, played some beach volleyball for awhile, which I am less than amazing at, but it's super fun so who cares. Eventually we decide to go boating, which is always fun. On the way out Josh (Jon's brother) and I were riding in the very front of the boat, so we were being tossed about. Meanwhile, none of us had much faith in our driver, as she constantly muttered/yelled/frantically screamed at the various other boats out in the water. Not faith-inspiring, to say the least. Anyways, we stopped, eventually got everyone into the rather cold water, and then eventually drove back cold and tired. It was pretty much awesome, of course.

We returned to the campground, the few staying over set up their tents. We got some greasy food from the gas station. Apparently I was "6.99" hungry. The grease marks on the box actually came from my hands, not the crazy ladies serving me. Yes, I did flirt with them. No, I did not get extra fries. Such wasted energy. James was almost "9.49" hungry, not including the upgraded coleslaw. I ate what fries he did not. As well as Rebecca's extra fries. Such expensive deep fried food.

And then we drove home, changed, and I came back to my home. Where I wrote this blog while talking on MSN to Kelsey, with whom I have been discussing the merits of musicals and Zero 7. Excellent.

To bed, dear friends, to bed.

Costco Can Be Amusing

2006-07-15T00:27:00.000-07:00

I got to work today, figured it'd be another boring day. And except for a few minutes, it was.

I packed groceries for Ryan Smith today. Yeah, he was signing autographs and stuff. Most of the people in the line before and after him didn't know him, or recognize him. One lady thought he was from the Kelowna Falcons, our local rather trashy baseball club. Yeah. He's not.

He thought I was going to put his gatorade into boxes. Silly Ryan Smith. So very silly indeed. Poor guy, just wants to get some groceries, and everyone is kissing his sandals and whatnot.

Oh well.

Jerome Iginla comes to our church and I pack groceries for Ryan Smith. Oh, the joys of living in Kelowna.

On Beyond Zebra

2006-07-12T22:41:00.000-07:00

Dr. Seuss was brilliant.

Anyways, so I've been thining about what I'm going to do after I graduate from CBC. I have no answer, so that makes me question why I'm dropping $12k a year to graduate from a school I'm going to do nothing with. I know that at one point, I had a plan to like, teach or something after school, meaning go to more school so that I could do that. I suppose I wouldn't mind a masters. It'd be nice to say that to my co-workers at Costco. Yeah. I got a masters.

But now I just don't know why I want to teach, or what'd I want to teach, and if I do want to teach why am I going to bible school isn't that just sorta silly. Bible school is for people who want to go into ministry, isn't it. If I just want to work, and work hard, then I should go to a different school. I should jump on the bloody nursing bandwagon before the train leaves the terminal. How's that for mixing metaphors. I should be a metaphorical bartender. Giggle.

I just know that I feel better at the end of the day when I'm tired. When my body is sore and achy. I know that I love to give 'er all day long as hard and as fast as I can. I like doing manual labour. I know that I don't feel that way after school, so I won't feel that way after teaching. I can "give it my all" mentally, but it's not the same.

So what then? Do I go to school and work hard in the summers, learning trades to support my mental achievements, slowly going farther and farther into debt as I academically wander about?

Yeah.

I guess so. I got nothing better to do.

Other than eat this popcorn.

things i think about...

2006-07-07T01:53:00.000-07:00

i changed a bit of my blog. i didn't like what it was. when i made it, i liked it, but now i don't, so i changed it. i'm also experimenting with avoiding the 'shift' key. i don't think i like that for blogging, but maybe i do. i like it for my title, for now, i guess. english abandons me.

i had the day off today. i spent it here, in front of this computer, hax0ring the baddies on counterstrike. i bought other games recently, to purge me from my addiction. that failed. i still play CS, and now i have less money than i did before. isn't that depressing. i have a fair bit of cash though. staying at home and doing nothing but working lets me save a fair chunk of change. that's encouraging. i have about 3k now. half of what i should have at the end of the summer, and we're about half way done the summer. so, that's alright i guess. i bought a digital camera, and some aforementioned computer games, but that's about it. hopefully there won't be another large expense this summer. then i can live in an apartment, with ben, and that'll be alright.

i took some pictures the other day, when i wasn't just sitting here. none that i'm specifically proud of. i'm not much of a photographer. i'm hoping that'll change. i did drop $400 on a camera. i'm pretty sure it's a good one.

my dad is in abbotsford area. doing stuff. maybe for work, maybe for school. i don't really know. i don't think it matters too much. he'll be back tomorrow, with my sister, and maybe her husband. laura and aaron. that'll be interesting. i guess. laura misses me. i don't miss her. is that bad? shrug.

i ate chicken and pasta for supper today. it was good. i wish i had more of it right now, but then again, i did just brush my teeth.

i got another email from a person who's email i lost. they want me to write an article for a mennonite christian magazine. i lost that email again. i don't know how, but i did. i guess it just wasn't meant to be. anyways, i tried writing the article a few times now, and it never works. it's just not legit, you know? the stupid article is supposed to be about 'a time in the younger years that inspired faith'. my mind goes all over the place on that. like, what the hell is faith in the first plcae? and they want just a 'moment' that inspired faith? like, when jesus came down to me next to my bed, shook me out of my sleep and said, 'hey, douche, believe in me or i'll make you impotent'? well, no. faith isn't born out of some miraculous magical moment in my 'younger years'. it was a decision that i've made, and will continue to make.

i just realized that sometimes i like to bold and italics things. i think i'll go back through this post and do that a bunch.

yeah.

that was fun.

i spent the entire day not wearing a shirt. that would, normally, make the day good. but today just hurt my head. too much computer screen, not enough daylight. but it was thundering here, so the light isn't my fault. i wouldn't have got any sun anywhere i was today.

i also spent the day with my hair tied back. i'm a dirty, dirty man.
i do like my facial hair though. makes me feel rugged. also, i hate shaving.

life in kelowna sorta just pisses me off. i don't really have any friends. i thought i had a few, but then they ditched me. seems to be the standard of what people do to me. maybe i deserve it. maybe i'm such an asshole that i simply drive them away. and here i am, thinking that all i want is someone to hangout with. sigh. so depressed.

Welcome To My Lake

2006-07-01T00:30:00.000-07:00

This is the lake that I wish I swam in. I think I'll do that tomorrow. Swim. In the lake.

Yes.

That would be good.

Moving Out

2006-06-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

So some people came up to me one night while I was standing in their kitchen and offered to have me stay at their house during the month of July. I thought that seemed slightly silly, as why would I live somewhere, for free, when I'm currently living somewhere else, in the same city, also for free. Regardless, them being friends and leaving on a motorcycle/camping trip for a month, I said I'd think about it.

After presenting it to my parents, who had slight hesistations, I decided that moving out would be a terrific thing to do, for the following reason(s): why not?

With that in mind, I announce to you that yes, I will in fact be moving out of my humble basement hole to a much larger house with a media room. So, if you want to come over and watch sattelite tv with me, you are more than welcome. I guess this means that my mother will no longer offer to feed me when I come home from work, but I guess this also means that I finally will have the weight of responsibly back upon my shoulders.

While living at college, you get used to having to be responsible for your own actions. Now, it doesn't matter. I don't have to clean anything, it will be cleaned by someone else. I don't have to pick anything up, someone else will. I don't have to worry about what time I gotta be at work, or what time I'll be home. I don't have to worry, or be responsible, for anything while living here. I have a safety net. Strangely enough, I hate that. I need to be responsible for my actions to mean anything. Otherwise I live in this daze of nothingness, where things happen or they don't, and either way I'll be fed and warm at the end of the night.

Speaking of warm, it's gotten terribly hot here in Kelowna. We live in a conventional oven, and everyone keeps rubbing butter over themselves. The air smells like slow-cooked human. It's gross.

Also, to keep you amused as you finish this blog, let me attach one photo that I took the night after I watched Superman Returns, I think. I was sitting in the parking lot of Denny's, wondering if others were coming to discuss the movie as they said they would. No one was there yet, so I was perplexed. Eventually I went to check inside, and I saw a sign that said the kitchen was closed for the night. Depressed, I left, alone. But not before I took this picture.

New Camera = New Video

2006-06-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

And here, I present to you, my first video with my new camera. The Canon A610.

The Gong Was Struck

2006-06-12T00:24:00.000-07:00

Today my father announced his resignation from Kelowna Gospel Fellowship. As of September 30, 2006, my dad will no longer be their senior pastor. That will be the end of the 17 and a half, almost 18 years of ministry at the church.

I knew it was coming, long time, but most people didn't. It shocked a lot of people, they don't know what to think. Some people are mad, they feel betrayed. Others are confused, most, hopefully, will accept it regardless if they like it or not. I doubt many, if any, will like it.

My dad's going to take a break. He's going to rest, relax, and study. Finish his masters. This wasn't an easy decision. He loves KGF, and KGF loves him. But God said go, so he's going. Where? We don't know. Are we moving? Don't know. Where are we going to end up? Don't know.

But we're going.

I Want A 17 Megascreen Digital Camera

2006-06-10T11:07:00.000-07:00

Cashier

2006-06-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

So yesterday morning, at 7AM, I started being trained to be a cashier for Costco. Rather hectic. We were given these "manuals". 70 pages of what buttons to press for what, the theory behind the button pressing, and other philosphical information regarding the process of being a cashier. I was the only person to actually read the whole thing. Our training was lead by a person who had never done training before, and that was probably for good reason. She's not a teacher.

Anyways, after three hours of being told to do so much paperwork that we won't get accused of stealing $1500 and subsequently fired, we started actually cashing. It was difficult at first, to find the rhythm of the thing.

Need their Costco membership card. Scan the card. Scan the items. If some are for resell or tax exempt, press the resale button once to turn it on, and again to turn it off. If you have to do this, must fill out blue form. Payment in either cash, debit, or American Express. All three methods of payment require different actions from myself. Don't forget to give them their receit (which they need to get out the door) and their Costco card back.

Meanwhile, be sure to engage the member properly, greet them nicely, and make sure they're not scamming us with someone else's Costco card or credit card.

It's hard to get the rhythm of all that down, and process a member per minute. The "MPH" might suffer otherwise. Members per hour. Gotta keep it up or else the head office will call and say "wtf, warehouse #59?", and that we certainly don't want.

So I ended up cashing for about half an hour before they pulled me to let someone faster take over things. That happened three times that day, so about 1.5 hours of cashing experience. Knowing Costco, I'll be on my own today, cashing with only a seasonal as a packer. Meaning - screwed.

Oh boy.

This'll be fun.

Do You Ever...

2006-06-04T00:14:00.000-07:00

Catch yourself telling a story that you know isn't funny, or amusing, but you tell it anyways? I have a few stories that, whenver reminded, I tell because I feel the need to. Whether it's simply force of habit by now, or if it's because I'm trying to convince myself that it really IS cool, I don't know. I just tell it anyways, watch the bored/disinterested response with no surprise, and move on. Yet I don't stop. Do you?

One story I tell is such:

One summer, my mentor Graham was working at Gardom Lake Bible Camp. He had just finished a semester of school at CBC. While at CBC, Graham got into the habit of saying "Oh sorry, I'm just drunk" as an excuse whenever he screwed up, made a mistake, etc. Sadly, this transfered over to Graham's campers, and he'd sometimes tell his 8 year old friends that he was drunk before he caught himself.

Personally, I find this amusing. Others, however, do not.

Please, tell me your lame stories that nobody is amused by. Perhaps this will be the last retelling.

$78.50 of Gas

2006-05-28T21:45:00.000-07:00

$8.50 bought me two Delissio pizzas. I just ate one of them, minus one slice. Damn you, slice, for being existant after I am already full. The gas is forthcoming.

$70 bought me gas from Chevron - eventually. I think I can count the number of times I've put gas into my own vehicle on one hand. I may have to borrow a finger from the other hand, but I'd doubt it. I'm 20 years old, as of yesterday, and I've hardly ever filled a gas tank. Well, what can I say. I don't like paying for stuff.

So today, after work, I decided I needed to fill up my gas tank. More accurately, the annoying light on my rusted dashboard suggsted such. Thus, a trip to the gas station was in order. It was 7:40, aproximately, on a Sunday next to the Costco parking lot. Costco closes at 5 on Sundays, so the parking lot was empty. Thus, the gas station was also empty. I decided I would use the "express" land so as to not hold anyone up. I still chuckle at my ironic actions. I stumble out of my vehicle and begin the deciphering process. This is what I was thinking.

Insert and remove card. Done deal. Processing. Alrighty then. Cute girl working inside there. Do I want to fill it up? Well, not really. That's too much. Do I want to put in a certain amount, well, yeah.. how much worth? $70 sounds about right. That's what I dropped in last time. That's one days work worth. Driving sucks. Which account is it again? Right. Chequing. PIN. Fun numbers. Ok. Now what. Right. Lift nozzle and lever. Got the nozzle. Oh, right, gotta open the gas tank. Curses. I hope the girl didn't see/hear me twist that damn cap the wrong way. Open. Insert nozzle. Press thingy. Wtf. It's not going. Instructions. Lift lever. The hell is the lever? Normally it's on the side next to the nozzle thingy... Nothing on that side. Or that side. This is embarassing. Good thing no one is here to see me. Except that girl working inside. She's talking on the phone.. good. Must be distracted. Now, instructions again. Lift nozzle and lever. Where's the lever? Do I have to push a button somewhere? That's not a button. Nor is that. I'm confused. Am I going to have to go inside and ask? Oh geez, she's looking at me. Talking on the phone. Is she talking ABOUT me on the phone? There. I sent here my confused look. She's making hand motions. She looks like she picked up a plate off a very low table. The hell does that mean? Alright, I just mimicked her motion with both my hands. That ought to send a "WTF" signal to her. What's she doing? Oh sweet, intercom! Oh, THATs the lever? Point and nod. Keep it smooth. I hope she's not talking to another cute girl. Oh well. Let's fill this beast up. I hate driving.

I did not, in the end, ask her for her phone number.

Although, upon further thought, I should have.

Life is Work

2006-05-25T22:33:00.000-07:00

So, essentially, this is my life:

Work. When I'm not working, I think about work and how long until I'm back at work. Is that good? Sometimes. Not always. Yesterday I worked the door at Costco. If nothing else, it really showed me just how many people I know in Kelowna. I saw people from highschool, including a retired teacher, people from church, and people who I know I know but am not exactly sure how. I worked the door for 8 hours yesterday. The normal shift for the "in" door at Costco is two hours, distributed throughout the day in half hour segments. Otherwise it's just too mundane, boring, and generally terrible for the person working. Did I mention I worked it for 8 hours yesterday?

I got bored.

Today I didn't work the door. I found out I'm being trained as a casher on Monday. I start at 7 that day. I normally start between 11 and 3:30. 7 is early. I also picked up some hours on Saturday morning, also at 7. Apparently we're setting up for my birthday party. Yeah, Costco is having a party on my birthday. Thus, it's my birthday party. And I get paid to be there, setting up.

How awesome is that?

In other news, not much happening. I stay in the house a lot. Eat food. Like popcorn. I bought Guild Wars, so I've been spending some time leveling up my Mesmer/Elementalist. I think I may start a new character, try a different combonation until I find something that I like. Maybe a monk.

I go to watch Wrestling (WWE) with the boys on Monday night. It's not for the show, trust me. However, also on this Saturday "Smackdown" is coming to Kelowna. I was offered some tickets for $30. I'm terribly tempted. Perhaps I'll bring a sign that says "Make love not war", or "Hi Mom" or even "Subtle Innuendo Regarding Your Origins of Birth". So tempted.

I am not productive with my time. I work, and I wait for work to begin again.

I've been worse off.

COSTCO

2006-05-16T09:17:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday I began to work for Costco Wholesale. It was a 6.5 hour day, for which I was paid, to "orient" myself with the business, policies, and workplace. It was pretty easy money, to say the least. The "shift" started at 1:00, on a glorious gloriously sunny afternoon. We all went downstairs in a hotel to a chilled conference room. I think we should've been taught on the beach. Anyways, the next 5 hours were watching crappy 90's videos featuring the president and vice president of Costco, either teaching a class about our Code of Ethics or recanting a fictional nightmare about how Costco should not be run. Neither of which seemed particular important to my specific job, but required nonetheless. The rest of the time we signed various things saying that we would not be an ass and they can send our money to the bank account here.

We got free sandwhiches. They were alright, I guess.

The last hour and a half was a tour of the warehouse. We were shown the lunchroom, how to punch in and out for our shift and lunch hour, the various parts of the warehouse (majors, centers, foods, endcaps, etc), the tills, and how to enter/exit the building when it's closed. Which I'll be doing tonight.

None of this taught me how to do my job, which is to put stuff in people's carts. Apparently, it's pretty basic and I'll just pick it up. Alrighty then.

So anyways, in the middle of our tour, Costco got busy so we got thrown onto some tills packing groceries. It was pretty sweet. I kinda suck at it. One of the other guys (who was wearing the same shirt as me.. weird) came over and helped me out when I was slow or whatever. When the cashier I was helping got switched off, the other cashier started doing my job, thinking I was just a customer helping out or something. Heh. Awkward. Oh well.

At least it helped me figure out how to do what I'm supposed to do.

Today I get an 8 hour shift doing that, all day, pretty much I guess. I don't really know. I don't have my card to punch in and out, I don't know where to go to get it, and I don't know where anything is in the store. So ok. This'll be interesting.

I want to do well, I'm just not sure I'll be able to, yet, given the lack of training. I guess I'll just figure it out.

Let's rock this roast.

I Have An Old, Odd Family

2006-05-12T22:03:00.000-07:00

Seeing as it's my parent's 25th Wedding Anniversary tomorrow, my extended family has come to town. Also, my immediate family has come to town. Whenever you put all of us in the same place at the same time, interesting things happen. I realized today that we're an old family. We do things that I wouldn't normally remember doing, simply because we're all old enough now. More mature. Classier. Also, we're weird.

Things my family actually does:

- Sits around the dinner table, eating an appetizer of aged cheeses, crackers, and wine.
- Discuss the merits of the latest redocation of our bathroom, including the many pitfalls of the toliet in comparison to the potential models retailed at various merchandisers.
- Compares ankles by lunging in the kitchen
- Go out to dinner at the classiest, hippest resturant in town, and complain constantly about the service, making sarcastic statements towards the ability of the waitresses
- Tells the waitress that they have very nice shoes
- Brainstorm ideas for a future vacation plan, probably Hawaii, discussing potential trip details such as flight plans, hotel expenses, tourist destinations, etc.
- Get slightly tipsy off 1/4 cup of wine
- Make amusing comments to the slave servants of the following companies: Wal-Mart, The Gap, and The Greenery

Things I wish my family did:

- Drank beer
- Killed zombies
- Fought crime in the names of truth, justice, and Jesus

Now In Color!

2006-05-11T22:43:00.000-07:00

You should check me out.

This is what I wear to work everyday. Yeah, I have a work outfit. It's pretty smokin'. I've worn the same pair of years to work every single day. I've slowly amassed a fairly decent collection of filth upon their thigh region, resulting in a popular "anti-faded" effect. At least, I pretend it's popular.

And yes, I get to wear a radio all day long. It's awesome.

Things I have said into the radio:

"Roger that"

"Uh, that's a negative. I'm going to need backup on this one"

"Affirmative"

Most of those are variations on CounterStrike radio commands. Yeah, I'm a geek.

Things I wish I have said into the radio:

"Rrr.....oger that, Delta Five. ETA is aproximately twentythree seconds and counting, over"

"Man down! Man down!"

The sweet mic radio attachment thing is new. Before I just had the handheld transmitter. But now I plug the sweet dealie into my transmitter, and I throw the big sucker on the back of my belt. Then I just clip on and rock out. I feel like it's similar to achieving an "epic" item in WoW, except, more real.

I also got my sweet leatherman on my hip there. It comes in handy often. Sometimes I'm like, "sweet dude, I gots to cut stuff open.. Leatherman away!" (said, of course, in the voice of homestarrunner). I got it as a gift for my sixteenth birthday party from my Aunt and Uncle, who's house "The Left" stayed at during their most recent tour. That Aunt is out visiting my parents for their 25th Wedding Anniversary, and brought her friend, who's nephews I had class with at CBC. We all went out for dinner tonight, and I told them about the time I saw a zombie. Yes, I stood up and did the appropriate actions.

What else do I have on my sweet body...

My shoes are awesome, but they have holes in them. So on days like today, when it rains and pours and rains some more, I get wet feet. That makes me sad, but not all the time. Sometimes it results in me dancing about in the rain, putting away carts while the fleeing customers take snapshots, while I sing U2, loud and proud.

Some other times I use those shoes for dancing. For customers. I haven't gotten them to tip me though... not yet...

Anyways, that's what I wear to work. It's pretty nifty.

A Moment In My Life....

2006-05-08T21:14:00.000-07:00

So there I was, standing ontop of a palet of cardboard, when Christina walks into the box room.

Christina is one of the cashier girls that works at The Greener with me. She's different from all the other cashier girls because, well, she's a girl. Not an aged woman. Thus, she gets extra points in my books. Easier to talk to, flirt with, you know. Now, Christina is also off limits, which I am ok with. She's Stephen's boyfriend, who happens to be the guy I work with the closest. So, whenever it's breaktime or lunch time, they're always together, and I'm working. We can't have breaks at the same time, because we cover each other (z1 - countstrike command "cover me".. ), you know? So, it's hard for me to get to know Christina because, well, I never have the chance to talk to her. Except like, when I go to bring her till boxes, and I'll make some comment about the weather or something. She seemed pretty nice, but something was always off whenever we weren't talking. She wouldn't smile. Ever. Or look mad. Or anything, actually. I then determined that she was, in fact, expressionless.

So I was working away, making sweet boxes using my stapler from the palets of unmade boxes, making them into many multiples of stacks of sweet boxes for cashing use. I ran out of unmade boxes to make, so I had to go to the last palet in the line to get some more. There were two stacks there, one ontop of another. So I climbed up on one stack to get to the top one, and Christina walked in. She didn't have any emotion displayed on her face. She bent over to grab some boxes and that's when I said,

"Hey, has anyone ever told you that you're expressionless?"

Yeah. It just popped out of my mouth.

She sort of stopped, startled, and put the boxes back down. She stood up, turned to look at me and said in reply,

"You try being a model for two years and see if you have any expression."

'nuff said. I sort of grunted, shocked, and mumbled something adequate in reply. She took her boxes and left, and I sort of stood up there, four and a half feet higher than I'm supposed to be, contemplating.

She returned and we talked for a bit, from that awkward distance. She told me that I was the first person to "have the balls" to tell her that. She said that other people just assume she's a "bitch" (I can say these things because they're quotes.. not my words.. right? ...right?) because of it. I said things, she laughed a cartoon laugh (too classic - reminds me of cartoons/fake laugh/etc), we bonded. It was a nice moment.

2006-05-06T22:11:00.000-07:00

I've been working a lot lately. Last I wrote about Job Hunting and Work, I was and had not. Now I'm not and have lots of. I've gotten two job offers this last week. I want to take both, but since they're with the same company, Costco, I can't. So, I took the one I said yes to first, I think, and then said that I'd pick up a few shifts at the other if I could. So we'll see. That starts May 15th.

In the meantime I went back to my old work at The Greenery. Making boxes. It's awesome. I sometimes bleed. Today I made over 2000 boxes. I was going so fast the friction from the moving cardboard wore a blister into the side of my thumb, which I ignored. When I noticed red splotches on the boxes I was making, I decided to get a bandaid. It was a Dora the Explorer bandaid. I was pretty pumped. The work there can be very hectic, but it's fun. I like the people I work with too. I've been working 9+ hour days though, so it gets tiring. I go to work, come home, sit at my comp and try to not fall asleep. It's 10:12pm right now, and I'm going to go to bed soon. That would be a good decision.

Yesterday I had the day off, however. I went to the beach with Ashley Laird. Ashley is an old friend, and one of the only friends from highschool I have. She and I actually went to preschool together too, but different elementary schools. So we hung out and went to the beach, even though it was cloudy. It was still good and warm though. I had fun just sitting around, talking, or not talking. She described it as "comfortable", as we talked sometimes, and didn't sometimes. It felt pretty darn normal to me. We walked to the old neighborhood convience store which I used to go to during highschool for lunches sometimes. It was a morning of memories. We'd talk about highschool people, 'cause those are really the only people we both know. How they were, what they're doing.

It's weird to hear that people in my highschool are either a) still in their parents basement, doing drugs and working out too much, b) living with their girl/boyfriend and generally moving upwards in the corporate ladder, or c) rich, famous, and on the cover of magazines or winning gold medals.

Awesome.

I think I could filet a fish with an air compressor and some yogurt.

POSCOB

2006-05-03T22:21:00.001-07:00

I have named my truck "POSCOB". If you're unsure how to pronounce that, join the club. I don't much care how it's pronounced, it's supposed to be an acronym.

This is a truck that is being lent to me for the summer. I pay insurance, I pay gas, I get to use it for the four months I'm in Kelowna. It's pretty much a necessity. I can't use my parents vehicle very often/ever, because they're often out and about, doing pastoral things, like visiting sick people. I can't steal their vehicle from that, now can I. The bus system is Kelowna is one of the worst in the province. I've already checked, it doesn't go to where I work, or where I want to work, or where I might be working. Much walking required. The commute (which already takes 15-20 minutes, depending on traffic and the work I'm attempting to go to) would probably be closer to 1.5 hours. That's just ridiculous. I can't walk everywhere, because, well, I live out in the mission.. and that means I'm a long ways from everything.

So I have this truck, and I've named it POSCOB.

The POS, well, I'll let you figure that part out on your own. Needless to say, it's junk. It's a 1987 Dodge Dakota that has been used for the last whoknowhowmany years as a backup/workhorse vehicle. It was used to move heavy stuff, help with landscapping, and hold things that don't fit anywhere else. When I got it, it had about 8 old house window frames, with glass windows included (on most - some of them were broken and scattered about the truck bed), a bike helmet, a few sheets of unknown origin, a toy helicopter, and an elevator door. Yes, an elevator door. It weighs more than I do, which is not something you want to drag around with you when you drive around Kelowna. The rest of the truck was, and continues to be, filled with dirt which will only rust the truck bed right through, eventually.

The COB stands for "Caged Old Bear". This is because of its temperment. To start it up, I usually have to give it a little bit of gas by pumping the accelerator once or twice. Otherwise, it'll just whine and roll over. Once it gets some gas though, it just roars. It is, at the least, an old 80's V6. There's rumours that it might even be a V8. I'd lift the hood and check, but the hood doesn't lift - it's rather broken (which isn't good, because the bloody thing leaks oil like an angry mother, and I gotta get in there to add some before the idiot light comes on). Anyways, I wouldn't want to stick my head in there. Dangerous. Sometime when I'm driving the POSCOB, I'll come to a red light. Most cars idle. The POSCOB likes to alternate between lulling me into a false place of safety and security, and shaking wildly making terrible, terrible noises. When I finally (and luckily) get to the place I want to be, I'll jam the gearshift into "park" (assuming it'll let me) and the POSCOB will not simply stop, but give a death throe or two, then shudder to a halt.

I call it a Caged Old Bear because it resembles a wild beast that is far past it's prime, yet with a look in it's eye that wishes it still was. It remembers the days when it would tear things limb from limb, and now it's a spectacle in front of shiny onlookers. It's old, it's tired, and if it were able to be - probably suicidal. It's lost it's will to live. At the same time, there's still strength left. Old bear strength. He can "give 'er" if he needs to, but not nicely, and not willingly. Just out of spite for being alive, more than anything.

I went to fill 'er up today. I stopped at $70, still short of full.

Sigh.

Hectic Daze

2006-05-01T21:53:00.000-07:00

This morning began unlike any other morning I've had here, in Kelowna. My parents, being out of town, entrusted their dog to me. Millie, she is called. I had to get up, and out of bed, about six hours after I went to sleep. I had to walk her by 7:30AM. That's early. I was less than impressed, especially considering she kept me up late last night, what with the puking of her own poo onto our formerly nice carpet. The good news is that I got to wear a bandana across my face, like a bank robber or a cowboy from the 50's. I felt like a man.

So anyways, instead of going back to sleep, as I thought I would upon the return to the house, I decided to eat some cereal. Then the game's over. I was going to be awake for sure now, there would be no going back to sleep.

This would prove to be a good choice.

Soon afterwards, the following events occured. I received a phone call from my old English teacher's son, who heard I was looking for work at Costco and had an "in" for me, if I left immediately and went to the Costco bakery. I finished watching my episode of "Scrubs", and then did. I scheduled an interview for tomorrow at noon. Upon the return to my house, I made and ate lunch. I then made two phone calls, one returning a call from The Grand Hotel about a job interview, but sadly both times there was no answer, though I left a message. I then called my old work, The Greenery, and asked/wondered if there would be any work for me for the next couple of weeks, perhaps longer. I said I might need something until I find a job that will last me for the whole summer, not just until the end of June.

I start tomorrow morning at 8.

I then got in contact with an old friend from Kelowna, and found out he was moving today. I asked if he needed any help, and he said sure. So I emptied my truck (oh yeah, I have a truck. Next post will be ALL about my POSCOB) of rather large, useless, and extremely heavy objects (seriously, I think they had a metal door in there.. it was effin' heavy.. like, 200-250lbs, easily). Why have I been draggin this trash around in the back of my truck? I don't know.. I really don't know.. Anyways, I emptied it all out, drove and got $20 worth of gas (my food money while my parents were gone - who needs to eat?) which filled it up from just below 3/4 empty to just below 1/2. Oh boy. This is going to be an expensive vehicle. I drove the 10 minutes to their house, and filled the truck and other vehciles with random stuff. People that don't pack/move organized make me crazy. We then drove the 25 minute drive ALL the way across town, where we unloaded. I then drove the 20 minutes home.

So, here I am, tired at 10:00 because I didn't get much sleep last night, buzzed because I'm going to work (which I haven't been to in years) again tomorrow, and bored because the stupid hockey game isn't exciting.

I don't even like hockey.

I wish my house didn't smell like poop.

My lunch break tomorrow is going to be an interview at Costco.

G'night.

Thunder

2006-04-29T17:29:00.000-07:00

I just heard thunder. It shocked me, because I realized I haven't heard thunder in about two years. We don't get no thunder in Abbotsford. It's really raining outside.

Hearing thunder brings my memory back to the days when I grew up in Kelowna. Hot summer nights. Rainy spring days, sprinting home from school as raindrops the size of metallic currency pound into my bare head and oversized plastic backpack.

And now I'm back. In Kelowna. Where the rain falls and the thunder crashes. Odd.

Army of Darkness & SubGenius

2006-04-29T01:23:00.000-07:00

What more can a man say about this time honored, beloved movie. The third installment of the "Evil Dead" triology can easily be a standalone movie. It is, beyond words, brilliant. It's also one of the worst films of all time. Yes, it is truly a testament to a cinematic paradox, being both odious and laudable at the same time.

Army of Darkness, starring Bruce Campbell, is an epic tale about going into the past, scoring the hot babe, and awakening the dead copy of your own rotten corpse that grew out of your shoulder, who then commands an army of poorly animated skeletons to steal back a book bound of human flesh. Being a devout follower of all things dead (zombies are real; knowledge is power; take notes or die), I watched with utter fascination and with a growing comprehension that one liners are, in fact, the key to saving the earth from complete and utter destruction.

It was awesome.

During one of the breaks from the glory, to pee or drink iced tea, we decided to look up Army of Darkness on rottentomatoes.com, imdb.com, just to see what we would find. A few links later, we discovered that the hero of our story, Bruce Campbell, is actually a member of the "Church of the SubGenius". As with anything you wish to learn yourself upon, we then sought the advice of He That is Most Knowledgeable - wikipedia.

Their article on the Church of the SubGenius was pleasantly informative. Essentially, this "religion" is the exact opposite of most religions, and that is the point. Their desire to mock Scientology, for example, displays their passion for blashphemy, rebellion, and general havoc. They are a profit organization, and are the only religion that is proud to pay their taxes. It is a satirical attack on religion itself.

For $30, you can become an ordanined minister for The Church of the SubGenius. However, you cannot then marry people, as the FAQ points out. However, it may all be in vain, for "X-day", when the alien "X-ists" come to "rupture" the whole earth, may or may not have occured July 5, 1998, as the prophecy foretold. However, the scriptures may have been read upside down (forcing us to wait until 8661), a clerical error may have occured, leading us to only believe that the year is post-1998, or the X-ists may have arrived in a metaphysical fashion we are unable to comprehend. Opinions, it seems, vary.

Also, Pee-Wee Herman is a SubGenius minister.

The Church was founded in 1953 by "Bob". Yes, the quotes are necessary. It's part of the faith.

It's fascinating what one can find given far too much time and an internet connection. Join me next week for an exposé between Al Gore and bacon fat.

Job Hunt: Day Three

2006-04-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

Day Three begins in a remarkably similiar manner as Day Two. Nothing happening.

Yesterday I did go to the dentist, however. For the first time in my life, I drove to the dentist by myself, went in by myself, paid, and left. All by myself. It certainly wasn't a terrible or traumatizing thing - I can do plenty of things all by myself now that I'm a big boy. It's just that I've never done that before. I feel all growed up.

I got my tooth fixed while I was there. About a month ago I chipped/snapped/generally broke my tooth at a concert down in Seattle. Anberlin/Emery show. Really good show. The tooth breaking made it all the better. It was, in fact, the Tooth and Nail Tour. It was fitting. I was in the pit, of the mosh variety, and there was plenty of crowd surfing. I was trying to get to the front because Anberlin was going to be playing next, and I wanted a good view. After some tool decided that it would be a good idea to break my finger, I decided against going that close to the front. Then my head hurt, and I felt weird pieces in my mouth. Basically, someone was crowd surfing, their heel came down on the top of my head, and my teeth came together. The bottom front right one broke. I left the pit, took the pieces out of my mouth, and put them in my pocket.

I forgot to bring those pieces with me to the dentist.

So the dentist first got to freeze my face up (just my lip though - I felt everything else they did to my tooth. Friggin' hurt). Then he ripped a piece of my tooth out. It was broken but still stuck in the gum, apparently. It's weird to see that much blood come out of my mouth. I watched the blood dry on his glove for the rest of the procedure. He drilled some things, blew very cold water on the barely hidden nerve, etc, etc. It took about an hour. I've had worse.

So anyways, today I'm going to be even less productive than yesterday. At least yesterday I got my tooth fixed. Today, well, I'll probably just make a list of places I ought to be going to and dropping my resume off at. We'll see if I get around to it. Sigh.

I hate being here.

Job Hunt: Day One

2006-04-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

So it begins.

I had an interview today, with Costco. That isn't bad for the first day of a job hunt. I had sent my resume and whatnot to a family friend of ours, who works at Costco. He bumped my stuff up a few rounds to the top of the pile, and as a result, I got a job interview. It's infamously difficult to get a job with Costco, so here's hoping.

The interview went as well as I could hope for. They asked questions, I answered them. I asked questions, they answered them, I went home. I think I'm getting better with the interviewing process. I feel better about them afterwards, anyways.

I think it's because I feel more confident in myself, if nothing else. If I feel confident, that'll come across in the interview. That's all that I remember from CAPP (Career and Personal Planning) 10.

So the question for tomorrow is this: Do I wait for a reply from Costco (aprox. 1 week) or do I hedge my bets and go throw my resume at other potential employers? I don't really want to work anywhere else now. I was initally very skeptical about the Costco job, but I think I'd really enjoy it now. I get to pack things into boxes (awesome!) and help people move stuff to their car (awesome!). The neat thing is that I have direct experience with that from The Greenery. I got to help people move stuff to their vehicles. Sometimes it sucked, like when I dropped/broke/lost various plants, but other than that.. it was pretty much alright. Then again, they were usually old, sweet ladies that I was helping. So, we'll see.

Musings

2006-04-24T23:12:00.000-07:00

I moved back home to Kelowna today. I haven't lived here in almost two years, and now I'm back in my parents basement. Typing this up while my parents sleep ten feet above me. The chair I'm sitting in is far too low. But remarkably comfortable. I need something to put my feet on, in the future.

I rearranged. Typing from the lap is an odd feeling for a desktop, yet familiar due to the advent of the laptop. This, however, will not lower my sperm count. As far as I know.

I had a good trip back. It took about an hour to pack everything of mine into the SUV. I have a lot of stuff. More than people that live at home. I guess that makes sense though, because I need to own things that most people rely on their parents for. Like dishes. The SUV was very, very full when I was done with it.

Anyone know of a shortcut for switching tabs in firefox? There's gotta be a way.

We stopped at "The Home Resturant" in Hope. I have gained respect for Hope solely because of this little diner. It was awesome. I had a burger. My stomache is still thanking me for that wonderful decision 10 hours ago. A rocky mountain burger. Patty. Ham. Bacon. Cheese. I ate a pig in two different ways within one burger. Awesome.

I feel asleep a little bit on the ride home. I didn't think I was that tired, but hey, I guess I was. Maybe it was the country music. Or simply the recognition that, sigh, it's all over. It's done. School is done. I'm gone for the summer. A four month prison sentence in a comfortable chair, typing from my lap. I think I'm ok with that. I have a job interview tomorrow already. Maybe, depending on how that goes, I'll drop off some resumes on Wednesday. That, and go to the dentist. My tooth is getting fixed. Thrilling, I assure you.

It's always depressing to write a blog when you really have nothing to say. I read so many blogs every day, good ones, that I just don't feel that I can match up to anything like that. I can't take sweet pictures, I'm not "up to date" on the latest internet developments, and I don't have any great recipies to share. I think I've just entered e-depression.

The Art of Silence

2006-04-16T00:15:00.000-07:00

Some people from my school spent a few days this weekend in a Silent Retreat. They were to abstain from any form of communication between participants. The idea was to force them to be quiet; to enter into dialogue within their own heads; to spend time with God. I think the majority of the people found it to be benefical. Silence works. As soon as you stop numbing the brain, you have to come to terms with what your head is thinking. It's in this place that you'll find God whispering to you.

I spent a summer in silence, essentially. I worked nights, alone. I eventually spent as much time as I was able simply trying to fill the silence. Playing loud music, watching movie after movie, talking to anyone that would listen. Listening to anyone that would talk. It drove me insane. I'm not used to that time of silence.

And now I miss it.

I live in a setting where I can't get away from the noise. In a movie-filled, music-abounding society, the incessent drivel from person to person overwhlems me. I can't get away from it. This is why I don't like cell phones. With a cell phone, you are ALWAYS on call. You can't get away. There's a TV on in every room. There's always music in the background.

I like silence.

And I sound like my father for saying it, but I like silence. I've begun to put the adolescent passion for noise behind me. I need my quiet time, but I don't need naps. Not yet.

Rejection

2006-04-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

I hate getting rejected. This is why I never asked a girl to dance throughout highschool. I feared they may say no. This is why I never try too hard at anything, just in case I fail and feel rejected. This is why I leave friends before they can leave me. This is why I hate job hunting.

This is why I'm surprised I applied for STUCO. I knew there was a chance that I could get rejected. But I wanted to apply, and I wanted to help make this school a better place. So I applied. And I got rejected.

They told me that they wanted to "affirm my capabilities at leading, but.." We learned in Conflict Management that "but" is a verbal eraser, canceling out everything previous to it in a sentence. This isn't the first time my "leadership capabilities" have been tested - and rejected. So maybe I'm not a leader. So maybe I wouldn't best represent the school to the adminstration, or the administration to the school. What does that mean..?

Nothing.

As long as I represent Christ, it doesn't matter who else I represent.

...

But it still hurts.

Beer, Zombies, and Cell Phones

2006-04-10T21:20:00.000-07:00

I like beer. A lot. I won't lie. I really, really, really like beer. I'm not entirely sure why, I've only ever had like, 5 or 6 beers in my life. There is, however, a lust for beer that lives within my gut. I'm fairly sure that my genes have a tendancy to slide towards alcoholism. I think I'm ok with that. I'll just make sure to never have more than one at a time.

Hah.

So this one time we went down to Seattle, and we ended up seeing a zombie (long story, ask me to tell you it in person sometime. Seriously, we saw a zombie. You think I'm joking, or exaggerating. I'm not. It was a zombie.) and that just got blown out of proportion so that we're always talking about zombies. That, and playing with technology while talking about zombies. They call each other on their phones about zombies, they make their computers sing about zombies, and they text message each other about zombies.

So my roommate, without this full knowledge (but will have soon enough), got me a book by Stephen King called "Cell". It's about zombies being created by cell phones. Creepy. Ironic. Definitely awesome.

I am, however, slightly scared to get a cell phone now. I don't want to become a zombie. Especially since I've seen them in person. I do, however, want a beer. Which I'm going to get go in about 30 minutes. I've never felt such an affinity for Homer as I have right now. Beer...

Observing the Elderly

2006-04-08T17:59:00.000-07:00

The index finger on my right hand is beginning to irk me. The cut hole for a hanger hook is twisting itself back and forth across my finger. The heat-packaged plastic is wearing down my home-made skin. What's worse is that this merchandise cost me half of my remaining money. $30. What's done is done, and this had to be done. Computers don't run if they're boiling hot. System fans cost money. 120mm Silent CoolerMaster system fans cost $24.95 plus tax.

I'm almost home though... I just made it to the correct side of George Ferguson. A honk draws my eyes from the passing sidewalk. I'm not sure who honked, or why, but my eyes see an old woman staring at the ground across the street from me. A parallel cement universe four lanes away. She makes the motion to bend over for something.

Did she drop something? Can she not reach it? Does she need my help?

I watch as I continue to walk.

She tries to bend forward again, but again her hands are far too distant from her desired object. If she tries again and can't make it, I'll cross to help her.

I glance to see where I am going. An elderly gentleman approaches, propelled more by his arms than his legs. Metal braces attached to hands and wrists carry the majority of his weight as he struggles towards me. He's thin and bent, whether from age or sickness, disease or exhausation.

The old lady straightens as far as she is able. A car passes, momentarily obscuring my view. Her feet shuffle, and a dark "rock" is pushed towards the street. She shuffles more, a small smile almost visible on her face. One more push and the object falls to street side gutter. Her weight waddles back to the middle of the sidewalk and she sets off, away from me.

Why did she do this? What was her goal? Did the person who honked have something to do with the object? Did she want to take it home? Why couldn't it stay on the sidewalk?

My questions are lost as I realize I have to go to the far side of the walk. There's not enough room for two people and six legs. The old man is having a problem making it up the incline from a driveway entry.

Does he need help? What could I do? Should I step into the street to make it easier for him to pass?

I'm there. He looks up and grins with such delight that his wrinkled face creates mountains and valleys of skin. Strong eyes sparkle with age.

"HOW ARE YA?"

His deep, rough, aged voice shocks me. This tiny thin man's voice rumbles my chest cavity with passion and fervor. I can't help but be enthusiastic in my reply. I can't help but slow down, hopeful for the chance to listen to the wisdom that surely must be evident within that voice.

"Heh, great!" I manage. "How are you"?

"YEP. SAME!"

And off he goes, physically slow yet so much faster than my long legs can take me.

Within seconds I'm twice surprised by the ingenuity and depth of these people that I thought might need my help. I was wrong. They don't need my help. I need theirs. I need their age, their wisdom, their thoughts and experiences. I need to hear their story, and learn as much as I can. I need them to teach me everything that they know, so that I might continue everything they've tried to accomplish. I don't want my youth to be wasted on me.

Memory

2006-04-07T20:20:00.000-07:00

So there I was, standing quite naked in the midst of my shower, when I was hit by a memory. I'm not entirely sure what had sparked the memory. It was just after Chapel, I was skipping my Ethical Reasoning class (I had a good reason) and I hadn't showered yet, so I went to clean myself. The Chapel sermon was led by our fair president who said many things that made a lot of sense, none of which I am able to remember the next day.

Suddenly, my mind transported me back to a place where I haven't been for a long time. It was one of those memories that you weren't aware was actually a memory until you think of it for the first time since the event actually happened. Most of the time, your memories happen over and over, you rethink the same situations over in your mind. Perhaps because you keep going over exactly what is was that you said to insult your mother. Or maybe you just didn't want to forget exactly what it felt to be kissed for the first time. Then again, sometimes traumatic things happen and you can't help but think of that single instant every time you get too close to someone.

This was not one of those memories. Perhaps traumatic, which is why I'm still able to think of it, but this is, to my memory, the first time that I've thought of it since it happened.

When I was 9.

My friend James and I were out behind the church on a Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day out, right in the middle of spring. We were meandering through this small, well kept lawn that is sandwhiched between the back of the church and the fence keeping us from entering into townhouse backyards. James and I decided it would be a terrific idea to throw some rocks across the road that ran alongside the church. We started digging around the bottom of the hedges that were shapped into a cross, well, if you looked at them from the roof of the church or whatever. We got some good rocks, found some more in the ditch next to the road, and started chucking them into the field on the other side of the road. James would've been about 10 then. Eventually even this proved tiresome, even though we had to make sure that we only threw them when there were no cars on this semi-busy road.

So we didn't wait for the cars to be gone. We started trying to get them across as soon as a car would pass. I figured I could time it well enough so that I could throw a rock as a car would pass but before the next, which was right behind it. This was more challenging, so I had some fun with it. Suddenly I realized I was playing this game alone. I looked back down this green exterior hallway and saw James running for the end of the building.

"Where you going?" I shouted after him.

He made no reply, just turned and pointed to the road that my back was now facing.

So I looked where he pointed, and suddenly running away seemed like a very good idea. A huge (probably teenage) guy and some girl were coming after us. I just now realized that a vehicle had stopped and was parked right next to where we were throwing rocks. So I ran, following James. I looked back and was relieved to see the guy run away from me, but the girl was chasing me. I knew I could outrun her - she was a girl. The guy, on the other hand, was fast, but he was going around the other way. I hoped I could make it all the way around the church before he did.

So I ran, and I ran.

I turned the corner at the end of the hallway and ran towards the next corner. I saw James ahead of me, he had made it to that corner, but instead of turning into the closest door he was going for the main entrance. He hadn't realized the guy was going the other way around. As soon as I got the corner I could see what was happening in the parking lot. When I saw, my body froze.

The teenage guy was faster than us. James was trying to dodge his grasp, but was running out of room. He was close to the big yellow school bus that I had yet to be on. The one the youth kids sometimes disappeared on. The guy grabbed James by the front of the shirt, forcing him back a few steps.

Slam.

James' body was hit up against the body of the church bus.

My body was unfrozen.

I turned and dashed for the door, practically feeling the claws of the girlfriend around my neck. Safety, for both of us, lay within. I fumbled with the door handle. Bloody thing wasn't opening. Open. Open. Open. OPEN!

It opened.

I ran down the carpeted hallway and into the closest gym entrance. Safety, for both of us, lay within. This door opened easily enough, and a wave of chaotic mennonite noise washed over my ears. They were happy. They were joyful. They were smiling. How can they do this while James is dying outside, being slammed against metal, having his body broken, forcing tears from his eyes. How can they wait?

Then, salvation itself was spotted. My dad.

I dashed past mothers and daughters, dodging what used to be neatly placed tablesettings, now reduced to grape juice stained wrinkled sheets lying ontop cheap round tables. My dad. Sitting with six other men in a circle of flimsy wooden and compromised metal chairs. All these men. All these saviors, sitting together. This, was heaven.

"He's getting hurt!" I shriked, I screamed, I yelled, I cried.

I was assured, I was told to calm down, I was told to repeat myself.

"James. Is outside, and some GUY is HURTING HIM"

James' dad was first to move. Then mine. My dad moved faster, towards the front entrance. Where James had wanted to go. The other four men stood to move as well. I went back the way I came. I felt safe. One was following me. My dad was on the move. It was all going to be ok. But I was still tense. How was James to be saved?

I ran back out the door I came in while my father exited the other one. I ran towards the front doors to watch the scene from behind some parked cars. I didn't want him to see me.

James was crying. James was being half dragged towards the front entrance by his shirt collar by some man of no compassion. Some beast. Someone that didn't understand. The injustice of this act. For what reason were we being chased? Why were we being hurt? My dad walked out the doors towards the guy dragging James. The tides turned.

My dad's hands lunged out, grasping for the collar of the man holding the collar. Irony. One man dwarfing one boy, suddenly dwarfed by another man. By a real man. Words exchanged. James was released, I felt guilty, though I knew not why.

The memory ends.

Later on, I would sit down with my dad and he would explain what happened. The guy was worried about his car, thought that James and I hit it with rocks. We hadn't. We were warned to not throw rocks across the road again. I haven't. My dad got a look in his eyes when he finished this part. He looked at me and said that he shouldn't have gotten physical with that guy. He wasn't a fighter anymore.

Not anymore.

He was once.

But not anymore.

Yet, he was still my savior. And continues to be. And will always be.

And So It Begins... Again

2006-04-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have this terrible time, what with starting things and then never actually starting them. It makes for a wonderful amount of preperation time with no product at the end to point at and declare with glee that yes, that time was not a waste. I suppose it all was. Unless, of course, I start over again, as I am attempting to describe.

So, here we are at the beginning again. The reasoning for the reattachment to blogspot.com, after a few too many weeks away, is simply this: friends.

MySpace.com and all of its evils can be placed aside. The only reason I ever go there and post there is because there are people who read and care what I write. However, it's been so long since I've blogged that honestly, I feel most of them wouldn't notice if I did blog anyways. The reason I wasn't posting on blogspot was because there was no one around to read what I wrote.

Except you, Ben. You're my roommate and my friend.. and for that, I may one day share a cookie with you. Just not yet. They're mine, they were made for me, and are damn tasty. Back off. Earn your own cookies.

But now, my dearest friend Raych has informed me, indirectly through her blog, of a variety of other blogspot blogs of people that I know and can comment upon.

Allow me to list them for you:

Stephen Hubbard
http://www.24-25.blogspot.com/
A blog where Stephen, who I don't actually know, takes one picture each day and writes a little something about them. Quality photographer, he is. Very interesting to read. I hope to keep up with it.

Jeremy Vis
http://jeramivice.blogspot.com/
A blog where Jeremy Vis, CBC Alumni and current CBC staff, writes seemingly random and ultimately amusing notes from his adventures as a ridiculously busy man.

Rachel Plett
http://iwillreachforalime.blogspot.com/
Where the eloquence begins. What more can be said?

The more I find, the more I will post for all of your enjoyment. Let us, dear friends, explore our world together.

The Titled Meaning

2006-03-12T22:47:00.000-08:00

I question the grammatical veracity of my own title. Should it, perhaps, be "The Meaning of the Title"? Potentially, yes. I chose to ignore it. Ignorance, I have found, is truly blissful. Whoever said that first was definitely not wrong.

The title in question today, however, stems not from this post itself, but from the blog as it's entirity. "Quote GoAT" it reads, as I wrote awhile back. "Quote GoAT".

I am amused, for it rhymes.

How arrogant I must seem, to assume that you, dear reader, would find my work worthy of quoting. What I write, the title proclaims, is so dastardly awesome that you, the reader, will feel compelled to not only reveal the blog to another but in fact reveal verbatim exactly what I wrote. For it is only in these words, I assume, that the entirity of my message will be made clear.

Quotes are a fantastic thing. Often we take quotes from various writers and place them upon the soon discarded dust jacket of a well known hardcover book. These words, we say, will summarize the book for you. These words, we write, will intrigue your mind to the point where you are forced to purchase the book and read the remainder. Alongside these words we place other quotes of other, perhaps similar, well known writers to verify and recommend the contents. Sometimes we quote dead people, reducing their lives to fragmented sentances that reveal something profound about human nature, or life, or science, or love.

Here's a question I feel compelled to put forth. If a sentence can summarize a book, why bother writing the rest? Just write the one sentence, and publish that. Game, set, match. If the only thing you're going to be remembered for is a single sentence, why bother speaking after you've said it? And before you've said it, why are you talking? Shouldn't you be thinking of the sentence that will be attached to your name for eternity?

I think the only way we can find our quote is to spew such trash out that we have nothing left but gems. Or perhaps in the midst of your verbal vomit you'll find you coughed up a diamond ring or shiny topaz. How is one to test the quality of their quote unless they speak about it continually?

So, should I be that guy that quietly occassionally speaks deep profound truth? Or should I be that guy that speaks my mind fluently, unedited, without conscious.

Both.

In public, even a fool that stays silent will be considered wise. However, in the dark of my dorm with naught by the monitor glow illuminating my being, I will spew as much as necessary. And then, dear reader, once I am done, I will transmit the quality chuckies to you.

Blog Step No. 3: Pick a Theme

2006-03-04T21:16:00.000-08:00

So, now that you have a rock awesome blog with a snazzy font, you gotta start typing stuff. If you're scared of what to type, just start. Sometimes, you'll do what I do, and hit a couple of key phrases that just spark a million other ideas in your head about what to type about. If you're new, do that. Like, I typed "you'll do what I do", which for some reason reminded me of a movie I watched a long time ago at a friend's house up in the hills outside of Kelowna. I think it was called "Doing That Thing You Do", which was a terrible choice for that evening. It was a long, very long movie, and we were young, very young, and the two clashed. I don't even think anything exploded.

It's one of those follow-the-band-through-their-ups-and-downs type of movie.. which, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. If you haven't seen any, then chose "Ray" because Jamie Lee Fox did a terrific job, and frankly, Ray is friggin' amazing at everything ever. Good music, good acting, and drugs and sex. What more could a man want from a movie, except a shorter version, of course, with more drugs and sex.

Right, so what you gotta do is pick a theme, so you won't ramble off topic like some psychotic killer who wants nothing more than a peanut butter sandwhich. Themes will get you where you want to go, which I hope is the top. If you want to go to the bottom, well then, don't even bother starting a blog, you're already there. And why are you reading my blog about writing blogs, you're making yourself the wiser (ha!) for it and that's no way to get to the bottom, you lazy slackin' ho. Nod.

The more you stick to your theme, the more likely people of similar mind will return to your blog for more and more of the sweet thematic goodness that your fingers ensue. Take http://veganlunchbox.blogspot.com/ for example. She writes about the food she makes for her kid each day for school. Vegan food. Poor kid'll never get bacon. Then she rates it depending on how much he'll actually force himself to eat. And she gets massive hits on her site. Women. Vegans. Sick.

Anyways, if you like hockey, write about hockey lots. Use the word "hockey" lots. That way, when people who want to read about hockey randomly search for "hockey", of all things, they will find your blog, which you recently wrote about hockey in. Right. And if you can pick a more specific theme to consistantly write about, the better. Like hockey skate laces. Review them, for all I care. You may just find there are 70 other hockey skate shoe lace fanatics out there that want to read about it.

Or, if you're like me, you'll just have random thoughts plop into your head, and because you're really not too concerned over who, if anyone, is ever going to read this, you'll just write random crap because it's giving you something to do other than that hoemwork you're supposed to be doing for this whole week.

Blog Step No. 1: Choose a Template

2006-03-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

Now, one might first be considering why the second step is essentially the first, seeing as I posted step no. 2 before step no. 1. The reasoning being: you must first choose a font before you are able to see your chosen template. Having not yet seen the template, I could not comment upon choosing a template, as really, all I did was click once towards a seemingly suitable template.

I had to pause for a second there to change my font from "Times" to "Lucida Grande". The word grande reminds me of Starbucks, which disgusts me. Not Starbucks (they treat their employees real well), but that I'm reminded of it. I'm supposed to hate Starbucks (suprisingly enough, they actually do offer fair trade prices for their coffee beans, but don't force their laborers to purchase expensive fair trade liscencing, which can often put smaller coffee bean companies under, meaning more profit for both parties involved), though I don't really. I have too many friends that work there.

Anyways, there's one thing that a person ought to be concerned with when selecting a template. It must be rock awesome. If you, yourself, do not think that the template is rock awesome, then your future typed words will not also agree that your template is rock awesome. Let me tell you, my template is rock awesome.

Two reasons it's rock awesome. 1) It's simply green. Now, that may seem like a single point within itself, though slightly misleading. It's not only green, there's lots of white and grey and other shades of other colors that I can't remember at the moment. But yes, the dominant theme is green, as that is the color that draws focus. To my rock awesome blog. Alright. Saying alright reminds me of Mitch Hedberg, rest his stoned soul. Do you want a frozen banana? No, but I want a regular one later, so, yeah...

But alas! I purposefully mislead you! My point being "simply green" is two points within one! It's "simple", and it's "green". Green is good because of those I've spoken with, green looks good on me. Plus my mother likes it, and if my mother enjoys it, well then so be it! Let it be enjoyed! Simple is good because then it's not distracting. While perusing for various places to post particularly petite blogs, I found a number at various sites that were rather.. custom. They were red, or yellow, or pink, with icons and cursive letters (not language, thankfully) and whatnot. Pretty, I guess, but difficult to read and understand. If you want to build a group of gathers, you've got to get simple. And simply my layout/template is. Heck yes.

Point number 2, even though point number one was two, and post two is one, is ironic because it contradicts being simple.

Namely, that I didn't have to do a bloody thing to make it show up other than click and giggle. Which I did. With glee. I didn't have to worry about custom html (though I know it) to meticulously drag out specific aspects of my blog, even though most people probably will because they want to be different. I don't want to be different, because that's what everybody else is doing.

My favorite webcomic, the older stuff is better: www.pvponline.com

Blog Step No. 2: Chose a Font

2006-03-04T20:31:00.000-08:00

The first choice when posting a blog is what font will I use. So, what font will I use? Decent question. I've always been partial to Arial, just because it's so smooth and round, like the way that a girl might shape her letters as she grows towards adolescence. Funny word, adolescence. I think I spelt it right. It looks all weird to me now. The problem with Arial is that it's not as easy to read as one might assume. It's the same problem when trying to decipher a letter from an ex-girlfriend, I would suppose. Is that a "u", or an "o"? They're both so flippin' round! Sans serif means without the little tickies on the end of each bloody letter, which for whatever psychological reason or another, means that it's harder for the eyes to read. Looking back over this paragraph, currently in Arial, I can understand that. It all just blends together. Let's see here...

Courier. That's old school. I don't think I want to be thought of as archaic.

Georgia makes me wonder the difference between it and Times New Romans.. are they're cousins or something? I can't see Georgia, which always reminds me of a state for some reason (is it? I'm Canadian, and bloody well ignorant), associating with Italy.

I flip back and forth between "Times", "Georgia" and "Lucida Grande". There's no difference. That confuses me. Don't tempt me with options, blogspot.com, and deny me the pleasure of my text visibly changing! Granted, they're easier on the eyes. Newspaper, you have trained me too well otherwise.

Trebuchet and Verdana (reminds me of a veranda) are similar to Arial. Simply varies in width and roundess. Like the difference between preteen girls, I suppose. Ouch, I'll pay for that one someday.

Finally I decide on Lucida Grande. Not because it's better or worse that Times or Georgia, but because it's exactly the same, but I've never chosen it before. Don't fail me now, blogspot.com. Offer me more than wingdings and pubescent poetics!

This blog's words have been brought to you by: www.dictionary.com