Rejection

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

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

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

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

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.