We almost bought a house on Paseo last year. And if you want to look at the situation through any lens that makes rational sense, we should have bought it. It had nine bedrooms, and room to easily add two more in the basement with minimal effort. Only three baths, but again, we could have added another in the basement if need be. Recently remodeled, all concessions agreed upon, and five other people willing to move in and fill the place out, help pay for stuff, maintain the place. And the porch! Such a porch, my friends, as you have only seen in fairy tales. Columns and good places for sitting and everything. Not to mention room to garden. Oh, and we were going to pay less than 130K, no down payment. Jill and I could have just barely covered the payments by ourselves, but with five other people moving in, it would have been about 250 bucks a month with all utilities and a contribution to fund for house emergencies. Everybody even had their own room if they wanted. And we could more easily share with those without, and open the house for people who needed a place to stay for a couple of days, and it was right across from Habitat from Humanity so we could easily volunteer there. And get the benefits of living in a close community like learning how to be a better person when someone's a jerk to you, and how to be less of a jerk yourself. Like I said, heck of a deal.
In the end, we decided we shouldn't do it. And it hurt a lot because I'd been looking forward to it for a long time. I'd even made a community house one of the things I'd decided to do with the year, based on a sermon Tim Keel gave on how deciding to do something is really important for anything to ever actually happen that you want. How, in our culture, having open choice is really important to people, but that cutting off some options and making the choice is the path to wisdom and person growth.
Jill and I told people that the main reason we broke the contract, and lost our earnest money, and left people who wanted to move in with us in the lurch was that the house was too small. Which is true. There was no room for people to get married or have kids, or for more than three or four other people come live with us. And we were going to start cramped given how we wanted to give the married people and the ladies some privacy.
But the real reason, and one that we talk about less, is that we thought and felt that God was indicating to us to not move in. I mean, not out loud or anything, just really clearly in the circumstances. A woman from church what we didn't really know and who didn't know anything about our situation or plans calling out of the blue with had really good and wise things to say right to Jill's heart just as one example.
I think part of the reason I say that it was too small, and not that it was God's nudging is that I can be an awfully rationalizing and accommodating person. I like to put things in terms that other people understand, for one. I mean, if you're the kind of person who believes that the things that are real are the things that you can test and observe, then the idea that Jill and I think that some supernatural being that no one can see, and who seems kinda flighty and elusive most of the time, came along and influenced our decision to not buy a house, it wouldn't make any sense to you.
But that's not even accurate because, while I do want to put things in terms that people understand, a more important reason that I talk about the house being too small is that it can be kind of embarrassing to be the person who tries to follow the supernatural being in a culture still so obsessed with rationalism and empiricism. Even most of the Christian subculture thinks that if it's not 'provable', it's not real. (But that's going down a path leading to a delightful and complex blog post essay on modernism and post-modernism that I'm pretty sure most of you want to read right now. If you do, leave a comment, and I'm more than willing to whip that sucker up with plenty of relevant examples and fresh analogies in plain and direct language. Yay, essay!)
But YHWH, to me, doesn't seem like the kind of person who likes to get tied down to a particular way of doing things. Other people have said this, but I really think he's got that feminine passion to not get all figured out. He likes to get pursued and wooed more than categorized and dissected.
Now, I've got this friend Steve, who's a real deep thinker on a lot of things, being a history major and a wide reader of books with uncomfortably bland covers and all, and he was around for all of the conversations and meetings for planning to buy the house that I just mentioned. He's already doing something like what we wanted to do in the Paseo house, but a little further east, on the east side of Kansas City, in a neighborhood that I'd like to live in if it wasn't so far away from where I am, and what I do, and where I work right now. Of course, I could change where I am, and what I do, and where I work, and move over there sometime, or just suck it up. But I haven't made that choice yet.
But Steve moved over there on purpose, 28th and Benton, essentially, and ask anyone who knows about crime and poverty and they will tell you that this is not a nice part of our city. He didn't even move there from somewhere nicer in KC; he moved there from a place he loved living in Minnesota to come create a community house over there on he east side.
I have this theory that there really is an Illuminati, and there really is a shadow government that runs everything away from the public eye, and America really is an empire a lot like the British and Roman ones. But there's a catch. Every person is a member or an emperor and most people don't even know it. Everyone's actions and inactions make ripples that affect and effect all kinds of things all over the place. What a person chooses to buy, or eat, or where to go for fun, or what to believe, matters on a grand scale. Most of the time, we don't even see the impacts of our decisions.
My whole world is like that. I don't know who built my laptop, or where the wheat for the bread for the sandwich I'll have for dinner at Panera tonight came from (Frontega Chicken FTW! ). It's just not convenient or viable for me to. I have no way of knowing whether the laptop builder guy likes his job, or if he feels like it's a dead-end and wishes he could find something where he's valued for who he is but he makes too much now to quit, or if it's his life and he just loves building laptops and seeing them go out with the hope that someone really enjoys the experience of laptop ownership.
Same for who grows the wheat. Maybe it comes from a faceless agribusiness where most of the work is done from a computer substation like W.P. Kineslla rails against in Shoeless Joe, or maybe it's one of those Kansas farmers who we see on billboards on the way to Emporia who went to the trouble and expense of going to ag college so he could continue the family business, he loves it so much. Who can tell?
So, it's really easy to get caught up in participating in and encouraging slavery or oppression or cutting down forests in places that need them without knowing about it.
I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to think about racism. That's because most of the people I know are very loving and accepting of people from all kinds of places and backgrounds. And I also have always thought that the less I know about racists, the less likely I am to become one. If nobody points out a difference, I doubt I'd know it. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but it's how I've lived.
But that doesn't mean racism isn't there, and it doesn't mean that people end up participating in it even if they hate it. Steve says he sees racism all the time. Anything east of Prospect gets written off as a bad place to live. Just ask anybody. There are about five houses with any white people living within a ten block radius from him. And his area is pretty run down, and people don't seem to care. It's even blocked off from most of the rest of the city by the infrastructure.
Where are all the cool places to live in Kansas City, MO if you're social conscious or urban or hip or whatever? Westport, downtown, the River Market, Brookside, Hyde Park. Any of those east of Prospect? Any of those east of Paseo? No. Now, is that some sort of malicious city planner doing that? Nope. It's just people being people.
This is part of why Steve wants to move back to Minnesota. Because all the cool places here in town that he likes to be in and hang out in and spend money in only perpetuate the existing system, and don't do anything to help his neighborhood. There's not much over on the east side for him to do besides sit in his house and fix it up. There aren't a lot of jobs, and there are only, like, nine restaurants, and there aren't any cool anarchist coffee shops at all. Ok, there aren't really any of those in KC, but hey, a Steve can dream, can't he?
I think that's a pretty legitimate reason to want to move. You feel like anything you do is either not something you like to do, or it's perpetuating a system you don't like. It's a tough place to be in. The need to get out.
I used to see something like this all the time growing up in Olathe, only shallow. People who wanted to just get out. Where they were didn't fit who they were. Gotta get to New York, or California, or Westport to get happy. Once they got somewhere else, anywhere else, they could finally get happy.
And then I see a lot of other people that don't feel stuck where they are, just want a change, want to go to a city with different opportunities. Or, like when Jill and I lived in Emporia and desperately wanted to get back to Kansas City to be near our friends and our family and good shopping opportunities like the Great Mall of the Great Plains, which looks pretty awesome when you've been living in Emporia, believe me. Once we finally did move back to Kansas City, we liked seeing our family, and those of our friends who were still around, and the Great Mall which was great for the first and last time in its existence, but we really missed our people and our life back in Emporia. I felt like we hadn't really been living there for the last few months, just waiting to get out. So we missed out on a lot of good living.
After we decided not to move to the cool house on Paseo, we were at a loss as to what to do next. God shifted us away from this house, we thought, should we shift away from doing any community house, do we need to be more segregated? What next? So we moved to Westport, because it's close to church and decided to wait. Decided to live out the things we wanted to do in the Paseo house however we could manage in Westport. Not because things were better there, but because it was simply a place we could go and we needed to move.
It's hard to try to live in a community, and it's hard to live the way Jill and I want to, loving and giving ourselves up for the people around us, and living simply, and being conscious that God made the earth and likes it a whole lot and that we can try to live in such a way as to treat it well. And try to learn to sacrifice ourselves for other people that aren't around us yet.
But I think these are things you can do wherever you are. And I'm not saying to never move or anything, but I think it's all tied up in what Tim Keel was saying about choices. In this case, making a conscious choice to live somewhere for a reason is important. And mostly, that conscious decision should be to live well where ever you are, not look for happiness somewhere else.
I know it could sound like I'm bashing Steve, or other people who want to go somewhere else to live than where they are. And I do want Steve to stay in Kansas City because I think he's a great person and I enjoy his company and he challenges the way I think. All of which I like. So I'm selfish on that count. And I really like having the people around that I love. Hear that Brianna?
And I like Kansas City. A lot, really. I don't think it's the best place to live, or the best. city. evar, but I want to live here because it's where I live. If I can't be who I want here, where I am, I don't think I can be who I want to be anywhere else. If I'm not a missionary here, how could I be one somewhere else? If I'm not a writer with this job, how could I be one with a different one? If I don't love my neighbors, how would having worse-off ones help? Maybe it would, and maybe I could. I don't know for sure. Circumstances and experiences do have an awfully big impact on who I am. But I do know that I need to live well right here, where I am, if I expect to live well anywhere.
And then I can imagine Steve saying, because he likes to challenge me, "Do we even need to live well at all?" But that's another post for another day.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
I'm got an UPDATE! with destiny.
Cloudthreads Update has detected you have x Critical Updates and y Optional updates. Do you wish to install them now? If so, please pull this string.
The cow says: Moo. Um. Try again.
The doggie says: ruff! One more time . . .
The User Account Control says: ARE YOU SURE?!
UPDATE! LUCIUS, our router, only needed a firmware update. Ala ANDY BERNARD, he hasn't dropped his handshake with the modem in three days. Who knew??? Perhaps the approaching arrival of the ethereal router scared him into acquiescence.
UPDATE! The plans with you and your husband for this weekend, I mean, dinner with DAN AND JENNY went splendidly. TRIVIAL PURSUIT cozied up to me with easy questions and spot-on rolls, and with the Suptic family house rule of once a king or queen of a pie-piece earning segment, always a king or queen of a pi-piece earning segment, I dominated: fully-baked rainbow pie to third pie to third pie to empty pie pan. Even went out on the first try with the second of two SL green hockey questions with the same answer I got lobbed my way. There are two possibilities for a TRIVIAL PURSUIT hockey question: Bobby Orr and Wayne Gretsky. I got Bobby Orr twice.
UPDATE! After church on Sunday, and on our way to AMANDA AND KATIE'S TRIUMPH PALACE EMPORIUM for soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, I happened to strike up a conversation with the world famous JOHN RAUX. He has a gallery show tentatively set for February 7 or 8. He's done several large oil abstracts and is going to be integrating photography, narrative, multiplies titles, and sketches into the presentation of each piece to tell the story of each one and make it more accessible.
UPDATE! Over the past 7 days, I have successfully decreased my average daily consumption of DMND (Diet Mountain Dew) to less than 80 oz. This is entirely due to my mode consumption being just over 80, and there being a weekend in which I am nowhere near a store that sells 64 oz fountain drinks. Still, SUCCESS. My goal is to cut of caffeine entirely before Lent.
UPDATE! The world is no long a vampire sent to drain. Wait, no. that's still a valid metaphor. Never mind.
UPDATE FROM A DIARYLAND ENTRY FROM LONG AGO! Thanks to our own burgeoning sense of responsibility, and the methuselaian compact flourescent lamp, we no longer have the problem with light bulbs burning out and not getting replaced for weeks on end.
UPDATE! Recent reports from THE NEW YORK TIMES via REVOLUTION IN JESUSLAND indicate that MIKE HUCKABEE is the current pop choice for radical Xtians in the upcoming RACE FOR THE CURE OF NOT HAVING A LEADER OF THE EXECUTIVE BRANCH OF THE EXCESSIVELY UNITED STATES THAT ARE IN THE AMERICAN NATION.
See, to me, MIKE HUCKABEE seems like just one more religious-rightist interested in legislating morality. I'm pro-morality, believe me, but I don't know how much the government should get involved. As little as possible, says I. I mean, JESUS OF NAZARETH (something good came from there. Finally.) said that his kingdom is not of this kosmos, and I tend to think that we shouldn't be trying to affect Jesuskinds of change through those world-systems of power. I mean, he didn't. RON PAUL is the only candidate I see who seems to be espousing a view that reduces the power of the EMPIRE OF AMERICA domestically and internationally.
But, the whole thing is complicated. How can you be a whole-life follower of JESUS OF NAZARETH and still render to AMERICA what is AMERICA'S? Is't possible?
Do we also have a civic responsibility to consume as many goods as possible? Should we try to bolster our own economy to raise the standard of living for those around us and the amount of money available to charities for world-wide activities? And how does that fall in with the call to live simply? And the fact that PAUL OF TARSUS ties greed and lust together in his letter to the COLOSSIANS seems to indicate that they are both, essentially, sins of unbridled consumption.
We have a civic responsibility to vote, right? But is a civic responsibility one that counts under the render clause? If we do vote, what do we base it on? The desire to set up a system that encouraged Christians and Christian communities to act themselves, that is, help the poor, stand the way of violence, befriend the friendless? Or do we vote on the desire to affect change in the world by having government act as an agent of JESUS OF NAZARETH? I believe the former. I think this is why TIM KEEL'S call to care more about people than issues is so important. It's easy to lose focus on an issue. It's hard to lose focus on helping a person you love.
Furthermore, is social justice even relevant if we aren't, like CHRIST, becoming like the people we are trying to help? Should we feed the poor and hungry, or become poor and hungry ourselves? Should we free slaves, or become slaves?
UPDATE! Remember THAT BUTTON, the one on my laptop with picture of the house that takes me to an advertisement for Dell? Actually, if you wait through the ad, it takes you to some sort of Dell Media Center that is in all ways slower and less user-friendly than PICASA and FOOBAR and VLC, even with the fact that that's three separate programs without a cohesive graphical interface. Heck, even WINDOWS MEDIA PLAYER 11 is more sleek. Now to figure out how the heck to remap that key to something more useful on a daily basis. Like format c:\.
DOWNDATE! Dear YAHOO MESSENGER, I installed you yesterday to talk to some friends online who only have a Yahoo account. You installed your bloated and non-functioning IM software, a Yahoo Web Mail Client and the Yahoo toolbar onto both INTERNET EXPLORER and FIREFOX. After seeing your ugly face, it took me ten minutes to find PIDGIN, download it, and get it running in the place of MSN, Yahoo and Myspace. You can die in a fire. BALEETED.
UPDATE! I wore that Under Armor Arctic Beanie green with yellow logo stocking (yeah, try finding that color for sale anywhere now, suckers) cap to bed again last night. Its temples-snug fit helped me easily overcome the two cans of Vault Zero I consumed at DAN AND JENNY'S. Thanks, hat.
UPDATE! My goal is to now get CLOUDTHREADS posted by noon every day, rather than midnight. Good luck to me.
The cow says: Moo. Um. Try again.
The doggie says: ruff! One more time . . .
The User Account Control says: ARE YOU SURE?!
UPDATE! LUCIUS, our router, only needed a firmware update. Ala ANDY BERNARD, he hasn't dropped his handshake with the modem in three days. Who knew??? Perhaps the approaching arrival of the ethereal router scared him into acquiescence.
UPDATE! The plans with you and your husband for this weekend, I mean, dinner with DAN AND JENNY went splendidly. TRIVIAL PURSUIT cozied up to me with easy questions and spot-on rolls, and with the Suptic family house rule of once a king or queen of a pie-piece earning segment, always a king or queen of a pi-piece earning segment, I dominated: fully-baked rainbow pie to third pie to third pie to empty pie pan. Even went out on the first try with the second of two SL green hockey questions with the same answer I got lobbed my way. There are two possibilities for a TRIVIAL PURSUIT hockey question: Bobby Orr and Wayne Gretsky. I got Bobby Orr twice.
UPDATE! After church on Sunday, and on our way to AMANDA AND KATIE'S TRIUMPH PALACE EMPORIUM for soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, I happened to strike up a conversation with the world famous JOHN RAUX. He has a gallery show tentatively set for February 7 or 8. He's done several large oil abstracts and is going to be integrating photography, narrative, multiplies titles, and sketches into the presentation of each piece to tell the story of each one and make it more accessible.
UPDATE! Over the past 7 days, I have successfully decreased my average daily consumption of DMND (Diet Mountain Dew) to less than 80 oz. This is entirely due to my mode consumption being just over 80, and there being a weekend in which I am nowhere near a store that sells 64 oz fountain drinks. Still, SUCCESS. My goal is to cut of caffeine entirely before Lent.
UPDATE! The world is no long a vampire sent to drain. Wait, no. that's still a valid metaphor. Never mind.
UPDATE FROM A DIARYLAND ENTRY FROM LONG AGO! Thanks to our own burgeoning sense of responsibility, and the methuselaian compact flourescent lamp, we no longer have the problem with light bulbs burning out and not getting replaced for weeks on end.
UPDATE! Recent reports from THE NEW YORK TIMES via REVOLUTION IN JESUSLAND indicate that MIKE HUCKABEE is the current pop choice for radical Xtians in the upcoming RACE FOR THE CURE OF NOT HAVING A LEADER OF THE EXECUTIVE BRANCH OF THE EXCESSIVELY UNITED STATES THAT ARE IN THE AMERICAN NATION.
See, to me, MIKE HUCKABEE seems like just one more religious-rightist interested in legislating morality. I'm pro-morality, believe me, but I don't know how much the government should get involved. As little as possible, says I. I mean, JESUS OF NAZARETH (something good came from there. Finally.) said that his kingdom is not of this kosmos, and I tend to think that we shouldn't be trying to affect Jesuskinds of change through those world-systems of power. I mean, he didn't. RON PAUL is the only candidate I see who seems to be espousing a view that reduces the power of the EMPIRE OF AMERICA domestically and internationally.
But, the whole thing is complicated. How can you be a whole-life follower of JESUS OF NAZARETH and still render to AMERICA what is AMERICA'S? Is't possible?
Do we also have a civic responsibility to consume as many goods as possible? Should we try to bolster our own economy to raise the standard of living for those around us and the amount of money available to charities for world-wide activities? And how does that fall in with the call to live simply? And the fact that PAUL OF TARSUS ties greed and lust together in his letter to the COLOSSIANS seems to indicate that they are both, essentially, sins of unbridled consumption.
We have a civic responsibility to vote, right? But is a civic responsibility one that counts under the render clause? If we do vote, what do we base it on? The desire to set up a system that encouraged Christians and Christian communities to act themselves, that is, help the poor, stand the way of violence, befriend the friendless? Or do we vote on the desire to affect change in the world by having government act as an agent of JESUS OF NAZARETH? I believe the former. I think this is why TIM KEEL'S call to care more about people than issues is so important. It's easy to lose focus on an issue. It's hard to lose focus on helping a person you love.
Furthermore, is social justice even relevant if we aren't, like CHRIST, becoming like the people we are trying to help? Should we feed the poor and hungry, or become poor and hungry ourselves? Should we free slaves, or become slaves?
UPDATE! Remember THAT BUTTON, the one on my laptop with picture of the house that takes me to an advertisement for Dell? Actually, if you wait through the ad, it takes you to some sort of Dell Media Center that is in all ways slower and less user-friendly than PICASA and FOOBAR and VLC, even with the fact that that's three separate programs without a cohesive graphical interface. Heck, even WINDOWS MEDIA PLAYER 11 is more sleek. Now to figure out how the heck to remap that key to something more useful on a daily basis. Like format c:\.
DOWNDATE! Dear YAHOO MESSENGER, I installed you yesterday to talk to some friends online who only have a Yahoo account. You installed your bloated and non-functioning IM software, a Yahoo Web Mail Client and the Yahoo toolbar onto both INTERNET EXPLORER and FIREFOX. After seeing your ugly face, it took me ten minutes to find PIDGIN, download it, and get it running in the place of MSN, Yahoo and Myspace. You can die in a fire. BALEETED.
UPDATE! I wore that Under Armor Arctic Beanie green with yellow logo stocking (yeah, try finding that color for sale anywhere now, suckers) cap to bed again last night. Its temples-snug fit helped me easily overcome the two cans of Vault Zero I consumed at DAN AND JENNY'S. Thanks, hat.
UPDATE! My goal is to now get CLOUDTHREADS posted by noon every day, rather than midnight. Good luck to me.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Put a helmet on! Actually, take it off, ya looks kinda stupid.
As I mentioned last time, Nicholas threw a Rock Band/Guitar Hero Party at his apartment Friday night. Well, his and Martha's apartment. Who am I to tear asunder what gGd has brought together in marital apartment occupancy?
You were supposed to come dressed as a rock star. Dan came as a flannel-wearing grunge rock star. As you'd expect, Jenny came goth with a tank-top with a ribcage on it. Both Nicholas and CJ had rockin' shirts to show off their tattoos, CJ's real and Nicholas's drawn on. Jill and I were rushed on the way out of the house that morning, so we had to make do. Jill was able to get a nice outfit together with Martha's clothes and some super-cute pigtail horn things fashioned with gel. I had a ringer t-shirt and button up jeans (the jeans of ROCK STARS, people), and a tri-hawk fashioned from some very serious hair gel that Nicholas had on hand. I think it had the word 'glue' on it somewhere. And it was waterproof. Later, I used some water to reshape, and it hurt to slick it because my hair was so taut on my scalp.
I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that that Nicholas brought me three different kinds of hair product to choose from, and this was not by any means the extent of his collection. Draw your own conclusions.
The tri-hawk came about because I was trying to do a faux-hawk, and the long hair on the sides of my head wouldn't go up far enough into the hawk part and dropped back down into accompianing side-wings like my dad gets after a nap. Only instead of a hawk, he's got a tortoise. In my early college years, I made great use of these wings to become Wolverine for Halloween. I've got pictures of me with Wolverine hair (wings included) with butter knives between my fingers for claws. On Friday I spiked the wings up more so I had three pinnacles, and it looked ok at first. But as the evening drew on, the tri-hawk started to look sloppy and lame. What I needed to do was slick back the sides into a back part of the faux-hawk. But such is life. You never can tell when you'll have a bad glue-slicked tri-hawk day. They come when you least expect it. It wasn't even humid.
Just about anyone who plays video games with me knows that I am a seriously above-average player at almost every game I pick up. Right from the start. Soul Caliber II, Halo II, Defender II. Even non-first-sequels like Fusion Frenzy. And I don't even exercise. (Ok, I did used to practice Halo II. But that was, like, II years ago, guys, really.). The Guitar Hero series (even II) is the exception. I just can't seem to get my fingers to hit the buttons when I'm strumming, or vice versa. My rhythm is always off and I can't ever seem to get a double-strum to be my friend. I am not a rocker, I do not rock out.
My first shot at the drums on Rock Band followed the exact same path. I dropped out three times and the band only just made it to the end of the song without me. But after the first song, I started to get the hang of the drums (on Easy, of course), and was really digging it. Only 87% digging it, but still. By the end of the evening, the last song I played on plastic multi-colored button guitar simulacrum was the first time I've really felt comfortable playing anything Guitar Hero related. But both Jill and I were tired and we packed it up around 10:30 or so and headed home. Just before the cops arrived. Not kidding. But that's another story.
As you know, over the last few weeks I've been hitting the caffeine like a backstop on armless amateur day at the batting cages. (84 oz of the the ol' Diet Mt. Dew again today. I didn't really want to get started, but I was uber-tired and Dan said he wouldn't give me a ride back to work from the Hy-Vee inconvenience store if I didn't get something, and it was cold out, and I like caffeine and I had my cup for a refill with me and everything. I'll quit soon, I promise. (Later I also had 24 oz of Vault Zero at Dan and Jenny's.)) Friday was no exception. At least I avoided the taurine and the sugar and the guarana in the offered Red Bull. Hurrah for a lack of aspertamed options saving me some sleep and jitteryness. I'm wigged out on caffeiene, I don't need to be any fatter on top of that.
So, sure enough, I left the party sleepy, drove sleepy, got home sleepy, went to bed sleepy, aaaannddd stayed awake until far too early in the morning, falling asleep somewhere around 1:30 or 2:00.
Now, Jill's been pretty personed out lately. Introvert time's been on the wane since November, and Christmas's recent years insistence on twisting the restful wait for the coming of the messiah into daily spend-every-waking-moment-with-people time doesn't help. On Thursday, the future's schedule loomed bleak for our heroine:
Friday night party.
Saturday morning service project at Jacob's Well.
Saturday night Angela birthday shindig.
Sunday afternoon Jones's personal shower.
Sunday night church, post-church food.
Monday costume making for her mom's friend Martha .
Monday evening dinner at Dan and Jenny's (mmm, chicken and Trivial Pursuit dominance.)
A day off Tuesday.
Then back on Wednesday afternoon to far-too-needy people calling on the phone expecting legal advice from a phone-answerer without legal training. Also, annoying file organization for people with law degrees who mystically sloughed through law school without ever learning to put some related papers for a legal case in some sort of order, seriously, any order at all, you guys.
Before I went to bed on Friday night (ok, Saturday morning) , I got sneaky. We've got one of those fancy electronic thermostats that lets you schedule temperature changes up to four times a day. It's nice to get the house back up not-freezing before you get up or before you get home from work. BUt be able to keep it down when you're asleep or not there. Not that it hasn't cost us $150 bucks a month ssince we still have terrible windows on the place, but tis' still nice. We ususally have it start getting warmer a half-hour before we get up. Warmer house means easier out-of-the-blanket excursions. And there's a vent right next to the toilet seat in the bathroom.; so toasty. Anyway, you you get a heads-up on waking time. So, Saturday morning, I set my alarm for 8:35 and set the heat to start, not at 6:30, but at 8:30. Then, I stayed in bed for an extra 15 minutes, which is my normal mode on a morning, and I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes and headed out the door. Leaving my stocking cap on and Jill still asleep. She didn't get up until 12:30. Stealth introvert assistance is go.
You heard me right: leaving my stocking cap on. See, I've got this thing. Apparently, when I was a baby Timothy, I was born in Minnesota. In the winter. The story goes that I wore a stocking cap for the first 3 or 4 months of my life. Cause his baby head was sooo cold. Aww. Sometime in high school I discovered that if I wanted a really good night's sleep, I could put a stocking cap on and zonk out like nobody's business. And man does it work. It blocks out the high tones of any noises or hums, and the pressure around my head make my eyes want to droop. I even have a raelly fancy one with a smooth interior that wicks away moisture so I don't get an irritated red sweaty forehead anymore. That night, I wasn't tired but I really wanted to get to sleep, so I doubled up and wore a hoodie AND a stocking cap. Double awesome, double comfy sleep.
I did try going without the hat on Saturday morning, really. But with the glue stuff in my hair from the previous night, I was the proverbial gorgon. (The serpentine part, not the so ugly you turn to stone part.) So, without time for a shower, and with the hair from the night that ate the blob from the black lagoon, I threw it on and hoped for the best.
While Jill's the introvert, and I'm the extreme extrovert; I practically get drunk off of people. The longer I'm in the presence of a group having a good time, the more I have to concentrate later to be able to see the moments in my memory that I know happened. Also, it gets harder to keep my mouth from running and jumping up on all the table and leaping from there up on top of the entertainment center.
Now, add to that an article of clothing that mutes sound and makes me feel warm and sleepy. There are times when I've been driving that I've almost gotten in a wreck because I was wearing a stocking cap. Had to tear it off to get home safe. Instant clarity. (By the by, the same thing happens sometimes when I've had a lot of pizza or sometimes spaghetti. The gluten gets to me. I've run three red lights now in a gluten stupor. Jill always asks me if I want to have her drive after pizza now. I usually say yes. Heaven forbid I ever eat gluten heavy-pizza at a party while wearing a hat when I've not gotten enough sleep. I'd probably end up naked, peeing in the potted tree while singing a bee-bop version of Stars and Stripes forever. Of course, I don't know anyone who has a potted tree so I would have had to acquire it somewhere else mid-party, and bring it back for that express purpose. Shudder.)
Saturday I only had the sleepiness, the hat, and the group of people to contend with. On Second Saturdays, Phillip from church organizes a group of people to go around and help people in the immediate community (spiritual and proximal) with things they need done. Sometimes we help people move, and sometimes it's yard work, and sometimes ministries need clothes sorted. This week, we were helping some people who are going to move over to the east side and work with the Hope House to fix up their houses. Tim Keel gave a message this last week about not losing your fervor, and man, did it show that people listen to that guy. We normally have about 10-15 people show. We had thirty. We had so many that we sent some people off to another project first, then spilled out of the first house leaving nine or ten people there to a second house for more projects, again leaving about ten people, and then into Steve's house where the last few of us surprised him by helping paint his servants' staircase and putting sheet rock on Lucas's ceiling, which used to be Eric's but he didn't want covered because he liked to lay in bed and look at the patterns but he's getting married next week and will have a different place to sleep.
At the meeting beforehand, where we plan and pray and sit awkwardly meeting other Jacob's Well people for the first time, they were seeing who could drive, and someone said, "I've got room for three," and without thinking (remember the hat), I said, "I've got room for six!" So I drove.
A couple of times I almost tore the hat off, but my hair was still taut and ouchy when I moved the cap. And when my head is warm, and my temples are snug, I don't wanna take that thing off. Let alone when it hurts to touch the hat. I drove fine, but I'm pretty sure that I annoyed people by going on and on about interesting facts about that part of town and Steve (who some of them got to meet later, and who told one of the stories about himself that I had told earlier and did it much better), and more things about that part of town, and Kansas City, and our search for a community house, and what community houses are in general, and about some of them in the area. Seriously, man, shut up sometimes. Don't be such a freakin' expert on everything.
I was really dragging by the time we finished lunch, and the people who rode with me in the van could tell and told me that I looked tired and we should go. I was SO sure I was going to drop into bed when I got home. But I didn't. I took off my hat and took a shower and was awake for the rest of the day. Only 48 oz of Diet Mountain Dew left over from Adam's New Year's Party, and I was golden.
I should have some sort of moral or wrap up, but I don't. Just watch out when I'm wearing a stocking cap, that's my point.
You were supposed to come dressed as a rock star. Dan came as a flannel-wearing grunge rock star. As you'd expect, Jenny came goth with a tank-top with a ribcage on it. Both Nicholas and CJ had rockin' shirts to show off their tattoos, CJ's real and Nicholas's drawn on. Jill and I were rushed on the way out of the house that morning, so we had to make do. Jill was able to get a nice outfit together with Martha's clothes and some super-cute pigtail horn things fashioned with gel. I had a ringer t-shirt and button up jeans (the jeans of ROCK STARS, people), and a tri-hawk fashioned from some very serious hair gel that Nicholas had on hand. I think it had the word 'glue' on it somewhere. And it was waterproof. Later, I used some water to reshape, and it hurt to slick it because my hair was so taut on my scalp.
I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that that Nicholas brought me three different kinds of hair product to choose from, and this was not by any means the extent of his collection. Draw your own conclusions.
The tri-hawk came about because I was trying to do a faux-hawk, and the long hair on the sides of my head wouldn't go up far enough into the hawk part and dropped back down into accompianing side-wings like my dad gets after a nap. Only instead of a hawk, he's got a tortoise. In my early college years, I made great use of these wings to become Wolverine for Halloween. I've got pictures of me with Wolverine hair (wings included) with butter knives between my fingers for claws. On Friday I spiked the wings up more so I had three pinnacles, and it looked ok at first. But as the evening drew on, the tri-hawk started to look sloppy and lame. What I needed to do was slick back the sides into a back part of the faux-hawk. But such is life. You never can tell when you'll have a bad glue-slicked tri-hawk day. They come when you least expect it. It wasn't even humid.
Just about anyone who plays video games with me knows that I am a seriously above-average player at almost every game I pick up. Right from the start. Soul Caliber II, Halo II, Defender II. Even non-first-sequels like Fusion Frenzy. And I don't even exercise. (Ok, I did used to practice Halo II. But that was, like, II years ago, guys, really.). The Guitar Hero series (even II) is the exception. I just can't seem to get my fingers to hit the buttons when I'm strumming, or vice versa. My rhythm is always off and I can't ever seem to get a double-strum to be my friend. I am not a rocker, I do not rock out.
My first shot at the drums on Rock Band followed the exact same path. I dropped out three times and the band only just made it to the end of the song without me. But after the first song, I started to get the hang of the drums (on Easy, of course), and was really digging it. Only 87% digging it, but still. By the end of the evening, the last song I played on plastic multi-colored button guitar simulacrum was the first time I've really felt comfortable playing anything Guitar Hero related. But both Jill and I were tired and we packed it up around 10:30 or so and headed home. Just before the cops arrived. Not kidding. But that's another story.
As you know, over the last few weeks I've been hitting the caffeine like a backstop on armless amateur day at the batting cages. (84 oz of the the ol' Diet Mt. Dew again today. I didn't really want to get started, but I was uber-tired and Dan said he wouldn't give me a ride back to work from the Hy-Vee inconvenience store if I didn't get something, and it was cold out, and I like caffeine and I had my cup for a refill with me and everything. I'll quit soon, I promise. (Later I also had 24 oz of Vault Zero at Dan and Jenny's.)) Friday was no exception. At least I avoided the taurine and the sugar and the guarana in the offered Red Bull. Hurrah for a lack of aspertamed options saving me some sleep and jitteryness. I'm wigged out on caffeiene, I don't need to be any fatter on top of that.
So, sure enough, I left the party sleepy, drove sleepy, got home sleepy, went to bed sleepy, aaaannddd stayed awake until far too early in the morning, falling asleep somewhere around 1:30 or 2:00.
Now, Jill's been pretty personed out lately. Introvert time's been on the wane since November, and Christmas's recent years insistence on twisting the restful wait for the coming of the messiah into daily spend-every-waking-moment-with-people time doesn't help. On Thursday, the future's schedule loomed bleak for our heroine:
Friday night party.
Saturday morning service project at Jacob's Well.
Saturday night Angela birthday shindig.
Sunday afternoon Jones's personal shower.
Sunday night church, post-church food.
Monday costume making for her mom's friend Martha .
Monday evening dinner at Dan and Jenny's (mmm, chicken and Trivial Pursuit dominance.)
A day off Tuesday.
Then back on Wednesday afternoon to far-too-needy people calling on the phone expecting legal advice from a phone-answerer without legal training. Also, annoying file organization for people with law degrees who mystically sloughed through law school without ever learning to put some related papers for a legal case in some sort of order, seriously, any order at all, you guys.
Before I went to bed on Friday night (ok, Saturday morning) , I got sneaky. We've got one of those fancy electronic thermostats that lets you schedule temperature changes up to four times a day. It's nice to get the house back up not-freezing before you get up or before you get home from work. BUt be able to keep it down when you're asleep or not there. Not that it hasn't cost us $150 bucks a month ssince we still have terrible windows on the place, but tis' still nice. We ususally have it start getting warmer a half-hour before we get up. Warmer house means easier out-of-the-blanket excursions. And there's a vent right next to the toilet seat in the bathroom.; so toasty. Anyway, you you get a heads-up on waking time. So, Saturday morning, I set my alarm for 8:35 and set the heat to start, not at 6:30, but at 8:30. Then, I stayed in bed for an extra 15 minutes, which is my normal mode on a morning, and I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes and headed out the door. Leaving my stocking cap on and Jill still asleep. She didn't get up until 12:30. Stealth introvert assistance is go.
You heard me right: leaving my stocking cap on. See, I've got this thing. Apparently, when I was a baby Timothy, I was born in Minnesota. In the winter. The story goes that I wore a stocking cap for the first 3 or 4 months of my life. Cause his baby head was sooo cold. Aww. Sometime in high school I discovered that if I wanted a really good night's sleep, I could put a stocking cap on and zonk out like nobody's business. And man does it work. It blocks out the high tones of any noises or hums, and the pressure around my head make my eyes want to droop. I even have a raelly fancy one with a smooth interior that wicks away moisture so I don't get an irritated red sweaty forehead anymore. That night, I wasn't tired but I really wanted to get to sleep, so I doubled up and wore a hoodie AND a stocking cap. Double awesome, double comfy sleep.
I did try going without the hat on Saturday morning, really. But with the glue stuff in my hair from the previous night, I was the proverbial gorgon. (The serpentine part, not the so ugly you turn to stone part.) So, without time for a shower, and with the hair from the night that ate the blob from the black lagoon, I threw it on and hoped for the best.
While Jill's the introvert, and I'm the extreme extrovert; I practically get drunk off of people. The longer I'm in the presence of a group having a good time, the more I have to concentrate later to be able to see the moments in my memory that I know happened. Also, it gets harder to keep my mouth from running and jumping up on all the table and leaping from there up on top of the entertainment center.
Now, add to that an article of clothing that mutes sound and makes me feel warm and sleepy. There are times when I've been driving that I've almost gotten in a wreck because I was wearing a stocking cap. Had to tear it off to get home safe. Instant clarity. (By the by, the same thing happens sometimes when I've had a lot of pizza or sometimes spaghetti. The gluten gets to me. I've run three red lights now in a gluten stupor. Jill always asks me if I want to have her drive after pizza now. I usually say yes. Heaven forbid I ever eat gluten heavy-pizza at a party while wearing a hat when I've not gotten enough sleep. I'd probably end up naked, peeing in the potted tree while singing a bee-bop version of Stars and Stripes forever. Of course, I don't know anyone who has a potted tree so I would have had to acquire it somewhere else mid-party, and bring it back for that express purpose. Shudder.)
Saturday I only had the sleepiness, the hat, and the group of people to contend with. On Second Saturdays, Phillip from church organizes a group of people to go around and help people in the immediate community (spiritual and proximal) with things they need done. Sometimes we help people move, and sometimes it's yard work, and sometimes ministries need clothes sorted. This week, we were helping some people who are going to move over to the east side and work with the Hope House to fix up their houses. Tim Keel gave a message this last week about not losing your fervor, and man, did it show that people listen to that guy. We normally have about 10-15 people show. We had thirty. We had so many that we sent some people off to another project first, then spilled out of the first house leaving nine or ten people there to a second house for more projects, again leaving about ten people, and then into Steve's house where the last few of us surprised him by helping paint his servants' staircase and putting sheet rock on Lucas's ceiling, which used to be Eric's but he didn't want covered because he liked to lay in bed and look at the patterns but he's getting married next week and will have a different place to sleep.
At the meeting beforehand, where we plan and pray and sit awkwardly meeting other Jacob's Well people for the first time, they were seeing who could drive, and someone said, "I've got room for three," and without thinking (remember the hat), I said, "I've got room for six!" So I drove.
A couple of times I almost tore the hat off, but my hair was still taut and ouchy when I moved the cap. And when my head is warm, and my temples are snug, I don't wanna take that thing off. Let alone when it hurts to touch the hat. I drove fine, but I'm pretty sure that I annoyed people by going on and on about interesting facts about that part of town and Steve (who some of them got to meet later, and who told one of the stories about himself that I had told earlier and did it much better), and more things about that part of town, and Kansas City, and our search for a community house, and what community houses are in general, and about some of them in the area. Seriously, man, shut up sometimes. Don't be such a freakin' expert on everything.
I was really dragging by the time we finished lunch, and the people who rode with me in the van could tell and told me that I looked tired and we should go. I was SO sure I was going to drop into bed when I got home. But I didn't. I took off my hat and took a shower and was awake for the rest of the day. Only 48 oz of Diet Mountain Dew left over from Adam's New Year's Party, and I was golden.
I should have some sort of moral or wrap up, but I don't. Just watch out when I'm wearing a stocking cap, that's my point.
PLACEHOLDER
Yeah, yeah. No post yet. I'll get to it by midnight. Quitcher whinin'. Busy day at work. Last call for the evening: 2:34. That's hours and minutes, not minutes and seconds.
Friday, January 11, 2008
In a world filled with mirth and magic, you lose time in yourself.
It took most of the day to finish the project I mentioned in the review yesterday. I've got to say that page 4 was by far the easiest. So, should you ever do that project yourself, save that for a quick finish. But couple that with the Tri1 Rock Band Party at Nicholas and Martha's tonight, my blogging time is relatively short today.
You know how sometimes when you're driving, and you zone out and forget that you're driving, and blank out for a mile or so, and then get really scared that you could have totally just ran over a small child or a kitten in that blank-out time and you wouldn't have even known it? Getting in the groove for writing is like that. Only, there is little worry of smearing a kitten across a hundred yards of blacktop.
Actually, there is little worry of that in most zone-out situations. Like, while intently playing Jordan on Expert in Guitar Hero II, or reading a really good book, or waiting for the person on the other end of the phone to restart their computer while she goes on and on about not wanting to cancel her son's AOL screen name because it's the same as his legal name which is really good, right?
The problem with writing here at work is that when I'm not on a call, I could get a call at any time. So, as I write when not on a call, my brain pokes at me at inconsistent intervals because I could get interrupted at any time. So, concentrating is hard. Then, when I'm writing while on a call, I have trouble because, well, I am supposed to be paying some sort of attention to the person on the other end of the line. But given the nature of the software we work with, after about 20 seconds I can flip the auto-technician switch and walk them through our configuration utility without a second thought, then sending them on their merry jigging way, all the while laughing and playing a light and airy tune on the fife.
Or maybe that doesn't happen.
Oh, but it should.
But the writing isn't the problem, it's the revision. Now, I love revision. Getting in and stripping out the passive voice. Recreating stale observations into clever ones. Fixing grammar and spelling mistakes. Rewording obtuse sentences. Obliterating extraneous adverbs. A'that. But that requires even more concentration. And let's not get into the amount of concentration that fiction requires over blogging. Absurdity, sir, absurdity. [I mean, It's Saturday night at 10, and I'm going back and fixing spelling and grammar mistakes that I missed on Friday.]
So, in light of this problem, and given the time I have left before I leave today, I shall now foray into that other successful blog tactic: a bullet list of tips and tricks. So here we go!
Tips of the week:
When you have a new computer, and your job requires a particular piece of software, and the makers of that software recommend you configure your computer in a particular way to use it, CONFIGURE YOUR COMPUTER IN THE RECOMMENDED FASHION BEFORE YOU CALL TECHNICAL SUPPORT. Underline, underline, bold, italic, highlight, burn into flesh with fiery brand, carve into ancient granite monument.
Drink at least eight 8 oz. glasses of water a day and you will pee a lot.
Your favorite band = someone else's band they always thumbs-down on Pandora.
Don't chew gum and set off nuclear missiles at the same time. That's just awkward for everybody.
Aaaaaannd, that's six. I'm off. Have some good weekend.
You know how sometimes when you're driving, and you zone out and forget that you're driving, and blank out for a mile or so, and then get really scared that you could have totally just ran over a small child or a kitten in that blank-out time and you wouldn't have even known it? Getting in the groove for writing is like that. Only, there is little worry of smearing a kitten across a hundred yards of blacktop.
Actually, there is little worry of that in most zone-out situations. Like, while intently playing Jordan on Expert in Guitar Hero II, or reading a really good book, or waiting for the person on the other end of the phone to restart their computer while she goes on and on about not wanting to cancel her son's AOL screen name because it's the same as his legal name which is really good, right?
The problem with writing here at work is that when I'm not on a call, I could get a call at any time. So, as I write when not on a call, my brain pokes at me at inconsistent intervals because I could get interrupted at any time. So, concentrating is hard. Then, when I'm writing while on a call, I have trouble because, well, I am supposed to be paying some sort of attention to the person on the other end of the line. But given the nature of the software we work with, after about 20 seconds I can flip the auto-technician switch and walk them through our configuration utility without a second thought, then sending them on their merry jigging way, all the while laughing and playing a light and airy tune on the fife.
Or maybe that doesn't happen.
Oh, but it should.
But the writing isn't the problem, it's the revision. Now, I love revision. Getting in and stripping out the passive voice. Recreating stale observations into clever ones. Fixing grammar and spelling mistakes. Rewording obtuse sentences. Obliterating extraneous adverbs. A'that. But that requires even more concentration. And let's not get into the amount of concentration that fiction requires over blogging. Absurdity, sir, absurdity. [I mean, It's Saturday night at 10, and I'm going back and fixing spelling and grammar mistakes that I missed on Friday.]
So, in light of this problem, and given the time I have left before I leave today, I shall now foray into that other successful blog tactic: a bullet list of tips and tricks. So here we go!
Tips of the week:
When you have a new computer, and your job requires a particular piece of software, and the makers of that software recommend you configure your computer in a particular way to use it, CONFIGURE YOUR COMPUTER IN THE RECOMMENDED FASHION BEFORE YOU CALL TECHNICAL SUPPORT. Underline, underline, bold, italic, highlight, burn into flesh with fiery brand, carve into ancient granite monument.
Drink at least eight 8 oz. glasses of water a day and you will pee a lot.
Your favorite band = someone else's band they always thumbs-down on Pandora.
Don't chew gum and set off nuclear missiles at the same time. That's just awkward for everybody.
Aaaaaannd, that's six. I'm off. Have some good weekend.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Top eight list of short reviews of things I've done or seen recently
Every successful blog revels in numbered lists. That's where all the hits come from. Just look at the number of top-whatever lists that hit the front page of Digg every day.
Today, I join that parade. This would be longer (a full 10!), but I'm running low on energy, and while I did repeat yesterday's 84 ounces of fiasco again today (that's a 64 ounce fountain drink, followed by a 20 ounce bottle), I'm not willing to push it past that, considering the three hours of sleep I ended up with last night.
Now, this top eight list only includes recent activities that I would consider novel. For example, although I would like to review The Ultimate Sandman Volume 1, which I just finished reading, I've read it before, and therefore exclude it. Other recent review-worthy activities or experiences that do not count as novel include Miles Davis's Kind of Blue, Scorched Earth 3d, cuddling with Jill, Halo 2 as a party game, and the stocking cap-hoodie combo as a sleeping aid.
8. Borders Wi-Fi
What is it? When you go to Borders, and you have a computer, and you want to use that computer, for example, to access Pandora, for example, so you can drown out the pyramid marketing guy giving his money management PowerPoint presentation to the couple in the corner who is in financial straits and has a new baby and says they've stripped out everything unnecessary in the budget but aren't willing to give up their seventy-dollar-a-month satellite TV, or the book group in the corner discussing Kafka or whatever but who are really there to try to proselytize you for Jesus, and you can tell because they're very earnest about the objectivity of their discussion and between the philosophy they talk about small groups or other church program/politics topics, or even the group of aging English teachers who are sharing their short stories which they are trying to make feel authentic even though they've lost all perspective on normal reality being confined in a secondary education academic environment for twenty years.
Who else has experienced it? Oh, the Jill has. Believe me.
Rating? Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Review? Let's see. What's a fancy internet connection cost. On the outside? Like, a really nice one. $150 bucks a month? $200? Plus a one-time fee for a good wi-fi router; $500 for your needs. You don't need one of those monster $25k Cisco System AIR-WLC4404-100-K9. Really. You could easily make enough in sales to cover that, just from people who choose to come in to use the internet, and then buy something else when they do.
Near my house there's a place called Crave Cafe. It's a coffee house in a house, which is my favorite kind of coffee house. A little smoky, but local and homey. Good drinks. They've got free wi-fi. Dragonfly Boba Tea in the strip mall across from Target? Locally owned and operated by a family who got started on their grandmother's recipes? Free Wi-fi. Broadway Cafe? The public library? Panera? Yeah, free wi-fi. Borders' T-Mobile Hotspot? $29.99 a month. That's right. Three times as much as a low tier DSL plan from AT&T (you have to ask, they don't advertise it) just so you can sit in Borders (or Starbucks, I suppose. It's there, too.) and sip on the overpriced liquid addiction and dink around on the Gawker Media blog empire. They don't even carry Diet Mountain Dew. And it's so darn PINK.
See, this is the kind of assumption of consumer attendance that's made Union Station an embarrassing ghost town with overpriced snoot restaurants, and Sony's dalliances in rootkits and PS3 overhype that's transformed it from a bastion of Nippo-American commerce to the least trusted company since Shark and Thief Attorneys at Law, LLC. Look, Borders . . . Starbucks, I don't have to go to your cafe. Ever. Not once. You are just one of many places I could spend my time and money. One in a Legion, I might say, but that might be too harsh.
Nah. Not too harsh. Borders, you're Legion. Go live in some pigs for twenty seconds or so until you find yourself in a short stampede off a short cliff.
7. The Frontega Chicken Sandwich at Panera
What is it?
Where and when did I eat it? The Panera near 119th and Strang Line. Last night.
Rating? No complaints. Not as good as free Panera's free Wi-fi.
Review? Look at that picture. It's almost that good. Really. It's a delightful sandwich. Great combination of flavors and a'that. But can it climb out from the shadow of the brilliance that is the free wi-fi at Panera? No. The sandwich is a temporal delight. The wi-fi is a lifestyle improvement. I had some soup in a bread bowl too, last night. Hadn't spent any points yet. Totally acceptable. Broccoli and cheese. Good, but not as good as free wi-fi.
6. Trilby: The Art of
Theft
What is it? An adventure style game with an emphasis on gameplay, made in the Adventure Game System by Yatzee, the guy who does those hysterical Zero Punctuation video game reviews, based on his previous series of true adventure games for the same system which star the same guy.
How did I hear about it? Yatzee's funny. He has a website. The website has games. Ta-da.
Rat
in g?
Review? The story is top notch, as you expect from Yatzee. It's engrossing. There are twists, and dang is his pacing good. It always is. Every game I've played of his so far lays the story out just as it needs to be. And, overall, the gameplay is solid. Of course, you'd expect that since he said that the whole point of making this game was to flex his gameplay chops. As far as the game itself goes, I like it. A full hat rating worth, as you can see above.
But as the 8th heist will show you, even a hat rating isn't perfect. Close, but not quite. As you progress in the game, your protagonist can buy abilities. Which is completely absurd considering he's a master thief already, but hey. It's a game. I'll go with that. The problem is, you can't ever earn enough points to buy all the skills. Not even half of them. You can go back and redo levels for more points, but it only increases your total by the difference between what you got this time and the next best time. Admittedly, some of the abilities are crap, but your first time through, you don't know that. In fact, the ones that give you more alarms and tazers look great. But they're useless in the long run since you don't want to use any tazers or get any alarms as you try to improve your scores. Heck, by the time you know what's worthwhile and what's not, you're almost through.
Also, the sound really sucks on almost every system I play it on but my new laptop (see below). But that's AGS, not Yatzee. And the sound freakouts make lockpicking way easier. So that's nice. I'm a better lockpicker on my work computer than anyone I see in speed runs on YouTube.
But here's what you need to know. It's FUN. Especially going back though levels once you've earned better skills. You should play it. Right now. Come back to number 5 when you've beat it.
5. This project at work that really ought to be done by Friday, but since I'm blogging all the time, will get done on Friday.
What is it? We have this page of information on the intranet that documents all the different clients we have here at work. It's a huge spreadsheet that gives you contact information, website addresses, and specific configuration information. It's a beast of a website, and takes forever to load, and we use it on almost every call. The problem is, it's updated by our boss, who is a really busy guy, and as part of the end of the year clean-up we do, he assigned Phil to make sure certain information was correct. This information is hidden in a variety of places in our software, and to get it all verified, takes a substantial number of steps. Phil went ahead and sorted the spreadsheet, and organized it, and printed it out so he could set up to knock out as quick as he could. Problem is, he's got the same sit-at-a-desk-and-wait-for-people-to-call job that I've got. We don't have time for projects if we're busy. So some days he could potentially get tons done, but most days, not much. So I volunteered to help. I got half, he got half.
Rating? Best in show. I mean, it's the only substantive project I've had here. And it's nice to be busy. Also, worst in show.
Review? If someone asks you to do this project, say no. It's not bad, per se, it's just a time consumer. I could be surfing the net, or blogging, or doing a merry Frodo-esqe jig. Instead, I'm sliding a piece of paper across a printed spreadsheet and delving though slow menus to get info on what I need to know so I can highlight what needs to be changed. Once I get into it, it's pretty quick, but there are SO many clients. So, meh.
4. Our router at home.
What is it? It's our wired router. I don't remember what his serial number is, but that's a good pic there on the left. We connect to the cable modem and then to the internet through him. He's got a firewall, and UPnP, which makes torrenting easier.
Rating: -thbbbt-
Review: This daddy-o used to be cool. Yeah, every now and then he'd flake out when I was playing Halo 2 online, but he's been a real smooth cat otherwise. Swell, upstanding gent; kept his hair short and his pants long. But then we got a new cable modem, and he hasn't been the same since. Twenty-three skidoo, if you know what I mean. Every time the new cable modem sends a new dynamic IP address, the router goes mental. He doesn't let you by to the cable modem. He disappears from the network list and you can't even go straight to the IP address to log into him. Even unplugging him and plugging him back in doesn't work. We had to unplug him, and the modem, plug the modem back in, wait for it to flash the 'ready' signal, and only then could we plug him back in and our blessed internet would return. Not only that, whenever I sign on to Windows Live Messenger on the laptop (see below) it disconnects me from the internet.
The other night, when I couldn't sleep (like that ever happens . . . sadface), I looked online for some help, finally. Now we can get him up and about a lot easier, just by depressing a recessed button on the back. But that resets the password, which means I have to go back in and change it for security purposes. But an hour later, he just wigs out again and I've got to reset him again with the button. Thank goodness he's confided the location of that button like I'm his own personal Dr Crusher, or we'd be out of luck.
Sometime in the near future, a mysterious, nigh-ethereal stranger will be dropping in, giving us our own wi-fi at home, but in the meantime, we'll deal with this schlob and his poor work ethic.
3. When Jill said, "I haven't seen blood like that since Soylent Green"
What is it? Last night, in reference to the glistening red glop in the new Johnny Depp feature film Sweeney Todd, Jill said the above.
Where were we? Driving home from Borders (see above) last night.
Rating? Full blood drops, across the board, all categories.
Review. Funniest thing I've heard all week. Best reference of the year.
2. Juno
What is it? A movie. It's got an IMDB. Like all movies do these days. Wonders never cease, eh? It's like there's an informational beam of magical glowing energy flowing from mystical tubes that run below the ground in steam tunnels. Hurray internet.
Who did I see it with? Jill, Amanda, Juliet, Jeremy F, Brett, Katie, uh . . . some other people? I don't remember
When with? Like, last week when Steve was still out of town.
Rating? On a scale of one to ten, I give this movie three thumbs up.
Review? High school that looks like a real high school, teenagers that act like teenagers, parents that act like parents, hifalutin vocabulary in a natural conversational flow, fresh voices, honest characters, emotional depth: aaaahhhhhh, yeah. Also, It's Brett Parker's favorite movie now (Is there higher praise?). So good it's worth seeing thrice.
Now, Eric didn't like it, and neither did Jeremy Ford. But they're flat wrong. They did like it. Deep down, they were so overwhelmed with joy and happiness at the delightful characters and fresh storytelling, they had to deny their true feelings to be able to cope with the awesomeness. Like a fourth quarter senior in high school with a crush on that really cool, down-to-earth student teacher. It's only four years, man. Just because you can't act on it, that doesn't mean your feelings aren't real. Buck up, sport. Ok, they're not not real, you are in high school, which is inherently myopic. Get over yourself. You've seen Rushmore. She's out of your league. Grow up, man. Don't be that guy.
Wait, what?
1. My New Laptop
What is it?
get Nero Free, or ANYTHING, really*)
Trend Micro PC-cillin Internet Security, English, 15-Month Subscription (BALEETED. Installed AVG Free and Spybot Search and Destroy)
How did I acquire it?
Very generous family members who realized that I would never, ever get something like this for myself, so they gave me a huge down payment for Christmas and my birthday.
Rating? 
Review?
Well, in short, it rules. Like a potentate. Of a small island nation. Good for typing, good for connecting via wireless internet (Given a good location. See above); its speed is nice and Vista is pretty and runs smooth. The webcam is fun. Although, right now, the home button you can see in the picture above takes me to a fancy flash ad for the computer itself. Which is kind of lame. I can't imagine anyone wanting any more advertisement for a thing they've already purchased. Like this morning, on the way to work when I turned on the radio to hear if there was an accident, and then turned it off because Steven St. John was trying to sell my a Time Warner cable package that I had already rejected in full and taken just the internet portion of. Am I the only person who thinks advertisement is cast a bit too wide of a swath these days? I already own the product. Let me alone.
Back to the laptop. I wish I had more accessories, like a bluetooth mouse and a thing that sets off heat-seeking missiles at the click of a mouse. But those'll come in time. Oh, yes. Or not. I'm a lousy consumer and tend to think that if I don't have it already, I probably don't need it. It's almost anti-American, I know.
Also, now that I can write anywhere I can pull the laptop out, I've written more, even though I'm mostly writing in places I could have before.
Anyway, thanks, familial types.
There's the list. I left off Tim Keel's book Intuitive Leadership, and the office that's two doors down from the corner office in the vacant part of the building here at work. Such is life.
Today, I join that parade. This would be longer (a full 10!), but I'm running low on energy, and while I did repeat yesterday's 84 ounces of fiasco again today (that's a 64 ounce fountain drink, followed by a 20 ounce bottle), I'm not willing to push it past that, considering the three hours of sleep I ended up with last night.
Now, this top eight list only includes recent activities that I would consider novel. For example, although I would like to review The Ultimate Sandman Volume 1, which I just finished reading, I've read it before, and therefore exclude it. Other recent review-worthy activities or experiences that do not count as novel include Miles Davis's Kind of Blue, Scorched Earth 3d, cuddling with Jill, Halo 2 as a party game, and the stocking cap-hoodie combo as a sleeping aid.
8. Borders Wi-Fi
What is it? When you go to Borders, and you have a computer, and you want to use that computer, for example, to access Pandora, for example, so you can drown out the pyramid marketing guy giving his money management PowerPoint presentation to the couple in the corner who is in financial straits and has a new baby and says they've stripped out everything unnecessary in the budget but aren't willing to give up their seventy-dollar-a-month satellite TV, or the book group in the corner discussing Kafka or whatever but who are really there to try to proselytize you for Jesus, and you can tell because they're very earnest about the objectivity of their discussion and between the philosophy they talk about small groups or other church program/politics topics, or even the group of aging English teachers who are sharing their short stories which they are trying to make feel authentic even though they've lost all perspective on normal reality being confined in a secondary education academic environment for twenty years.
Who else has experienced it? Oh, the Jill has. Believe me.
Rating? Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Review? Let's see. What's a fancy internet connection cost. On the outside? Like, a really nice one. $150 bucks a month? $200? Plus a one-time fee for a good wi-fi router; $500 for your needs. You don't need one of those monster $25k Cisco System AIR-WLC4404-100-K9. Really. You could easily make enough in sales to cover that, just from people who choose to come in to use the internet, and then buy something else when they do.
Near my house there's a place called Crave Cafe. It's a coffee house in a house, which is my favorite kind of coffee house. A little smoky, but local and homey. Good drinks. They've got free wi-fi. Dragonfly Boba Tea in the strip mall across from Target? Locally owned and operated by a family who got started on their grandmother's recipes? Free Wi-fi. Broadway Cafe? The public library? Panera? Yeah, free wi-fi. Borders' T-Mobile Hotspot? $29.99 a month. That's right. Three times as much as a low tier DSL plan from AT&T (you have to ask, they don't advertise it) just so you can sit in Borders (or Starbucks, I suppose. It's there, too.) and sip on the overpriced liquid addiction and dink around on the Gawker Media blog empire. They don't even carry Diet Mountain Dew. And it's so darn PINK.
See, this is the kind of assumption of consumer attendance that's made Union Station an embarrassing ghost town with overpriced snoot restaurants, and Sony's dalliances in rootkits and PS3 overhype that's transformed it from a bastion of Nippo-American commerce to the least trusted company since Shark and Thief Attorneys at Law, LLC. Look, Borders . . . Starbucks, I don't have to go to your cafe. Ever. Not once. You are just one of many places I could spend my time and money. One in a Legion, I might say, but that might be too harsh.
Nah. Not too harsh. Borders, you're Legion. Go live in some pigs for twenty seconds or so until you find yourself in a short stampede off a short cliff.
7. The Frontega Chicken Sandwich at Panera
What is it?
Where and when did I eat it? The Panera near 119th and Strang Line. Last night.
Rating? No complaints. Not as good as free Panera's free Wi-fi.
Review? Look at that picture. It's almost that good. Really. It's a delightful sandwich. Great combination of flavors and a'that. But can it climb out from the shadow of the brilliance that is the free wi-fi at Panera? No. The sandwich is a temporal delight. The wi-fi is a lifestyle improvement. I had some soup in a bread bowl too, last night. Hadn't spent any points yet. Totally acceptable. Broccoli and cheese. Good, but not as good as free wi-fi.
6. Trilby: The Art of
TheftWhat is it? An adventure style game with an emphasis on gameplay, made in the Adventure Game System by Yatzee, the guy who does those hysterical Zero Punctuation video game reviews, based on his previous series of true adventure games for the same system which star the same guy.
How did I hear about it? Yatzee's funny. He has a website. The website has games. Ta-da.
Rat
Review? The story is top notch, as you expect from Yatzee. It's engrossing. There are twists, and dang is his pacing good. It always is. Every game I've played of his so far lays the story out just as it needs to be. And, overall, the gameplay is solid. Of course, you'd expect that since he said that the whole point of making this game was to flex his gameplay chops. As far as the game itself goes, I like it. A full hat rating worth, as you can see above.
But as the 8th heist will show you, even a hat rating isn't perfect. Close, but not quite. As you progress in the game, your protagonist can buy abilities. Which is completely absurd considering he's a master thief already, but hey. It's a game. I'll go with that. The problem is, you can't ever earn enough points to buy all the skills. Not even half of them. You can go back and redo levels for more points, but it only increases your total by the difference between what you got this time and the next best time. Admittedly, some of the abilities are crap, but your first time through, you don't know that. In fact, the ones that give you more alarms and tazers look great. But they're useless in the long run since you don't want to use any tazers or get any alarms as you try to improve your scores. Heck, by the time you know what's worthwhile and what's not, you're almost through.
Also, the sound really sucks on almost every system I play it on but my new laptop (see below). But that's AGS, not Yatzee. And the sound freakouts make lockpicking way easier. So that's nice. I'm a better lockpicker on my work computer than anyone I see in speed runs on YouTube.
But here's what you need to know. It's FUN. Especially going back though levels once you've earned better skills. You should play it. Right now. Come back to number 5 when you've beat it.
5. This project at work that really ought to be done by Friday, but since I'm blogging all the time, will get done on Friday.
What is it? We have this page of information on the intranet that documents all the different clients we have here at work. It's a huge spreadsheet that gives you contact information, website addresses, and specific configuration information. It's a beast of a website, and takes forever to load, and we use it on almost every call. The problem is, it's updated by our boss, who is a really busy guy, and as part of the end of the year clean-up we do, he assigned Phil to make sure certain information was correct. This information is hidden in a variety of places in our software, and to get it all verified, takes a substantial number of steps. Phil went ahead and sorted the spreadsheet, and organized it, and printed it out so he could set up to knock out as quick as he could. Problem is, he's got the same sit-at-a-desk-and-wait-for-people-to-call job that I've got. We don't have time for projects if we're busy. So some days he could potentially get tons done, but most days, not much. So I volunteered to help. I got half, he got half.Rating? Best in show. I mean, it's the only substantive project I've had here. And it's nice to be busy. Also, worst in show.
Review? If someone asks you to do this project, say no. It's not bad, per se, it's just a time consumer. I could be surfing the net, or blogging, or doing a merry Frodo-esqe jig. Instead, I'm sliding a piece of paper across a printed spreadsheet and delving though slow menus to get info on what I need to know so I can highlight what needs to be changed. Once I get into it, it's pretty quick, but there are SO many clients. So, meh.
What is it? It's our wired router. I don't remember what his serial number is, but that's a good pic there on the left. We connect to the cable modem and then to the internet through him. He's got a firewall, and UPnP, which makes torrenting easier.Rating: -thbbbt-
Review: This daddy-o used to be cool. Yeah, every now and then he'd flake out when I was playing Halo 2 online, but he's been a real smooth cat otherwise. Swell, upstanding gent; kept his hair short and his pants long. But then we got a new cable modem, and he hasn't been the same since. Twenty-three skidoo, if you know what I mean. Every time the new cable modem sends a new dynamic IP address, the router goes mental. He doesn't let you by to the cable modem. He disappears from the network list and you can't even go straight to the IP address to log into him. Even unplugging him and plugging him back in doesn't work. We had to unplug him, and the modem, plug the modem back in, wait for it to flash the 'ready' signal, and only then could we plug him back in and our blessed internet would return. Not only that, whenever I sign on to Windows Live Messenger on the laptop (see below) it disconnects me from the internet.
The other night, when I couldn't sleep (like that ever happens . . . sadface), I looked online for some help, finally. Now we can get him up and about a lot easier, just by depressing a recessed button on the back. But that resets the password, which means I have to go back in and change it for security purposes. But an hour later, he just wigs out again and I've got to reset him again with the button. Thank goodness he's confided the location of that button like I'm his own personal Dr Crusher, or we'd be out of luck.
Sometime in the near future, a mysterious, nigh-ethereal stranger will be dropping in, giving us our own wi-fi at home, but in the meantime, we'll deal with this schlob and his poor work ethic.
3. When Jill said, "I haven't seen blood like that since Soylent Green"
What is it? Last night, in reference to the glistening red glop in the new Johnny Depp feature film Sweeney Todd, Jill said the above.
Where were we? Driving home from Borders (see above) last night.
Rating?
Review. Funniest thing I've heard all week. Best reference of the year.
2. Juno
What is it? A movie. It's got an IMDB. Like all movies do these days. Wonders never cease, eh? It's like there's an informational beam of magical glowing energy flowing from mystical tubes that run below the ground in steam tunnels. Hurray internet.Who did I see it with? Jill, Amanda, Juliet, Jeremy F, Brett, Katie, uh . . . some other people? I don't remember
When with? Like, last week when Steve was still out of town.
Rating? On a scale of one to ten, I give this movie three thumbs up.
Review? High school that looks like a real high school, teenagers that act like teenagers, parents that act like parents, hifalutin vocabulary in a natural conversational flow, fresh voices, honest characters, emotional depth: aaaahhhhhh, yeah. Also, It's Brett Parker's favorite movie now (Is there higher praise?). So good it's worth seeing thrice.
Now, Eric didn't like it, and neither did Jeremy Ford. But they're flat wrong. They did like it. Deep down, they were so overwhelmed with joy and happiness at the delightful characters and fresh storytelling, they had to deny their true feelings to be able to cope with the awesomeness. Like a fourth quarter senior in high school with a crush on that really cool, down-to-earth student teacher. It's only four years, man. Just because you can't act on it, that doesn't mean your feelings aren't real. Buck up, sport. Ok, they're not not real, you are in high school, which is inherently myopic. Get over yourself. You've seen Rushmore. She's out of your league. Grow up, man. Don't be that guy.
Wait, what?
1. My New Laptop
What is it?Inspiron 1520 (This means nothing to anyone, anywhere, ever)
Intel Core 2 Duo T5250 1.5GHz/667Mhz (runs The Art of Theft like a clockwork man)
Jet Black Color with Matte Finish (It was an extra twenty bucks for any other color, which would be glossy. And I type well in black, so . . . . Plus, a matte finish is good for stickers and decals should I trot down that road.)
High Resolution, glossy widescreen 15.4 inch display (1440x900) (It was extra to get to that resolution, but I thought it was worth it considering I've already installed the GIMP.)
128MB NVIDIA GeForce 8400M (Any more video RAM, and it would have been at least an extra $150)
160G 5400RPM SATA Hard Drive (Now full of bees, I mean, music.)
Microsoft Windows Vista Home Premium Edition (As far as I can tell, Premium just means transparent title bars. But basic seemed a little too, well . . . sucky.)
8X DVD+/-RW Dual Layer Drive (I can pirate anything I want now. Thanks, technology)
Integrated High Definition Audio 2.0 (Sounds fine to me. I've got some cheap-o headphones (not the new earbuds) and Miles Davis comes in as loud and clear as you'd expect from a non-remastered recording.)
WLAN (802.11a/g) Mini Card (Great range so far. Except at Borders. See above.)
Integrated 2.0M Pixel Webcam (For talking to Juliet. And others. If our router wasn't so screwy. See above.)
Dell Wireless 355 Bluetooth Mod. (No use for this yet. But the possibilities are , well, limited. But cool. Wireless headphones, mouse, connect to a stereo wirelessly, that kind of thing.)
ADOBE ACROBAT READER 8.1 (BALEETED. Installed Foxit.)
Roxio Creator Basic (Not yet BALLETED. *goes toTrend Micro PC-cillin Internet Security, English, 15-Month Subscription (BALEETED. Installed AVG Free and Spybot Search and Destroy)
How did I acquire it?
Very generous family members who realized that I would never, ever get something like this for myself, so they gave me a huge down payment for Christmas and my birthday.
Rating?
Review?
Well, in short, it rules. Like a potentate. Of a small island nation. Good for typing, good for connecting via wireless internet (Given a good location. See above); its speed is nice and Vista is pretty and runs smooth. The webcam is fun. Although, right now, the home button you can see in the picture above takes me to a fancy flash ad for the computer itself. Which is kind of lame. I can't imagine anyone wanting any more advertisement for a thing they've already purchased. Like this morning, on the way to work when I turned on the radio to hear if there was an accident, and then turned it off because Steven St. John was trying to sell my a Time Warner cable package that I had already rejected in full and taken just the internet portion of. Am I the only person who thinks advertisement is cast a bit too wide of a swath these days? I already own the product. Let me alone.
Back to the laptop. I wish I had more accessories, like a bluetooth mouse and a thing that sets off heat-seeking missiles at the click of a mouse. But those'll come in time. Oh, yes. Or not. I'm a lousy consumer and tend to think that if I don't have it already, I probably don't need it. It's almost anti-American, I know.
Also, now that I can write anywhere I can pull the laptop out, I've written more, even though I'm mostly writing in places I could have before.
Anyway, thanks, familial types.
There's the list. I left off Tim Keel's book Intuitive Leadership, and the office that's two doors down from the corner office in the vacant part of the building here at work. Such is life.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Start wearing purple for me now. You look good in royal tones.
I got one C over the course my entire college career that stretched from my Junior year of high school College Now classes all the way through graduation back in ought two. Whippersnapper. Here's a fancy list from the unofficial transcript of the classes I took that semester. See if you can guess which one it was:
Econ? With its dulleasy math, its middling political slant, and boring, far-too-skippable lectures? No. How about public speaking with its stringent quality standards beating against my mumbling too-fast speaking? Not that either. Either of the Junior level English classes? Again, you'd guess wrong. Did you guess the OTHER 101 class. The Geography one? Point for you, sir or madam. My one in the whole domain and freaking range of my collegiate experience was Dr. Ellen Hansen's World. Regional. Geography. 101. How, you might ask, did I fail such an grease-easy class as World Regional Geography? (And I do mean fail. If you don't get at least a B in a 101 class, you failed it. Boo-yah.) Geography! When I play Trivial Pursuit: Genus I, it's blue, blue, blue, all the way to the pie pieces, and then to the center for supreme victory. The answer is simple. I disappointed my professor's sense of my own personal nobilityon my final project for the class.
Notice I didn't say that I did poorly on my final assignment. I mean, I did. It was a horrible performance. Nor did I not turn it in, or not follow the directions. I got in all the requirements. Problem was, Ellen thought I possessed the capacity for more socially conscious final project, so she failed me. Now mind you, World Regional Geography was a total blow-off class. Mostly memorization of world capitals and a' that, papers graded by skimming for key words, etc. And given my penchant for blowing off things I find boring, I was really depending on my final project to keep me up in the B/B- range. The assignment wasn't hard. A C would have coasted me through the end gates of the B. All I had to do was 'plan a detailed itinerary and budget for a two week, out of country trip' that I would take myself. The assignment sheet and the class conversation gave the impression she was expecting a trip to Ireland or the Maldives or something.
Given the busyness of the semester, I took the lazy route and went for satire. (For those you you not yet in college, believe me, satire is WAY easier than actual work. Keep that in mind. Tip #1 for college students: Satire = less work.) Anyway, I spent $35,000 in Vancouver. And it wasn't like I was simply having an extravagant time, I wasted money on this trip for the laugh. I had a limo sit outside the hotel twenty-four hours a day while I drove a rented Ferrari around town. I trashed hotel rooms, gave expensive champagne to winos, bought more dinner than I needed and then left it at the restaurants, that kind of thing. Watched a lot of PPV movies in the hotel room. In hindsight, I could have easily spent a lot more, gotten the total up to a few million for the 14 days, but I was young, and poor, and didn't think about how many other take-home trinkets I could have bought along the way, cars and diamonds. and the like. Maybe a house to live in for each weekend. Really blinged the thing out. But it was still pretty amusing.
But when it came down to it, I didn't work very hard on the project. Some trip days were repeats of others. I estimated some things that I should have been able to look up, etc. So I expected a C on the assignment. B if I was lucky. Like I said, it was a 101 class, and I thought it was pretty funny. I had I put it off until the last minute because I had other stuff to do, like getting a B in Holcomb's American Ethnic Literature class, which I pulled off in some miraculous whirlwind of paper writing which should knock me halfway to sainthood after I die. (You can testify, you read it here. I speak the truth.) But that was a real class. 100 points a semester. One thing wrong on a quiz? 1% point less for the semester. Bad grammar in a paper? Mispelling? 1% off for the semester. His class was hardcore. And I 'B'ed that sucker like a champ. No, two champs.
At Emporia State there was a group of liberal/progressive/radical/whatever professors who formed an anti-war group that had some clever name not clever enough for me to remember off the top of my head seven years after. They liked to set up booths, and make statements in the school paper denouncing things. You know, things that really affect change. Comfortably radical, I'd call it. I mean, they professored at Emporia State University. I love that place, but can you really expect to be taken seriously as a progressive when you're in the upper 10% of the incomes in your city? Some of the members included the above-mentioned Dr. Holcomb, the Gamer's Guild sponsor Dr. Toadvine, and Dr. Ellen Hansen herself. Oh! And the professor that influenced Jill to quit French. Which led to her getting another major. Which led to her going to Avila. Which led to, let's say, rough waters in the marriage, among other unpleasantries.
So, when I my assignment came back with the fattest red F I've ever seen, I shouldn't have been surprised that I didn't get the F for the poor proofreading, or the lack of research, or the lousy formatting, or the copied days in week two. Though those obviously contributed. The note on the last page of the project said I got an F because I was wasting my vacations, she thought higher of me, could have joined the peace corp or something. That's right. I got an F on a final project at an accredited university because my hypothetical assignment self didn't join the Peace Corp.
But, like I said, the real reason I got that F was that I didn't devote enough attention or work to it because I was working on my 30 point (re: 30% of the grade) final paper for Holcomb's American Ethnic Literature class. This is the class where the professor told me during the first week that he'd make a radical out of me by the end of the semester. I don't think there's any better way of entrenching a young, college conservative than telling him that he's going to be a radical in three months. I told Dr. Holcomb that I already was a radical. See what I did there? Turned it all around like he didn't expect. Clever, no? Hmm?
The statistics say that going to college turns you more liberal (and more spiritual, for that matter). I got more conservative. The team of obnoxious professors prompted it. Listening to Rush Limbaugh fed it. Reading National Review Online solidified it. More pro war, more anti-tax, more small government. And as I got more 'conservative,' I got more Republican. I've voted for Dubya twice, and I don't regret it. I'm still registered Republican. I have a hard time trusting any Democrat politicians, and I tend to trust a Republican one more. Thats where I come from.
Which brings us to New Hampshire and Iowa and Michigan and politics in general. And how I'm not that into politics anymore. Jill and I did give fifty bucks to the Ron Paul campaign on the anniversary of the Boston Tea Party in December. First time either of us had ever donated to any political campaign ever. I might donate again. I think his ideas are the best direction to take our presidency. He's been consistent for a long time in politics as a constitutionalist. He's principled, which almost makes him not a politician.
But as much as I want Paul to win the nomination, and then want him to win the whole thing, I'm getting to the point where I almost hope he doesn't. I'm not interested in voting for any of the other candidates. I care about Paul; I could care less about the others. (Well, I like Fred Thompson, but that's as an actor that makes Sam Jackson's manliness look like Pauly Shore's.) And with the Pauline exception I just mentioned, I just don't care that much about politics anymore. With Paul out of the way, I could pay attention to all the more important things than how our country is run.
I think part of the reason that I've classified myself as a conservative, and later a libertarian is that I have faith in Jesus. Which sounds cheesy I know, but it comes from that fact that that Jesus got executed, and he wanted to stop it so much beforehand that he dropped into a serious physiological freak out. But then, he went through with the whole ordeal anyway because he thought it was the right thing to do. Even if it meant him getting the crap kicked out of him and then him dying. All of which, I think means that as a person who tries to follow him, I should do what I think is right, even if I don't know if the ends will turn out ok. Even if I think the ends look pretty bleak.
I read a great post on Digg once where a guy said that the main difference between rightists and leftists is that rightists are system-oriented, and leftists are results-oriented. A hardcore rightist doesn't really care what the results are if the system is set up the way it 'should be.' And a leftist doesn't really care what system there is as long as it gets the results that there 'should be.' I think I'm in that first camp in my thinking. I'm not saying it's the right answer or anything, or that Christians have to follow it for sure. It's just where I am.
Jesus said that the realm under his control isn't even in the paradigms of the world around us. It's something else entirely. The poor sit at the head of the economic table, and the uncool win the popularity contests, and the ugly smelly girl gets to marry the king. Most people I know don't swing that way. I don't most of the time. I just get glimpses of that realm now and then. If it were up to my instinct, Darwin would get his fingers down into sociology and relationships, and the strong would kick the weak down to where they look like they belong. But down deeper than that, I've got a deeper instinct, like a legend that's become myth, that tells me that the story isn't the strong kicking the weak, but the weak giving themselves up to save the undeserving strong who kicked them
Which is why I kind of hope the election goes sour for my favorite candidate. Because even though he seems like a guy who wants to do less with the power of government, I want to live a life where the power structure is all backwards and looks awkward. And I think that if Ron Paul stays in, I'm going to care too much about him fixing my problems then me doing something about the problems I see around me. Like people hurting who I can't figure out how to breech the subject with. And how I want to pray more but I'm too self-absorbed. And how I can't seem to keep from getting drunk and silly off my extrovertedness at parties. And the fact that it's almost three in the morning and I need to go to sleep but I'm still not sleepy but I'm tired. Guess who drank 84 oz of Diet Mountain Dew today. F- for that choice. Seriously.
EC 101C BASIC ECONOMICS |
SP 101F PUBLIC SPEAKING |
EG 365 AMERICAN ETHNIC LITERATURE |
R EG 380 FICTION WRITING |
GE 101MZ WORLD REGIONAL GEOGRAPHY |
Notice I didn't say that I did poorly on my final assignment. I mean, I did. It was a horrible performance. Nor did I not turn it in, or not follow the directions. I got in all the requirements. Problem was, Ellen thought I possessed the capacity for more socially conscious final project, so she failed me. Now mind you, World Regional Geography was a total blow-off class. Mostly memorization of world capitals and a' that, papers graded by skimming for key words, etc. And given my penchant for blowing off things I find boring, I was really depending on my final project to keep me up in the B/B- range. The assignment wasn't hard. A C would have coasted me through the end gates of the B. All I had to do was 'plan a detailed itinerary and budget for a two week, out of country trip' that I would take myself. The assignment sheet and the class conversation gave the impression she was expecting a trip to Ireland or the Maldives or something.
Given the busyness of the semester, I took the lazy route and went for satire. (For those you you not yet in college, believe me, satire is WAY easier than actual work. Keep that in mind. Tip #1 for college students: Satire = less work.) Anyway, I spent $35,000 in Vancouver. And it wasn't like I was simply having an extravagant time, I wasted money on this trip for the laugh. I had a limo sit outside the hotel twenty-four hours a day while I drove a rented Ferrari around town. I trashed hotel rooms, gave expensive champagne to winos, bought more dinner than I needed and then left it at the restaurants, that kind of thing. Watched a lot of PPV movies in the hotel room. In hindsight, I could have easily spent a lot more, gotten the total up to a few million for the 14 days, but I was young, and poor, and didn't think about how many other take-home trinkets I could have bought along the way, cars and diamonds. and the like. Maybe a house to live in for each weekend. Really blinged the thing out. But it was still pretty amusing.
But when it came down to it, I didn't work very hard on the project. Some trip days were repeats of others. I estimated some things that I should have been able to look up, etc. So I expected a C on the assignment. B if I was lucky. Like I said, it was a 101 class, and I thought it was pretty funny. I had I put it off until the last minute because I had other stuff to do, like getting a B in Holcomb's American Ethnic Literature class, which I pulled off in some miraculous whirlwind of paper writing which should knock me halfway to sainthood after I die. (You can testify, you read it here. I speak the truth.) But that was a real class. 100 points a semester. One thing wrong on a quiz? 1% point less for the semester. Bad grammar in a paper? Mispelling? 1% off for the semester. His class was hardcore. And I 'B'ed that sucker like a champ. No, two champs.
At Emporia State there was a group of liberal/progressive/radical/whatever professors who formed an anti-war group that had some clever name not clever enough for me to remember off the top of my head seven years after. They liked to set up booths, and make statements in the school paper denouncing things. You know, things that really affect change. Comfortably radical, I'd call it. I mean, they professored at Emporia State University. I love that place, but can you really expect to be taken seriously as a progressive when you're in the upper 10% of the incomes in your city? Some of the members included the above-mentioned Dr. Holcomb, the Gamer's Guild sponsor Dr. Toadvine, and Dr. Ellen Hansen herself. Oh! And the professor that influenced Jill to quit French. Which led to her getting another major. Which led to her going to Avila. Which led to, let's say, rough waters in the marriage, among other unpleasantries.
So, when I my assignment came back with the fattest red F I've ever seen, I shouldn't have been surprised that I didn't get the F for the poor proofreading, or the lack of research, or the lousy formatting, or the copied days in week two. Though those obviously contributed. The note on the last page of the project said I got an F because I was wasting my vacations, she thought higher of me, could have joined the peace corp or something. That's right. I got an F on a final project at an accredited university because my hypothetical assignment self didn't join the Peace Corp.
But, like I said, the real reason I got that F was that I didn't devote enough attention or work to it because I was working on my 30 point (re: 30% of the grade) final paper for Holcomb's American Ethnic Literature class. This is the class where the professor told me during the first week that he'd make a radical out of me by the end of the semester. I don't think there's any better way of entrenching a young, college conservative than telling him that he's going to be a radical in three months. I told Dr. Holcomb that I already was a radical. See what I did there? Turned it all around like he didn't expect. Clever, no? Hmm?
The statistics say that going to college turns you more liberal (and more spiritual, for that matter). I got more conservative. The team of obnoxious professors prompted it. Listening to Rush Limbaugh fed it. Reading National Review Online solidified it. More pro war, more anti-tax, more small government. And as I got more 'conservative,' I got more Republican. I've voted for Dubya twice, and I don't regret it. I'm still registered Republican. I have a hard time trusting any Democrat politicians, and I tend to trust a Republican one more. Thats where I come from.
Which brings us to New Hampshire and Iowa and Michigan and politics in general. And how I'm not that into politics anymore. Jill and I did give fifty bucks to the Ron Paul campaign on the anniversary of the Boston Tea Party in December. First time either of us had ever donated to any political campaign ever. I might donate again. I think his ideas are the best direction to take our presidency. He's been consistent for a long time in politics as a constitutionalist. He's principled, which almost makes him not a politician.
But as much as I want Paul to win the nomination, and then want him to win the whole thing, I'm getting to the point where I almost hope he doesn't. I'm not interested in voting for any of the other candidates. I care about Paul; I could care less about the others. (Well, I like Fred Thompson, but that's as an actor that makes Sam Jackson's manliness look like Pauly Shore's.) And with the Pauline exception I just mentioned, I just don't care that much about politics anymore. With Paul out of the way, I could pay attention to all the more important things than how our country is run.
I think part of the reason that I've classified myself as a conservative, and later a libertarian is that I have faith in Jesus. Which sounds cheesy I know, but it comes from that fact that that Jesus got executed, and he wanted to stop it so much beforehand that he dropped into a serious physiological freak out. But then, he went through with the whole ordeal anyway because he thought it was the right thing to do. Even if it meant him getting the crap kicked out of him and then him dying. All of which, I think means that as a person who tries to follow him, I should do what I think is right, even if I don't know if the ends will turn out ok. Even if I think the ends look pretty bleak.
I read a great post on Digg once where a guy said that the main difference between rightists and leftists is that rightists are system-oriented, and leftists are results-oriented. A hardcore rightist doesn't really care what the results are if the system is set up the way it 'should be.' And a leftist doesn't really care what system there is as long as it gets the results that there 'should be.' I think I'm in that first camp in my thinking. I'm not saying it's the right answer or anything, or that Christians have to follow it for sure. It's just where I am.
Jesus said that the realm under his control isn't even in the paradigms of the world around us. It's something else entirely. The poor sit at the head of the economic table, and the uncool win the popularity contests, and the ugly smelly girl gets to marry the king. Most people I know don't swing that way. I don't most of the time. I just get glimpses of that realm now and then. If it were up to my instinct, Darwin would get his fingers down into sociology and relationships, and the strong would kick the weak down to where they look like they belong. But down deeper than that, I've got a deeper instinct, like a legend that's become myth, that tells me that the story isn't the strong kicking the weak, but the weak giving themselves up to save the undeserving strong who kicked them
Which is why I kind of hope the election goes sour for my favorite candidate. Because even though he seems like a guy who wants to do less with the power of government, I want to live a life where the power structure is all backwards and looks awkward. And I think that if Ron Paul stays in, I'm going to care too much about him fixing my problems then me doing something about the problems I see around me. Like people hurting who I can't figure out how to breech the subject with. And how I want to pray more but I'm too self-absorbed. And how I can't seem to keep from getting drunk and silly off my extrovertedness at parties. And the fact that it's almost three in the morning and I need to go to sleep but I'm still not sleepy but I'm tired. Guess who drank 84 oz of Diet Mountain Dew today. F- for that choice. Seriously.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
If an occupied cell has two or three neighbors, the organism survives to the next generation.
At James's birthday party on Sunday, one of his old youth pastors asked me what I do for a living. There were, actually, two of his old youth pastors there along with about 20 other close personal friends of our dear own Mr. Parker. We sat in the back room of Chubby's along a long set of table table that grew more tables like mitosis o as people showed up. Chubby's is a place I can hardly recommend to anyone on Weight Watchers, but I can hardily recommend to all those whose weight is not currently held under suspicion, like mine is. Especially if you're hungry at three in the morning, and you want something a little less sketchy than Poncho's over on Main. Which, although delicious, is not my first, chubby's choice for pre-pre-dawn meals.
I had already decided how to answer the question should someone ask. I asked him if he meant what I do for living, or what I do for a job, because they're different things. For a living, I spend time with good friends, and eat meals, and hang out with homeless people, and love my wife. I read books, and comic books, and web sites, and I blog (now), and play in the rain. I work with the youth at church, and lead (ish) a small group, and am part of a smaller group of guys who are trying to encourage each other by speaking the truth, as hard as that is when you're good friends and you want to enjoy each others' company. But, once a day I head off to Olathe for 9 hours or so and do tech support for real estate software.
I used to be a teacher for a living. Like the Spice (without the cool eye color change) it permeated my whole life. I talk about the caffeine affecting my sleep cycles back then, but the teaching was just as much a part of that as anything else. A normal, good life should have a rhythm. Nights and days and rest and hard work. Live in the seasons and let them reverse the pathetic fallacy on you. But teaching for me was a full-revved engine twenty-four hours a day, all the days of the week, even on breaks. At a gaming session I once drank one and a half shots of AMP after having consumed three or four cans of the Diet Mt. Dew (seeing any trends yet?) and my heart started racing, and I felt seriously up for a couple of hours. The tail end of that feeling, when you're out of activity but still full of energy was what teaching was for me most of the time.
I taught English. Now, the NEA isn't going to acknowledge this, but teaching different subjects amounts to entirely different jobs. Believe me, I subbed for three years. I've seen it first hand. Gym teaching is pretty easy, it's the platform our school system has set up for coaches to actually be able to do what they really care about, which is pour their lives into young people. Something the typical school day is antithetical to. Math teaching is mostly setting up good assignments and then going over them. English is a different beat entirely. I don't want to dwell too much on that time period, but English teachers are tasked with teaching the building blocks of all the other subjects: reading, writing, speaking and listening. And on top of that, they're supposed to teach literature, too. Of course, for a good high school English teacher, the literature is only the delightful and rich tool to teach the other, more important, building blocks of learning. At Turner, every teacher was supposed to be teaching reading and writing (along with problem solving) in their curriculum. You can imagine how well that went over. So it ended up falling to the English teachers, as you'd expect. One short writing assignment is a minimum six hours of grading. And that doesn't get spread out over the whole school. You can't toss a writing assignment at a teacher's assistant like you can a multiple choice test. It was just me.
It was my first year, and I was dealing with learning to be an authority figure, and be organized for other people, and keep my energy up. And on top of that, grading (six hours for a single good assignment, remember), and plan five lectures a day.
It was my life.
More than living it and breathing it and tasting it in my food, it was who I was. I taught for a living. I loved it. I love the students. Like I said when I quit, I didn't dislike any of them. Even the annoying ones. I taught in my sleep. When I bought things I thought about how it would affect teaching.
I trained the new guy this afternoon just like I did on Friday. I took my lunch off to organize my new laptop. This morning, read all the blogs and comics I wanted, searched all the aggragating sites I wanted, played a game I wanted to, talked with Steve about the estate tax and a little about Ron Paul for a couple hours, worked on the book that I've been too lazy to write, and still had time to write this this afternoon. And I still took forty-one calls today. I get to see Nicholas and Dan here and laugh with them (and Rick Roll them). Mondays I have lunch with my dad. That's my job now. You can read Dan's Tech Terrors if you want a taste of the details, but for me, mostly, this job it's a necessary interruption to living, which really gets going when I leave.
It comes down to identity. Teaching used to be it. Performance, maybe. Succeeding. I like to think I'm giving that up. Learning that it's who I know, and how well, not what I do that matters. Being willing to follow Jesus to any weird places he might take me. Palces where I may or may not teach.
I don't know which life is richer. But I know which one affords me rest. And time with friends. And evenings with Jill where nothing happens at all. But it's also the life where I make up not-so-clever answers to the "whatya do?" question so I can spring them on people who think my job is who I am anymore.
I had already decided how to answer the question should someone ask. I asked him if he meant what I do for living, or what I do for a job, because they're different things. For a living, I spend time with good friends, and eat meals, and hang out with homeless people, and love my wife. I read books, and comic books, and web sites, and I blog (now), and play in the rain. I work with the youth at church, and lead (ish) a small group, and am part of a smaller group of guys who are trying to encourage each other by speaking the truth, as hard as that is when you're good friends and you want to enjoy each others' company. But, once a day I head off to Olathe for 9 hours or so and do tech support for real estate software.
I used to be a teacher for a living. Like the Spice (without the cool eye color change) it permeated my whole life. I talk about the caffeine affecting my sleep cycles back then, but the teaching was just as much a part of that as anything else. A normal, good life should have a rhythm. Nights and days and rest and hard work. Live in the seasons and let them reverse the pathetic fallacy on you. But teaching for me was a full-revved engine twenty-four hours a day, all the days of the week, even on breaks. At a gaming session I once drank one and a half shots of AMP after having consumed three or four cans of the Diet Mt. Dew (seeing any trends yet?) and my heart started racing, and I felt seriously up for a couple of hours. The tail end of that feeling, when you're out of activity but still full of energy was what teaching was for me most of the time.
I taught English. Now, the NEA isn't going to acknowledge this, but teaching different subjects amounts to entirely different jobs. Believe me, I subbed for three years. I've seen it first hand. Gym teaching is pretty easy, it's the platform our school system has set up for coaches to actually be able to do what they really care about, which is pour their lives into young people. Something the typical school day is antithetical to. Math teaching is mostly setting up good assignments and then going over them. English is a different beat entirely. I don't want to dwell too much on that time period, but English teachers are tasked with teaching the building blocks of all the other subjects: reading, writing, speaking and listening. And on top of that, they're supposed to teach literature, too. Of course, for a good high school English teacher, the literature is only the delightful and rich tool to teach the other, more important, building blocks of learning. At Turner, every teacher was supposed to be teaching reading and writing (along with problem solving) in their curriculum. You can imagine how well that went over. So it ended up falling to the English teachers, as you'd expect. One short writing assignment is a minimum six hours of grading. And that doesn't get spread out over the whole school. You can't toss a writing assignment at a teacher's assistant like you can a multiple choice test. It was just me.
It was my first year, and I was dealing with learning to be an authority figure, and be organized for other people, and keep my energy up. And on top of that, grading (six hours for a single good assignment, remember), and plan five lectures a day.
It was my life.
More than living it and breathing it and tasting it in my food, it was who I was. I taught for a living. I loved it. I love the students. Like I said when I quit, I didn't dislike any of them. Even the annoying ones. I taught in my sleep. When I bought things I thought about how it would affect teaching.
I trained the new guy this afternoon just like I did on Friday. I took my lunch off to organize my new laptop. This morning, read all the blogs and comics I wanted, searched all the aggragating sites I wanted, played a game I wanted to, talked with Steve about the estate tax and a little about Ron Paul for a couple hours, worked on the book that I've been too lazy to write, and still had time to write this this afternoon. And I still took forty-one calls today. I get to see Nicholas and Dan here and laugh with them (and Rick Roll them). Mondays I have lunch with my dad. That's my job now. You can read Dan's Tech Terrors if you want a taste of the details, but for me, mostly, this job it's a necessary interruption to living, which really gets going when I leave.
It comes down to identity. Teaching used to be it. Performance, maybe. Succeeding. I like to think I'm giving that up. Learning that it's who I know, and how well, not what I do that matters. Being willing to follow Jesus to any weird places he might take me. Palces where I may or may not teach.
I don't know which life is richer. But I know which one affords me rest. And time with friends. And evenings with Jill where nothing happens at all. But it's also the life where I make up not-so-clever answers to the "whatya do?" question so I can spring them on people who think my job is who I am anymore.
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