think\vs/thought

Matt's Butt Interview: Or, Matt Sits Down With Butt

2011-04-18T22:30:00.007-04:00

Not too long ago, a friend of mine, Matt Hawkins, dedicated his life to harassing Brent Butt (of Corner Gas/Hiccups fame) on Twitter until he would agree to do an interview with him. Well, Matt's a very persistent guy, and Brent finally caved (I'm pretty sure Matt hooked his wife the same way).

After months of Tweets and the seemingly inevitable threat of a restraining order, here is their interview:

Well, Fancy That...

2011-02-24T23:15:00.004-05:00

In a strange but fitting turn of events, I "stumbled upon" this site today: The 9 Best Sesame Street Guest Appearances.

(The two clips with Ricky Gervais and the one with Adam Sandler are my favourites, but they're all good/interesting in their own way.)

The End of Productivity

2011-02-14T15:26:00.005-05:00

StumbleUpon may just be the greatest Internet invention ever. Yes, better than Facebook, better than e-mail, better than online banking. Better, even, than Google.

A wild, indefensible claim? A wreckless and misleading argument? An excessive use of exaggeration? Maybe. But how else would I have discovered these nuggets of electronic gold?

Write Rhymes -- Write your text and find a rhyme. Don't be vexed, it's sublime! BAM! (Rhymes with HAM!)
Oscar the Grouch: His Tragic Story
Nutrigrain: Best/Most Bizzare Commercial Ever?
The Scale of the Universe
Do Nothing For 2 Minutes (Trust me -- it's harder than it seems.)
Bedtime Calculator (Find out the best time to sleep.)
Tranquilize the Sheep (Tests your reaction speed -- and makes you very jumpy.)
BreathingEarth (CO2, Birth, and Death rates by country.)

You should sign up. Really, you should. It's pretty much amazing.

Brought to You By the Letter "A"-wesome

2011-02-08T17:05:00.013-05:00

I recently purchased what I consider to be one of the finest published works of the last, oh, 100 years. Quite a claim, you say. I need not defend that statement. The pictures speak for themselves.

(I wondered what had happened to Bruno. And now I know. RIP Puppet Garbage Man.)

(Yeah. There's a whole two-page spread about Tina Fey. Just when you think the book couldn't get any more amazing.)

(Oh, and they even answer that age old question:)

Total cost for this masterpiece? $12. Chapters.
Do it.

Bed Pan(ned)

2011-01-31T14:12:00.005-05:00

Back in August--in the year of our Lord 2010--I mentioned that I had had my first short story published. Well, 5 months (and a whole 4 posts) later, I wanted to let you (yes, you, the Anonymous Abyss that is the Internet) know that I've had my second short story published, by the fine folks at Mapple Tree Literary Supplement. Considering the caliber of work they publish, I feel like a preschooler whose childish splatters of paint earn a knowing pat on the head and a place on the kitchen fridge. It's an honour. It's also humbling.

The story, "Bed Pan(ned)," is what some might call "Creative Non-Fiction." And by "some," I mean me, and the people who created the catergories for the journal. Others might be inclined to challenge the designation, taking issue with such words & syntax as "Creative" or "Non" or "Fiction" or "-" or "quotation marks." They should direct their concerns to my lawyer. And by "lawyer," I mean God Almighty.

For Want of a Decision

2011-01-26T17:06:00.002-05:00

I saw my life branching out before me like a green fig-tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off-beat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

(Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar)

#worstdate

2011-01-22T13:22:00.000-05:00

Talking Kitchen Appliances

2011-01-19T21:52:00.005-05:00

The other day my girlfriend used the expression "The pot calling the kettle black." I had never heard it before. She was aghast. Apparently it's very common. All the kids are using it these days.

So, I'm conducting an informal, non-scientific poll: have you (yes, you) heard the expression before, or is it new to you too? I need to know where I stand.

[footnote]

2011-01-14T14:52:00.010-05:00

I found a fantastic site today that I thought would be worth sharing (and considering how rarely I "share" on here, I think that should count for something--right?). It's called [footnote]. Basically, they make 25-minute episodes/shows, and they're shown on WGN (it's a cable channel -- I'm not sure if I get it though, and anyway, they play at 2am).

Rather than try to explain what they do myself, I'll defer to them:

Every week on Footnote, we come up with a different subject and then we let different people tell their stories about that subject, and we keep those stories as creative and honest as we can. Each episode is a little like a documentary, but just documenting people's stories isn't enough for us. We want to explore these stories, with all the characters and emotions involved; stories that matter to us and make us see the world in a different way. They might be sad or funny, they might make us mad. They might give us hope. Mostly, stories that are, in the deepest sense, true.

And, even though we go to a lot of trouble to find rare and unique stories, we want stories that expose the things that tie us all together. The little things under the surface. The tiny truths that we sometimes forget to notice. The important things. The footnotes.

("About Footnote")

Really, it's great stuff. You can watch episodes online, and their first three are up. I just finished watching their latest, "NSFW," which is all about porn -- a porn star, an ex-porn producer, Craig Gross (the pastor from xxxchurch.com, who is (in)famous for his "Jesus Loves Porn Stars" Bibles/shirts and going to Porn Conventions, among other things), and even a study about the effects of porn. (The whole episode is fantastic, but I think the stories from the porn producer got to me the most--just incredibly sad.)

They have amazing production quality, great stories, and are impressively meaningful. And look at that, no need to pay. The docu-addict in me rejoices.

[footnote]

Under the Overgrowth

2010-08-28T01:23:00.004-04:00

Well, it's that time again. You know, when I say something irrelevant, pretend to be interested, post a link, and tell you to leave me alone. Yeah, that time.

But I do have something to say, something to post, something to share. (No. Really. I do.)

I had a short story published! Thank God for small miracles, as they say.

If you want to read it (you know, if you have literally nothing else to do, at all), you can find it here, at Maple Tree Literary Supplement.

The Swing O' Life

2010-06-29T01:31:00.008-04:00

I was talking to my mom tonight, and she reminded me about this post I'd written who-knows-how-long-ago. I had completely forgotten about it, so while she was talking I kept thinking, "I'm pretty sure that wasn't me."

Turns out it was. Many moons ago, back when I was much smarter and certainly better looking, I had another blog, which I lovingly christened Multum-in-Parvo (Latin for "Much in little" -- which I liked to think summarized my petite physicality and gigantic ego). Apparently I wrote a few posts that actually went beyond the usual gibberish I've been spewing out on this blog. Such is life.

Anyway. I found the post--written back in May of 2005--and it seemed like an appropriate reminder to myself. How about that?

~ * ~

The Swing O' Life

In my last post I mentioned how much I loved to swing (on the swings). I also said I like to go for walks. Well, the other night while I was trying to waste some time I did both. I like walking at night because it's usually quiet, and it's nice and cool, and it just feels very peaceful -- good thinking time. And cigar-smoking time. MmMm.

Just before I got back to my house I stopped and sat on the swings for a little while and thought about life, yadda yadda (all of my introspection must be making some of you sick by now). And I was thinking about why it is I like to swing so much. See, the thing about swinging is that it's something that requires work, but the pay off is visible, it's noticeable. Once you're on the swing, you have to put in the effort to get yourself moving -- but once you do, you get to experience the reward. I think that is life in a super-condensed form. It seems to me that anything worth having in life will require effort, hard work. Sometimes the effect may not be obvious, it won't be visible, for a little while, but it's there nonetheless.

I think the swing set is a good description of the hard change of going from kid to adult (stick with me here). When you're a kid, you want to be pushed. You don't want to have to pump your legs, do the work, get yourself moving. You don't want to put in the effort -- you just want the result, to feel yourself swinging high and fast. When I worked on the Reserve in Fort Nelson, a lot of times we'd take the kids to the park for an afternoon, and the kids always wanted me to push them on the swing. But there was only one of me, and I could only push so many so fast, so some kids just had to wait. I tried to teach them how to get the swing going on their own. I even showed them. And I think a couple actually learned. Yet even after all that, none of them would do it -- they just wanted me to push them. Kids are like that. They don't want to put in the effort, to work for anything -- they want dad to do it for them. And believe me, that isn't a bad thing. That's a part of growing up (both for the parent and the kid).

There's an age, though, where dad isn't there to push. No one is there to do the work for you. And you have to decide, is it worth the effort to get the swing going or not? I think that moment of decision is a line that has to be crossed to move from kid to adult. Awhile ago I wrote about how I still felt like a kid, and how would I know when I wasn't? I quoted 1 Corinthians 13:11:

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

I think the moment you decide that you're going to do the work yourself, you're going to stop relying on someone else to push the swing, that's when you begin to put "childish ways behind [you]".

I think the swings give a lot of other parallels to life. I was thinking about how long it feels like since I've sat on the swings with another person (other than the kids at work). The swings can be a solitary place or a place shared with someone else. In life, I think there's going to be a lot of time where it needs to be solitary. Being alone is, I think, a basic requirement (a temporary one, yes, but important) to learn self-identity and learning to know God and how He sees you and growing into that adult mindset that you had to embrace when you began moving the swing yourself. But somewhere down the line, the swing beside you is going to be occupied by someone else. Remember when you were a kid and if you were swinging beside someone and happened to get in the same rhythm as them everyone would say you were "in the bathtub together"? (Or was that just me?!) Well, in a non-sick way (though technically, if you're married, it could mean...oh never mind) I think it's pretty true -- that other person is going to be swinging right beside you. And I think that's what love really is -- it's sharing the same rhythm, being right beside someone else. And when they can't swing anymore, when they don't have the energy or they're hurt or confused or broken, you get off your swing and go give them a push. I think that is how God wanted marriage to be.

Ok, I gotta go to work now. Feel free to chew on this or spit it out.

People Pleaser

2010-05-26T02:37:00.019-04:00

Recently people have made disparaging remarks about me and my lack of blog posts. Some have gone so far as to call me vicious names, such as "Inconsistent" - "Lacker of Content" - "Potentially Mediocre," and even "Crap-face" (frankly I'm not actually sure Geoff knows my real name). Being the people pleaser that I am, I feel I must do something. And how!

Yeah, I could post another funny video, or the solution to a thousand year old math problem that has driven mathematicians to madness, or a poem that would break the hardest of the hard and the emotionally-bankruptest of the emotionally-bankrupt.

I had planned to do all three. But then I noticed that almost a year ago I had posted the trailers of several movies I was looking forward to seeing during the summer. So I closed the video, deleted the math, and trashed the poem, and decided to write up my reflections to those movies, on this the [almost] one year anniversary.

Let's begin:

1. The Road
Let's just get it out there: everyone hates when someone says, "Well, the book was better." Those pretentious sons-of-pretentious-mothers, we know it was better. It always is. Providing you like to read. Because if you don't, even the greatest works of literature would suck compared to the film adaptation. I'm not one of those people. It's not that I've read every book that's been made into a movie, and know definitively that this maxim holds true and should never be challenged. It's just that, well, books are better than movies. And I love movies, so that's saying a lot about books.

Anyway. I digress. The Road was an intense movie. It was a heavy movie. You will not feel happy and buoyant and ready to tackle third world debt upon leaving the theatre (or turning off the DVD, at this point). You might even feel like you were punched in the face. Truth is, I thought it was solid. It was relatively faithful to the book, as far these things go (though not nearly as faithful as, say, No Country For Old Men, another Cormac McCarthy novel-turned-movie -- that was almost word for word). Because it was so heavy, I actually think I prefer the book on those grounds alone. I remember having to put the book down a lot and just let the scenes soak in. It was bleak, as bleak if not more bleak than the movie, but one of McCarthy's brilliant strengths is his ability to break through this foreboding darkness with little but powerful rays of light. Every book of his that I've read shares that characteristic, of black-black-black and the light that punctures it. (Remind anyone of a verse? "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" --John 1:5.) Another reason to prefer the book: McCarthy's writing is pure poetry. A movie just can't capture that, no matter how technically accurate it is.

"You have to keep carrying the fire."
—The Road

2. District 9
Without a doubt, one of my favourite movies of 2009. I thought it was original, smart, well-executed, and very well made for such a [relatively] small budget and unknown writer/director.

As an aside, I took a screenwriting class with the same teacher who taught Neill Blomkamp (the writer/director) at Vancouver Film School. Not that there was any pressure or anything...

3. The Boat That Rocked
Actually, I still haven't seen it. I heard it wasn't all that great, but it's got Nick Frost in it (Shaun of the Dead/Hot Fuzz/Spaced), so I'm holding out hope.

4. Where the Wild Things Are
Mmm. I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I didn't have any real attachment to the book when I was a kid, so I wasn't interested in the movie for sentimental reasons. I just thought it looked great. I loved that the Jim Henson Company made the monsters and they weren't made in cursed *shudder* CGI. And I really like Catherine Keener (she won me over as Harper Lee in Capote). So those two aspects of the movie I looked forward to, and ended up really liking.

On the other hand, I couldn't get into the psychotic kid/monster kingdom/semi-overly-serious tone. By the end, though, I was enjoying it more than I was during the first hour or so. I just can't say I was all that crazy about it. Maybe it would take another watch to appreciate it, but the problem is, I don't want to watch it again. So there you go.

5. Public Enemies
Definitely not what I was expecting, but also, in a way, a typical Michael Mann movie. He uses the same filming technique as in Collateral and Miami Vice. I used to hate it (when I first saw Collateral I thought it was a joke), but have kind of fallen in love with it since. In the hands of Mann, at least. I'm not sure too many directors could pull it off. But he has a knack for realism, and the filming style does that. Especially in this movie, it feels true-to-life most of the time. Even his bullets sound like actual bullets, not Hollywood bullets recorded with pots and pans in a sound studio.

The movie was a lot slower paced than I thought it would be, and I think that's what threw most people off. That's the problem with trailers in general, I guess -- they're a marketing ploy to bring in the most people possible, not to bring in the right audience.

6. Moon
Another of my Top 5 movies of 2009. It was just incredible. I've always liked Sam Rockwell, and in this case, he just proved his ability to act. So good. What else can I say? (This is also another win for non-CGI based movies -- they went old-school and relied on physical models, miniatures, so everything would look real. They succeeded.)

7. Terminator Salvation
Horrible. I'm not even going to waste time explaining why it blew chunks of suckiness. Suffice to say, Christian Bale is no longer one of my favourite actors.

8. The Brother's Bloom
I fell asleep a few times while watching it, so I'm not really sure what happened or if it was any good. A few people I've talked to loved it. It's probably worth seeing again, this time from start to finish. What I did see, though, looked potentially-good. Maybe it was just too long. Or, you know, I was just too tired.

-- ~ --

And there you have it. My thoughts. My post. My return to Content. I hope you're happy.

For this summer, there is really only ONE movie I am completely and unabashedly excited for. And I know you're all crazy-excited for it too.

NEWS FLASH! UPDATE! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

2010-05-25T20:43:00.006-04:00

There are currently three ways to find this blog. One is the old http://thinkversusthought.blogspot.com. That's ridiculously long, and frankly, I can never remember if it's "versus" or "vs".

The other two ways are new domains I bought. Both take you here. Why two? Because I couldn't decide which I liked better. Sue me.

So you can try either kyledotcom.com (easy, right?) or kylerhymeswith.com (which happens to coincide with my Twitter account, http://twitter.com/kylerhymeswith -- Branding: it's marketing 101, people).

Whenever I have the time (before my children are born? fingers crossed!) I'll be revamping (no, that has nothing to do with vampires--sorry Team Edward) this place to include both my cute little stories and my epic and brilliant works of literature that will stun the Internet and suburban housewives alike. Or be largely ignored.

A Trailer for Every Academy Award Winning Movie Ever

2010-03-06T16:26:00.002-05:00

I put this on my Facebook, and that should be enough, but frankly I love it so much I have to post it here too. Just because I can.

A Trailer for Every Academy Award Winning Movie Ever -- powered by Cracked.com

5 Minutes and 51 Seconds of Bliss

2010-02-13T05:08:00.005-05:00

Here's a fun fact: the first real "indie" CD I ever bought was by this band, In Medias Res, a long time ago, back when I was in Bible College. They're from Vancouver area, and one of my friends knew them and loved them and shared them with me.

As far as I know, they've only made one album. And that was back in early 2000-some-time-or-rather. Maybe 2001. I don't know. It matters only because it's a crime they haven't released another yet. I mean, a crime against humanity. Yeah. That's right. The entire human race suffers for their lack of albums.

Anyway. I just heard they're finishing up a new one soon, and they released this song/video around Christmas. I am in love with it.

Tonight I Am New from IN MEDIAS RES on Vimeo.

The Deal

2009-08-13T19:57:00.001-04:00

My friend Matt made this with his kids. It makes me laugh. I demand you watch it and laugh too. Do it.

The Deal by Matthew A. Hawkins from Matthew Hawkins on Vimeo.

Head Swap! Or...Murder?!

2009-07-22T22:38:00.005-04:00

A man after my own heart.

(Or cick here.)

Remarkable Things

2009-07-06T01:36:00.014-04:00

I'm not exactly sure why, but I tend to feel very unmoved by/unimpressed with/dispassionate about a lot of modern technology. I do realize, too, that I'm in the minority. A lot of people find the latest technological wonders mind-blowingly awesome.

Maybe it's because a lot of it is just common now. The amazing-ness of it all has worn off with its increasing normality. Don't get me wrong -- I think a lot of the modern advancements in gadgetry are fun. iPhones are amusing; video cameras that can only be spotted under a microscope are interesting; cars that talk to you are pretty smart and GPS is pretty helpful and shiny computers that turn on when they sense your unique body odour are pretty clever.

But on the other hand--so what? Really. There isn't anything deeply fantastic or unique or surprising about any of it. There's nothing epic involved, nothing that really shakes a person up. In fact, if you asked me, the fact that people will stand in line for a week (or pay thousands of dollars to get a spot in that same lineup) to be the first ones to buy an iPhone is much more remarkable than the phone itself.

That being said, there's a lot that does impress me. Here are five such remarkable things:

1. Human beings have been to the moon.
Yeah. The Moon. People--creatures like you and me--have physically left our planet, defied gravity and the atmosphere and everything mankind is familiar with, and visited another celestial body.

PEOPLE. LEFT. EARTH.

They went into SPACE.

The Big Black Nothingness.

Where no other human beings are.

They built a metal container, put some fuel in it, and went and landed on the FREAKING MOON and walked around. That's messed up. Think about it. I mean, really think about that. LSD couldn't possibly blow my mind more than that does.

2. Language.
Written and verbal. No matter how many times I think about it, I'm always astounded by the sheer feat of it. We take it for granted, of course, because it's so natural to us. But it wasn't always. It had to be taught to us. We learned it, this system of communication, and use it to make sense of the world.

It usually takes overhearing a conversation in another language to really make me appreciate the fantastic nature of it. When I hear two people speaking, say, Russian or Cantonese or 12th Century Latin, it sounds like gibberish to me. It's just sound. The same thing when I see it written -- there are shapes, arranged in a certain order, with some obvious structure and repetition, but it means nothing to me. Yet to someone else, who knows the language, who was taught it, it makes absolute sense. There's meaning in what I only know as gibberish.

Which makes me think seriously about the language I know. The sounds that come from my mouth (usually) make sense to others who know how to interpret and assign meaning to those sounds. Equally true with words -- you can read what I'm writing and understand it (hopefully) because you learned to assign meaning to the letters, to these otherwise arbitrary shapes, and to the combinations of said shapes, and to the overall structure of their arrangement. I can communicate with you because we both memorized and internalized an invented system of meaning. Unbelievable.

3. Flight (this ties in loosely with number 1).
As in airplanes. My friend Geoff always mentions this one whenever a plane passes overhead, but he's right. This metal tube--inside of which can sit anywhere from one to a few hundred human beings--is moving through air, with no physical connection to or support from the earth.

I mean, if I jump in the air, I immediately fall back down. I know, then, that air can't support me. But an airplane flips me the middle finger and proceeds to sail merrily through the air, not a care in the bloody world. And it weighs thousands and thousands of pounds. Up there. Floating on air. The same substance which I have already demonstrated cannot or will not carry my own weight. Call it science if you will, but I call it sorcery.

4. Taste buds.
I think taste is fantastically strange. There's really no practical reason for it, as far as I can tell. I mean, it seems like the only reason we have it is for the sake of pleasure. The problem is, if we only ate what tasted pleasurable, we'd all be 700 pounds and have an average life span of 12 years. Granted, some people derive pleasure from such abominations as brussels sprouts or--shudder--broccoli. But most people at least have some aversion to healthy foods, foods our bodies need, because our sense of taste is connected to our brains, and somewhere in the exchange of information our bodies scream in utter revulsion at what we've put inside our mouths. Or on the other hand, we take a bite out of a piece of pie and our taste buds send hot, embarrassingly sensational signals to our brains, which resound with a hearty thumbs up at the utter bliss bestowed upon them. Bliss or misery, all because of these attention-seeking receptors on our tongues.

5. The internet.
I don't think I really need to say much about this, because obviously we're all aware of how crazy it is, that I can, say, write this here in B.C. and Pavlov in the Ukraine can read it seconds later (assuming Pavlov can read English--but even if he can't, somewhere on the internet is a translation program that can solve the problem). But I can still remember life before the internet, so it seems that much more crazy to consider how big a part of our lives it is right now in light of its relative youth. I even remember the first thing I ever looked up on the internet: Toy Story. Come to think of it, that movie was downright impressive too.

The Dumbest Generation

2009-06-22T21:18:00.006-04:00

I read a book recently called "The Dumbest Generation" by Mark Bauerlein. It was essentially about the decline in reading among teenagers and young adults, and the subsequent decline in, well, smartness. It's been awhile since a single book made me feel so many different things: incredulity, fear (for teenagers specifically but also society in general), anger, conviction, guilt, and even inspiration.

He spends a lot of time talking about where exactly the shift away from books is moving/has moved -- towards visual media, the internet, social networking, and any number of related distractions. And one of the most interesting arguments is that these media, especially social networking among teenagers, creates what he calls "a generational cocoon," a sort of perpetual adolescence. They spend so much time invested in it that they lose connection with older generations, with a world that exists outside of and beyond themselves, and ultimately with what really matters. And, in the end, it stunts their growth. In his words: "the minds of the young plateau at 18" (pg. 10).

Yet while I was reading the book, I kept wondering about what it meant to Christianity. If it's true, as he suggests, that modern culture--and teenagers especially--are becoming so entrenched in a system of multitasking and noise, flashing images and brilliant, blinding distraction, to the point that sitting in silence and reading a book is aggravating and impossible -- well, what affect does that have on a faith that requires silence, that demands being quiet before God and listening, reading and studying?

He spends most of the end of the book discussing why, exactly, being "intelligent" actually matters, why spending time reading, being quiet, being able to follow a argument from Point A to Point B without getting lost in the middle has merit. And it was at that point that I really saw a connection to Christianity, to the need for thought and understanding as compliments--foundations--to faith. Even though the book is targeted towards society in general, there were a surprising number of moments where it was as if he were talking to the Church.

Here's one such example that I think more Christians need to take into consideration:

Insularity is unhealthy. It gives insiders false pictures of the world and overconfidence in their opinions. It consoles them on all sides with compliant reflection. But the comforts of belonging don't prepare them to leave the group, to enter the marketplace of ideas and defeat adversaries with the weapons of the intellect, not the devices of group standing, party membership, accreditation, and inside information. However intelligent they are, people who think and act within their niche avoid the irritating presence of ideological foes, but they also forgo one of the preconditions of learning: hearing the other side. Hearing them, that is, in earnest and positive versions, not through the lens of people who don't endorse them. They develop their own positions, tautly and intricately, but can't imagine others'. Again, in the words of John Stuart Mill: "They have never thrown themselves into the mental position of those who think differently from them." A paradoxical effect sets in. The more secure they feel, the more limited their horizons and the more parochial their outlook.

--Mark Bauerlein, The Dumbest Generation, pg. 221-22

2009-06-20T06:25:00.001-04:00

You must change your life.

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

Sequentially Yours

2009-06-10T12:48:00.012-04:00

1. I love wind. The feel of it on my face, my skin, swirling around me and pulling and pushing me all at once. If, on a hot day, a choice had to be made between air conditioning or wind, and gas mileage wasn't a factor, I would choose wind without hesitation. As it is, I don't have air conditioning, so I choose wind by default. But still. I love wind. And yes, my gas mileage sucks.

2. I saw Terminator Salvation. It was super lame.

3. A quote I have chewed on and found tasty and true:

"Perhaps...it is a healthy process in the life story of humanity for older generations to berate the younger, for young and old to relate in a vigorous competitive dialectic, with the energy and optimism of youth vying against the wisdom and realism of elders in a fruitful check of one another's worst tendencies."

(Mark Bauerlein, The Dumbest Generation)

4. I don't like group projects. Really, I don't like group projects that involve a "group paper." I don't understand why teachers insist on assigning them. Don't they understand that people write differently? How do they expect a group of 4 or 5 people to submit one consistent, well-written paper? Because I'll tell you what happens: one person writes the whole thing and everyone gets credit. Or, just as likely, they all share the blame.

I'm in such a group, and the overall project is made up of three smaller "group papers" and then a bigger, final one. Unfortunately my group consists of two members who don't like to talk and one member who is both unreasonably strong-willed and -- to put it mildly -- a moron. In his wisdom, he continually "edits" my work, removing any semblance of sense and structure, and then submits it behind my back, before I've had the chance to salvage what was originally perfectly fine. I swear, if I get a bad mark on the final because of him, I'm going to graffiti his house with as many grammatically-correct unpleasantries as I can before the coppers show up.

5. I finally got around to watching the movie Once. Sweet Peas and Pie, it was good. Let's just say if that movie was a woman, I'd be a father by now.

No, I have no idea what that means either.

6. I've mentioned my Tim Horton's drive-thru troubles before, but I think they warrant another mention, if only because I just went through another minor episode of verbal jousting with an ever-bright Timmies employee. For some reason, this particular Tim Horton's near my house can never seem to comprehend what I'm saying.

Here's what I order: a large coffee, with two cream and two sweetener. Now, I've tried ordering it several ways, hoping one might be easier or clearer than another. But it never seems to matter.

Example:

I say, "Hi, can I have a large double-double--with sweetner?"
They return, "A large double-double, and, sorry, what?"
I answer, carefully articulating each syllable, "Sweetener. A large double-double with sweetener."
They say, "So a large double-double with extra sweetener?"

Yes. Obviously. Because that makes sense.

The best I can do, I've found, is to just ask for "a large coffee with two cream and two sweetener." But of course, they still have trouble with the second "two," thinking I said "three." I have no idea how they can hear the first "two" but mishear the second "two."

One guy gave me a black coffee and when I tried to return it, he looked confused and said, "But you asked for no cream and no sweetener." I may mumble occasionally, I'll admit, but I don't think it's as bad as that, is it?

If there was ever a good reason to cut back on the coffee consumption, it's hard-of-hearing drive-thru tellers.

7. I feel old. I'm 26. Is it normal to feel old at this age?

A case study:

A few weeks ago I went to Edmonton with some friends who were working at a Youth Convention being held there. There were a lot of people in the arena, 16,000 or so. Half of the conference was devoted to concerts, and the other half to talks. We sat backstage for the whole thing, recording the sessions.

Anyway, I wore ear plugs during the concerts. That might not seem unreasonable, and it isn't. And that's just it: it's completely reasonable -- after all, I don't want to lose my hearing. But if that isn't an old person thing to think, I don't know what is. Even worse, though, was falling asleep in my chair during one of the concerts. I'm almost ashamed to admit it.

I feel like I have an obligation to go out and buy an Italian car and dye my hair.

8. I'm finally going to be getting my motorcycle license this summer. That thought just made me pee myself a little. Yeah, I'm that happy. Deal with it.

9. I'm continually comforted by the fact that no one I have ever met, in my entire life, has any real clue what they're doing. Most people pretend they do; some don't even bother. A few have even deluded themselves into thinking that, no, no, they know what they're doing. They don't. I think that calls for a group hug.

10. I'm cursed with the innate ability to unintentionally make very inappropriate comments in social situations. I've been considering compiling them into some sort of Definitive Guide to Repel Those Around You and Bring Shame to Your Family's Name. I'm not sure what the market is like for that sort of thing, though.

11. A favourite joke of mine:

Q: What do you call an animal with two wives?

A: A cheetah!

Get it? Because, like, "cheetah" sounds like "cheater," which is was what you'd call someone who was messing around on his wife...? You know what I mean? Get it? It's funny right? Haha...ha...*cough*

12. Failblog makes me laugh everytime. Ah, sweet stupidity, sweet laughter.

Cinematic Lust

2009-05-14T01:16:00.000-04:00

Tonight I thought I'd post a few trailers for upcoming movies this year that I am [metaphorically] peeing myself to see. Itsa gonna be a gooda year, methinks.

The Road
(October 16)

District 9
(August 14)

The Boat That Rocked
(August 28)

Where the Wild Things Are
(October 16)

Public Enemies
(July 1)

Moon
(June 12)

Terminator Salvation
(May 21)

The Brothers Bloom
(May 29)

What happens to a dream deferred?

2009-05-13T04:27:00.003-04:00

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

("Harlem"/Langston Hughes)

The Gospel According to Facebook

2009-04-10T22:05:00.002-04:00

This amused me. Some of it's a bit cheesy, some of it's really funny.

Facebook Passion

every thought a Thought of You

2009-04-10T04:12:00.007-04:00

One of my all-time favourite bands (they're somewhere near the top in my Top 5), mewithoutYou, just posted a new song off their upcoming CD on their myspace page. I feel it is my duty to encourage the world to partake. The song is called "every thought a Thought of You".

Here are another couple reasons why I love this band:

Best Music Video Ever - "Nice and Blue (pt. Two)"

How to Deal With Telemarketers

2009-03-30T17:46:00.000-04:00

This is amazing.

Nothing Is Simple Anymore

2009-03-29T02:03:00.010-04:00

I realized my problem with blogging is that I take it too seriously, if only in my head. Sure, when I feel overwhelming guilt for going without posting for a long enough time, I tend to resort to short posts -- like a video, or a quote, or something of that nature. But really what I love to do is write the long posts. Unfortunately, they take a lot of time. Which might surprise you. You could be thinking, "I've never read anything on here that I couldn't slap together in 10 minutes." I wouldn't doubt it. But those longer posts of mine, they take me a few hours minimum. And then I edit them a few times. And then, depending on the post, I might even rewrite it once or twice. Seriously. I've done it. It's how I have to do it. Sometimes I lose sleep over it. Other times I develop rashes and/or addictive vices. I've even been known to steal candy from babies out of shere frustration. (That's strictly hush-hush.)

Again, that might seem ridiculous, considering the fact that few if any people even read my blog. So, why bother taking so much time? I have no idea. But when I write something, I want it to be perfect. And, granted, it rarely is. So I settle for decent grammar. My obsessive nature demands I fiddle and tweak and change until I'm just plain sick of looking at it and need something new to do. Like stealing more candy from other babies.

Knowing that, I tend to not even start. Throw in the fact that the last few months have been insanely busy for me. I say 'insanely' because there have been moments where I felt my head was preparing to mutiny and would relish walking the plank, leaving me alone and headless (not to be confused with brainless. My brain walked the plank many years ago). And being tired -- oh so tired. Some days at work we'll move a few thousand pounds of rocks around, and then I'll go home, eat, go to class for 3 hours, and make it home in time to get 6 or so hours of sleep. It can get old. My greying hair will back me up here.

But always my mind is working (except when it isn't), and I always have so many ideas that I'd like to write about. Alas, I always seem stuck in that same rut, of being tired on the one hand and knowing it'll take me a few hours to get my thoughts across just how I'd like on the other.

Right now, of course, it's almost midnight on a Saturday, and I just finished a paper, so I thought I'd spend a bit of my bedtime and write something. Anything. Kind of like what I've just done. But I don't want you to think that all I think about is thinking about thinking. That would be kind of silly. So here's one idea that's been nagging me:

What is marriage? I mean that quite literally. What exactly is the definition of marriage? Let me explain how the question developed: one of my teachers often talks about her "partner". During one particular class she was discussing something or another, and she happened to mention that she and her "partner" have been together for over 25 years and have two sons. But they were never legally married, and she doesn't wear a ring and she didn't take his name. Yet, considering the way she talks about him, not to mention the length and depth of their relationship, I have a hard time grasping how that isn't a marriage.

Now, I'm not saying marriage is meaningless or that there is no difference between a marriage and a "common-law" relationship. What I am saying is that I'm not so sure I understand what that difference is, at least not in a general sense. I comprehend the legal difference. I even comprehend, to some extent, why Christians differentiate the two. From the conversations I've had, people see marriage as making a public commitment, while a common-law relationship just sort of "happens" and that public declaration is missing.

I suppose part of my problem is that neither marriage or common-law relationships are the same in every situation. I can't imagine anyone arguing that there is "one way" to perform a marriage ceremony -- if two people visit a Justice of the Peace (or elope for that matter), rather than hold a ceremony in a church, no one would deny the validity of their marriage, would they? Let's not forget that the way most Western weddings are performed is not an ancient, internationally practiced ceremony; it's the result of hundreds of years of evolving customs, and most of what we see now come from Europe (and despite what some people might think, Europe isn't the world's oldest, nor the definitive, civilization. By any stretch of the imagination).

Take the wedding ring, for example. What the ring looks like or what it's made of, who wears a ring, how you wear a ring (some people might wear it around their neck, for example) can be different in any given relationship, anywhere in the world. And let's not kid ourselves about diamond rings -- jewelers make astronomical profits from them, so you can be sure their motives aren't based in sentiment or romance, or a desire to make your relationship that much more meaningful.

Every time I try to pinpoint something specific that would work as a definitive basis of marriage, I keep thinking of a hundred exceptions. If I try to argue, as Christian, from a Judaical perspective, I have to admit that nearly nothing about our modern wedding ceremonies is Jewish -- yet we don't consider them illegitimate. And if I try to argue that the legal document that is signed during the ceremony is what ultimately defines a marriage, I have to wonder how a secular government -- an institution that is in no way related to or affiliated with the church or with church doctrine -- somehow has the ability to officiate what, to the Christian, is a sacred relationship. (And I'd go so far as to ask at what point in the development of a new government are they granted the right to do so? And is a government guilty of slaughtering its citizens en mass still in a position to dictate marriage? Also, consider the fact that it's the government who gives legal right to a minister/pastor to perform the wedding -- does that seem strange to anyone but me? That again, a secular government that is separate in every respect from the church, gives someone who we would no doubt consider to be called by God "permission" to perform marriages?)

Another argument that I heard was that the difference between marriage and common-law relationships is that marriage requires more commitment, in that you have to sign a legal document which ultimately makes it much harder to leave. But that seems like rather shallow logic. First of all, that seems to assume that it would be "easier" to leave a common-law relationship than a marriage. I seriously doubt that. Maybe it requires less lawyers, but that's about it. The other problem I have with that argument is that it rests the sanctity of marriage on its negative. In other words, you and your wife/husband might hate each other, but ending it would be a much bigger hassle than you're willing to face, so the marriage remains "valid".

I also realize that in marriage, the legality of it has almost no bearing on your relationship (that's an assumption, mind you). Meaning, two married people aren't spending their lives reflecting on the piece of paper they signed that makes them legally married. I doubt couples even remember that piece of paper past the moment they sign it (or use it to check into a fancy honeymoon resort at a discount). And I haven't been to too many homes where that contract is framed and hanging proudly beside their wedding photos (hey, maybe some people do that. I'm just saying I haven't seen it). So it seems the legality of the union--at least, in our modern era--has little to nothing to do with the real definition of marriage. It's about how two people feel about each other, about a choice to spend their lives together, and their need to express that.

Yet that still brings me back to my question of how that differs from common-law. Sure, if two people were to simply move in together and there was no public declaration, I could understand where there'd be room for argument, whether all parties agreed in the end or not. But there's at least valid ground to work on. Still, I wondered, if two people decided against a wedding ceremony and instead had, say, their families over and said, "Mom, dad, others--we've decided to spend our lives together," could we consider that a marriage?

Like I said earlier, these are just thoughts floating through my mind. I am sincerely curious. I'm interested in what people have to say about it. And I'm not dismissing marriage as unnessary or even meaningless. Quite the opposite. What I am wondering is what it is, what distinguishes it from something else. Do I have to accept that marriage is simply a legal document? I can't readily do that--I won't--if only on the grounds that that legal document, as far as I can see (and maybe I can't see far enough and that's my problem) bears no lasting consequence on the intimacy and complex interworkings between two married people.

Feel free to leave your thoughts. Challenge me. I happily welcome it.

--POST-SCRIPT--

I'm not sure if that came across as cynical. Because it wasn't meant to be. I promise you there is no cynicism in my questions. But I think, considering how cheap marriage has become to some and desperately craved by others, it would be good to fully understand what it is. If it's cheapened, it's because people don't appreciate it. And that could well stem from a lack of understanding. And I certainly do not want to be someone guilty of that.

"Everything is amazing, nobody's happy."

2009-03-09T23:04:00.003-04:00

This is awesome. Seriously.

"We live in an amazing, amazing world, and it's wasted on the crappiest generation of spoiled idiots." (Louis CK)

2009-03-09T04:09:00.001-04:00

Their destiny has been determined by their actions, and their actions have illuminated who they really are.

(Syd Field)

2009-02-15T18:31:00.002-05:00

Galinda was slow coming to terms with actual learning. She had considered her admission into Shiz University as a sort of testimony to her brilliance, and believed that she would adorn the halls of learning with her beauty and occasional clever sayings. She supposed, glumly, that she had meant to be a sort of living marble bust: This is Youthful Intelligence; admire Her. Isn't She Lovely?

(Gregory Macguire, "Wicked")

an⋅ti⋅dote

2009-02-10T02:29:00.016-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about connection lately. About human connection, about the need for other people, the necessity for intimacy – for that face to face encounter with others. To be involved in another’s life. You know, active participation and community with human be-ings.

I was reflecting on my tendency to cut people out of my life. That isn’t a secret or a revelation; if you’ve read any of my older posts, you’ll know I’ve admitted as much. But I was thinking about why I’ve done that, where that action’s roots are within me. And I decided that any time a relationship changes—whatever the relationship, and whatever the change—there’s a very specific choice that has to be made. Maybe we don’t even think about it, we just decide on a subconscious level. Or maybe we’re accustomed to making one specific choice every time, so we continue to make that same one further down the line.

When the interaction between two people changes, the choice is: alter your perspective, adapt to the new relationship, and retain that person’s presence in your life; or, on the other hand, cut that person out, end it altogether, and move on. I’ve always favoured the second choice, I think, because I assume it’s the easiest and maybe even the best one to make. And I won’t say that that’s necessarily wrong, because I think there are relationships that must end, where two people need to sever connection and exist separately.

But I’ve been reconsidering that as my default option. Why? Because I’ve come to understand that the choice, no matter which one is made, is win-lose. And the choice can’t be made on the basis of ease. If a person has become important to me and the circumstances governing our relationship change—even if the perception is different for them than it is for me—and I decide to cut all contact with them rather than bear the discomfort of adapting, I lose their influence on my life. In some relationships I can imagine that would be a good loss—if it was an abusive relationship, say, or even just an unhealthy one. It would be a necessity to basic well-being. But on the other hand, if I choose to adapt, to go along with the change, I win in the sense that I benefit from their presence in my life, but lose the right to whine and complain, to hold onto my resentment.

In reconsidering my own choices, I think I have given up important and good relationships because I was unwilling to adapt (maybe incapable?). I’ve given up relationships—people—that had the potential of making me a better human being. Maybe it would have been simply the challenge that would have helped refine me, teach me to love, show me how to be who God calls me, calls us, to be.

Likewise, I’ve been thinking about what I bring to relationships. Part of the problem, I realize, is that I am incredibly ego-centric. The focus is on me, on what I’m getting from it, on what I gain or lose. And I realize that perhaps the most fundamental truth is that if the focus is on me, it won’t work. It can’t work. If all I can think about is what I profit, I sacrifice meaning, intimacy, sincere love.

In some sort of fit of revelation, I suddenly see the tables turned, the paradigm shifted: does my presence, my life, help other people become better? In any given relationship, am I fully devoted to that other person in intention and compassion and love? Am I willing to sacrifice attention, give up my pride, my desires and my will to benefit them? Would I die for them – physically, but also in my behaviour, my attitude, my all-consuming ego?

In the last couple of days, for several reasons that are unimportant in specifics but meaningful as far as they’ve been catalysts for learning, I've had some sort of epiphany about myself, about the way I am and the reasons I tend to behave the way I do a lot of times: my life is ruled by fear. My relationships, my decisions, my plans and hopes, my day to day activities, are all saturated in this fear, sometimes a near palpable fear. Perhaps I've gotten so used to it on some level that I often don't even recognize it for what it is. But it's there. I know it is. It might be a fear of being alone, a fear of being unloved, a fear of failing, a fear of inconsequence, a fear of regret. It might even be, at times, a fear of feeling, because feelings are unreliable and temporary and intoxicating.

And it occurred to me that it's completely paradoxical -- in being fearful of alone-ness, I am propagating it. It is impossible to cling to both love and fear; if I choose to fear, I surrender my ability to love and be loved. (How about 1 John 4:18? "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear...")

A book that I have read a few times and continue to find a lot of meaning in is "Sex God" by Rob Bell. He makes so many good points about God, about connection between us and Him and each other, and I am always amazed at how, in the end, there is such a simple core to it all: love. At one point, in talking about how a man treats a woman, he asked the question, "Does he have liquid agape running through his veins?” I love that phrase, liquid agape running through his veins. And I realized, yeah, that's what it is. Those people I find such comfort in being around, it's because I see unblemished love in them. They may not even realize it, they might not know that it’s seeping out of their pores, but I notice it. I see it. And I react to it.

A few years ago, someone sent me this little book called "The Way to Love" by Anthony de Mello, a Jesuit priest who died in 1987. I've slowly made my way through it, trying to let it soak in, and I've often gone back and re-read chapters and tried to really grasp some of the ideas he taught. While I've been thinking about my own life, about wanting to be a person that affects change by simply being, I was reminded of something he had written:

Effort can change behaviour, it cannot change you. Think of this: Effort can put food into your mouth, it cannot produce an appetite; it can keep you in bed, it cannot produce sleep; it can make you reveal a secret to another but it cannot produce trust; it can force you to pay a compliment, it cannot produce genuine admiration; effort can perform acts of service, it is powerless to produce love or holiness. All you can achieve by your effort is repression, not genuine change and growth. Change is only brought about by awareness and understanding. Understand your unhappiness and it will disappear—what results is the sate of happiness. Understand your pride and it will drop—what results will be humility. Understand your fears and they will melt—the resultant state is love. Understand your attachments and they will vanish—the consequence is freedom. Love and freedom and happiness are not things that you can cultivate and produce. You cannot even know what they are. All you can do is observe their opposites and, through your observation, cause these opposites to die. (pg. 70)

I’ve been feeling a surge of hope today. I suppose it comes from understanding something new about myself, about where I’ve been sabotaging my own life. And I find a great deal of comfort in that, in knowing the name of the poison running through my veins. When I can name it, I can end it.

And I'm afraid and everyone's afraid and everyone knows it,
But we don't have to be afraid anymore.

("Torches Together," mewithoutYou)

Voting: Your Democratic Responsibility

2009-01-18T03:38:00.003-05:00

A little while ago my sister submitted a photo she'd taken in Edmonton, Alberta, to a local photo competition. As it turns out, it was nominated for voting!

So, I think you should go take a look, sign up, and vote for it. Those who vote and report back to me will receive one free -- delicious -- cookie in the mail*.

You can see the photos here (hers is the b & w photo of the balcony/walkway -- the fifth one down, I think). In order to cast a vote, you need to sign up to the boards, but it's quick and painless. You can register here.

Do it. I know you want to.

(*Pending lawsuit re: the last batch.)

2009-01-11T04:24:00.005-05:00

Yours, O Lord, is the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty. Everything in the heavens and on earth is yours, O Lord, and this is your kingdom. We adore you as the one who is over all things. Wealth and honor come from you alone, for you rule over everything. Power and might are in your hand, and at your discretion people are made great and given strength.
(1 Chronicles 29:11-12)

Inspirational Mash-Up

2008-12-15T16:19:00.003-05:00

40 Inspirational Speeches in 2 Minutes. Because it makes me laugh.

Kyle Density

2008-12-11T00:52:00.005-05:00

Every so often, without warning, someone creates something so ingenius, so fantastic, so...so...so important, that it fundamentally alters the way the world operates.

That is not the case for what I am about to share with you. But while it may not revolutionize our respective societies, it is no less ingenius, fantastic, and downright important.

A friend of a friend, a fellow Kyle, recently started a website called Kyle Density. Its purpose?

Together we will map the location of every person named Kyle on the planet Earth.

If you are a Kyle, mark your spot and meet your brothers (or sisters, as the rare case may be). If you're not a Kyle, this is your opportunity to find a Kyle in your area and shower him (or her) with love and praise.

Soundtrack to a Mistake

2008-11-28T02:23:00.007-05:00

The other night I had to pull an all-nighter to work on a paper I had been putting off, the reasons for which my lawyer advises I not disclose.

(*cough*fightingcrime*cough*)

Still, that's never a good idea--believe you me. Oh, I used to think I could pull it off, that the added intensity of being under the unsparing clock helped more than hindered my creative flow. Of course, after reviewing the tragic tale of my grade point average, I've had to accept that maybe waiting until the last few possible hours before attempting a serious academic paper isn't the best plan available to me.

Anyway, before I even tried to start typing, I decided to make a random playlist of songs that might help my brain absorb information it hadn't yet learned. And, because I am still suffering the physical effects of my prolonged coffee consumption an entire day later, I thought I'd post said playlist and the myspace pages to boot. Just in case you need some help writing a paper on a topic you know nothing about, too.

Tracks: 74. Total Time: 5.8 Hours.

Sleeping Sickness City & Colour
All I Want Future Of Forestry
So This Is Goodbye Junior Boys
Listen To The Math Tokyo Police Club
Familiar Ground The Cinematic Orchestra
Silent The Field
My Moon My Man Feist
Hey Ya (Accoustic) Obadiah Parker
Mushaboom (Postal Service Mix) Feist
A Paw In My Face The Field
Play A Part Expatriate
Cash Machine Hard-Fi
Munich Editors
Take Your Medicine Cloud Cult
Into You The Cinematic Orchestra
Float On Modest Mouse
Your Heart Is An Empty Room Death Cab For Cutie
The Night Starts Here Stars
Dream Awake The Frames
Exodus Damage John Vanderslice
Death White Lies
Maps Yeah Yeah Yeahs
The Equalizer Junior Boys
Wash Away Joe Purdy
SW Blonde Redhead
Twilight Future Of Forestry
Silja Line (On Settling For A Normal Life) The Rosebuds
The Police and the Private Metric
Narc Interpol
Want Ad MxPx
Fake Empire The National
Wet And Rusting Menomena
Anti-Anti Snowden
Escape The Nest Editors
Beach Baby Miracle Fortress
Waterfall The Cloud Room
Electric Feel MGMT
Bukowski Modest Mouse
Two Receivers Klaxons
The End Of The Beginning God Is An Astronaut
Gold and Silver Stavesacre
Someone Great LCD Soundsystem
Fall From The Stars God Is An Astronaut
Shakeher In Medias Res
bloodstream Stateless
To Build A Home The Cinematic Orchestra
None Shall Pass Aesop Rock
where is home Bloc Party
Babylon David Gray
Talk Coldplay
The Builder Prairie Dance Club
Tone Bank Jungle (HF)
old yellow bricks Arctic Monkeys
Untitled Interpol
Of Montreal The Stills
Life 2: The Unhappy Ending Stars
Air War Crystal Castles
Uniform Bloc Party
The Scientist Coldplay
New Creation (Fellowship Church)
Lost Coldplay
Lex Ratatat
this language Stateless
Window Bird Stars
Spring And By Summer Fall Blonde Redhead
Take You On A Cruise Interpol
Route 666 God Is An Astronaut
Going, Going, Gone Stars
The Bleeding Heart Show The New Pornographers
Secret Meeting The National
Lump Sum Bon Iver
Patty Lee Les Savy Fav
It's Alright Embodyment
Vanished Crystal Castles

When I Die...

2008-11-24T04:01:00.005-05:00

...I can only hope that someone writes as great an obituary for me as someone wrote for Douglas Tinker.

Closer to the Start

2008-11-17T03:04:00.002-05:00

My good ol' pal Geoff told me about this worship band the other day, and I've been really liking them. He originally saw a video they made and then went and bought their CD. I've been re-playing the video a lot since then, because I'm too cheap to actually buy the CD myself. But from what I heard the other day, it's really good. Really. I mean it. I'm not just saying that. I'm not being paid to advertise for them, I swear. (You can buy it here. If you want. No pressure.)

Here's the video. It's neat-o.

Closer to the Start - New Creation from Fellowship Church on Vimeo.

Something To Consider

2008-11-14T19:10:00.002-05:00

The statement below is true.
-----------------------------------
The statement above is false.

If the Other Party Wins

2008-11-04T03:16:00.006-05:00

Today is the American election. I have no idea what is going to happen. That is due in large part to my lack of psychic ability. Sure, it seems like one (*cough*Obama*cough*) is more likely to win than the other (*cough*McCain*cough*), but until the votes are counted, it's all speculation.

That being said, I saw this video last night and it made me laugh out loud. "It's funny because it's true!"

If the Other Party Wins:

2008-10-26T18:17:00.003-04:00

One of our universities recently made a survey of the reading habits of the American public; it decided that forty-eight percent of all Americans read, during a year, no book at all. I picture to myself that reader — non-reader, rather; one man out of every two — and I reflect, with shame: 'Our poems are too hard for him.' But so, too, are Treasure Island, Peter Rabbit, pornographic novels — any book whatsoever. The authors of the world have been engaged in a sort of conspiracy to drive this American away from books; have in 77 million out of 160 million cases, succeeded. A sort of dream situation often occurs to me in which I call to this imaginary figure, 'Why don't you read books?' — and he always answers, after looking at me steadily for a long time: 'Huh?'
(Randall Jarrell, Poetry and the Age--1953)

The Problem of Sight

2008-10-25T00:47:00.006-04:00

I'm sure you know what it's like when you can't seem to fall asleep, no matter how tired you are or what medication you're on, and your brain starts racing through massive amounts of inconsequential/nonsensical information. Right?

A couple nights ago I was cursed with an acute case of insomnia. No kidding, I might have slept for a half an hour the entire night. It was horrible. I was exhausted, but I could not make myself go to sleep. I kept looking at the clock, trying to convince my brain that it was absolutely necessary. But all my brain would do was continually calculate and re-calculate how much sleep it could get were it not calculating and re-calculating how much sleep I could get.

And then I thought about my future. I thought about the exams I'd just finished. I thought about gas prices. I thought about red wine and its heart benefits. I thought about Christmas and traveling. I thought about where swear words come from. I thought about what I'd have for supper the next day (or, as it turned out, later that same day).

And then I realized something that horrified me greatly, and cemented my fate to a sleepless night: I never stop 'looking'. When I close my eyes, I'm not really shutting them off. I'm just looking at the inside of my eye lids. So no matter what I do, my eyes are always on, always seeing, never resting. How terrible.

I spent the next few hours thinking, "So this is what the inside of my eye lids look like. Huh." (And, of course, I spent the entire next day wanting to re-examine them.)

I Hear Destiny Calling

2008-10-23T06:15:00.006-04:00

This is the best thing I have ever seen. My life has new meaning as of this moment.

Nicotine Patch? Try a Stupidity Patch

2008-10-15T00:04:00.003-04:00

People are funny. And strange. And mind-boggling. (Ok, there are a lot of adjectives that would fit, but those will suffice here).

I saw this picture the other day, and while making me laugh, it also made me wonder how the vacuum in some peoples heads doesn't cause their skulls to cave in. Or, if that is happening, why aren't we hearing about it?

It reminded me of something I saw a few weeks ago: a car in front of me sporting a bright pink bumper sticker that read, "Help End Breast Cancer!" In the driver's seat, a woman, casually holding her cigarette out the window.

To quote a moron: "Doh!"

The Language of God

2008-10-13T19:02:00.009-04:00

I just finished reading a book called "The Language of God," by Francis Collins, who led the now-famous Human Genome Project. It's a fantastic, challenging book. It was also a much needed read.

Talking to a couple of friends over the last year or so who are either scientists or science students, I've been learning quite a bit and finding my beliefs about certain topics changing. So when I first heard about Francis Collins and his book, I knew I wanted to read it. And I'm glad I did. The best I can explain it, it reaffirmed my faith. I hadn't lost it, to be sure, but there are always those intense doubts that nag at the back of my mind. And there's almost a sense of fear in exploring those doubts, because there's the possibility those doubts could be well founded -- and if those doubts are valid, what will happen to everything I've based my life around?

I've found that's the tricky aspect of faith. There are times where it feels as if it's perched precariously on something very shaky. What I've come to realize, though, is that a lot of times it is. It's like my faith as a concept is a brick wall, and as I age and grow I keep adding bricks. But I'm not always quite sure where I'm putting those bricks; I'm taking instructions from someone else (who might not even be sure themselves, but they sound confident so I listen). And by the end of the day, when I stop to look at my work, it looks more like a Jenga puzzle than a fortified structure. And as I study and learn and challenge and change certain beliefs, the whole thing starts to shake and sway. But not wanting it to collapse, I stop trying to change anything and instead decide to live in this atrophied state of borderline faith, refusing to think any deeper than will get me through the day.

But what kind of life is that? How is that Truth? Is truth so unstable?

In maters that are so obscure and far beyond our vision, we find in Holy Scripture passages which can be interpreted in very different ways without prejudice to the faith we have received. In such cases, we should not rush in headlong and so firmly take our stand on one side that, if further progress in the search for truth justly undermines this position, we too fall with it.
(Saint Augustine)

Collins quotes C.S. Lewis a lot in his book, and a lot of that has to do with the fact that it was C.S. Lewis' logic that led Collins to become a Christian. In fact, they share similar testimonies: well-educated atheists who, when attempting to put the question of God to rest, actually found an undeniable logic to Him. C.S. Lewis is one of my favourite authors, and a lot of that is because of how logical his faith was. I was really impressed with Collins for similar reasons.

It isn't hard to imagine that a good number of Christians (evangelicals mostly, I imagine) wouldn't (or aren't) too happy with the book. To accept the conclusions in it would require some serious shifting in beliefs that many of them (or, I should say, us) have held onto for a long time -- though usually without very good reason. But I don't mind telling you that the more I think about and read on the topic, the more and more I find new wonder in God, new reason to believe, a better wall to build on. For the first time in a very long time, I don't feel afraid to face my doubts.

I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.
(Galileo)

[If] the existence of God is true (not just tradition, but actually true), and if certain scientific conclusions about the natural world are also true (not just in fashion, but objectively true), then they cannot contradict each other. A fully harmonious synthesis must be possible.
(Dr. Francis Collins)

Warning! Spoilers!

2008-10-08T20:57:00.004-04:00

If I didn't know my life any better, I'd think I was slacking. I mean, seriously -- over a month since my last half-hearted post? Really? Come on!

But no. No no no. No, my friends, no. There has been no slacking. Rather, there have been other things. Such as being alive. Trying to remain alive. Doing things to support my habit of being alive. Like working. And trying to better my chances of remaining alive through education. Being alive is a full-time gig. I can't just drop it on a whim to come and write something on my blog.

Tonight, though, between attempts at studying and preparing for class, I decided to do something else: look for meaningless crap on the internet. I'm pleased to tell you it was a smashing success. As they say.

Without further ado, may I present Spoilers For Every Movie Ever Made.

RTV

2008-08-28T01:39:00.003-04:00

After many long, sad, lonely months of going without, Relevant Magazine has finally re-launched their famed Relevant TV.

It's music videos.
It's a lot of music videos.
It's free music.
It's rad.

Do it. I know you want to.

TBD

2008-08-24T15:00:00.001-04:00

There have been some ideas brewing and percolating and simmering (time for a coffee, methinks) in my gut for a while now, each deserving time and thought and care before being spewed out into the tangible universe. Two of those ideas are on the subjects of wonder and love, respectively, and both were inspired by movies, music, books, and something I heard someone say.

While I try to punch out my thoughts on the 104 or so keys of my keyboard -- letters, dashes and dots and digits, backspaces and word spaces -- I have some homework for you:

For the first topic, Wonder,
1. Watch In The Shadow of the Moon;
2. Read The Diving Bell and the Butterfly;
3. Listen to Sigur Rós' "Sæglópur".

2008-08-22T01:20:00.001-04:00

If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.

(John Churton Collins)

Q & A: Video Store Edition

2008-08-08T00:13:00.000-04:00

Question: What is the most commonly used phrase in a video store?

Answer: "It's supposed to be pretty good."

Next time you happen upon a video store, go inside, casually pretend to browse, and pay attention to the couples or the parents and their kids or the little old ladies searching earnestly for a movie they'll agree on. I guarantee* 7 out of 10 times you will hear that phrase, or one of its variants.

Some examples of similar commonly used phrases in video stores around the globe:

"I've heard a lot of good things about it."
"I think it got pretty good reviews."
"It's won some awards, too, I think."
"It looks good."

Of course, the movie being referred to is, usually, none of the above: it's not good, most people who've seen it agree it's not good, the reviews were mediocre at best, the award in question was from a local Low Budget Low Concept Sci-Fi and Gore Convention that 3 people attended (2 of whom actually made the movie), and the over-the-top-ultra-photoshoped cover is not only the best thing about the movie, it's also a knock-off of a much more expensive and marginally better Hollywood blockbuster.

Case in point: last week I was at the video store and I overheard a discussion that a guy and his girlfriend were having about the movie they were looking at, a discussion in which several of the aforementioned phrases were used verbatim. The movie being considered? Awake.

Between my deep, gut-wrenching sobs and the sackloth and ash ritual I had begun to perform on behalf of humanity and those poor souls--like me--who had subjected themselves to such a magnificently bad "movie", I let out a little laugh, loud enough for them to hear and look my way. I offered them a pained smile and shook my head. They looked at me, looked at each other, looked at the movie . . . and proceeded to take it to the counter, avoiding eye contact with me as they passed. I wept myself to sleep that night, empathizing with those strangers and the painful, heartbreaking, eye-gauging experience they were no doubt sharing.

Please, do me a favour: if you ever hear someone say "It's supposed to be good," and, curious, you look over to see Hayden Christenson or Paul Walker or another actor in their caliber of awfulness on the cover, I beg you, violently swipe every copy onto the floor and scream at the top of your lungs, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they watch!"
(Adding a few tears would work in your favour, I expect. FYI.)

(*There are no guarantees in life, son.)

Walt Whitman, Ransom Notes, and a 3 Pound Brain

2008-08-04T21:16:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting on an uncomfortably small, black chair, staring at an empty, beige wall, trying to think of some interesting, colourful thing to say. Forsaking both interest and colour in favour of quantity, however, has allowed me to share the following six thoughts.

(Those two sentences took me over 24 hours to write. Not a good sign. I originally started writing about how bothersome an ingrown hair can be, but after some careful consideration and a good nights sleep, I decided against it.)

Thought # One: The idea popped into my head a few weeks ago (literally, popped. The guy in line behind me at the grocery store even heard it. He said he was a doctor and that sound in my head wasn't a good thing. We'll see, old man. We shall see.) to combine a whole bunch of bits of lyrics that have stood out to me, from songs that have graced my ear canals at some point or another, to create a mosaic of my thoughts. Has that ever been done before? You know, a collage of words? I guess the idea is similar to one of those ransom notes, where the words are taken from various magazines and newspapers and the like, and arranged in some creative and threatening fashion. Except I wouldn't be demanding money, or have someone important tied up in my basement, or actually be physically cutting and pasting anything anywhere and having it sent to the head of the Hostage Negotiation Team or to the important person's relatives. But I think it could be interesting. In a non-life threatening or extended prison term sort of way, I mean.

Thought #Two: Our lives aren't linear. Not really, anyway. Sure, we're all destined to follow a specific order of things: ie. time -- birth, the creamy-middle-part-that-is-life, and death. But during that creamy middle part, nothing happens in a neat, step by step sort of way. It's pretty messy. It's kind of like a can of silly string. Birth is when someone hits the dispenser, life is the string flying and sticking everywhere and upsetting unsuspecting passerby's, and death is when the can is empty.

Thought # One + # Two = # Three: I was thinking about this, and thinking about my lyrical collage idea, because I noticed how in 10 different songs over the span of an hour I could pull out 100 personally meaningful thoughts that affect different aspects of my life or current situations I'm facing. And I thought, wow, there is never just one thing happening to me, never one emotion or one decision or one plan or one temptation or one mistake or one idea. (It reminds of Walt Whitman's poem Song of Myself, where he said, "I am large, I contain multitudes.")

There's always a lot going on in our tiny, 3 lb. brains. Most of it we don't even realize until something reminds us of it -- like music. But it amazes me how our minds are constantly in motion, always processing, always connecting thoughts, always sorting and sifting and working through the cluttered mess we fill it with.

Thought # One + # Two + # Three = # Six: In an unexpected turn of events, and fully contradicting what I just wrote, I have confused myself and forgotten the entire point of what I was originally going to say. This reminds me of the previous couple lines of Walt Whitman's poem: "Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)"

C'est la vie.

Geoff & Naomi: A Pretty True Story

2008-06-25T22:23:00.004-04:00

This past weekend my friend Geoff got married. I was told in no uncertain terms that there would be no speeches required of me. Of course, being one to crave the opportunity to speak my mind in front of a large crowd--because, you know, I love being nervous, sweaty, and on the brink of an ulcer--I forced my will upon them and won the right to say a word or two.

Instead of the typical "Best Man Speech", about all the great times we had and what a fantastic guy he is and how happy they will be together, blah, blah, *gagging* blah, I decided to write a short and concise history of his and Naomi's relationship, to be accompanied by illustrations. This is what resulted:

-the prologue-

About a year ago, not long after Geoff and Naomi had started dating, they invited me out for lunch, wanting to discuss something they had been considering. After our lobster and caviar, they laid it out for me: they wanted me to write a novel about their relationship. It had to be epic, thrilling, tear-inducingly romantic; they wanted it to be funny and touching; they wanted something that would shake up both the literary and dating worlds. Could it be a 3 or 4 volume set? A single leather-bound edition? Would I consider creating a screen adaptation? Maybe work with Disney to create some sort of ride?

I listened as they threw numbers at me: 50 Thousand? 80 Thousand? 362 Thousand Dollars? What would it take to get this biography going?

I told them, “Listen, can I be honest with you? I like you guys, and I think this relationship – such as it is – looks promising. But frankly, it’s not that interesting. Not enough for a series of literary masterpieces, anyway. But I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll do some research, I’ll gather some facts, and I’ll put together a short-story. And as payment I’ll accept the position of Best Man at your wedding – if it comes to that.”

They agreed, and so began my work.

As I did my homework, I discovered that there was a lot of misinformation out there about how Geoff and Naomi met, and how their relationship reached this point. I heard talk of karaoke, blackmail, and dares. I even heard things that I couldn’t, in good conscience, repeat in front of a God-fearing crowd. But none of it carried much weight with me. Inconsistencies among witnesses, faulty memories, lack of photographic evidence – how could I present a finished proof if it were all based on such incongruent hearsay?

And so, after many sleepless nights, some intense intercession, and obviously flawless research, I present the following pretty true and fairly authoritative account of Geoff and Naomi’s relationship.

-the beginning-

We begin with Geoff. Geoff has always been a people person.

Every chance he got he was out spending time with people: singles, couples, groups, crowds, rioters, anyone and everyone.

Being with others was as intuitive to him as good personal hygiene.

Geoff rarely spent time alone.
He wouldn’t admit it, but being by himself gave him too much time to obsess over his lack of female companionship.

Oh, he tried to be productive.

He read books.

He watched movies.

He cooked and enjoyed fine foods.

But it wasn’t enough. He was getting desperate.

So one morning, instead of devoting his embarrassingly-early 3 hour prayer time to the needs of his youth, discovering cheap alternative fuel sources, and world peace, he selfishly pleaded with Almighty God to provide him with a hotty, if it be His will.

Our Lord, in His powerful and commanding voice, promptly answered: “Thine maiden shall be she who provideth you with nourishment.”

Unfortunately, Geoff had not familiarized himself with the King James Bible, and was distracted by God’s usage of Old English, thus missing out on an otherwise obvious prophecy.

Meanwhile, a hundred thousand miles away on a remote island very far off the coast of Jamaica, Naomi was living a surprisingly similar existence.

While not as codependent as Geoff, Naomi was very much one to enjoy spending time with other people, be they young or old, short or tall, Jew or Gentile, crazy or wholly sane.

In fact, she took her partying seriously and made sure she went to bed every night/morning at an unmistakably ungodly hour.

But there were times when she was forced to spend an evening alone, as tends to happen on small, remote islands very far off the coast of Jamaica.

So she made sure to relax,

read a trashy romance novel,

or watch a meaningless action movie, all to keep her mind off the painful reality that if she didn’t find a man soon she was going to wake up one morning 80 years old with a wicked bad hangover.

Not being in the mood to cook a meal for herself one lonely evening, Naomi decided to fast. She pleaded and petitioned and beseeched Creator God to bring her a man of upstanding character, a ruggedly strong physique, and vast riches.

Again, Our Lord, in His powerful and commanding voice, promptly answered: “Thou art a woman of great faith. Your husband shall be he who bestoweth upon thee chocolatey goodness.”

Believing this to be a metaphor for God’s relationship with His church by providing them chocolatey goodness, which, as she understood the metaphor, was Jesus, Naomi dutifully thanked God for His rapt reply and then went and had something to eat.

-the middle-

Now, by some twist of fate, or perhaps more accurately, an Act of God, Naomi decided to venture off her small, remote island very far off the coast of Jamaica and visit the big city. Her travel agent recommended she visit Ladner, BC. So she set out, traveling alone and with no relatives or family members or friends to stay with once she arrived. She wandered the streets of the sprawling metropolis, blinded by the bright lights and disoriented by the throngs of people spilling out of bars and clubs all over the city. Confused, hungry, and lost, she spotted a church sign and ran to it, hoping to claim sanctuary.

As she stumbled through the doors, she immediately spotted a chocolate bar sitting on a bench.

Intrigued, and prodded by her hungry stomach, she approached the tantalizing candy, hoping it had, by some miracle, been placed there for her benefit.

In her trance, she failed to notice the man approaching the same bench from the other side. Geoff had just finished his 15 hour work day in the church office, and feeling hungry, decided to head out for dinner.

But then he spotted the chocolate bar, alone and inviting, beckoning him to taste it’s unhealthy but oh so delicious soft outer shell and cookie like interior.

He quickly rushed towards it,

as did she.

It wasn’t until their hands almost met over the treat that they saw the other.

Geoff, startled but determined, grabbed at the bar, much to the deep sadness of Naomi.

When he realized what he had done, that his belly had overpowered his most basic manners, Geoff was overcome with shame and handed the chocolate bar to Naomi.

Suddenly the booming voice of God flashed through Naomi’s head: “man” “bestoweth” “chocolatey goodness”. Realizing she was staring her future right in the face, she tore open the package and handed Geoff a piece.

Suddenly the booming voice of God flashed through Geoff’s head: “Maiden” “provideth” “nourishment”. Realizing he was staring his future right in the face, he shoved the chocolate in his mouth.

And together they rubbed their bellies, Naomi considering the colour scheme of their wedding and Geoff hoping she wouldn’t make him throw away his action figures.

-the end-

Unfortunately the rest of the story cannot be read as the rights have been sold to Disney. A film, amusement park attraction, and various collector toys are in the planning stages.

-the epilogue-

Oh, and they lived happily ever after.

Some Thoughts

2008-05-04T00:32:00.006-04:00

1. I can't get over how one person slowing down to look at a car with a flat tire at one end of the highway can cause a hundred people 10 km's away to be 45 minutes late for work. It makes me sad. And late.

2. I have never seen an HBO show that I didn't like (although I readily admit I've never watched Sex and the City and I'm pretty sure I would rather pluck my eyeballs out with a pair of stilletos than sit through an episode). HBO turns TV into art. And that is quite a feat. (Those unaccustomed to HBO should be forewarned, though: lots of swearing. And violence. And sometimes other stuff. So don't get mad at me if you happen to watch something from HBO after reading this glowing-but-unspecific review, only to find yourself deeply offended and emotionally scarred and unable to carry a conversation without using at least a half-dozen f-words.)

3. Robert Downey Jr. is the man. Not THE MAN, as in the Government who's trying to keep us down, but rather the man who exists on such a high plane of awesomeness that we all fall short in comparison.

4. People often ask me if I plan to get laser eye surgery. I don't. I like my glasses. Sure, they get dirty and they're always at risk of breaking and when I forget to put them on in the morning I stumble around and rub my eyes for 15 minutes wondering why everything is so blurry. But I think I would feel very self-conscious without them. And I would probably get things in my eyes, like dirt or someone's finger, which would hurt.

5. I think I might be OCD. I've been watching myself over the past little while, and I realize I'm very obsessive. Compulsively so. I like things clean and ordered. Actually, it's more than that: I can't relax around messiness. And when I want to focus on something, like writing or reading or sharpening my knives, I need a quiet, non-chaotic place to do it. (Note: According to Reference.com, I'm not OCD. They actually suggested "anal retentive". That's unfortunate.)

6. LOST is a pretty crazy show. I'm absolutely convinced it will not end well (meaning, we will all be very, very disappointed when we discover it was all a story Aaron's real parents told him when he asked them where babies come from).

7. I've mentioned this to quite a few people already, but I'm putting it on here for the world to know: there are two things I need to do before I die. One--dramatically turn over a table full of food/drinks/important papers; Two--throw a drink in someone's face.

8. I once killed a rabid zebra with nothing but a rubber band and my wits.

9. Ok, number 8 was a lie.

10. I'm always amazed at how a tasty cup of coffee can make life bearable. There are days where things just aren't going the way I'd like--bills aren't getting lost in the mail, women aren't losing their minds when I walk in the room, brilliant works of literature aren't pouring forth from my finger tips--but that one hot cup of dark magic can make it all ok. Now that I think about it, that's a lot like heroin. Huh.

Kids That Go Bump In the Night...

2008-04-02T00:47:00.003-04:00

I had a nightmare the other night, and it was the first time in a long time (in fact, it's been so long I can't even remember the last time). But it wasn't just a typical nightmare; I couldn't just shake it off or rub it out of my eyes. It was terrifying. I mean that literally--I'm not being sarcastic or facetious or typically silly. I was absolutely, one-hundred-percent, afraid.

It's been a long time since I've had a nightmare, but it's been even longer since I've felt such intense fear. It was strange, too, because as I was waking out of my dream I knew, even in the semi-conscious state I was in, that what I was feeling afraid of was ridiculous. It was two kids, a boy and a girl, somewhat Children-of-the-Corn-ish maybe, but all they were doing was walking towards me. I was going out of my mind with fear, though. In my dream I was paralyzed, and I was trying to scream for all I was worth, but the only sound that came out was a choked, raspy whisper. And yet I knew that if I could just scream, someone would come and save me and wake me up.

I finally managed to yell, screaming at the top of my lungs, and woke myself up. I had fallen asleep in the living room on the couch, and when my eyes snapped open I immediately looked towards the bedroom door to see if my roommate was going to come running out to see what had happened. But he didn't. I was angry. What if I'd been mauled by a mountain lion or a pregnant goat that had snuck in during the night?

But in my dream I had felt so terrified that the feeling carried over into wakefulness. I could hardly move I was so afraid. Eventually though I was so exhausted my eyes closed and I fell asleep, this time without event. Although if I'm remembering right, I think I dreamt of having that dream all over again.

I've been wondering if there isn't some psychological reason for this. Pent up emotion? Fear of children? Hostility towards my roommate? Too many movies? Indigestion? Low iron levels in my blood? Anyone?

Satan Likes Chevy's

2008-03-29T17:25:00.008-04:00

My car--which I unfortunately no longer have in my possession--has found meaningless and completely unsubstantial fame. I discovered that my incredibly sexy/priceless Corsica had starred in (and quite obviously stole, I might add) several scenes of a show called Reaper. Now I'm just wondering how I put this on my resume.

To see my car in [in]action, follow the glaring white arrow below.

(I should have tried to sell that thing on eBay. Someone would have given me something for it, wouldn't they?)

"Quit Your Jibba-Jabba!"

2008-03-22T14:30:00.011-04:00

I have a speech impediment. Not the kind I had as a kid, when my s's sounded like th's and my r's sounded like w's and my k's sounded like q's.

My modern speech impediment is somewhat more problematic: I talk nonsense.

I've been aware of it for some time now, unconsciously really, but enough to know something was amiss. It has recently, however, become painfully clear to me.

I think the problem can be best understood by breaking it down into three examples. Let me explain.

A) I start talking without being completely sure of what I'm ultimately trying to say. Which leads to unintelligible rambling with no gratifying payoff. In these situations I tend to start mumbling as soon as I know what I'm saying is meaningless. It provides an escape for both myself and my longsuffering audience -- I can "pretend" to continue with my story and they can "pretend" to care, while neither of us has to think about what's coming out of my mouth. (It has backfired at times, though, such as when my audience really is interested and asks me to repeat myself. I must then resort to honesty and admit, "I have no idea what I'm talking about. I am deeply sorry for robbing you and your future of those 10 minutes.")

B) I have an idea that I want to share, only to realize after I've opened my mouth that what I'm saying actually has no direct relationship to the conversation in progress. I'm often aware of it as soon as I start to talk, and must quickly either, 1) interrupt myself with a disclaimer that what I'm saying is completely off topic, or 2) somehow figure out a way, as words are giddily escaping my brain via my face, to adapt the story to the situation so that it seems applicable. This is the worst possible choice and the most often chosen, and leads to many awkward situations. (Please note: when someone has lost a close friend or family member and is seeking comfort from you, do not try to relate by telling them the story of your cat that was, as far as you know, eaten by a coyote -- no matter how much you loved that cat.)

And C) I realize after I start talking that what I was going to say wasn't nearly as funny/witty/interesting/life-changing as I had first imagined it, and I start to panic knowing that the person I'm talking to is expecting something funny/witty/interesting/life-changing. Or at the very least, coherent. When I know I'm sinking, and fast, I try to improvise (which leads me back to problem A) by haphazardly throwing random chunks of information into my diatribe, hoping I will somehow, through luck or sheer willpower, hit pay dirt and sweep my audience off his or her feet -- or cause such profound wonder that everything previously spoken is rendered unimportant and immediately forgotten in the shadows of this new fascinating turn in the conversation (of course, this has never successfully happened).

Curing a kid of his slurred and jumbled speech is a difficult, but doable feat. But curing an adult of his inability to carry on a comprehensible conversation? Can such therapy exist?
I can only hope, for the sake of those who have to listen to me--or pretend to.

2008-03-19T23:41:00.002-04:00

Let others complain that our age is evil; my complaint is that it is paltry. For it is without passion.

(Søren Kierkegaard, 'Either/Or')

A Confession

2008-03-18T02:35:00.011-04:00

I'm a big fan of the show 30 Rock.

And I gotta tell you: I've got a thing for Tina Fey (aka Liz Lemon).

Ok, sure, she's 15 years (or so) my senior. She's married. She has kids. She lives in another country and is fairly famous and has lots of money and a successful TV show and knows a lot of people who are also fairly famous and have lots of money and lead successful lives.

But none of that matters. She's funny, she likes to eat, she's unquestionably neurotic, she's fairly famous and has lots of money and a successful TV show, she's friends with Conan O'Brien and Jerry Seinfeld and Alec Baldwin, et cetera, and so on, and the like.

I also realize I'm blurring the lines between reality and make-believe. I'm aware of it. Which means I'm not completely insane, ok?

Alright, I feel better now that that's off my chest. And also slightly self-conscious, like I'm coming across borderline-stalker-ish. Really I'm not, though. Really.

You believe me, right?

(Photo courtesy of my roommate, the incredible photographer Geoff.)

On Writing Well

2008-03-01T22:01:00.005-05:00

I've rediscovered my love of words.

It's not that I'd ever completely lost it, really, but over the past little while I'd let myself become distracted, lazy even, so that it was always easier to pick up the remote and look at pretty pictures than try to focus my failing brain long enough to comprehend a book.

What might come as a shock to you – more so than that I actually have qualitative brain activity, I mean – is that the cause of my rediscovery wasn’t a slick, exceptionally written thriller like The Da Vinci Code (*cough*), nor a heart-warming, fun-filled, silly adventure story like Curious George Takes A Train. In fact, the reason for my renewed love of paper and prose is the inspirational and exciting book On Writing Well by William Zinsser (and no, I’m not being sarcastic).

In my long-attempted-and-often-forgotten quest to learn to write better (there ain’t no harm in it, I says), I've been taking a writing course through the United States of America, via the state of Connecticut. Part of my duties as a student was to read On Writing Well. After taking several leisurely months to read through the introduction and then retire it to the bookshelf, I finally decided, a couple of weeks ago, to pick it up again and see what was what. Well, I was, needless to say, overwhelmed: the introduction wasn’t the best part after all. I ended up spending the weekend reading the entire thing; I couldn't put it down. That might seem strange, considering not only that it wasn’t written by Dan Brown, but there was also no mention of murder/suicide/murder-suicide, alien abductions, or well-proportioned women. What it did have was some talk of grammar and a lot more about clear thinking being equal to clear writing. Perfect ingredients for the perfect weekend.

Yet there was something about it, something that really affected me. I suppose part of it was the author's obvious passion for his craft, his honesty about what it takes to do what he does, and his uncanny ability to say everything I needed to hear in very clear, concise and compelling English (The Triple C's -- ™ pending). I can’t think of another book so full of useful information that was so easy to understand and comprehend at the same time. As I read, I started getting more and more excited. I could relate to it and I could use it; I was reading about something directly applicable to my life. By the time I finished, it seemed as if someone had stuck a couple of defibrillator paddles to my chest and restarted something I'd let slip away. Without cracking my ribs in the process.

It's strange, you know, how complicated the inside of my brain can be. Nothing ever really makes sense. On the one hand I feel like I have this deep need to write. It's as if I can't picture myself doing anything else (realistically I don't think there is much else I could do, legally or otherwise). When I'm actually committing the act itself, putting thoughts down and then reworking them, trying to get the sound and shape and message right, there is little else in life that comes close to being as satisfying, as exciting to me. It’s one of the few things that can keep me up at night, and make me anxious to wake up in the morning (a miracle in and of itself). It's also one of the only things I know that can make me equal parts frustrated and content, both in a shared moment.

And yet getting myself to begin the process can be incredibly difficult. Everything else inside of me tries to prevent me from starting. Self-doubt, laziness, disbelief, indigestion. Fear. Fear of failing, of not being all that I want to be (like a depressed Uncle Sam), of never being genuinely satisfied with what I produce. Fear of wasting my life and disappointing everyone who has ever believed in me, disappointing myself, disappointing God. But mostly disappointing myself, I think. I have never written anything in my life that I was unequivocally happy with. I have never reproduced an idea completely faithful to its original spark of imagination. Somewhere in the process it gets mucked up and smothered with empty words and painful English. (Of course, if melodrama was a genre, I think I’d have my niche.)

Which brings me back to the book of the hour, On Writing Well. Not only did it give me substance as far as usable instruction goes, it also reminded me how incredibly difficult it is to produce meaningful writing. That encouraged me. It made me realize and appreciate that I’m starting out at the bottom of a very large and intimidating mountain, one that requires every ounce of effort to even seriously attempt. Reaching the summit (if there even is such a thing) is not a short—or cheap—expedition. To be truly good at writing, to be good at anything, in fact, comes with a cost most economists would scoff at. Devotion, practice, discipline, sacrifice, unfaltering purpose—all to an uncertain outcome. The great writers of history didn't pick up a pen one day and write flawless, brilliant works of literature. It took time, effort, heart -- blood, sweat, and tears, right?

The question I've had to ask myself is, am I willing to give up everything to learn to do this well? Am I willing to devote myself to a small, incalculable chance I could one day have something decent to show for my effort, something I’ll be happy with? And it is a chance, with very certain risk. I could well spend every waking moment from now until the day I die and have accomplished little else but collect a large pile of unreadable nonsense.

And yet, for some reason, I kind of like chance endeavours. They make the outcome much more appreciable. What great event in history, what small but powerful moment, what meaningful relationship ever happened without risk, without surrender to the unknown, without abandon to chance? What is worth pursuing with conviction if it doesn't come with an embarrassingly steep price tag?

Since reading On Writing Well, I've been obsessing over the people who have taken a chance at being writers and succeeded. I found a book at the library called On Being A Writer, (which seemed to fit a trend in recently read titles; next in queue: On Picking More Diverse Books) a collection of essays on 31 famous writers -- people like Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Vonnegut, William Faulkner, Madeleine L'Engle, Joseph Heller, Truman Capote, Erica Jong, Norman Mailer, Red Smith, etc. It's amazing to read about these people and see how different they all are and how they all came to do what they do (or did). But what's really hit me is how they all started – from the bottom. None of them were born clutching their first masterpiece in their tiny fists (I mean, really, a masterpiece in nine months? Seriously, people). Over and over again, they all say the same thing: it's a process. Of course, people are born with a penchant for different things, and some of the authors had an innate ability to write well earlier and quicker than others. But they each had to devote themselves to their craft, without reservation, before they could really produce something beautiful, something worth sharing.

So, with that, I'm posting some of my favourite quotes on the topic of writing. While they might seem specific to the subject, I think the principals behind them—and this entire post, for that matter—are relevant to any passion. If something feeds your heart, if you obsess about it and find an overwhelming sense of joy and satisfaction in that obsession, and most of all, if you can imagine doing nothing else with yourself, don't ignore it. Don't let laziness or fear or doubt or money or fame or pride seduce you. In the words of Matthew Arnold, “Produce, produce, produce...for I tell you the night is coming.”

Anyone can become a writer. The trick is not in becoming a writer, it is in staying a writer. Day after week after month after year. Staying in there for the long haul. Because, at final moments, when they plant us, and Posterity takes a scrinch-eyed look at what we've done before deciding to remember us, it is not a single book or story or play that wins or loses the day, it is the totality of what has been produced. Not a single hill, but a mountain range that stretches and rises and dips, and has sweep that can be judged. Through all the fads and successes and times when the critics ignore a writer, it is the work that goes on unabated. And, finally, it is all that sustains us.

-&-

Write for the most intelligent, wittiest, wisest audience in the universe: write to please yourself.
(Harlan Ellison)

Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow that talent to the dark place where it leads.
(Erica Jong)

The average young person you meet today seems to have the motto, "If at first you don't succeed, stop right there." They want to start at the top of their profession and not to learn their art on the way up. That way they miss all the fun. If you write a hundred short stories and they're all bad, that doesn't mean you've failed. You fail only if you stop writing.

-&-

Money is not important. The material things are not important. Getting the work done beautifully and proudly is important. [...]A tape recorder, an automobile, they don't really belong to you. What really belongs to you? Yourself, you. That's all you'll ever have.
(Ray Bradbury)

Writing...is like opening a vein and letting the words bleed out, drip by drip.
(Red Smith)

There is no use writing anything that has been written before unless you can beat it. What a writer in our time has to do is write what hasn't been written before or beat dead men at what they have done.
(Ernest Hemingway)

In the final analysis of our lives, as well as our writing, what else do we really have to listen to but the messages from our own souls, psyches, guts, instincts, muses, whatever you call it? This is where our personal truth, our themes, our creativity lies. The writers who fearlessly kept writing what they truly believed, in my experience, are the ones who have gone on to the greater glory—not merely money or fame, but something far more basic: inner peace and genuine fulfillment.
(William Froug)

Our admiration of fine writing will always be in proportion to its real difficulty and its apparent ease.
(Charles Caleb Colton)

I get a great high from writing.
(Walter Hill)

[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper,
unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being,
to which we rarely penetrate;
for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
(T.S. Eliot)

There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write.
(William Makepeace Thackeray)

Writing stopped being fun when I discovered the difference between good writing and bad and, even more terrifying, the difference between it and true art. And after that, the whip came down.
(Truman Capote)

A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
(Thomas Mann)

The fact that writers will go through so much to remain writers says something, perhaps everything. It would be far easier (and nearly always more profitable) to become a real estate agent.
(Maria Lenhart)

The writer who loses his self-doubt, who gives way as he grows old to a sudden euphoria, to prolixity, should stop writing immediately: the time has come for him to lay aside his pen.
(Sidonie Gabrielle Colette)

One should never meet an artist whose work one admires; the artist is always so much less than the work.
(Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec)

The great moments of joy do not come, as many believe, when the plaudits of the crowd are heard. They come when, in a moment of revelation, the writer discovers that the child of her creation is not stillborn but will live. These final hours of gestation are the most rapturous the writer knows.
(Pierre Berton)

LA Ink: Apostle Paul Tattoo

2008-02-17T19:10:00.003-05:00

I was watching LA Ink the other night, and they had a music pastor on who was getting a sleeve done. He was very open about his faith and the reason behind the tattoo, which was cool in itself. But the tattoo was unbelievable. It was a portrait of the Apostle Paul's conversion, and the quality of the tattoo was mind blowing -- it's a work of art, without question.

I was looking for a picture of it online and I actually found his blog instead. He posted a 6-minute video of it from the show, so now you can see what I'm talking about.

2008-01-18T19:48:00.000-05:00

One of the most insidious maladies of our time [is]: the tendency in most of us to observe rather than act, avoid rather than participate, not do rather than do; the tendency to give in to the sly, negative, cautionary voices that constantly counsel us to be careful, to be controlled, to be wary and prudent and hesitant and guarded in our approach of this complicated thing called living.

--Arthur Gordon (A Touch of Wonder)

A Good Gift Cures All Ills

2007-12-14T23:00:00.000-05:00

Often times, after putting in 15-, 17-, 20-hour days at work and running on 12 hours of sleep (total) over the course of 5 days, you start to get a little tired, a little miserable, a little down. And, often times, very few things outside of crack cocaine and/or mid-season hibernation can really pull your spirits up.

But then Christmas rolls around and a generous boss hands out gifts to the crew. And not just any gifts: quite possibly the coolest gifts I've ever gotten. Behold:

And then, to make things even better, I live with a guy who knows how I tick. So when I come home to unexpected surprises like what you'll see below, well, I get a little choked up. Geoff is a fantastic human being.

(And in case you were wondering, Jesus did grow up to 600% his original size.)

Do It.

2007-10-26T13:18:00.000-04:00

The Glorious Unseen. Listen to them. They are good.

That is all.

Tattoos, An Irish Bard, and Mental Osmosis

2007-10-21T20:50:00.000-04:00

For the last couple months I've been working on design ideas for my next tattoo. Well, actually, since I got my first one done four or so years ago I've been anxiously trying to decide what was next. But I've finally been closing in on some working ideas. One particular bonus is that I live with a designer who also happens to be well-tattooed, so I've been stealing creative concepts via mental osmosis.

And then last Sunday at young adults we sang one of my favourite worship songs -- Before the Throne of God Above -- and the first verse has been stuck in my head as a possibility of something I'd like to have written on my body, somehow incorporated into a design.

Even if you aren't into tattoos, I think you can appreciate the beauty of this song. It's simple, but it gives me goosebumps every time I hear it -- and I wanted to share the experience.

Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea.
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart.
I know that while in Heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.

(The problem with this one is that it doesn't flow so well as a stand-alone poem, and tattoos don't come with soundtracks.)

---

The next choice on my list is one of my favourite poems, "He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven" by W.B. Yeats:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

---

But fear not for me, my friends -- I will be absolutely resolute in my choice/design before ink meets skin. I may be crazy, but I'm not crazy.

"It's Alive!"

2007-09-29T03:12:00.000-04:00

Geez Louise. It's been far too long since I've posted anything. Which isn't exactly a shocker for anyone who's ever looked at my blog. But it hasn't been for a lack of things to write about. No sir/ma'am. Besides my most recent exciting adventure that involved packing up my horse-drawn wagon and trekking to Vancouver, and visiting long-lost friends and family members along the way, I've managed to sneak my way into a job as a production assistant (on the new tv show Reaper -- *cough*on the CW, Tuesdays at 9, or check your local listings*cough*).

But alas, I'm exhausted and must sleep. I was just feeling an itch to write something, anything, and decided to write, really, nothing. How beautiful is that?

2007-08-27T20:43:00.000-04:00

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

--Walt Whitman

2007-08-10T20:58:00.001-04:00

What is written without effort is in general read without pleasure.

--Samuel Johnson

2007-08-01T00:04:00.000-04:00

Gentlemen, nature works in a mysterious way. When a new truth comes upon the earth, or a great idea necessary for mankind is born, where does it come from? Not from the police force or the prosecuting attorneys or the judges or the lawyers or the doctors; not there. It comes from the despised and the outcast; it comes perhaps from jails and prisons; it comes from men who have dared to be rebels and think their thoughts; and their fate has been the fate of rebels. This generation gives them graves while another builds them monuments; there is no exception to it. It has been true since the world began, and it will be true no doubt forever.

--Clarence Darrow (1920)

Someone Named...Kevin

2007-07-27T21:42:00.000-04:00

Let me share with you a story.

There's this guy. We'll call him, say, Kevin. Kevin is running late for work one morning. He pulls into the parking lot about the time he should have been coming out of the change room. Rushing to get out of the car and into the building, Kevin shoves his phone, wallet, and keys into his rather loose fitting shorts (foreshadowing), grabs his backpack, his coffee, and his newspaper, and stumbles his way through the parking lot with his hands--and pockets--full.

As I...ahem, Kevin reaches the crosswalk leading to the entrance of his workplace, the big red hand warns him the light is about to change, anxious to release the long line of waiting cars to resume their journey down the road. Alas, it would also leave him stranded on the wrong side of the street, wasting precious minutes he hasn't the luxury of messing with. So, in a desperate, and what would prove to be an unwise choice, Kevin dashes across the street with only seconds to spare.

Unfortunately, while managing to beat the lights and thus save himself a harsh reprimand from his supervisor, Kevin failed to consider the physics involved in his sprint and the inevitable result of the equation Loose Shorts + Heavy Things In The Pockets + Bouncing Up and Down, Repeatedly & Quickly.

In a moment that will live on in infamy (at least for Kevin and the few drivers who were watching the spectacle), our beloved friend Kevin reached the other side of the street as the lights turned green, only to have his shorts fall to his feet and his coffee splash up into his face.

(On a happy note, however, Kevin did manage to get into the building and to his post without being seen. By anyone else, I mean.)

Today

2007-07-23T20:30:00.000-04:00

You can watch Rob Bell's newest Nooma video, Today, for free until Wednesday the 25th.
Check it out. It's really powerful.

Ten Bucks

2007-07-22T19:42:00.001-04:00

The other day before work I was pulling my laundry out of the dryer when what fell at my feet but a crumpled up 10 cent Canadian Tire bill. "What luck!" I thought to myself. Just the other week I had spent the 9 Canadian Tire dollars I'd been saving since I was 4 years old to buy an axe (for camping, not, as you might have supposed, to smite mine enemies). As if a sign of God's love for me, I could now begin my savings anew, and, if things went well, have enough to buy myself a bottle of pop on my 36th birthday (fingers crossed!).

But as I continued to pull out the rest of my freshly warmed clothing, I received another blessing from the Almighty: a real 10 dollar bill, slightly destroyed but newly laundered, ready to be spent, saved, or rolled and smoked at my discretion.

The rest of the day wasn't as exciting, but it made me think: finding out you have more than you think is a fantastic feeling. It's as if you suddenly discovered oil (or gold, or silver, or a secret cave that dispense superhuman abilities) on a piece of property you've owned your entire life. Granted, $10 isn't a lot of money (although the Canadian dollar is almost on par with the American), but it was $10 more than I thought I had, and that was what made it special.

I think it's the same when you realize that you have more worth in your own life than maybe you considered. I know some people tend to carry themselves around as if they're the Emperor of their own private world, but for the most part I suspect people under-value, rather than over-value, themselves. I know I do. I put myself through hell before I let myself enjoy anything, because I feel as if I don't deserve to be happy.

A couple weeks ago I had to take a week off work because business was really slow. So I decided to go camping, to get away from the city and from distractions and from other people and be somewhere where I could just read and think and write. As it turned out, I wasn't as successful as I'd hoped and I ended up coming back a day early. But I did finish reading a book I'd started a month ago or so, and it turned a lot of things around for me. The book was called "The Art of Forgiveness" by Lewis Smedes.

When I'd started reading it I knew I was in for a serious self-overhaul. After reading just the introduction, I had scribbled a note on one of the pages: "I suddenly realize how much unforgiveness I've been carrying around." To be honest with you, I'd never really thought about it. I knew that there were people in my past towards whom I still carried some resentment, but it never really occurred to me (at least not in some sort of lightning-to-the-head kind of way) that I hadn't 'forgiven' them.

As I made my way through the rest of the book, I was blown away by the depth of the anger and resentment I've held onto, almost by habit, like a jacket that looks tacky but fits so well you just keep wearing it without giving it a second thought. It was a long couple days, thinking through events of my past, about people and places and circumstances, and more than anything, thinking about the person I've become. And I'll tell you, I learned a lot about forgiveness, things I'd never really grasped, things that never really even seemed to be relevant to the process. It even forced me to differentiate between what actually needs to be forgiven, and things that don't qualify. But I'd say the most profound discovery for me through the book was this: the person I have held the most unforgiveness towards is me.

I remember waking up in the morning after my second day there, and as I was making some coffee the thought crossed my mind, "I've never forgiven myself for some of the things I've done to people, things I've said or ways I've acted." It was suddenly like the last few pieces of a jig-saw puzzle falling into place. I was looking at my life, at the problems I've had in my relationships, and seeing where it was all flowing out of: a deep resentment towards myself and an expectation that I couldn't love people without screwing them over somehow.

The funny thing was, as I was making my way through the book I kept thinking, "I wish he'd say something about forgiving yourself, because as good as the rest of this is, forgiving other people isn't my biggest problem." Just before going to bed I decided to finish up the chapter I'd been reading. But as I turned the last page, what was the next chapter called but "Forgiving Yourself." I just started laughing. The timing seemed so perfect.

It was a really challenging chapter to read, no less. He didn't go easy on me. And, like he pointed out, forgiving ourselves shouldn't be easy, or else we'd let ourselves off the hook for everything without giving it a second thought. Forgiving ourselves isn't a solitary pursuit, either. Your repentance has to be validated, by either/both of two people: the person you screwed over, and God.

But like the core of the book, the focus was on grace. Grace is only meaningful because it's undeserved -- which is what makes it so challenging to accept. And grace is the heart of forgiveness: offering what isn't deserved. (If you haven't yet, go and buy -- yes, buy -- Philip Yancey's 'What's So Amazing About Grace?' It ranks in my top 5 life-changing books of all time. Next to Martha Stewart's Hors D'oeuvres Handbook, obviously.)

[As a side note, and something that deserves more time, the basis for Smedes book is that as a general rule, people completely misunderstand what forgiveness is. Forgiveness is not saying something is ok or excusable, because it isn't. Forgiveness also isn't saying that what you did will go consequence-free, because it rarely will and rarely should. But that's a whole other post for a whole other day...]

It's a very hard experience, trying to forgive yourself -- a very naked experience. You have to put aside all pretension and sense of ego, to ignore the instinct to protect yourself by making it a show, and just accept God's grace -- his willingness to take your sin away from you, knowing it is undeserved and without a catch. Smedes pointed to a few parts in the Bible that talk about this kind of forgiveness, one of which that has always been a favourite, even if I've never fully grasped it:

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

--Psalm 103:11-12

I have a very difficult time letting go of my mistakes, of the darkness inside of me, of the failures in my life. I remember with crystal clear clarity the ways I have hurt people, the things I have done to people I was responsible for, the things I took from people that I had no right to touch. It's almost strange that I tend to remember my failure more than I remember the good things about my relationships with people. When I remember friends from my past, when I remember girls, when I remember experiences, what stands out to me is how I let them down, where I didn't act like the man I am called by God to be, how I put more thought into my selfishness than their good.

Accepting that I cannot undo what I've done, and turning to God and asking him to forgive me -- and then, even harder still, letting him take those things from me, is something that I've been wrestling with, like a gigantic crocodile that wants to kill me but I refuse to swim away from.

As the next couple days went on, I started to see something that God was trying to show me all along: the "$10 bill" (remember, the Canadian dollar is getting higher...) inside of me that I'd forgotten about, that was hiding in pockets of my heart I'd avoided looking through. I spend so much energy focused on the dirt on my knees, the stains and rips on my clothes, that I forget the worth that exists below the fabric. And it isn't just my ego that suffers for it. When I refuse to accept God's grace, my self-worth goes down the crapper. When that happens, I can never hope to affect people's lives the way I want to. I can't show God to people if I've buried him beneath layers of self-hate. All I will do is perpetuate my own mistakes and continue to ruin the relationships God has blessed me with.

(...more to come.)

"To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."

--Lewis Smedes

Batter My Heart

2007-07-21T20:14:00.000-04:00

Batter my heart, three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivated and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

--John Donne

Sure, they may not have electricity, but...

2007-07-12T21:52:00.001-04:00

Question:
What constitutes "small town living"?

Answer:

Peace vs. Desire

2007-07-05T21:17:00.000-04:00

When a man desires a thing too much, he at once becomes ill at ease. A proud and avaricious man never rests, whereas he who is poor and humble of heart lives in a world of peace. An unmortified man is quickly tempted and overcome in small, trifling evils; his spirit is weak, in a measure carnal and inclined to sensual things; he can hardly abstain from earthly desires. Hence it makes him sad to forego them; he is quick to anger if reproved. Yet if he satisfies his desires, remorse of conscience overwhelms him because he followed his passions and they did not lead to the peace he sought.

True peace of heart, then, is found in resisting passions, not in satisfying them.

--Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

"Well that would have sucked..."

2007-06-05T19:35:00.001-04:00

I almost killed an entire family of geese who were trying to cross the road the other day. It was pretty horrific.

Sex God

2007-05-30T21:24:00.000-04:00

I just finished reading a new book by Rob Bell (his other book is called Velvet Elvis, and he also does the Nooma videos, which are amazing), called Sex God. It's a quick read, but it has some really great stuff in it. The main theme of the book is connection, with God and with each other, and how that relates to (or actually is) our sexuality. I'd recommend it. It's an easy read.

I thought I'd post a few bits from the book that really meant something to me.

You can't be connected to God until you're at peace with who you are. If you're still upset that God gave you this body or this life or this family or these circumstances, you will never be able to connect with God in a healthy, thriving, sustainable sort of way. You'll be at odds with your maker. And if you can't come to terms with who you are and the life you've been given, you'll never be able to accept others and how they were made and the lives they've been given. And until you're at peace with God and those around you, you will continue to struggle with your role on the planet, your part to play in the ongoing creation of the universe. You will continue to struggle and resist and fail to connect.
(pg. 46)

Love is handing your heart to someone and taking the risk that they will hand it back because they don't want it. That's why it's such a crushing ache on the inside. We gave away a part of ourselves and it wasn't wanted.

Love is a giving away of power. When we love, we give the other person the power in the relationship. They can do what they choose. They can do what they like with our love. They can reject it, they can accept it, they can step toward us in gratitude and appreciation.

Love is a giving away. When we love, we put ourselves out there, we expose ourselves, we allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Love is giving up control. It's surrendering the desire to control the other person. The two - love and controlling power over the other person - are mutually exclusive. If we are serious about loving someone, we have to surrender all of the desires within us to manipulate the relationship.
(pg. 98)

To pursue being naked, you have to believe that this person is worth getting to know for the rest of your lives. Being naked is peeling back the layers, conversation after conversation, experience after experience, year after year. It's rooted in a belief that the soul has infinite depth and you'll never get to the bottom of it.

Our understanding of what it means to be naked reflects what we believe about the human soul. Is it infinite? Or can you get to the end of a person?
(pg. 158)

--Rob Bell, Sex God

Outside In The Gutter Looking In

2007-05-23T20:44:00.000-04:00

Only three yards away, behind the thick glass doors of the Sunday Times lobby, was the bright and comfortable world that suited most people well enough. I could see the commissionaire, smoothly uniformed behind his desk, looking forward to a pint of beer and an evening with the telly. People in sensible light-weight suits, with interesting jobs and homes to go to, flaunted their security at me and I felt my gut scream at me to strip off this ridiculous outfit and rush back into that light and the familiar interdependence. It struck me very forcefully that if I went on with this folly I would forever after be the man outside in the gutter looking in. For a moment I was lost beyond hope, utterly defeated.
Then I turned away from all that, somehow fumbled my packages away, got on the bike and set off in the general direction of the English Channel. Within minutes the great void inside me was filled by a rush of exaltation, and in my solitary madness I started to sing.

--Ted Simon, Jupiter's Travels

Oceans Above

2007-05-19T00:37:00.000-04:00

Check out this new worship band I've been listening to: Oceans Above. They're pretty fantastic. I don't think I've been this into a specific worship band since I first heard Hillsong United. I especially love the song "Jesus Blood" - the last minute is great.

Someone said they sound like a Postal Service worship band, and I'd say that's pretty accurate, especially with "Beautiful One". It's a really cool change, I think.

Kilo Yankee Lima Echo

2007-05-12T01:21:00.000-04:00

Alpha
Something interesting--at least to me--occurred to me the other day: it's more difficult to open your eyes than it is to close them. Think about waking up in the morning, or when someone flicks on the light in your room after you've fallen asleep: it's painful, at least uncomfortable, to open them, to suddenly go from darkness to light, from nothing to something. Yet falling asleep requires no effort at all. Your eyes shut and more often than not it feels good.

I could pull about twenty different analogies from that, but I think the most obvious (at least, when the thought first crossed my mind) was that it's always more difficult, requires more effort to face truth than to run from it. In the same way it doesn't hurt to keep your eyes open and processing once they've adjusted to the light, so it becomes much easier, even satisfying, to live with truth once you've come to terms with it.

Bravo
On Thursday and Friday nights last week, on my hour-long drive home from work, the radio station I listen to was at some kind of club and was playing all the music on the air that they were playing for the people on the dance floor. It was kinda of nice because during the entire hour there were no commercials -- just straight music. But it was kind of strange to me how they managed to make every song blend in with each other. They had remixed every one of them to share a similar, pretty standard beat. And for the most part, they did a pretty good job.

And then I was thinking, why is it people react to beats pretty much the same way, whether it's tapping our fingers, air-drumming, or pretending to be members of Riverdance? We're creatures of rhythm. It's actually kind of incredible the way we're wired. It's not just the beat either--it's music in general. I can't think of a single person I know or have heard of that didn't like music. Sure, different types for different people, but it's all music nonetheless. And we all like it. I think it would be interesting to find out just how much music we listen to/hear in a single day. I seem to always have music playing, one way or another. I think most people do. It's amazing, actually, how basic it is to us, our need for that rhythm and sound and melody.

Charlie
Speaking of music, do you ever notice how at least a majority of music is about girls (or boys, if it's a girl singing)? Kinda crazy, if you think about it. One topic talked about a million different ways. And it never really gets old. Unless it's Avril Lavigne singing it. Sweet mother of fortune cookies, her new single has to got to be the dumbest song ever written (not that any of her other songs were finely tuned masterpieces, but this one is pushing it). No, no, I take that back. I kid you not, I heard this song the other day that went like this: "If you want to be somebody, put your hands in the air. If you want to move your body, put your hands in the air." WHAT?!

Delta
Again, speaking of music, I think everyone needs a friend who's into indie music. I had a friend at school this past year who did a great job keeping me in the loop. We had kind of an exchange program going on, where we'd share with the other whatever new band we discovered. It blows me away every time I discover a new band just how great all this music is that no one (and by no one I just mean less than the majority) has heard. I'm not one of those hardcore anti-pop music guys who thinks anything popular is bad, but I do think at least 83.4% of it isn't very good. When you start to hear these bands who aren't played much on radios or had their songs covered on American Idol (*shudder*), you realize that there is an entire universe of incredible, unique, thoughtful, and good music out there. So find a friend who will do the hard work of finding this stuff for you. It could be the beginning of a new chapter of your life. Or just add some enjoyment to it, if you want me to be less dramatic about it.

Echo
How in the world do so many people who clearly have no business driving powerful, heavy, and very pretty automobiles at speeds high enough to disintegrate small pets, children, and little old ladies, get their licenses?

Foxtrot
Drive-thru's are funny. Here's a typical run-down of what happens between me and the Voice.

Voice: Welcome to Tim Hortons. What can I get for you?
Me: Yeah, uh, I'll get a large coffee, two cream, two sweetner.
Voice: Sorry, a large coffee and...?
Me: Two cream, two sweetner.
Voice: Two cream, three sweetner?
Me: No, two sweetner.
Voice: Three cream, one sweetner?
Me: TWO cream, TWO sweetner. A large coffee. TWO CREAM, TWO SWEETNER.
Voice: *Suddenly Lots of Static* Hello?
Me: Hello.
Voice: Can you repeat that?
Me: Hello.
Voice: No, I mean, sorry, your order.
Me: A large double-double, with sweetner.
Voice: A large double-double. Is that all?
Me: That's with sweetner. And yeah, that's it.
Voice: How many sweetner?
Me: Fortheloveof...

Golf
This is funny.

Hotel
So is this.

India
Hard music isn't just good for rocking out; I've also discovered it's perfect introspection music. I never could put my finger on it until tonight, listening to the new Chasing Victory CD, "Fiend," and thinking to myself, "Boy, I really am a screw up." It's good for the soul, I think.

Juliet
It's kind of scary to me how few people are content with their lives. I almost don't even notice it anymore, partly because I tend to be in that group more often than not and get caught up in my own wishfulness, and partly because it's so pervasive it's become commonplace. It doesn't take a rocket scientist (ok, is it just me or that expression a little dated? What can we use instead? A geneticist?) to see that every marketing campaign in existence is designed to make you feel unhappy unless you succumb to the product being paraded in front of you. But it's deeper than just materialism. It seems to me people in general take a great deal of pleasure in seeing successful/famous people fail/fall, and suffer a great deal of jealousy when others that they know make it big (as far as wealth or fame are concerned).

That topic deserves more than a few short sentences, but I'd ask you this for now: are you content? And if not, why?

I've concluded that a lot of times my discontent is rooted not so much in the idea that I have high hopes that I have yet to reach, as much as that I have low self-esteem and am easily jealous of people who seem happy or have exciting things happening in their own lives. I think, too, that realizing that has actually helped me stop reacting that way, and to start living my own version of the here and now. I also think it's something that will take a concentrated effort to avoid feeling from now until the day I die.

Kilo
Thanks to Wikipedia for helping me out with my military-speak.

Call For Clarity

2007-05-06T22:50:00.000-04:00

Tonight I got a chance to talk on the phone with a friend from Bible College who I haven't talked to in a while. He's one of those guys who is about as solid in his faith as a leftover Thanksgiving turkey is hard after sitting on the counter for a week (or something like that). I've always had a great deal of respect for him because I could always tell he had a very profound and sincere faith in God. And it wasn't just something he could pretend to have, either. His life reflected it. His personality reflected it. The way he handled himself in situations, the way he talked, the way he behaved was the real evidence of his relationship with Jesus. And I think that always gave me a sense of comfort. For all my cynicism towards the church and other Christians at times, my friend always managed to cut through that with me, whether he knew it or not.

Anyway, in our conversation tonight he talked a bit about the different things he's been doing in ministry, and it all came back to me, all that respect I'd had for him in Bible College. It amazed me how little he'd changed since graduating. It's not rare for people to take a dive after leaving the relative ease and comfort of the spiritual-steroid injected community that is Bible College. (I'm not in the group of people who think that kind of community is a bad thing either -- just for the record. Actually, I think the sense of community I felt at Bible College, and the total immersion in all things God, was one of my absolute favourite things about it--maybe more so in hindsight than while I was there. Since being away from it, I do miss it.) But my friend somehow left that place and remained exactly who he'd always been, a genuine God-lover.

At the end of the conversation we prayed for each other, and I think that single act jump-started something inside of me, something I'd let wilt and die a long time ago. I can't even remember the last time I've prayed with someone. But there is something indescribable about it. It's something that maybe you're not always aware of when you spend so much time doing it, as can be the case with anyone who's spent enough time in church/Bible College/a monastery. But after having been away from it for so long, it felt like someone was breathing air back into my lungs. I felt like this huge cloud around me lifted and dissipated. It was a good feeling.

Talking to him also made me remember things I'd forgotten about myself, characteristics and gifts that God gave me, that I may have used at one point in my life but haven't gone near or exercised in a really long time. And not just gifts, but basic qualities of Jesus that I'm supposed to live out every day, hour, minute, and second. With that came a sense of sadness, but also a challenge to start doing what I was created to do. Never mind vocations and careers and "callings" -- what about the basic, fundamental calling of every Christian? I think I get too caught up in some kind of grand scheme of things and ignore the small but fundamental details of living right now, wherever I am, doing whatever I'm doing. I think those details are the same ones Paul told Timothy to chase after:

But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.
(1 Timothy 6:11-12)

That's the kind of life I want to live. I think I'd forgotten that at times. Maybe I'd forgotten it completely. But that's the direction I want my life to go, regardless of job title or yearly income. I want my life to be about the pursuit of God, about being "the aroma of Christ" (2 Cor. 2:15), about doing the unknown and experiencing the unseen -- and really, being what I believe.

Thanks for the smack upside the head, Ben.

FWD: FWD: FWD: RE: You're An Idiot

2007-05-05T00:13:00.000-04:00

Now this is something people should be forwarding: Top 25 Web Hoaxes/Pranks.

(The cat one is especially funny -- a few weeks ago in one of my classes we were talking about how they pulled that off in Photoshop. And then we had a debate about whether it was possible to have a cat that big. And then people started getting really angry, which led to more arguing, which led to an all-night Photoshop-athon, which was, of course, to the death. We lost some good men in that computer lab. All for the want of ethics in the photography community.)

Socks

2007-05-02T18:22:00.000-04:00

For some reason, no matter how frustrating they become, I keep buying and sticking with white socks. I'm not even sure why. I'll wear black if the situation demands it (for example, a fancy dinner where there is a chance someone might catch me breaking the Great & Unquestionable Formal Dress Code). But grey -- no way. And pink -- well, that's just not right. So that leaves me with white (yeah, I know that there were other colours that I didn't mention, but I think I covered the general categories, ok?).

But I'm telling you, laundry day is horrible. Basically what happens is I dump the large white pile of clean socks on my bed and leave it there for a few days. Sure, I'll move it around if I need to, say, get under the covers or find a clean pair to wear the next day. But trying to match up white socks is horrible. 'Why,' you ask, 'is it so hard to match up white socks?' I'll tell you why: because they all have different wear patterns, and there are few things worse than pairing a good sock with a solid sole to a well-used, semi-disintegrating one. Clearly one of the two is going to be more comfortable, and that just will not do. I'm either cozy on both feet, or uncomfortable on both feet. None of this, "Cozy on one, uncomfortable on the other" business. Not me for me, thank you very much.

I've started to branch out and get socks with a blue or black stripe on them, which helps. But the problem doesn't really change because I'll match those ones up right away--so I can wear them right away--and then still be left with the orphaned hundreds.

I need to hire someone to take care of this for me, I think.

2007-04-29T20:50:00.000-04:00

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.

--Robert Frost, Two Tramps in Mud Time

www.UPDATE.com

2007-04-16T22:27:00.000-04:00

So it's been awhile since I've written anything on here. Two weeks, in fact. This is simply unacceptable. And it probably means you've been waking up every morning asking yourself, "What the heck is new with Kyle? Gosh golly gee wilikers." Or something along those lines. (Be honest, I know you say things like "gosh golly" all the time.) And who would blame you? I mean, my life is so exciting it's almost painfully boring! Who wouldn't want to hear about that?

Now, if you've quite finished rolling your eyes...

Let's see. Where to start. Where, o where, indeed. Well:

1. I finally got a chance to see The Pursuit of Happyness last night. It was such a great movie. What I loved the most about it was how genuine it seemed, and whats more, how hard it was to sit through at times. Meaning, it felt so authentic it was almost uncomfortable. It was inspiring but without painting a picture of a flawless hero. I really respect movies like that. On top of that, the story really got to me: a guy who's got nothing but does everything he can to make something happen. And I won't lie--I liked that it was Will Smith's son playing his character's son in the movie. I thought that added a whole other great dimension to it.

2. I just finished my motorcycle course yesterday, and am now licensed and legally allowed to wear leather chaps. (Or not...) Seriously, I cannot even describe to you how obsessed with motorcycling I've become over the last few months. My dad took me out riding a couple times last summer, and it was like I instantly knew I had to do this. Being on a motorcycle is one of the most fantastic feelings on the planet. It's unbelievable. I've always loved driving, but I think riding a motorcycle is like driving x's a thousand. One guy put it this way:

I never feel more alive than when I'm riding a bike. For me, traveling in a car is too much like watching television: I feel as if I'm viewing my surroundings through the end of a glass tube. When I'm on a bike, I feel as though I am actually there, experiencing the real world. Not only do I see my surroundings, but I feel them, smell them, and taste them. I feel a part of something larger, something complete, instead of feeling like an uninterested voyeur.
--Darwin Holmstrom

So ... go learn to ride a motorcycle. You'll love it. (Although I should mention, learning to ride is about 100% harder than I expected. It basically feels like learning to ride a bicycle and a car all over again and at the same time. And yes, I did become intimate with the pavement on one occasion. And as is my way, I was the one to get hurt. I have scabs forming on my leg to remind me of our brief affair. *softly crying*)

3. A couple of months ago I submitted a short story to a literary contest through my college, and last week I found out I won third place for fiction. I was really surprised, and also pretty happy about it. It'll at least give me a few extra dollars to help pay rent, which is always a nice thing.

The funny thing was, a week before I was complaining to a friend that I'd seen too many episodes of Seinfeld recently and I was starting to compare every situation of my life with something from the show (which was getting annoying for other people too, having to always hear, "Yeah, hey, that reminds me that Seinfeld episode where..."). So when I found out I'd won third place, my mind immediately thought about what Seinfeld had said about winning first, second, and third place (sure, he was talking about the Olympics, but c'mon. Work with me, people):

The Olympics is really my favorite sporting event. Although I think I have a problem with that silver medal. Because when you think about it, you win the gold, you feel good; you win the bronze, you think, 'Well at least I got something.' But when you win that silver it's like 'Congratulations, you *almost* won. Of all the losers, you came in first of that group. You're the number one *loser*. No one lost ahead of you!
--Jerry Seinfeld

4. It's the last week-or-so of school and I have homework coming out the wazoo (it's a common--and unfortunate--medical condition, apparently). Which is partly why I haven't written much as of late. The other part is that I just haven't. Which makes sense, if you think about it.

5. A friend recently introduced me to The Flaming Lips. So great! I can't believe I'd never listened to them before. I'm a fool, I tell you. A damned fool.

6. That is all. Go on about your business.

Post Script: (Technically #7) I apologize to anyone and everyone that liked to listen to the music I had on the side menu. It seems the website I host my files on got hacked and now weeks later has yet to get up and running again. So as much as I'd love to add some of the new music I've been listening to (such as The Field, Blonde Redhead, Cloud Cult, Anberlin, Lovedrug, Taking Back Sunday, and of course, The Flaming Lips -- all of which you should check out anyway), alas I cannot. Please forgive me. And the hackers. They know not what they do. (Well, actually, yes they do, and that's the problem.)

Skillz

2007-03-31T21:24:00.000-04:00

When I was in, oh, grade 3 or 4 I learned how to play the ukulele (in place of the recorder, thank Jesus). Our teacher taught us how to play the song Wipe Out--and with the ukulele behind our heads, no less. It was one of the crowning achievements of my young life. The little girls in the school yard were always whispering things to each other about me, like, "That boyee has some mad skills, yo!" Indeed, my ukulele skills had set me up to become the greatest pimp daddy that elementary playground had ever seen. Alas, at the end of that fateful year my family moved to B.C., where the ukulele had failed to catch on as a respectable musical instrument deserving of groupies. I eventually confined my little friend to storage, and watched as my "mad skills" faded away like the memories of my adoring fans.

After seeing the movie clip appended below, however, I am tempted to think the tables have turned once more in my favour. I must now seek out lessons to refresh what I have since lost, and again stir up the pheromones of the legions of ukulele appreciators awaiting my return to the music industry.

"Not My Gum-Drop Buttons!"

2007-03-27T22:45:00.000-04:00

I baked cookies the other day, all by myself. I think that was my first time. Impressive, I know. 23 and baking cookies like some sort of self-sufficient adult. It's momentous, that's what it is. And they tasted good to boot. I even have friends lined up who will write short testimonials to that affect. For a small fee, sure, but they’ll write them.

Maybe the dingo ate your baby!

2007-03-23T22:33:00.000-04:00

It's strange finding out the whole story of where certain sayings come from. It's interesting to see how they developed, and in a lot of cases, how they really mean something completely different than the way we use them.

Anyway, tonight I was watching an episode of Seinfeld, the one where Elaine says to a really annoying lady, "Maybe the dingo ate your baby!" And then I wondered, "I've heard that before but where in the heck does it come from?" I thought it might've been from a movie (that'd make a good line in the Godfather--"You talk about vengeance. Is vengeance going to bring your son back to you? Or my boy to me? A dingo ate your baby!"). But no! It's actually from a murder trial in Australia back in the 80's.

This exclamation (and its variant, "The dingo ate my baby!") became something of a pop culture catch-phrase for a short time in the 1990s, as evidenced by its appearance in the two most popular television shows of the decade, Seinfeld and The Simpsons. Audiences found it amusing for several reasons: the phrase is hilariously incongruous in almost all situations, the word "dingo" is kind of funny in and of itself, and the line is invariably delivered in an atrocious attempt at an Australian accent. Even as they laughed, many American viewers failed to realize that the phrase is a reference to the sensationalized Australian murder trial in which defendant Lindy Chamberlain claimed that her infant daughter had been mutilated and eaten by a wild dingo.

For a random, if not interesting read, go here.

Word of the Month

2007-03-21T20:50:00.000-04:00

uninspired \uhn-in-spah-yuhrd\, adjective:

1. A state of being;
2. Similar in theme to inspiration, only completely different;
3. Rhymes with tired, and for good reason.

(P.S. Check out 65daysofstatic, in the music player to your right. They're pretty fantastic.)

Pre-Post Special

2007-03-15T00:40:00.000-04:00

Arnold shares his deepest feelings.

The Greatest Action Story Ever Told

2007-03-05T20:59:00.000-05:00

I just saw this today, and thought it was funny enough to share. It's an old MadTV sketch, spoofing The Terminator (and it's even more funny now, considering Terminator-director James Cameron's new documentary about Jesus).

(The funniest part is the Last Supper bit, I think.)

The Greatest Action Story Ever Told

Oh, The Shame

2007-03-04T18:59:00.000-05:00

We find a new reason, a new way of living and we breathe it in and try to dream again.
--Cloud Room, ‘Hey Now Now’

I realize I missed my dutiful report last Sunday. I apologize. It was a weird day, and last week was a weird week. And by weird, I mean strange. And by strange, I mean not-normal. And by not-normal, I mean...actually, I don't know what I mean. It was what it was.

But I feel responsible for spreading the new words I learn. I didn't sleep at all last week as the weight of my guilt for not posting one haunted/taunted me. *Weeping* I can't live like that anymore. I just can't. So please, please, forgive me, and accept the following word as my peace offering.

sagacious \suh-GAY-shus\, adjective:

1. Of keen penetration and judgment; discerning and judicious; knowing; shrewd; wise.

As I have nothing else productive to say at this point, I would like to direct you to two websites:

1. Pandora.com. Since discovering it a few days ago, I've fallen somewhat in love with it. To use it much you have to register, and to register you need a U.S. zip code (if you don't have one, go here). But it's fantastic. Give it a name of a band or song you like, and it'll play songs for you that are similar. I've found some great new music already through this puppy.

2. Since moving to Ontario last summer, I've been going to this church called The Meeting House. It's an awesome church. I love it. I found out a little while ago that their sermons are all uploaded as podcasts, and last time I checked, they were in the top ranks of the Spiritual/Religious category on iTunes. They're really good, and I'd recommend them to anyone. Now, I'm the last person who'd willingly chose to listen to sermons in his spare time, but since being at this church I've been eating them up. I've been challenged in a lot of important ways, and forced to rethink a lot of stuff I used to just take for granted as basic beliefs. (I was just listening to July 23's, about Gideon and our obsession with "Christianized magic"...great stuff.)

2007-03-01T21:12:00.000-05:00

A quote I discovered on a piece of paper as I was sorting through a box of old things:

Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us: there have been many circulations of the sap before we detect the smallest sign of the bud.

--George Elliot/Mary Ann Evan

A Sigh

2007-02-25T23:58:00.000-05:00

I feel sad right now. Like I've lost something big in my life.

Snow Patrol's "Open Your Eyes" is playing in the background.

Maybe I should turn it off. But I think that's what I do with a lot of things in my life. Too many things.

I turn them off.

That makes me sad. A deep, blue, melancholy kind of sad.

All Of A Sudden I Miss Everybody

2007-02-21T23:35:00.000-05:00

I don't care who you have to kill, who you have to marry, who you have to rob, or who you have to sleep with (well, ok, I do care), go buy Explosions In The Sky's new CD, All Of A Sudden I Miss Everybody (get the two-disc, if you can).

I am in love with this band. Listening to them causes me to have some seriously strong urges to run out into the streets and kiss random strangers and make babies with them (well, I mean, after we get to know each a little better and whatnot).

I can't explain it. I mean, do you ever listen to music, maybe a particular band or a specific song, and it feels like every cell, every nerve in your body suddenly switches on and at 100% capacity? That's what their music does to me. It makes me feel alive. And not just that, but happy to be alive, excited about being alive, addicted to being alive. It's a fantastic feeling.

Epilogue: Speaking of feeling alive, I've mentioned it before but I might as well say it again (consider this part of my unofficial Will & Testament) -- I want to have "Your Hand In Mine" by Explosions In the Sky played at my funeral.

"Le-go My Lego!"

2007-02-21T13:53:00.000-05:00

Due to previous engagements (read: because I have too much homework that my loving teachers felt appropriate to bestow during Spring Break) I can't write much right now.

Instead, I leave you with something to consider: Lego is the single greatest invention of the 20th century, possibly even of the last thousand years.

Thank you.

“Mawwage is what bwings us togwether today....”

2007-02-18T16:45:00.000-05:00

Well. Man oh man.

Some big news in the world of the Stewart's this week -- my "little" big sister is engaged! It's all very exciting. And thankfully she caught (see Diagram 1) a cool guy. I met him this past Christmas and he's pretty awesome. It's strange to think I'll have a brother-in-law. Having three sisters, I always thought it was unfair that I didn't get a brother too. At long last, the gods have seen my plight and answered me.

So, congratulations Steph! You done good, sis.

Which leads me to my weekly scheduled word-o-the-day:

vivify \VIV-uh-fy\, transitive verb:

1. To endue with life; to make alive; to animate.
2. To make more lively or intense.

Eg. "Boy, being engaged sure has vivified me!" --Stephanie

Another great word, completely unrelated to anything mentioned in this post, is:

impregnable \im-PREG-nuh-buhl\, adjective:

1. Not capable of being stormed or taken by assault; unconquerable; as, an impregnable fortress.
2. Difficult or impossible to overcome or refute successfully; beyond question or criticism; as, an impregnable argument.

Chad Vader

2007-02-15T23:00:00.000-05:00

I just found these the other day, and oh, how I laughed--they're five mini episodes about Chad Vader, a manager at a small supermarket.

Sometimes they aren't as funny as they could be (the first episode is the worst, in my opinion), but they pull off the general concept. I love it. Such a great idea!

Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5

Ah, L'Amour!

2007-02-14T15:42:00.000-05:00

This was on a card someone gave me a while ago. It makes me laugh. It seemed somewhat fitting for today, a day dedicated to "life's special moments."

Happy Valentines Day, all you lovers, you!

Teenage Mutant Ninja Psycho

2007-02-12T01:18:00.000-05:00

I don't mind telling you, I love action figures. And bobble-heads. And really, anything that is a toy that is also amazing (amazing being up for interpretation, of course). It's a part of my childhood I refuse to give up completely. At this point, it's a fairly passive hobby and my "collection" is pretty minimal, limited to a few characters from some of my favourite movies or TV shows (for example, my Mr. T bobble-head or my Monty Python action figures).

However, should I ever reach a point of obsession like this crazy lady, I do hereby grant each and every one of you permission to kick the crap out of me. Repeatedly. With large sticks and/or sharp stones.

Thank you.

Because I Know You've Been Waiting For It...

2007-02-11T19:49:00.000-05:00

It's that time again! "What time is that," you ask? It's time to learn words! Please. Please. Hold your applause and cheering and autograph-seeking until after, thank you very much.

The first word of the day that I would like to share with you is this:

satiety \suh-TY-uh-tee\, noun:

1. The state of being full or gratified to or beyond the point of satisfaction.

It's a fun word to say, too, so it gets my vote for the week's best. And, with luck, it's how you will feel after reading this fantastic post. So don't hold back. Embrace someone close to you. Revel in the discovery of this new addition to your vocabulary.

If you still aren't feeling it, let me provide you with another opportunity, my second favourite:

Pyrrhic victory \PIR-ik\, noun:

1. A victory achieved at great or excessive cost; a ruinous victory.

Go forth, friends, and spread the word(s).