Son Of A Preacher Man

Paths

2012-02-02T20:20:00.001-08:00

What is it about experience that creates cynicism? Why is it that as I get older and (theoretically) wiser, I also become more hesitant to bare my soul via this public journal we call a blog? Why is it that as a 17 year-old I could write earnestly and sincerely, but as a 22 year-old when I sit down to write I am instantly struck by the silliness of my generation's musings? I feel as though I am joining an army of uninformed "attempted thinkers" as they spout their opinions about life and the nature of things.

And that, dear reader, is the reason why it has been so long. A rather angsty excuse, perhaps, but still an excuse. Maybe I should have cited school, and my kids, and said "my, but doesn't life just get so busy?!" But I digress. I sat down to write, and I suppose I should write.

I like to think of myself as a traveler in this life - and not one simply making the trek from the "cradle to the grave." Rather, I want to be a student of those who have gone before - to analyze the tracks of those rushing past on different paths and strain ahead with binoculars to see where they end up before I throw my lot in as well. Perhaps Longfellow said it best: "lives of great men all remind us that we can make our lives sublime/and, departing, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time."

From my perch overlooking these paths, (also known as the corner of a tall building with a window seat where I go to contemplate life) I see a lot. I see old businessmen with ill-colored trench-coats heading toward their black coffee at Strongfields; middle-aged businessmen rushing past each other and into tall buildings which swallow them up; young businessmen striding past each other with expensive car key-rings carefully situated logo-out on the finger of the hand holding the latte.

I see restaurant employees sneaking cigarettes on garbage-runs; panhandlers emptying the larger coins from their caps when no one is looking; cab-drivers spying out the best illegal parking spots.

I see many others - too many to count.

Some of these paths look interesting - like they'd be interesting to tread for a few days, or even weeks. But do I want to spend my life on any of them, or any combination of them? No. Even the thought is boring. Surely there must be a more interesting path?

Now, this post could end cutely here with a Robert Frost reference about "Roads Less Traveled," or segue into a discussion of how there's something more to live for (there is, but if you know me we've probably already talked about it), but I think we'll stick with Longfellow for today:

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

TD

Ten Years

2012-01-26T19:08:00.000-08:00

From a journal entry - September 11, 2011

I didn't feel it coming. But as the stewardess proffering snacks made her way down the aisle and I put my earbuds in - hearing the last few lines of the Brooklyn Children's Chorus: "O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave / O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?" my chest heaved and hot tears were suddenly running down my cheeks. Aware that there was no Kleenex box nearby, I tried to contain myself. What does this mean to me anyway? My 11 year-old self was asleep under my favorite plaid comforter at 8:46am on September 11, 2001, not in New York or even the United States. I was waked by my sister shaking me with the news, and spent the next few days following the dumbstruck lead of adults around me. Now, my 21 year-old self sits on a plane watching a line of people several hundred long waiting to read the names of the dead. Is it for them that I cry? Or am I still just following the cues of adults around me? I glance at the man next to me who is watching the proceedings casually (he looks like he wants some popcorn) - no, it's not that.

I mute the sound and put on music; stare out the window and try to collect my thoughts. I feel mixed-up and muddled; I glance back at the lips of the woman reading a loved one's name and the tears come again. I realize suddenly that I am not weeping for the dead ones, but for the living ones. The ones left to ask "why?" every day; to fight against hatred; to spend a lifetime mourning. They look so lost...they are so lost.

"Know Thyself?" Try Starting With "Look at Thyself"

2011-07-14T06:17:00.000-07:00

Self-examination has gone out of style. It seems that my peers and I have been told "don't conform to anything; don't seek to change yourself, we all have our own path to follow." In the stead of self-betterment, we all now claim we're searching for self-actualization - our "place in the world." rather than changing ourselves to get somewhere desirable, we now look for a place where we can fit in without changing anything. (Wow, that sounds pretty lamentable - don't worry, it's not all this depressing.)

This is precisely why living by the Bible is so unpopular: it of all belief systems requires the most change in us. Unlike other philosophies, to truly live it requires real self-examination which is at best uncomfortable and at worst a total rebuilding of our character. It is also why there are so many watered-down versions of Christianity: most churches peddle affirmation like salesmen peddle insurance. "You don't want to dig into the parts that require change? No problem, let's just look at these ideas that make you feel good about the fish on the back of your car."

This blog isn't here to be preachy - it's not just religion that's guilty of ignorant bliss, but education, finances, and nearly every skill or task that requires dedication: "You don't want to actually save money? Okay, just delude yourself into thinking it'll all work out." "Don't feel like getting up early to work out? Meh, just walk vigorously from your parking spot to work."

My point is that as you seek to truly "know thyself," as one of the Greek philosophers suggested, you start to dig up larger, harder to face things about yourself. Some of them make you feel great; things like how much you care about people, how honest you are, etc. But other things are so annoying and hard to face that when the spade of self-examination clanks against them, the prospect of excavating something that large brings dread. We see it, know it, and then, considering the unpleasant task ahead, pretend that we want to leave that particular piece of debris right where it is. We've all done it - in fact I'm doing it right now in some areas. The problem is that once an honest, inquisitive mind sees the changes that need to be made, or the "what could be" picture, it will forever be plagued by that ideal. I'm writing of physical things, financial things, and spiritual things alike.

So we're hooped, fellow honest human beings. We may as well stop deceiving ourselves and simply dig. It will be better afterward. Pick one thing and really look at it - you'll find that "knowing thyself" is really just examining thyself, done over and over again.

t

On Richard III & Manipulation

2010-12-19T13:46:00.000-08:00

Oh, hello. It's been awhile, hasn't it? So long, in fact, that you may not even visit this old relic of a blog much anymore. I ran into an old friend yesterday whose dad writes a column in Saskatoon's "Star Phoenix" three times a week. I mentioned that I saluted his father for being so consistent. He mentioned that it's a little easier to be motivated to write when one's paycheque depends on it--and then said something I've found to be true: "anyone can write for 30 days. After that though, 95% of people run out of steam and quit. That's why blogs always fail. Those 5% that can keep it up for years are the ones who are dedicated and focused." So maybe I'm not very focused. Either way, you didn't come here to read a journal, so let us go quickly to the point.

First, a word of background. I've begun my final year of university (Incidentally, if you or anyone you know is looking for a bright young Finance graduate, feel free to consider me...) and, since I took all but two of my school's available Finance classes in my 3rd year, my 4th year is a little more enjoyable: I've cashed in my "free senior electives" and am taking a two-term Shakespeare class from a wonderful, insane, red-headed, cat-eye-glasses-wearing professor who shouts at us while she describes the dramatic irony in Twelfth Night. It's the highlight of my school week--I feel like I'm actually learning, instead of merely regurgitating. This week we're discussing Richard III.

Now, you really should read Richard III, even if you're not normally a "Shakespeare person." It's delightful. I won't ruin it for you, but here's a synopsis so that the rest of this post isn't boring: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, is the King's brother. He is, in a word, a villain. He opens the play with these famous words:

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

But, you see, Richard is miserable. He is ugly, evil, cruel, and manipulative, and wants nothing more than to put an end to the peace that has just settled over England. He tells us, the audience:

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:

What makes the play so delicious is that although Richard is horrible, he bewitches the audience into being his cheering squad. While he usurps the throne, kills his rivals, and marries the wife of one of his victims, he is all the while allowing us to be in on his sick little joke. He often answers questions truthfully, but his quick wit prevents the hearer from understanding the true meaning behind his words. A beautiful example of this is seen in Act 3, where Richard is traveling with the two princes who are in line for the throne. In theory he is their "guardian" since their father's death, but in reality he will kill them just a few scenes later. During their trip, the prince looks at the dagger on Richard's belt:

Prince: "I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger."

Richard: "My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart."

The irony is sickening, and yet morbidly humorous: Richard will soon "give him the dagger" alright--him and everyone else standing in the way of Richard becoming king.

So what's the point? This post is not really about Richard III, it is about manipulation in general, using Richard as a study. If you read the play, you will notice that not only does he successfully evade blame for everything evil he does, he actually manages to pin his crimes on his enemies. He is good at it because he knows himself. He can recognize his own evil, and dances perfectly around discovery with his smooth words. In fact, he thinks of it as a game: how far can I get without being discovered? Just how blatantly can I murder without repercussions?

How is this relevant to your life or mine? While we may not know anyone who will murder to get what they want, we see this play acted out in our lives every day. We all have that friend who just happens to know something that someone else said when we weren't around...the friend who enjoys the game. In fact, we might even enjoy the game; since playing it is inherent in humans. This is why you should watch out for anyone who is always trying to make someone else look bad; this rule extends to politics, religion, and life in general, and is also why I think if someone would go into politics on the platform of "construction, not destruction" they would probably get a lot of votes.

A Generation with an Addiction to Inspiration

2010-09-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

5 minutes ago, I was re-reading my last post (How arrogant of me, I know. I'm sure some famous author somewhere--probably Oscar Wilde or someone like him--has said that a writer should never read their own material; it's bad form: “My dear Mr. Wilde, do you remember that piece you wrote last year on the English parliament? It struck me as so delightful at the time!” Oscar takes a sip of his sherry before replying “Alas Madam, I cannot consume my own work. It sets the bar too high and sours the enjoyment of any subsequent reading.” But I digress...where was I? Oh yes, breaking the rule...) and came across this sentence: "We humans need inspiration like we need respiration."

Think about that for a minute. Separate the words from their context and ignore the rhyme: "We humans need inspiration like we need respiration." Is that really true? That last essay extolled the necessity of being inspired. This one tries to decide if my generation's need for novelty is healthy or hurtful (and, as a secondary goal, tries to use fewer semi-colons—it’s a bad habit).

I was in Ontario last month for "MySummit 2010," the youth-focused portion of the G8/G20 Country Summits. (How I happened to be there is a longer story we’ll leave alone for now.) During the final day of the G8 Summit in Muskoka, we met with the Governor-General of Canada, Michaelle Jean. I won’t bother you with the details leading up to the event—they consist of hitch-hiking from Montreal to Toronto, sleeping 12 hours in 6 days, hearing the Queen of Jordan (whom I have a slight crush on) speak, and meeting a hundred amazing people from all over the world—but instead picture with me a square room which....well never mind, just look at the photos.

Keeping in mind the fact that this post now has 4 paragraphs and very little content, let us leave off from literary devices for a moment—I only have 10 minutes left.

Her Excellency Michaelle Jean came into the room after 15 minutes of waiting expectantly (and sweating—it was a sauna in there!). As she followed Minister Tony Clement through the entrance, the room rose with a roar of applause and relief—like I said, it was hot. Once at the podium, she waited for silence before beginning: “How are you?” I won’t relay the whole speech (if you’d like to read it you can find it here), but it was simplistic and sincere, and impressed everyone present. What’s interesting, though, is that she didn’t speak for long. She finished by saying “I am very interested in hearing your perspectives on the ways we can all work together to tackle key global challenges.

I would like to hear some of the solutions you have identified."

Well, what could we do? We “young professionals” are frightfully proficient at complaining that no one ever listens to our opinions. “We want to change the world!” we whine, while we waste our weeks on Facebook and wonder why our opinion holds no weight. Here was someone—someone important!—offering to spend hours doing just that: listening to the opinions and complaints of young world citizens.
So we talked. A microphone was produced, and 60 young people from Russia, Canada, Germany, Japan, Italy, France, the U.K., and the U.S.A. took turns sharing their thoughts on the world’s strengths & shortcomings; problems & potential; woes & wonders. We made ourselves frightfully vulnerable to criticism, but there were no critics—only curious, open minds with few preconceptions. In short, it was fantastic. We fed off each others’ enthusiasm and left the session with our day’s appetite for inspiration fulfilled.

The next day, (Saturday) we boarded our coaches at 6:00am in anticipation of terrible traffic on the trip to Toronto. Some of the wiser Delegates among us slept for the entire 3-hour ride. Having just gulped down a hasty cup of Earl Grey in the hotel, and with another one steeped perfectly for the road (obtained while being shouted at by various people to “hurry up, we’re leaving without you!”), I suddenly realized that all of my books were packed, and that my laptop battery was dead. Not one to be put off, I pestered the rows around me until a life-saver from North Carolina produced the latest copy of the Economist. Alas, It wasn’t as interesting as I had hoped, and I soon wandered up to the front of the bus to talk to Kimberly Mosher (Whose wonderful blog you can find here), an old friend and fellow ‘attempted thinker’ who can always be depended on for a good conversation. We talked about the amazing time we were having, the great people we were meeting, the sleep we weren't getting, and the wonderful things we were hearing. Something was bothering me though: during the past three days we had heard somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 speeches, all of them inspiring and well-thought out, given by various leaders, politicians, and public figures. In almost every single speech, the person lecturing told us emphatically to "Remember this: you aren't just the leaders of tomorrow, you're the leaders of today!"

"Now, that sounds really nice to say," I told Kim as we crawled through traffic toward the outskirts of Toronto "but let's be honest. Are we REALLY the leaders of today? We don't do nearly the amazing things that our parents' generation did--we TALK. We're a generation of pithy quotes and cute thoughts, but do we have anything to back it up? We watch TED talks every day and carry funky notebooks to write down our deepest musings, but do we DO anything?

"Looking at all of our resumes, you would think we were God's gift to Generation-Y, but how many of us still live with our parents?"

I realized I was ranting, and decided to cut it short--especially since we were pulling into the University of Toronto campus: "Our parents' hard work and drive has bred in us an addiction to the clever, the temporary, and the meaningless. Not one of the things that we've talked so eloquently about during the last two days will actually change unless we all go home and can be driven....but most of us won't."

And with that upbeat comment, our conversation ended. But not in my mind. In my mind I kept turning it over and over and over, adding to it the experiences of the next few days--meeting young people from 20 different countries, hearing more speeches, watching young people flirt with each other and with the ecstasy of being one of the chosen few to represent the youth of the world at this Summit--and the summation of all of that can be expressed with this:

"But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for."

Just a humble opinion.
-TD

The Death of Idealism

2010-06-03T14:40:00.000-07:00

It is “a truth universally acknowledged” (to borrow the words of a better writer than myself) that young people are too naïve for our own good. We come into this world wide-eyed and wonder-full, ready to solve its problems by the sheer power of our own sincerity. We make ourselves vulnerable on purpose, innocent enough to think that our authenticity will protect us. Faces unmasked, emotions unhidden, our innocence showing through our attempts to be grown-up: "Do you want to be my best friend?"

Somewhere along the line, though, we start to suffer from that blessing & curse we call 'experience.' We learn about war, cruelty, manipulation, and conflicts of interest. We suffer from diseases like selfishness, lethargy, and desensitization. We 'grow up.' Our dreams of Astronautism, Firefighterism, and Cowboyism slowly move down the line of idealism: Poet, Pilot, Policeman, Painter; Lover, Linguist, Lawyer, Land Titles Agent....and it invariably happens as we get older. You won't find a 12 year-old dreaming about Accounting, and then deciding at 18 that he really wants to be an acrobat. Somewhere in the dozen or so years between dreaming and 'settling,' a transformation takes place--The Death of Idealism.

What is the reason for this slow erosion of our passion? Can it be true, like some cynics say, that humans are simply awful, and that we can only cut our losses and join in the materialistic madness that defines our society? Or is it perhaps the truth that the collective jadedness of our society has a ‘critical mass’—relentlessly dragging us down like gravity from our would-be flights of fancy? And, like gravity, this grimness permeates our lives, gradually squishing us down to the level of everyone else. We begin to see it as a simple truth, an unfortunate reality that we’ll never overcome. We stop drawing sketches of birds' wings and trying to find a garbage bag big enough to use as a parachute, and instead start watching reality TV shows. In short, our idealism dies.

Somehow though, it needs to be reborn. It can happen; perhaps it is via a TED talk about doing what you love, or the painting you just noticed on the coffee-shop wall, or the way the sky is lit up by 1 million colors during tonight's sunset, or the poem you read this morning. We humans need inspiration like we need respiration.

So let us not belittle our dreamers--the ones who proudly enroll in Sociology even though their supervisor at Starbucks has a masters in English. Let us boldly say "that's really awesome, you should go for it" when honored with another person's dreams. For it is not the amount of cash and the couches and cars that make our world a good place to live, it is the prevalence of those wide-eyed and wonder-full innocents; the endangered species of idealists. Let us instead "go forward together," striding past the all-too-tempting scent of apathy that distracts us from our ideals.

Acting in public, like we think in private: is it possible?

2010-02-02T18:50:00.000-08:00

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,"
-WS

I was at a bookstore tonight, doing what any good bibliophile usually does in a bookstore--looking hungrily at books and feeling rather inferior. It used to be that I could go into a room full of books and, looking around, recognize a high percentage that I'd read over the years (this 'room' may or may have been the children's department of the public library), but alas, no more. In the battle of Thomas vs. all the books in the world, the books are currently winning handily, although Thomas is giving it his best shot.

In this epic battle, I occasionally feel somewhat curious as to how the enemy is progressing, so I stop by one of its stores. During tonight's reconnaissance, the sights were grim: books have been multiplying like rabbits recently, and hordes of terrible ones camouflage many of the good ones, making it hard to know which are worth reading and which are merely decoys produced as fodder for the illiterate masses (OK, perhaps that's a bit harsh, but it sounds good). Tonight though, as I ran my eyes past "U is for Uh-Oh," "Please read about my life," and "The planet is injured--Let's all compost" (I'm not sure if those are real titles, but if so, it's no surprise) I noticed, on the very top shelf, what looked a book with potential. I strained up and pulled it down curiously; "The Birth (And Death) of the Cool." Piqued, I opened it and read a few pages (don't worry, McNally Robinson staff, I didn't break the spine). What it said resounded with me. You may disagree; in fact, I'm not even sure if I agree, but it's making me think.

The book asserts that 'the cool' came into existence in the 50s with the emergence of jazz and funk music. The 30s and 40s were still pretty conformist (think 'grey suit & bowler hat guy'), but in the 50s and 60s, 'cool' became a characteristic; something you could put on. This concept of 'the cool' though, has been taken to such extremes and used so much, that it has become worn and tired. The author writes:

"A postcool society? You may think that strange, but here is something stranger: the people who are leading the way are those who, a few years ago, would have stood out as the coolest of the cool. The cool is crumbling from the inside. The trendsetters are now the most vehement in moving beyond the cool. And for that very reason, the retrenching of the cool is one trend that will not be reversed any time soon. This postcool attitude is not just another style, but a rejection of the stylized. It is not just another trend, but a distaste for trendiness. It is not just another pose, but a dismissal of the poseurs."

"Wow," I thought, "This guy really has something here." All of us, from the coolest to the uncoolest, can see validity in that paragraph. We've taken it as far as it can go, to the point where 'cool' has become a stereotype. Every year has had its own specimen of cool--in '03 'the cool' wore a faux-hawk and Puma runners. In '07 the cool girl bought a matt & nat bag and a bunch of leggings...But it's too predictable now. Cool has been done too much, and people are slowly beginning a return to something else; something more real:

"Postcool, in contrast, is built on a new earnestness and directness, a celebration of simplicity and authenticity. Irony is out; plainspokenness is in. The natural and down-to-earth are preferred to the glitzy and fashionable. The real is valued above the contrived, honesty above artifice."

When I read these quoted paragraphs, I flipped to the notes section of my phone and read something I had written months earlier: "Write about acting in public, like you think in private. Most of us are sincere with ourselves--but put on a mask when we go out." I realized that this is what I was trying to get at. Our collective obsession with cool and constant positioning to be seen as hip and trendy is really quite fake--we base our judgments on it; our likes and dislikes; even our hobbies and conversations!

Resolution #3: don't be a slave to the cool in 2010.

*interesting thought: by writing this, am I jumping on the "the new cool is un-cool" bandwagon to try and be cool?* Hmmmmm...

The Concert--A Product of Imagination

2009-12-19T15:27:00.000-08:00

8:45 For some, it was the culmination of a lifetime of adoration and fanhood; for others, a slightly superior alternative to sitting in front of the television all evening. Some came out of boredom, some out of curiosity. The children whined and asked to stay home; the teens were placated by bringing cell phones; the preppy students came so they could say they had. They sized up each others' clothing, chatted over $9 wine, and in general, expected to be mildly bored for the next hour or so.
8:58 The fans had already finished poring over the program, while the bored boyfriends finished up in the bathroom. The ushers, indifferent and nonchalant ("we see these things every day") corralled people into their seats with flashlights and chided tactless candy-eaters while the lights went down.
9:01 The lights stayed off--the silence turned into a hush, which turned into expectant throat-clearing. Just as the first pessimistic girlfriend turned to ask if the power had gone out, a spotlight pierced the darkness, lighting up the once-new Steinway and, more importantly, the man sitting hunched over at the keyboard. The man did not wait for the crowd to comprehend the spectacle, but began to play without lifting his head. The music, unlike most public performances, did not wait for its audience to get settled. It gently declared the beginning of the performance with four notes that sounded like thick tear-shaped drops of water falling into the still waters. The next hour was without words. One woman whispered "Oh my God" to her husband, but he didn't hear her.

Context

The Burden of Understanding

2009-09-15T13:42:00.000-07:00

It is an inescapable characteristic of human beings to be upwardly mobile. From the orphan in Africa who simply wants a new pencil so she can write her tests, to the American business owner who merely wants a longer yacht so he can look down on his marina-mates, we are all upreaching; groping for more goods, knowledge, friends, experiences. Whether for better or worse, it is also true that more of anything comes with a change in perspective. We cannot become experienced without experiencing unpleasantness; we cannot become expert without making innumerable mistakes; we cannot develop intelligence without knowing horrible things.

Perhaps the most irretrievable of all these 'starting points' is ignorance and naivete--and they can't co-exist with understanding and wisdom.

I am, you may observe, not the first to make this proposition. The saying "Ignorance is bliss" was around long before my blog was; still, humor me--I'm trying to dig into something deeper than just that superficial saying.

Which of us hasn't experienced dread along with epiphany? Which of us hasn't heard an argument we would love to accept without a thought, but know deep down that there is much more to the scenario? Which of us, seeking an answer for something in life, hasn't been terrified of finding the answer because of the action that an answer will require?

Last year I wrote something about the impossibility (for me) of rejecting the concept of God in my life. It's not that I haven't had doubts, or that my connection with God is so strong that I think of myself as a close second to Enoch--I have, and it isn't. No, the real reason I have no choice but to live differently is because my understanding forces me to. I've spoken to people who God has miraculously healed (too many for it to be a coincidence), heard preachers address things verbatim that I know to be relevant to my life (too often for it to be happenstance), and felt and done things that I know are supernatural (too obvious to be ignored). In the face of all this, what can I do? Even if I didn't want to conform to my beliefs (which I do--there are deeper reasons for commitment to a thing than merely conscience) I can't negate it--I understand enough to know that ignoring it would be the ultimate in self-deception. That is the understanding I'm writing about.

Understanding is given to all of us, in countless ways. You might understand and recognize when people are attracted to each other, you might recognize, at a glance, the strengths and weaknesses of a business model, you might have an uncanny ability to make people feel good (or bad) about themselves, or you may understand principles that most people can't. Whatever your understanding is, it comes with a burden: the burden of using it responsibly.

Submission and Independence

2009-08-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

Right now I'm reading Allenby, Soldier and Statesman. Random, I know--It happened like this: this Sunday morning I was on my way out of a flea market, having found a great 19th century version of The Works of Tennyson when I suddenly my peripheral vision caught some gold writing along the side of a slim red-covered book on a table by itself. I stopped for a quick look. I'll admit that I only recognized the name because I recently heard a preacher mention Allenby in a sermon."How much is this book" (to the man standing by the table drinking coffee--there were no other customers because it wasn't open yet...I had snuck in a side door hoping Eldon, the best book-hunter in Saskatoon, would have something worth getting up at 7:30 on a Sunday for). "That one? That's on the free table--take it." I hoorayed and thanked him, running down the stairs lest I have no time for my habitual pre-church Earl Grey at Starbucks. If worship service that morning seemed less thought-about than usual, let the blame fall on Allenby--I couldn't put it down once I started.

Anyone who has read a biography knows that the biographer usually spends some time discussing the childhood of the hero. A striking feature of Allenby is that he didn't make a very large mark in his youth. He studied hard and got fairly good marks, didn't care much for sports, and failed to get into several competitive posts. In fact, his most positive attribute was that he was incredibly loyal and obedient--a very good follower-of-orders. In short, he was not one of those men of whom people say "I always knew that boy would....." and yet he was eventually responsible for some of the greatest commanding the British Army had ever seen. How did this happen? Was he always a great general, only needing to be put in a position where he could showcase his abilities? Was he lucky? I think the answer is found on page 26:

"his gospel of unfailing loyalty to those set over him made him ready to accept without outward questioning the restrictions of the military code and the conservatism of regulations....the perfect subordinate who yet retains the capacity for independent action; he could always be trusted to carry out the orders and intentions of his superiors with complete loyalty, but he never lost the power to think and act independently."

This is only my opinion, but I think Edmund Allenby was one of the rare men who understand and practice the paradox of submission and independence. He was brought up to believe that hard work pays off, that you should do whatever you set your hand to "with thy might," and that honesty and loyalty have value in practice, and not merely in theory. Almost all people understand independence--they want to think for themselves, make their own choices, and govern their own lives. Fewer people understand submission--keeping an opinion silent even if it has worth; sacrificing glory even if it is deserved. Even fewer people understand both, and a very small percentage of people practice both, recognizing that there are many paths to glory, but not all are equally honorable. When a person is willing to take an extra ten years to achieve a position, simply because the short-cut violates a personal principal (however small), they may reach the apex of life later, but it will be with more dignity and worthiness. Too many people (and I count myself among them) understand this in theory, but have a hard time making themselves live by it. Especially in our ever-competitive culture, where it is commonplace to look for something in exchange for nothing, or to use others' shortcomings to our advantage instead of looking to an objective standard of excellence. This is an uncomfortable truth because it takes "delayed gratification" to a new level; beyond just saving 10% of your paycheque, working out three times a week, or studying when you know you could pass without it.

"And whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant"
-Matt 20:27

Eureka!

2009-08-01T09:53:00.001-07:00

I suppose it started when I decided to read Winston Churchill's WWII series. Everyone I know who's read the six-book set raves about it and claims to have a way better understanding of the progression and events of the second Great War. So I started The Gathering Storm in 2005 during the boring parts of my English class. Now you must understand, I have this terrible habit of reading half of a book, then putting it down for three months to read another one (Case in point: right now I have nine books sitting beside my bed, all with bookmarks just shy of the middle). Such was the case with The Gathering Storm, and so it took me two years to finish it. I then became very ambitious, and decided to focus on reading one Churchill per month, and so finish the series at the end of 2007. Alas, Their Finest Hour proved too much for me, and I took another hiatus mid-book to read more flighty works. I came to myself around my birthday, and managed to finish the second book by the end of 2007--slightly short of my goal, but with so many books to read, how can one be expected to limit himself to one author per year, even if it is WSC? If this were a post about my progress on the Churchill series, it would end tragically: I am only halfway through book III. It's not though, so stop crying. The point of this long-winded excuse for an introduction lies on page 57 of Their Finest Hour: (an avid fan of this blog--one or two might exist--may remember this from a post on unity long ago in a forgotten age when people were happy and blog posts appeared almost daily)

"For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old"

There are certain things we read that have an effect on us. For some it may be Frost; for some, The Beatles. For whatever reason, this poem grabbed me. I Googled the passage to find the author, and came up with Lays of Ancient Rome by Thomas Babington Macaulay, from a compilation by R.W. Griswold (Poets of England in the 18th Century, or something of the sort). So I started looking. I looked on eBay; No. Chapters? not a chance. McNally Robinson? They would order it in for $180. No thanks. I started looking at old bookstores; no luck. I went to a giant book sale and scoured; nothing. I've been looking for this book for two years now.

Then, about a month ago, I was talking with my mom about old books in general. She mentioned Gary, who owns Northland Books. I've never been; she said I should stop in and look around sometime. Last Friday I finished work early. I changed and decided that of all the ways to kill three hours before leaving town (went to Regina for the final service with Steve Pixler), browsing books was more attractive than cleaning my car.

As soon as I opened the door, my nose told me I was not in just another junk book store--we all know about those ones: too many romance novels and piles of last year's business books; the 7 habits discarded in favor of the 8th. No, the smell of old pages, dust, and bibliophiles told me a different story. I walked up the left side of the stairs--the right side was piled high with towers of tomes--eager to investigate the treasure chest. My jaw lasted two steps before dropping. A book, with the cover a shade of burgundy that only two hundred years of careful regard can produce, quietly proclaimed itself as "The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow." I fainted. Well, perhaps I only swooned. Either way, I prepared myself for a long browse.
"Hello." a very disapproving voice greeted me. I turned, replacing the $150 book guiltily and carefully.
"Oh! ah, Hello." I stammered, feeling very young in the gaze of the old gentleman peering at me over ancient spectacles. I thought I was about to hear "what are you doing here?" and wasn't far off: "Is there something I can help you with?" Still the spectacles perched precariously--superglue, I wondered? I realized that young people do not like books, and I was a young person. I hastened to explain myself. "I was passing by and thought I would stop in. I love books, and my mother (normally I would have said mom, but the occasion seemed to call for formality) recommended your store. I..." I would have come up with another excuse, but he seemed satisfied. The head lifted, allowing the glasses a respite from their dangerous position. "Well then, you've come the right place." I allowed myself a relieved smile. It appeared that a love of books was the secret handshake to gain entry into the store. Glancing around, I understood; it would be blasphemous to allow just anyone into this place. I assumed the owner had to be on constant guard against the romance and business-book readers. I could tell as much from his beard and demeanor as from the set of Lord Byron's Poems on the shelf behind me for a mere $1050, that here was a man serious about books. We conversed, about books of course, for several minutes, me gazing around like a hungry child, him telling me about various ones. After a time he asked again "Is there anything in particular you are looking for?" this time helpful instead of incredulous. I wracked my brain, searching for some obscure title that would win his admiration and seal my reputation as a true book-lover, but nothing came to mind. I assured him that I was just browsing for now, and he hovered while I gaped at books I could never afford, but would trade my whole library for. I was about to ask if he had anything by Churchill, when suddenly the passage from that book popped into my head. "Oh, wait! There is one book..." I recounted my fine-toothed-comb search at length, sounding, I thought, like the woman who had tried many physicians with no success. I could see the interest mounting in his eyes as I explained my infatuation "...so, I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but..."
"If I've heard of it?!," he cut me off "I don't know if I've seen it for a few years, but I had a copy once, let's go downstairs." I followed. We started in the 'Poetry', then to the 'Alphabetical English Authors', and finally to 'Rome' After several minutes of mumbling, frowning, and berating himself for not having things organized, he shrugged "Well maybe it's upstairs in Classics, we'll give it a shot." Back up the flight we hurried, and to a shelf at the end of a row. I caught a glimpse of a five-volume 'Gibbon's Rome,' but didn't pause. From ahead of me I heard an animated "Aha!" It may as well have been a 'Eureka!' I caught up with Gary as he pulled a small blue book with a beautiful cover from between two giant works in Greek. "Here it is" he said nonchalantly, as if he knew the whole time where it was. "I'll leave you with it." Indeed, I needed a minute. I admired the book for a full minute before even thinking about the price. "I'll take it..."
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I've since read the book, and, upon learning that WSC memorized it at Harrow as a younster, have started memorizing it myself (skipping over the boring bits, of course, and focusing on the excerpts that will be sure to impress forthcoming niece/nephew). Here is the best so far (hopefully verbatim--I don't have it in front of me). It takes place as Sextus is approaching the bridge with an army of thousands to take the city.

Then out spake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate
"To every man upon this earth
death cometh, soon or late

And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers
and the temples of his Gods

And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast

And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?"

I'll post a picture of the cover later (-:

Davy Crockett

2009-07-25T20:54:00.000-07:00

I love travelling. Besides all the normal reasons that people give, I like it because I get a lot of reading done. This trip (writing this in O’hare, en route back from Tulsa) I was planning to bring War and Peace and start it (I finally bought a copy—they were clearing it out at McNally Robinson) but it would’ve taken up too much space (and, I won’t lie, I didn’t feel like taxing my brain that much this week) so, on a whim, five minutes before I walked out the door on Wednesday morning, I grabbed The Autobiography of David Crockett off my shelf, blew the dust off of it, and threw it in my carry-on.

My knowledge of ‘Davy’ up to this point was limited to what I remembered from being at the Alamo....13 years ago; that and the song about him—in other words, not much. Now that I’ve finished it, I want everyone to read it. Most of the autobiographies I’ve read have been those of politicians and businessmen, which tend to be a blend of witty anecdotes about life as a public figure, and quotable observations (sometimes true, often just ambiguous) about how to succeed in life (“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my __years as ______, it’s that sometimes you’ve just got to ____”), which gets tedious. This book was the complete opposite in every way. Judge for yourself; page 1:

“Fashion is a thing I care mighty little about, except when it happens to run just exactly according to my own notion: and I was mighty nigh sending out my book without any preface at all, until a notion struck me, that perhaps it was necessary to explain a little the reason why and wherefore I had written it.”

And further down: “while the critics were learning grammar, and learning to spell, I and “Doctor Jackson, LL.D” were fighting in the wars; and if our books, and messages...should need a little looking over, it’s just nobody’s business.”

It gives ‘plain’ a new meaning, telling the story of a dirt-poor Tennessee boy who runs away from home at 14 to live a wild life, looks for a wife (“I made a call at the house of a Dutch widow, who had a daughter that was well enough as to smartness, but she was as ugly as a stone fence.”), gets into politics, hunts bears, and eventually goes to Texas.

Better than any movie or fiction story could, it tells the story of a country boy’s run-in with the big city. He decides to go into politics and is forced to take a railroad trip to New York... “[T]hey say we run twenty-five miles to the hour. I can only judge of the speed by putting my head out to spit, which I did and overtook it so quick that it hit me smack in the face.”

The fantastic part, though, begins when he loses an election and gives a speech “telling them that I was done with politics for the present, and that they might all go to hell, and I would go to Texas.”

The last two hundred pages in a smart-car: He goes to Texas, fights a lot of people, and dies. This is what was added to complete his manuscript: “The battle was desperate until daylight, when only six men belonging to the Texan garrison were found alive....Colonel Crockett was of the number. He stood alone in an angle of the fort, the barrel of his shattered rifle in his right hand, in his left his huge bowie-knife dripping blood. There was a frightful gash across his forehead, while around him there was a complete barrier of about twenty men, lying pell-mell, dead, and dying.” He was then captured and stabbed by “a dozen swords” while making a last-ditch effort to kill the enemies’ commander.

You should read it. But if you don’t, at least you know the basics.

Atlas Shrugged

2009-07-12T20:40:00.000-07:00

I finally finished the behemoth about 3 months ago. When I turned the 1088th page, I was both sick of reading it and ready to start again at page 1. It is a humongous book, in many ways. If you know Ayn Rand's writing, you'll have an idea of what I'm talking about; if you don't, I'll try to make this post worth your time anyways.

How does one write a 'synopsis' of a thousand-page book? I won't try; lots of others already have, and mine probably wouldn't be as good. Instead I'll ramble at length about my feelings....you've been warned.

I don't think a person can read Atlas Shrugged and not be influenced by it. For this reason, I would be very careful about whom I recommend it to; it is not for the naive or susceptible. It should be read, and can be enjoyed, by a very critical thinker. Ayn Rand is a master at crafting her arguments in a way that seem to leave no room for disagreement. You are either 'For her or against her,' the connotation being, of course, that agreement automatically translates you into a First-hander (original person, in Rand-speak) and gives you license to look on everyone else in Starbucks as a banal automaton. Does anyone who reads her books really see themselves as one of the 'leeches?' I doubt it.

By writing the way she does, Rand cleverly puts the reader in a difficult position: agreement is automatically rewarded with a sense of superiority, and many of the book's principals are so theoretically correct and refreshing that it seems to present itself as a solid sphere, impenetrable to criticism and rational disagreement. At the same time, reading the book as a Christian made me feel uneasy--my faith and emotions about God seem to be under subtle, shifting attack while my rational ego is being affirmed. Are the two contradictory? I hate to think so; I've always been proud of my faith as being logical and soundly founded. Rand argues that all is determined by productivity and trading; if you have something of worth to me, you are worth something. If not, then you are a bloodsucker. She applies this model in her rejection of God: any being that will trade worth (his love and mercy) for non-worth (our sin and shortcomings) is immoral--even detestable. Mercy is a preposterous concept; why should I give the poor anything? It is mine, not theirs. Let them work for their own comfort. She ties the economics to the ethics in such a way as to make them seem inextricable from one another. This is flawed. Rand considers the spiritual and the physical as one and the same, but we know that spiritually, we are, by default, destitute. Humans are not able to create spiritual goods and trade them for communion with God:

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:9

Can a Lego-man elevate himself to humanity, and trade ideas and goods with us? We created everything he builds with; what would he do with a coin, unless it's compatible with his claw-hand? The idea is laughable. Rand's mistake is in assuming that humans are the highest order of beings, and the worship of self is a dominant theme in all of her books.
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That being said, when it comes to literature, Atlas Shrugged is a fascinating book. The characters are so well-shaped that they go beyond just the story--each one epitomizes a set of values and way of life. Her pen might as well be a paintbrush when it comes to describing atmosphere, scenery, and attitudes. The story's progression (if at times bogged down by 60-page speeches and opposing characters clashing with one another) is great; the feeling of the dogged decay of originality and work ethic is almost tangible, and you find yourself both dreading and anticipating the climax. Even though it is really long, it's worth spending a rainy weekend with.

David Copperfield

2009-07-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

Reading a book is a big decision. When we read, we make a gift of our time to the author, trusting that they have our best interests at heart and allowing them to influence us, even slightly. Some books are not enjoyable, but still good; some hilarious, but unedifying; some disturbing, but inescapable. Occasionally--perhaps one in every few hundred--one comes across a book that is beautiful. Usually fiction--it's hard to write a beautiful memoir or history--these books have a moral without being too preachy; they have jokes that are obvious enough for you to understand, but subtle enough to make you feel special for getting them; drama that unfolds in such a lifelike way that you wonder at the author's insight and inspiration. David Copperfield is one of these books. Dickens, if he wasn't before, is officially my favorite fiction author.

Davy is a delightful hero. Intelligent, gentlemanly, kind and, above all, innocent. He induces heart-wrenching sympathy and righteous indignation on his behalf from the very beginning, and at some spots in the book I found myself wanting to step in and give his enemies a piece of my mind (we needn't mention whether I did or not when no one was around to hear me). He falls in love at the ripe old age of 9, with Em'ly.....

"I told Em'ly I adored her, and that unless she confessed she adored me I should be reduced to the necessity of killing myself with a sword. She said she did."

But alas, it is not to be. Davy is whisked off to school to learn discipline and obedience--the hard way

'Suddenly I came upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written, which was lying on the desk, and bore these words--"Take care of him. He bites." I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a great dog underneath. But, though I looked all around with anxious eyes, I could see nothing of him. I was still engaged in peering about, when Mr. Mell came back, and asked me what I did up there.
"I beg your pardon, Sir," says I, "if you please, I'm loking for the dog."
"Dog?" says he. "What dog?"
"Isn't it a dog, Sir?"
"Isn't what a dog?"
"That's to be taken care of, Sir; that bites."
"No, Copperfield," says he gravely, "that's not a dog. That's a boy. My instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back. I am sorry to make such a beginning with you, but I must do it.'"

If you've not read the book, use your imagination to infer the experience poor D avy had at school. This is only a morsel of the story though--Master Copperfield falls in love several more times throughout the book, goes to two more schools, and at last moves to London to become an obscure sort of lawyer...He makes scores of friends, almost as many enemies, and battles through life, occasionally making Thomas look like a fool for crying in Starbucks (although I managed to make it look like a particularly nasty bout of coughing) during the sad bits.

Context free, here is one of my favority passages:

'He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an intolerable manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all patience.
"Deuce take the man!" said my aunt, sternly, "what's he about? Don't be galvanic, Sir!"
"I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood," returned Uriah; "I'm aware you're nervous."
"Go along with you, Sir!" said my aunt, anything but appeased. "Don't presume to say so? I am nothing of the sort. If you're an eel, Sir, conduct yourself like one. If you're a man, control your limbs, Sir! Good God!" said my aunt, with great indignation, "I am not going to be serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!"'

All in all, a book I would put in my top 5. I don't know where in the top 5, only that I can't have read more than 5 books as wonderful as this one in my life. Charles Dickens, you are an author to be trusted.

Nikola Tesla, Originality, and Balance

2009-06-08T18:57:00.001-07:00

I've always been fascinated with Thomas Edison--in equal parts because he was really smart (read the Encyclopedia Britannica and The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by the time he was 8--I didn't even start the Decline and fall until I was 14 (and still haven't finished it)), because we have the same name, and because I read about him in a Value Tale when I was little. I don't know if it was because of this, but my dad gave me a book when I was 11 or 12 (can't remember the name of it) about another guy who invented things involving electricity--Nikola Tesla.

It looked boring (just reading his name was enough to put me off for a while), so I didn't start it for a few weeks. One day though, probably when I'd finished all the exciting books I had out of the library at the time, I picked it up to give it a chance. The book began with a story about a fire that was started in their village (somewhere in Croatia, I think) to show off a new hose. When the firefighters put their hose in the river (it was 1860, so no fire hydrants) to start pumping, the flow of water stopped after a few seconds. No one could figure out what was wrong, and tried reversing the pump to get rid of the blockage--nothing. The fire was expanding quickly, and suddenly it wasn't just a promotional fire, but a blaze that could burn the village down. Enter our hero. Suddenly this little kid runs from the crowd, dives in the river, and works out the kink that had formed when the water started pumping. I was hooked instantly, and couldn't put the book down until I finished it. (I also spent the next month or two trying to find a similar disaster to avert by my superior brain-power and win the adoration of adults everywhere--in vain)

This book, or rather, a passage from it, came to mind a few days ago while I was pondering creativity and ingenuity. It seems that Tesla wouldn't accept help from people in inventing things; he was fiercely proud (once refused to accept the Nobel Prize) and wanted to figure things out for himself. One person observed that "It's like he is trying to discover 150 years of science by himself, when he could simply read about these discoveries instead." He wanted to be the one to discover things, so he did--even if it had already been done--like someone 're-inventing the wheel.'

What do we think of that? Is it practical? Silly? One could argue that even with his fixation with essentially 'starting over' from Benjamin Franklin's kite experience, he still invented hundreds of objects (most still in use today) and contributed more than anyone in history to our use of electricity (the whole Alternating Current vs. Direct Current thing was sort of huge....today we use AC (Tesla's invention)). But then again, this man was probably one of the most intelligent humans in recent history too. He might have done it, but is he the only one who could have?

Now fast forward to 2009. 'The age of collaboration,' as dubbed by several authors and journalists. Web sites like Wikipedia, Ask.com, and Google are making it decreasingly necessary for us to truly know anything. Want to know the formula for finding the volume of a sphere? No need to derive or memorize it--just hit up Google Math. Need to give a cutting and witty response to a criticism? Brainyquote.com is at your service. There are certainly benefits to this extreme-accessibility, but some would argue that the consequential shift in education and devaluation of knowledge is not worth the convenience. Plato, for example, drew the line at the written word...

"If men learn this, it will implant forgetfulness in their souls; they will cease to exercise memory because they rely on that which is written, calling things to remembrance no longer from within themselves, but by means of external marks. What you have discovered is a recipe not for memory, but for reminder. And it is no true wisdom that you offer your disciples, but only its semblance, for by telling them of many things without teaching them you will make them seem to know much, while for the most part they know nothing, and as men filled, not with wisdom, but with the conceit of wisdom, they will be a burden to their fellows."

Obviously, as with everything, there is a continuum for opinions on the 'conservation' of knowledge. One extreme might be a world where knowledge is guarded and carefully passed down to a select few (we can look back into history and see such times--one does not get the feeling that it was very pleasant) and another might be a world where anyone can ask any question and have it answered in seconds. Being the enlightened, well-balanced readers that we are, where would we place ourselves along this teeter-totter?

Having just paused for five minutes to think about it, I suppose it doesn't matter how available knowledge is, because those who truly value it are the ones who will find it (does that sound too "Chicken Soup for the Soul-ish?) Maybe an example will be less kitschy. Anyone can search Google for synonyms to make their essay sound smart, but style and character in writing are not a sum of syntax and wordiness--it takes practice and crafting to do anything well. If anything, the accessibility of information will afford more people the opportunity to discover wonderful things like Shakespeare and good recipes for asparagus. Opinions welcome.

Stereotypes

2009-05-13T09:24:00.001-07:00

After finishing my finals, and with a few days (hopefully not many) before I start work for the summer, I decided to blow the dust off of my keyboard and see if my brain still works--you would think that university would serve that purpose, but alas, it only requires me to have amazing regurgitation skills. Information-bulimia is an asset when it comes to higher education, it appears

Incidentally, I should probably mention now that this post has no set topic or agenda; it is a walk in the forest of my mind (Which could use a lot of pruning, judging from the confusing combination of hyphens and parentheses in this post).

Ignore the above paragraph. I didn't want to erase it, since it is still a walk through that overgrown jungle; but now it does have a set topic (As you may've surmised from the title...).

I finally finished Atlas Shrugged (post soon to follow, as soon as I am strong enough to pick the behemoth up again), and one line from it pops out at me now: "Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think you are facing a contradiction [of facts], check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong." Whether this is true or not, nobody likes to be shown to contradict themselves. It makes us look silly and illogical. It is funny then, that humans, and quite intelligent ones at that, allow themselves to be influenced by ideas that contradict common sense.

A few weeks ago I was working on a presentation with a group, when someone said something about a certain group of people--something true, but not very tactful. It was a bit funny to see the rest of the group fight for the right to be first to call him racist, prejudiced, closed-minded, and insensitive....in short, we all knew what he said was true, but since his observation was a stereotype, we refused to acknowledge it, even as an unfortunate truth.

Contrast that with this:

Remember when Blink came out in 2005? I know, you've all moved on to Outliers and Tipping Point, but remember back with me for a minute. In Blink, Malcolm Gladwell talks about Thin-Slicing, the idea that our instinctive first impressions are often as accurate as, or even more accurate than, our careful deliberations and logical decisions. Our combination of experience, intuition, and myriad other 'inputs' give us a very good impression of a person or situation--think of it as a synergy of our senses. The mythical 'sixth sense' is really just our five senses working in unison. I loved Blink. It explains a lot about human nature--why some people are good at getting things for free, why some are good at cards, and why some decide if they like you from your tone of voice. It also directly contradicts the idea, intentionally or not, that stereotyping is a bad thing. If we were to truly judge every person as an individual without making dozens of assumptions and inferences based on their gender, age, skin color, clothing, speech, vocabulary, etc., we would be terrible at judging people and situations.

In trying to figure out the way things work, scientists use the Scientific Method. It works like this: if a physicist has an idea about the way a photon of light behaves, he devises an experiment to test it. Now, there are very particular rules about the experiment; it has to be repeatable, and it has to isolate the variable in the set of experiments. (In normal english, that means that the light is the only thing that can change in the two experiments--that way if there is any change in the outcome, you know it's because of the light). If his idea (or hypothesis) is right, and other scientists can repeat it and get the same results, it has the potential to become a Law (e.g., Newton's Laws of motion). This makes sense, right? So following the same logic, if you get into a car accident one week with a 20 year-old girl, and then your friend gets into an accident the next week with a 21 year-old girl, and then you have another collision with a 23 year-old girl the week after that, you might start to form a theory about the driving ability of girls in their early twenties....right?

The point being this: We need stereotypes. They are one of the best tools we have for making judgments, given our limited information. Sure, we make wrong judgments all the time; in feebly groping through the darkness we're bound to kick the coffee table often.

I was talking with my sister last week about this post (her haranguing me to write one; me asking her if this idea made any sense), and she mentioned a positive aspect of this issue: we form ideas, stereotypes, and judgments based on the information we have, but God doesn't suffer from the same lack of information that we do. He is omniscient, and doesn't need to make assumptions about us--which brings this to mind:
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"...the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart."
I Sam 16:7

2009-04-27T20:16:00.001-07:00

Light

You run into the glaring five-'o-clock sun
as the heat begins to leave the pavement
That pale orb hangs low over the town,
bidding a sly farewell as it prepares to retire
to the other side of the sky

You sit in the living room at eight
as the pink sky is reflected softly against the walls
Diana plays on the radio in the kitchen,
accompanying the old man
on his way into the Pacific

You drive down the avenue
as the baby turns to navy
and the navy to ink
street lights and driving gloves
make it easy to forget him
until morning

The illusion of individuality

2009-01-24T15:25:00.000-08:00

First off, this post is very self-condemning...I'm as guilty of the title as anyone else I know--in fact, I think every honest person has recognized this in themselves at some time or another.

"This" is exactly what the title says: the idea that we (the royal 'we' here meaning most humans on our planet) are somehow unlike anyone else simply because of the way we dress, act, talk, eat...or a host of other similarly insignificant things. "This" is a flawed concept. Somehow our idea of uniqueness has devolved to the point where we measure individuality by an infinite number of tiny characteristics, where we try to distinguish ourselves from one another by the books we read, the places we've been, and the people we know. In other words, we externalize individuality (ironic, considering the meaning of the word). Instead of being comfortable with our good commonalities and trying to improve on our unfortunate aspects, (a most sensible solution, to be sure), we instead try to distinguish ourselves from each other as best we can: by liking/not liking Joni Mitchell/Hillsong/Herbie Hancock; buying/not buying the newest shawl-collar cardigan/matt&nat bag; lauding/spiting Bush/Obama.....we measure all these minutiae and gloss over the wonderful things that actually matter.

Lest this post be textbook-heavy on rhetoric and cold-porridge-meagre on anything substantial, I'll use myself as an example: When I was in grade 10 I read The Count of Monte Cristo for a book report project. Now that's all fine and admirable; Alexandre Dumas is a great writer, it's an amazing story, and I ended up enjoying it a lot. But I didn't choose the book for any of those reasons. I chose it very simply because it was 1300 pages long and very old, and I wanted to distinguish myself from the rest of the kids in my class as a smart-but-still-cool-in-a-superior-to-you-way person. Oh dear...how sad is that? I wasn't being individualistic, I was letting an insecurity about how people thought of me determine the books I read in my spare time. This is a tiny example (and of course, my pride hastens me to remind you that I was only 14 and have most certainly grown out of such silly peccadilloes (my word of the day)). but it makes me wonder how many more people do the same. A: Lots.

I think individuality must be lamenting the lack of welcome we have for her. She is saying to all of us: "I Beseech you--Do things you like!!!" Let's.

Since I'm not proof-reading this post, forgive any confusing or terrible writing; I'm reading David Copperfield right now and like to pretend that I'm channeling (albeit in a depressingly inferior way) Dickens.

Leadership

2008-10-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

*collective groan* Don't you just love it when teenagers write about leadership? As though we've experienced so much of it that we just have to let the public in on our observations. Still though, I must not mind too much, because here I am doing it.

When I contemplate something, I like to really think about it; to try rejecting the context of it and thinking about it as an ideal--does that make sense? Like trying to look at your bedroom as though you had never seen it before...you have to stare at it for a long time; get in all the details and odors and decorations. That's how I've been trying to think about leadership. My generation has been bombarded with books on leadership, leadership seminars, leadership speeches, habits, attitudes, goals.....to the point where leadership has become less meaningful and more of a buzzword. Just now I searched for leadership quotes to see how many I would find--I found a lot; If I tried to copy and paste them all I'd probably go over my bandwidth limit.

All this about leadership, and it's still an enigma--6 out of the 14 university classes I've taken have had a section on leadership, and they've all said the same thing: "Leadership obviously exists, but is very hard to explain." Wow, that's epic. Thanks, professor.

So for the sake of this post, I'll say leadership is an attitude. One doesn't necessarily have to be eloquent, intelligent, or popular to be a leader, but must have a leader's attitude. From things I've observed, here's what I see:

1) Leaders are idealists; they have a vision or dream that they want to see accomplished, and hold onto it even when others say it isn't possible. This is one of the biggest contributors to the 'separation' of leaders--they don't stand out because of some mystical, unknowable quality, but because their outlook is different.

2) Being a leader is not very fun. True leaders are humble and don't publicize their struggles, and so most people only see the results of a leader's effort--they never get a glimpse of the nights without sleep, the days without food, the loneliness, or the sheer effort and willpower that goes into getting 'it' done.

3) People are not born leaders. People who are exposed to great leaders obviously have a better understanding of leadership and its costs and rewards, but anyone who chooses to, can be.

4) Leaders usually have high self-esteem; or at least, they don't rely as much on friends for affirmation and fuel as others do. If they did, the average-ness and lethargy of others would drag them down (many 'peers,' if they find they can't rise up to the same level, will do the next best thing: discount the leader's accomplishments and discourage their actions). This is why people who have a relationship with God are much more prone to become leaders--again, not because they're more clever, but because they don't need recognition from the world...in fact, following Christ is the closest thing to a recipe for leadership that there is (be ye not conformed...).

If that were translated into steps, it would look like this:
-find something you care so much about that it hurts
-stop relying on comparisons to tell you where you are in life
-find something to 'fuel' your energy so you don't burn out (this blogger recommends God)
-get rid of your desire for fame/money/recognition--those are 'fossil fuels' that will soon run out and you'll be left wondering what you spent the last twenty years doing--remember that you'll be the only one who knows about 95% of your effort
-work very hard and make a lot of sacrifices.....somewhere along the way you'll start caring a lot less about what people think, and a lot more about your cause. You'll fail, and you'll succeed. People will start following you and emulating you. If you've truly arrived at leadership, you'll realize that having people look up to you and follow you in your cause is stressful and puts a lot of pressure on you. This should add to, but not take over, your desire to live as an example.

Go to it! :-)

I have 20 minutes to write about personality...

2008-10-08T09:34:00.000-07:00

...before I start work, but I've had this thought come to a climax in my head--it's at that perfect time when you couldn't write about it sooner, but if you wait it'll start to fade.

I know a lot of people. All of them are interesting in some way, but in different ways, obviously. I know very smart people, very stupid people, very...sweet, jaded, beautiful, ugly, kind, wise, cruel, deep, shallow, rich, mediocre, pretentious, scared, happy--and a multitude of other characteristics--People. I find people in general very intriguing; what influences them, what they care about.....but as I learn more about people and get to know more people more closely, I've begun to develop a bit of a theory about people--specifically about personality and character.

Whatever else people are, they are definitely different. Nobody has all good characteristics, and nobody (I hope) has all bad characteristics; but when we describe someone we invariably use characteristics to try and communicate their personality. Now obviously a person's personality isn't just a conglomerate of all the characteristics they display, but their characteristics do tell a lot about them (btw, sorry about switching tenses and misspellings....I have 8 minutes left).

After that long and boring qualifier/prologue, my 'mental image' that I'll try to portray is this: we've all seen tall buildings being built, or at least pictures of them. It's crazy how the girders and beams all bear the weight of each other and support one another as the skyscraper is built--everything is bolted down and secured and very interdependent (whoo...I just managed to use a word I used in Psych...it is good for something after all). Now try to picture it if they built the building by building one side really high first, then another side, then another....it wouldn't work at all, obviously, because it comes back to the structure thing--all the pieces of the building rely on each other, and it's only when one whole floor is built that they can start building the next one on top of it.
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Now: You are a building. Your goals, dreams, and desires (not for money or family or stuff like that, but personally, like wanting to become a good listener or read the Harvard Classics) are the blueprint for how high you want your building to be, and there are......Oh blast, I'm out of time. I'll edit this post with the rest tonight or tomorrow...
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....Continued: and there are different supplies that have to go together the right way in order to get that building as high as it should be--you can't have ten thousand girders but only fifty bolts; or lots of cranes when you're working on the foundation. This is how I think it relates to real life: You know people who are incredibly ________, except they just don't seem to have any _______? (fill in the blanks: smart; kindness. kind; social skills. smooth; honor.....the list is endless). Everyone has words that could fit in those blanks--we all have areas of our tower that are wonderful and gorgeous and ahead of schedule, but they're not properly supported by other materials yet.
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I read something someone else said a few years ago--I like to think it sort of relates to this:

"13:1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal."
...and again, a few sentences later:
"13:11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. " (or as RP would say: 'be-ah man. Do da rite ting.') ;-)
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The hardest thing to do is to leave the construction site and take a look at my building from another viewpoint--there's a possibility that I've been taking too many coffee breaks, or that my standards for the structure haven't been very stringent; and then I need to walk through it and inspect it close-up, too. After all, it's towering there for everyone I know to see--isn't it logical that I should work hard to make it beautiful?

The Americans...

2008-09-26T02:01:00.000-07:00

I can't help but feel a little bit sorry for the leaders of Canada's national parties--on October 2 they will be debating on TV/Radio/Internet for all of Canada to tune in and find out where they stand on the issues that matter to our country....unwisely and unfortunately for all of them, the audience will be meagre to say the most. Why, You might ask?.....Well it comes down to the two things this post is about (imagine that...) 1.) Because Sarah Palin and Joe Biden are debating that night, and 2.) Because the Canadian debate system is less organized than my Comm204 marketing class' debate today on the ethics of marketing (read: very disorganized)

Number two first. I would've loved to find a clip of the Canadian Leaders Debate from the last election, but apparently they were so hard to understand that anyone who bothered to videotape it in the first place quickly overwrote it with family videos or other much more valuable content. For those of you who missed it, just watch or listen to it this Thursday night--it promises to be very similar.

Or, if you have a little higher standards for the things you give your attention to, and enjoy listening to people actually coherently discuss (gasp) issues without screaming at each other, and if the debate between John McCain and Barack Obama last Friday night was indicative of the one this Thursday, watch the Palin--Biden debate.

This presents an opportunity to segue into a topic I should probably avoid: Running mates for the candidates. I wasn't surprised when Obama won the Democratic nomination--I thought he was more honest, more charismatic, and more eloquent than Hillary Clinton. I would argue, though, that he should have picked her as a r.m. to be most effective against McCain. The problem with this (although I'm not privy to Obama's thoughts on the subject) is that the Democratic nomination became so filled with contention and mudslinging that it effectively annihilated any chance of Obama and Clinton working together (it's hard to go from calling someone a dirty two-faced politician to sincerely working with them). Joe Biden is ordinary in every way, and ordinary is not something that will impress Americans right now. That being said, I think I understand Obama's logic; Biden has decades of experience in politics, and Obama's most glaring weakness (according to most) is his lack of it. Biden's entrance also brings a white male to the Democratic side of the table, which, even though most people won't admit it, will get him a bunch of extra votes.

I forget what day it was that I read the headline announcing Sarah Palin's debut as McCain's running mate, but my first thought was something like "Who on earth is Sarah Palin?" I've since read a lot about her and heard her speak a great deal. My impression of her is not the greatest. Again you probably wonder why: Because from what I've seen, her politics have always been quite cutthroat (introducing abortion as an issue in a municipal election and getting party sponsorships...) and her views depend on who's watching. (Of course this goes for every politician to a certain degree).
Although I'm not a huge fan of her politics, I think her policies come closest to mine on moral issues--that goes a long way for me. (digression here) As our 'western morals' grow more subjective and blurred, taking a stance on moral issues is a very hard thing to do--any true Christian can see the truth in that--and I haven't once seen or heard Palin apologize for her morally correct but politically incorrect opinions.

Perhaps more later on Friday night's debate (I just finished watching it), but I have an english essay that I should be writing.

I'm sure my opinion isn't the only one. If yours is different (or the same--I do occasionally have unoriginal thoughts...haha) feel free to comment.

Academic inflation and creativity

2008-09-19T05:43:00.001-07:00

Inflation is something (almost) everyone is familiar with. We've all heard stories from aunts or grandpas or anyone old enough to remember when "You could get a decent meal for a nickel" or when "two bits would buy you an oh henry bar and a bottle of coke, and then take the bottle in for a nickel and buy another oh henry bar" or--for those not quite aged enough to remember the fifties and sixties--when you could fill up your car for $20 (mine cost $71 this morning). It happens for a lot of reasons that you might care about if you're an economist (Example: You ask your boss for a raise, and get it; but then your boss has to raise prices to cover the extra money she's shelling out to you. Then other companies have to raise their prices because they buy from your company, and then everyone is charging more and you need another raise.......), but all you need to know about it to understand this post is this: A dollar is worth less now than it used to be. (See, I don't demand much of your brain on my blog)

Just like a nickel could buy a turkey dinner in the good old days, a university degree/diploma used to pretty much guarantee you a good job. Unfortunately, we (western society collectively) have grossly miscalculated the worth of an 'education.' What happens now, more often than not, is this: you finish high school after spending 12-14 years having all the curiosity that exists in your soul eradicated and the crumbs swept up tidily in the rigid steel dustpan of regurgitation and recitation (Sorry, I know that last sentence screams pretentious wanna-be writer, but I couldn't quite bring myself to rewrite it) and are quickly hustled off to university by your guidance counselor and parents who extol the virtues of a 'good education.' When you graduate with your degree in philosophy, you realize that although there are scores of jobs available, not a lot of them have 'philosophy degree' listed in the requirements.....so you get your masters deree in philosophy; thinking that surely someone needs an employee with an MA in philosophy.....=20ish years of your life (and chances are you still don't know what you want to do)--to me that's not a great system.

My mom's M.E. calendar has this quote for September, which might not be relevant, but it feels like it fits:

"the cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity"

I guess it feels like it fits because I think curiosity should be the basis for all learning--not a curriculum determined by lobbyists and social 'experts.--and that jobs should be rewarded based on things other than capital letters at the end of your name.

Smartcar-ed, this post would say: "Why do we feel the need to go to school for so many years? And when we do, why aren't we getting smarter? Is there a system, other than tailoring education to each individual kid, that will really work to educate our young? I don't know the answers, I just thought of the questions.

"We are educating people out of their creative capacities"
-Ken Robinson

"all children are born an artists--the problem is to remain an artist as we grow up"
-Pablo Picasso

On my Lack of free time, English, and Ethics

2008-09-09T14:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not completely sure what I was thinking when assumed I'd have time to blog to my heart's content as soon as I went back to school--Granted, I did quit my job....but I got two more (:-S) and it turns out that 2nd year homework/reading is just a bit more in-depth than 1st year. So the frequency of my posts will most likely be strongly correlated with how productive my 15-minute breaks are at Starbucks, and just how much (or little) I feel like thinking....

That being said, this particular 15 minutes is turning out quite well...

I've told people that if I didn't care about getting a job after University, I'd major in English Literature and History...... this year I decided that even if I can't make all 5 classes per semester ones I adore, I could at least mix it up a bit; so I'm taking English Literature: Reading Narrative this semester and Roman Civilization next semester. I was a bit dubious after my first English lecture--one full of hesitant students and filling out information cards--and it was with a tired (got home at 11 from Calgary) and reluctant attitude that I eyed the reading package sitting on my night table and decided I'd better take a quick perusal of the first reading....and 45 minutes later turned out my light happy that I had decided on this class.

(From Convocation Address at Toronto University; 1978)

"If there was time, I would consider it my duty to speak on a subject which has long occupied my mind as much as poetry itself: on the survival of humanistic learning in a world where affluence has joined hands with destruction; a world in which absolutist ethics has given way to relativistic, then to utilitarian and finally to no ethics at all.....in which our greatest entellectual achievement, our science, has abjured the concept of wisdom, just as philosophy has come to renounce love; a world, in short, with one foot firmly on the foundation or an incredible advance in knowledge and technique, the other foot dangling in a spiritual vacuum."

This was in 1978. I don't know if George Faludy (the speaker--a lauded poet and author) is still alive, but if he is, I wonder if he sometimes reads that and thinks about how right he was--and is......."then to utilitarian [the gist of which is 'if it works for you'] and finally to no ethics at all"......

For me it brings to mind Judges 21:25: "In those days there was no king in Israel: every man did that which was right in his own eyes."

It sounds to me like they're saying the same thing.
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Unrelated to that, but something I want to clarify, is this: if I quote books I've read, Poetry, or tidbits from classes or the news, it doesn't make me particularly wise or smart. It's easy to read something and attach significance to it because the person writing it has a degree, or is an author...etc. But nobody should be intimidated by someone who might seem intelligent or scholarly (speaking in general). I read a scripture last week and made a note of it, but forgot about it until last night, when it was read during church:

I Corinthians 1:19 (NLT)
"As the Scriptures say,

“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise
and discard the intelligence of the intelligent.”

20 So where does this leave the philosophers, the scholars, and the world’s brilliant debaters? God has made the wisdom of this world look foolish. 21 Since God in his wisdom saw to it that the world would never know him through human wisdom, he has used our foolish preaching to save those who believe. 22 It is foolish to the Jews, who ask for signs from heaven. And it is foolish to the Greeks, who seek human wisdom. 23 So when we preach that Christ was crucified, the Jews are offended and the Gentiles say it’s all nonsense......

.... 26 Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you. 27 Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise.

That's good to remember.

2008-09-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

More books are being published now than any time in history—which means that more people fancy themselves authors than ever before as well. Some are—I’ve read a lot of good books written by ‘modern’ authors—but most take too much license in breaking rules (punctuation is there for a reason...) and rely too much on big words they have no business using (and wouldn’t use, if the thesaurus on their computer didn’t include them). These writers pale in comparison to a master story-teller like Harold Bell Wright. I read When a man’s a man today, and liked it....enough to finish it in a day.

How could I describe it? Like the other one I’ve read of his (alas, this is only the second; but I’ll start #3 very soon) it is built around a concept—an emotion and a feeling. In this book it is the struggle of a young ‘man’ (in name only) attempting to salvage his dignity and become a ‘man’ (in truth).

A stranger shows up at a ranch and asks for a job. He’s strong and smart, but pathetically useless when it comes to work. It’s obvious he’s never done a day’s labor in his life....the title is very unambiguous in describing the story....over the span of a year he morphs from an awkward, stuttering, unskilled ‘softie’ into a ‘man’ in the complete, not just physical, sense of the word. It has enough emotion and feelings to capture one’s attention, but not so much as to be dreamy and gooshy. (The red line underneath ‘gooshy’ is telling me it’s not a word, but I’ll leave it anyways—I’m sure you understand).

I enjoyed it not just for the story, but also because it portrays (to me, at least) life as a growing process, not just the beginning-to-end timeline we sometimes tend to think of it as. It is so easy to be complacent with life, just working, sleeping, churching and visiting......and not growing. Contrary to what my lazy self tends to be happy with, I want to be growing all the time—even if, (and this is intrinsic to true growth) it’s painful or uncomfortable. I want to learn from everything. During times of isolation and loneliness, I want to get closer to God; when I’m prosperous, I need to learn to give back and be an example to other people; when my life is so incredibly busy I don’t even have time to sleep, let alone pray, I want to learn what’s really important......If only I just had to learn each of these things once.

2008-08-29T21:33:00.000-07:00

A couple quick things I thought of today--I didn't want to forget by waiting until I'm done my other series of posts (which is taking me way longer than it should and is more of a story than the fable I had planned)

1.) A while ago I wrote a response to an article about holiness...this is how I finished it:

"young people who consider it an honor to tread on the old, well-worn paths that bear the footprints of our elders, and look forward to the days when our footprints serve to encourage those coming on behind."
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Then, today, I was reading a wonderful poem by H.W. Longfellow and decided to memorize it. Since I usually memorize by listening to something a bunch of times, I downloaded the audio and was playing it in my car when one (well, two actually) of the stanzas hit me: it seemed to me that it said what I was trying to write about example and being set apart, only in a much more New-Englandish, eloquent way:

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Almost a bit depressing that someone else thought of what I was going to say, not only before me (about 250 years), but much more poetically too...

2.) About a year ago I wrote about a play I went to--Seussical the Musical--and imagination. There's a line in the play that goes

Oh the things you will find

when you open your mind

lining up to get loose

Oh the things you can think

when you think about SEUSS!!!

It was wonderful. I was thinking, though, of another perspective on that line: "Oh the things you will find.....lining up to get loose? Quite true--and the very reason why I don't just open my mind to anything. The things 'lining up to get loose' are, as our culture becomes more accepting, getting increasingly aberrant and debauched. More than ever before, it's necessary (not just important) to be a strict gatekeeper.

I'm going back to University on Thursday, and I'll have scores of hours to blog everything profound that comes to mind.

The Misplacement [part 2]

2008-08-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

"Buongiorno. I' la d gradice un grande cappuccino e uno scone--per favore." He nearly forgot to add the 'per favore'--a corollary of avoiding humans for nine months. The nine months' isolation though, as any worthy new mother would testify, had produced something almost surreal in its mysterious beauty.....his mind went back to the finished work still standing in his studio, facing the open window proudly, as if it was doing the air an act of kindness by allowing it to touch its glorious surface. He muttered an absent "Grazie" as he took his purchase to his choice table--the only one not protected from the warm rays of the rising sun by a block of flats across the narrow street. He sipped appreciatively--was it better than usual this morning?--as he considered what his next action should be. He took an art dealer's card from his bag and looked at the number, knowing he would have to have a public showing soon. Although he would have been content to hang the painting in his own home and admire it daily; he wanted even more for the whole world to see it and recognize the genius in it as his.

He finished the scone crumblessly and set his spoon down; he would contact the dealer today, he resolved; smiling as he envisioned the man's face when he saw it.....

The Misplacement [part 1]

2008-08-15T14:45:00.000-07:00

*an illustration

The artist applied the last brushstroke to a shadow and exhaled softly, stepping back to allow a better look at the work he had just created. His careful eye scanned the figures for errors--roamed the horizon of the masterpiece (for it truly was a masterpiece, even by the most rigid and critical standards; and the artist knew it) for any aberration or inconsistency that would take away from the impression of the painting. He looked in vain, and although he knew beyond a doubt that the painting was perfect, he still looked. Confirming his expectation, he found nothing. The lighting; the expressions, the setting, the proportions.....all entirely in place. And beautiful.

He exhaled softly as he gently lowered his palette and dropped his favorite brush into the basin of greyish water; his eyes still beholding the image with a sort of awe. Suddenly a smile appeared on his face, and he took hold of a smaller, more rigid brush he had not used since the last time he finished a work. Seizing the palette again, he carefully dipped the brush into a rusty grey pigment and, making sure he had just the right amount, carefully and sinuously painted his initials into the lower corner. He stepped back, his smile growing wider, and surveyed the finally finished work of art.

As he sat down on a wooden bar stool he kept for these moments he reflected on the months leading up to this instant: the hours on end spent grasping for inspiration; the discarded canvases with doodles and half-hearted attempts; the frenzied work that was necessary when inspiration finally did come lest he should lose even one shade from his mental picture--sometimes working for days without rest or nourishment; the isolation from humans (he could never talk to people when he was working on a painting, it muddled his thoughts and caused him irritation).....and all leading up to this. One might almost call it anticlimactic, yet there was nothing disappointing in this moment for the master. He was, for the first time in nearly a year, not turbulent; but tranquil.

The End of Reason

2008-07-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I sat down at the kitchen table to read the remnants of the morning paper (most of it had been taken to various rooms in the house or thrown in the recycling bag) over my Diamond Shreddies and 1%, when I noticed this little book sitting on my dad's pile of stuff (my dad has a perpetual pile of stuff sitting on the kitchen table--it's been there for 19 years (with short vacations whenever guests appear)). I picked it up and glanced at the foreword, then the prologue, then the 'letter' itself (as the author calls it) without realizing that my cereal was becoming paste.

I wish I could summarize the whole book, but there is too much in it to even begin to cover it all. Ravi Zacharias writes powerfully. His vocabulary is stunning and his reasoning is crystal-clear. He begins the book with this:

"I am writing The End of Reason to tell young men and women--all who ask the hard questions about the meaning of life--that atheism is bankrupt for answers. The emperor has no clothes, and through his verbal magic [the author of a book denouncing God] is trying hard to cover him up"

The opening pages discuss atheism in general, and after a short bio of himself, Zacharias posits four facets of a worldview: Origin, Morality, Meaning, and Hope. and then spends the next 100 or so pages explaining with prismatic clarity exactly why the 'atheistic worldview' does not present satisfactory or logically sound answers for any of these four question-ridden topics.

Origin: He touches on the problem of where we came from--even evolutionary theory devotes almost zero time to explaining how we ever got to the point of 'survival of the fittest'--after all, one inorganic particle can hardly be 'fitter' than another, equally lifeless particle...life is an integral variable in the 'sotf' argument. he ends the section with this statement:

'The inescapable fact for the atheist is that life is the random product of time plus matter plus chance.'

Meaning: Alas, the atheist is in a catch-22: if we agree that the Origin of life was based solely on chance, we ask the question 'what is the purpose of existing?'--granted that we were fit enough to survive, what makes us even want to survive? Instinct? What's that? Zacharias puts it slightly differently and more eloquently, using examples from Voltaire and Oscar Wilde to prove his point.

Morality: Rebutting a idea put forward by Sam Harris in Letter to a Christian Nation that if there was a God, he is clearly evil, since he allows rape and murder and terror to occur constantly in the world, Zacharias asks the question; 'isn't that a bit of a double-standard?' (paraphrasing)--very simply, critics of religion and God saying that 'God is evil' is almost laughable in its hypocrisy: what is evil? Boundaries become irrelevant when God disappears from the picture; so how can you use a word like 'twisted' (implying that there's a difference between 'twisted' and 'straight') to describe a God who you say doesn't exist? Zacharias puts it very succinctly:

Atheists can't have it both ways. If the murder of innocents is wrong, it is wrong not because science tells us it is wrong but because every life has intrinsic worth--[but how can that be?]

Hope: "What else dies in atheism? Hope" Here he talks about the promise of something after--something that people look for.

A very good book. I'm usually of the opinion that you should deal with one viewpoint at a time, but Ravi Zacharias does a good job of covering so much material in such a short book. Recommended to anyone with questions about anything, or even just for brain food.

Responsibility

2008-07-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

I couldn't not link to this....from The Responsibility Project

A Bachelor in Search of a Wife

2008-07-12T21:08:00.001-07:00

I was at Heidi's house with my sister, keeping her (Heidi's, not Rebecca's) fiance company while Rebecca and Melissa experimented with hairstyles for the wedding. Of course I had come without any reading material, and the conversation mostly involved 'this strand could go here,' and 'run and get that other curling iron,' but I had a cup of earl grey and a nice recliner, so I wasn't making much noise about it--when suddenly my mind, perhaps slightly exasperated with my forgetfulness, reminded me of a certain bookcase upstairs, where Heidi keeps all her books.

Leaping to my feet, I sprinted up the stairs--as well as a person on crutches can leap and sprint--and, surveying the treasure trove of words, picked out a small gem which had been relegated (is that the word?) to a lower corner. Blowing the dust off the spine, I returned downstairs with my prize.

I settled back in my chair with a sigh of content and opened the work (There's nothing quite like the smell of a book older than anyone I know). I began reading at page one--the best place to begin a book, in my opinion, even if the story starts on page 14--and realized after one sentence that this was a book meant to be read aloud...judge for yourself:

"Between eight and nine o'clock on a raw November morning in London, a young man was breakfasting alone in his lodging-house parlor."

So, out of the kindness of my heart, I offered to fill the silence with these wonderful words from 1894. Hearing no objection--probably because I answered my own question by starting to read--I began. In a perfect world, we all would have lost ourselves in the book and stayed until three in the morning to finish it together, but hair only takes so long to do, and we only got to page 17--but they were 17 wonderful pages.

Right after we find out that the young man is breakfasting, we learn that his name is Richard, and that he is a lowly accountant (I don't think they made quite as much back then) with no relatives and one good friend--a girl named Mary Powell who boards at the same rooming house as our man. Of course, like any good main character, Richard is honorable and good--

"a happy young fellow, who took the world as he found it, and managed, in spite of poor circumstances, and the dearth of what to all human beings are the precious things of life, to look upon existence with a kindly eye."

During breakfast Richard recieves a mysterious message summoning him to a law office. He ponders it on the way to work, and asks his employer for the afternoon to investigate. He is surprised at the respect with which he is treated by the men of "Wynyard, Glazebrook & Bilton," but even more surprised at the news they give him: He is the heir of an unknown uncle in Quebec, who was quite wealthy. Fortunately for our story, the uncle was also quite lonely, and wished for his beneficiary to have a companion in life. As an incentive, he attached one teensy condition to his bequeathing: That his dear nephew take a wife within 12 months of hearing about the will (it was here that we arrived at page 17, sadly).

Of course I couldn't just leave it there--I asked Heidi if I could borrow the book (I still haven't given it back though) and enjoyed it in small helpings for the next two days (like a really good desert from Calories--you can't quite eat it all in one sitting, but a couple bites every few hours is euphoria). Richard explains the situation to his dear old friend Mary, and although he is loathe to leave their friendship (is that proper use?), he boards a steamer to Canada on the allowance provided by his uncle (after all, how are you supposed to court a girl without a bit of expense money?). On the ship he meets coquettish flirt who is accompanying her grandfather on his journey to America. Disregarding the wise old man's warnings "You seem like a nice young man; certainly you don't deserve my granddaughter" Richard falls for the girl, ('gets caught in her web' might be more accurate) and promises to find her on the return trip to England. After spending some time in Quebec and putting his Uncle's affairs in order, Richard hurries back to New York in order to be on the return steamer with the young 'lady' and her grandfather. Of course she meets another, older, richer man and rejects his exasperated proposal, leaving Richard with only a month left to fulfill his obligation to his inheritance.....

Richard is distraught, and curses the money that tempted him to leave his simple life and go gallivanting around the globe. He realizes at last that love is not just found in beauty, but also in deep friendship. He rushes to Mary's.....only to find that she left soon after he emigrated, and hasn't been seen since!

Of course it ends perfectly.....everyone should read it :-)

A Prisoner Of Birth

2008-07-10T17:32:00.001-07:00

**Oh dear--I just realized that some people may not have read it yet....oh well. I'll say what I want to say regardless**

I've been wanting to read this book since it first came out, but I was too cheap to buy it for $35.00. I figured I would wait for the paperback. Shouts of joy resounded when Rebecca came home from Europe with a copy she'd bought at the airport.

In the story, which is certainly worthy of the author's reputation, Danny is wrongly convicted of murdering his best friend and set away for 20 years. The next 400 pages hold too many twists and too much wonderful storytelling for me to synopsize (is that a word?), but I can say it was incredibly enjoyable.

One of the things I enjoyed most about it was that it reminded me of another book I read a few years ago--The Count of Monte Cristo. In fact, the central story is almost the exact same. This was like reading a modernized version of it, but at the same time it was a completely different book. Very interesting. Archer even refers to the Count in A Prisoner in an allusory way--as if he's letting the reader know 'yes I do, in fact, see the similarities; so please don't write me saying you see some parallels between my book and a really old one you read in college.'

Anyways; a VERY good book. I'd go so far as to say it is a must-read.

Henry the which?

2008-07-07T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'm converted. I've been griping about Starbucks for a while now--I think half the fun of a good latte is knowing where to get it, and Starbucks isn't really a place one can brag on. Enter the Broadway Roastery--where I usually buy a Darjeeling tea misto and sit at the bar to write.

Fortunately for me though, David and Jolene were recently in Saskatoon, and I got re-addicted to caffeine. So today when I drove by Starbucks and saw that all the good loafing chairs accessible to a cripple were taken, I did my best to coast to the Roastery, where I hobbled inside with my head pounding from the only downside of drinking espresso every day. I walked in the door at the same time as my favorite waiter from Calories, and we traded sob stories about quitting our jobs (him at calories, me at the evil 'GC Services') and being suddenly unable to start our new one (him because they hired someone else, me because my leg is mysteriously 'still broken').

Once I had checked to ensure my spot at the end of the bar by the window was still open, I explained my dilemma to the Barista.

"I need an amazing espresso drink; preferably a latte if you make a good one."
She gaped. "if I make a good one?! Where do you usually get your latte?"
"Starbucks" I whispered, aware that I would probably be laughed to scorn if any of the customers heard my admission. She laughed, quite predictably. "Starbucks! Ha! They aren't even real Baristas there!! Go sit down. I'll make you a latte that will blow your mind."

I meekly obeyed.

I had no sooner brought up my favorite blog when I saw her coming, bearing a blueberry scone and a latte that, if the perfect dimensions of the foam leaf on top were any indicator, was going to be just as good as any the Pike Place Starbucks, or even Lena's in Calgary, has ever imagined.

I can't even describe it. If I was a poet I'd write one about it. Worthy of a 5-dollar tip, this latte was heavenly. I think I'm in a cult.

So after all that; on to what I actually intended to write:

I'm no Shakespeare connoisseur, but I do enjoy him occasionally, and if I were to note every page on which I read something witty or significant or thought-provoking, like I usually try to when reading, I think all my copies of his plays would give new meaning to the phrase 'dog-eared.' That being said, I got all excited yesterday after seeing that Shakespeare on the Saskatchewan was presenting Henry IV this year, because I thought it was the one I love; which reminded me of a passage from it I heard a long time ago, and read a bit more recently.

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.

But alas, this is from Henry V, not IV. Oh well--I'm sure I'll enjoy IV too.

(Oh and if the quote rings a bell....perhaps you're a Louis L'amour fan? haha...think Trigonometry Tenderfoot)

On being crippled

2008-07-04T15:57:00.000-07:00

(This is the only picture I could find of me on crutches....all the better--I want to forget it as soon as possible)

It's been 6 weeks since I've walked on two feet. If you were to look at only my right calf muscle, you would assume I'm a bodybuilder--on the other hand, if you looked at my left calf muscle....you might think I've spent the last 17 years sitting on the couch.

Wonderful news though; I can go back to work on Monday (meaning real work, not what I've been doing for the last 3 weeks). In the 41 days since I brilliantly decided not to look over the edge of the law building to make sure there was a roof about 10 feet down (There wasn't), and instead leaped to my grisly death 25 feet down, I spent the first 8 sitting around doing absolutely nothing but reading and drinking tea and writing and shopping online. Then I realized I had no money!! So I started pondering the places a crippled-left-leg-person could work; of course my family had a couple wonderful suggestions (Sarcan bottle-counter, Wal-Mart greeter), but I wasn't sure if I was quite qualified....

So I got a job at the wonderful 'GC Services' (No one remembers what GC stands for, I asked in training) where, during the three weeks I spent in training, I got about 45 years dosage of depressing knowledge pumped into me. Turns out I'm not very good at being a debt collector--I ended up getting in trouble because I believed everyone when they said they didn't have any money (apparently you're supposed to ask for the money at least three times...), and I told too many people how to get out of paying fees (I guess you're not allowed to do that either).

So as much as I'm not into getting up at 5:30 and getting sunburnt while working 12 hour days, at least I'll be outside in the nice weather getting back in shape. :-)

Unity

2008-06-30T08:59:00.000-07:00

Unity is a principle that reaches beyond specific groups or people. It is the active ingredient in very nearly every effective group, team, relationship, or organization. Great leaders throughout history have studied and pursued it. Pastors, managers, and generals long for it. When it is operative, it is a Wonderful thing.

Skeptical? Open your Bible...

"And when the day of Pentecost was fully come,
they were all with one accord in one place."

Wonderful, even impossible, things can happen when people are unified--think Tower of Babel, Pyramids, Stonehenge--but conversely, things tend to go badly when unity is lacking; there are no shortage of stories about battles that should have been won, companies that should have succeeded, and churches that should have the victory to remind us that it is indeed a two-way street.

That is all wonderful and common sense, so why is Unity--real unity, not the pretense of unity--so hard to achieve? What must we do to be 'bound together,' with a singular mindset and goal? This has been on my mind a lot for awhile, and I recently came across something in a book that brought the thought out of retirement:

"For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old

Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the state;
Then the rich man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portion'd;
Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers,
In the brave days of old"

**interjection here** This is where Horatius starts to shed tears as he laments the passing of those glorious days--at least in my imagination.

"Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the tribunes beard the high,
And the fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold:
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old."

In case you missed that: "As we became more polarized in our opinions and set against others whom we disagree with, we also became much less effective when we had to team up against a commom threat: and thus we are much more vulnerable now than we were in the good old days--before we became contentious and disloyal to one another."

Unity is a wonderful, potential-increasing thing. We need more.

From "The Eyes of The World"

2008-06-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

I really should've finished the book before I wrote that last post. I've come across so many things I would've like to add. Some favorite quotes from the book:

"'Conrad Lagrange and I. He is going to live with me, you know.'
'Oh!'
It is remarkable how much meaning a woman can crowd into that one small syllable; particularly when she draws a little away from you as she speaks it.'

'"The portrait part is of no importance. It is what you have made your picture say, that will do good."
"And what have I made it say?" he asked, curiously pleased.
"Why it says that--that a woman should be beautiful as the roses are beautiful--without thinking too much abou it, you know--just as a man should be strong without thinking too much about his strength, I mean."'

"Aaron King was somewhat out of practice in the use of meaningless words, and the art of talking without saying anything is an art that requires constant exercise if one would not commit serious technical blunders."

Little tangent here: I was reading an article someone else wrote, which really went with what I last wrote...
"this [level 5] leadership style is reserved for those who are more inspired by excellence for its own sake than excellence for the sake of personal gain. Ironically, those leaders less concerned with the appearance of success tend to realize the success that the charismatic, egocentric, conventional leaders aspire to but likely will never attain."

Which proclaims very simply the spirit of what I was trying to write: The more concerned one is with the way they look to others, the more limited they really are. (Here is where I'm tempted to qualify that last sentence with something like "of course you have to care to a certain extent, but there's a difference.....," but I won't, because you, my loyal reader, are wise enough to realize that without having it explained to you).

That's why there's something about a band that no one has heard of, or a piece of clothing with the tag ripped out, or that you like just because--it removes the concern that you're merely putting on appearances (We've all been around the dreaded 'namedropper' enough that an atmosphere completely lacking of pretense is so refreshing).

Which is why (yes, this is another side road I like to drive down occasionally) I like old people....and people who are real.

A Little thought--probably recycled

2008-06-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

For the past couple weeks I've been trying to read a lot, since I can't do much else with my time. I was watching my mom's store the other day and picked up an old book by E. Phillips Oppenheim--the vanished messenger. I wasn't expecting to really enjoy it--I hadn't really picked it out and I was just reading it for lack of anything else--but it only took about 5 minutes until I was completely engrossed. I couldn't put it down. Old fiction is cool because the stories are usually good and the vocabulary is stimulating--95% of today's authors pale in comparison.

Anyways--where I'm going with this is: I decided to start reading all the old books that are on the shelf that goes around my room (until now, for decoration). My mom recommended The eyes of the world by Harold Bell Wright. (I'm sure pretty much everyone with any old books in their house has at least one by him). So I started reading it yesterday (still not finished it), and within 2 chapters it reminded me of a book I read last year--The Fountainhead. (Did I write about that? I should). The main character is an artist who's mother dies and tells him he 'must succeed' in life. He quickly sets out for California, and the reader gets the impression that this is going to be another, if slightly more verbose, story about a young man who faces many obstacles but eventually gets rich and 'lives happily e.a."

When he arrives in the rich town, he meets a famous novelist. The man's books are famous and he's very rich. But he is a real person. And he knows he has essentially sold his gift:

"'You are working here, Mr. Lagrange?'"
'Working? Me? I don't work anywhere. I am a literary scavenger. I haunt the intellectual slaughter pens, and live by the putrid offal that self-respecting writers reject. I glean the stinking materials for my stories from the sewers and cesspools of life. For the dollars they pay, I furnish my readers with the thrills that public decency forbids them to experience first hand. I am a procurer for the purposes of mental prostitution. My books breed moral pestilence and spiritual disease.'"

They grow to be friends, for the author knows the artist has potential, and hasn't yet become like himself.

The artist is introduced to a very famous woman who contracts him to paint her portrait. It is then that he realizes what the author meant by 'mental prostitution'--for he knows he must not paint the woman as he truly is, but as she wants to be seen.

I won't rehearse how it relates to The Fountainhead--if you've read it you know what I mean--but both books hold a lesson for 99.9% of humans: What shall we do with our gifts? Please others? Paint them as we see them, or as they want to be seen? I say 99.9% because I think that's pretty close to the percentage of people who sacrifice themselves, whether it be their morals, personal opinions, unique looks, or anything--in essence, their individuality--for 'the world.'

While reading the book, you quickly understand the title. The phrase 'The eyes of the world' is dropped frequently throughout the book, but the way it's used call into question how much 'the eyes of the world' really matter. "In the eyes of the world," Says the 'author' on more than one occasion "I am a wonderful writer." "She is a lovely woman--in the eyes of the world." "If your goal is to be like me--twisted and cheapened--then it will certainly be easy for you to succeed--in the eyes of the world, at least."

Macbeth

2008-06-04T17:26:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Macbeth. A friend of mine is taking it and his teacher.....isn't a very good one. He (the friend) tells me that he (the teacher) pronounces 'Cawdor' (as in 'Thane of') as 'Corridor.' I had a slight chuckle about that, and we got down to business. It took 10 hours to go through it and translate it into English that a high school student can actually understand (Aside here: why in the world do they teach high school kids Shakespeare?? Half of them can barely read the paper (I swear I'm not joking)....do they think that the kids are going to magically leap over like 100 levels of reading and understand what "Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his quarrel smiling" means?!)

I think I learned more about Macbeth in those 10 hours than in the half-semester I spent reading it in high school. There's something about trying to teach someone something that (for some reason) seems to render the material down a bit--concentrate it and put it in perspective. Several times I found myself saying "see, what he means here is...." and realizing that I never knew that before.

One quote in Particular that jumped out at me:

"Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy."

Lady Macbeth says it after her and her husband murder the king and ostracize (putting it mildly) his family.

This is how I interpreted it:

Everything's lost, and nothing gained,
when you get what you thought you wanted, but still aren't satisfied:
It would be better to be the victim of a terrible crime
than to be the one that commits the crime and live with it for the rest of your life.

Insightful woman, that L.B.... bummer she couldn't've figured it out a tad earlier though.

I wish old Bill were still around. But if he were, would his plays even create a stir in our society? I almost fear they wouldn't. Most people would rather watch Lost than learn something about human nature. (Oh dear, I think my blog is getting depressing...I'll think of something cheerful to write next time).

Crime and Punishment

2008-05-29T15:55:00.000-07:00

Although there are definitely drawbacks to breaking your leg, the literary benefits are amazing--there really is nothing like being off work for 4 weeks to awaken the "oh well I guess I should make the best of it" spirit in you. That to say: I just finished Crime and Punishment yesterday--a book I thought would take me way longer to finish (but, like I said, sitting on the couch reading is better than sitting on the couch doing nothing).

Published by Fyodor Dostoevsky in 1866...blah blah blah you probably don't care about that.

In it, Raskolnikov (I definitely plan on naming my first son after him), a broke, starving university student wonders something: what would happen if he were to kill someone--anyone, just a human? Would he be able to justify it to himself? Would he be able to use the 'booty' to do enough good deeds to make up for it? Is it even wrong if the woman is a thieving pawn-broker who specializes in ripping people off? So he kills her and goes sort of insane...then his mom and sister show up and it's not a good scene for family relations.

"It was one of those grim, ironical, hopeless, grey, despairful situations which the Russian novelists love to write about..."
-P.G. Wodehouse

Yeah, that pretty much sums quite a bit of it up....don't read it if you're feeling depressed

If you want to be intellectual about it, it's an incredibly interesting book. I could probably talk about it for hours with someone else who's read it...but it's not really dinner-table conversation material.

Rebecca asked me which was more depressing, this or Anna Karenina...pretty hard to judge. I think Crime and Punishment wins though, since there are only a couple deaths and one suicide in Anna but there're 2 murders, 2 people driven to insanity, 1 family reduced to begging, 1 broken engagement, approximately 50-75 pages spent staring at a revolver/canal/rope contemplating ending it all (2 people decide in favor) and 1 seven year prison sentence to Siberia (because of the murders...). I guess 'the good guys always win' wasn't a popular saying in the Dostoevsky household.

Actually though, it's an incredible book. Very deep.

The Picture

2008-05-27T19:18:00.000-07:00

The Artist stood before the easel in a ragged, comfortable, once-white smock. The smock was not particularly old, or the artist so poor that he couldn't afford another, newer, whiter one, but this one he had worn for several months and had grown attached to it. The garment and the palette he held betrayed the fact to even a casual observer that he was no newcomer to the canvas. One could tell from a glance that he had the gift, and the disposition, required for his occupation. the old paint-can filled with brushes well accustomed to being ill-treated were sitting patiently, waiting their turn to prove themselves at the proper time, while the one in his stained hand looked to have been born there just moments ago. But his face carried a troubled look; not one of inspiration, but of apprehension (one might even say fear). Our casual observer is quick to notice that the expression is out of place in the cubic, white studio. All is perfect and ready he thinks,--why this inopportune intrusion of hesitation?

A faded wooden milk crate sat askew in the center of the room, the only break in the continuity of the studio. It was faded and shabby; one might have been able to read the lettering on its side many years ago, when its planks were rectangular, young, and strong, but it had long ago resigned itself to its new occupation of supporting the artist in his times of rest and thoughtfulness, given up its fresh, woody color in favor of a more humble dark brown, and grown content with the peacefulness of the room. The crate was good at its job, and never complained about being neglected during long periods of inspiration and wakefulness. It was the sort of piece you would not be surprised to see in such a place, but would never notice if it was gone upon your next visit.

The artist continued to frown at his stark white canvas; which looked like a newcomer to the room when juxtaposed with its well-worn surroundings. His eyes never left the white cloth; they only narrowed in concentration and focus. He had painted many times, and many times he had looked at his easel this way, but never for so long. He searched his mind. Surely there must be another landscape; another model; another scene he had looked upon during his recent walks through his small village that he had not already either dismissed or painted (for he was a very choosy artist, and had always had the idea that things must be worthy of being chosen as the subject of his efforts). He stood for a long time--he was accustomed to standing like this, and was never worried by the number of times the town bell struck before he began moving. Only today... today felt different. He had been searching much more lately, and working much less. He knew he could depict one of the more popular scenes in town; the church or the little well-worn bridge so often heralded as 'beautiful subjects' by the base artists who made their living off of public ignorance and those posing as true appreciators of beauty--he knew he could restore some of their dignity with his loving strokes, but could never bring himself even to consider the notion seriously. The crate sat patiently, having experienced this period hundreds of times before without a failure. Its faith in the artist was strong.

He mused for a long while, thinking of all he appreciated and had seen genuineness in. He had painted it all. He knew that after this last one he would move on to another place, farther from the masses ignorant tourists and unappreciative locals--but he knew there remained one more somewhere. He began to tear through his mind, grasping at ideas and hurriedly throwing them aside. It was there somewhere, it must be! He began to grow frustrated as the afternoon sun poured in through the lone window in his studio, causing perspiration to bead on his brow and drip onto his palette.

It came suddenly. The artist was as close as he'd ever been to quitting, and had long since stopped squinting at the blank canvas before him. His eyes wandered the sun-soaked room in desperation, hoping for a spark or reminder in something--when he blinked and looked again. he very nearly dropped his brush (the water long-since stopped dripping from its tip), and the look of dismay was chased from his face by a slow grin of realization. He rushed for fresh water, and his brushes stood to attention in their can. The picture took all day, and was finished just as the yellow rays of day were giving way to the stretching sepia light of early evening. He applied the last shades to the edges, darkened the portion where one might almost make out a faded letter, lengthened the shadow created by the shape, and finally dropped the last brush in the dark-brown water. The crate was ready as the artist sat down with a renewed appreciation.

2008-05-25T14:02:00.000-07:00

2008-05-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

"The sun's light sneaks in through the gaps in the bamboo blinds, wanting to let them know he'll be gone in just a few hours. Noises and smells synergize; creating the atmosphere one can only find in a quiet restaurant, crowded with smiles and playful looks and the anticipation of a night only beginning.

Her voice pairs well with the key lime pie--and with her smile. The words, coming from anyone else, would be merely lyrics. Sweet is too cliche a word; smooth, too inexpressive. Intoxicating? Yes.....Could her eyes be anything but green, he wonders? No, he decides, even though he's too far away to tell, they're green. She is the sort that stays young forever in minds; remembered when he is old as a portrait in his head--the briefest of moments, perfectly still, but still perfect--he may never speak of her, but he will always hold that instant."

-Anonymous

Cat O' Nine Tales

2008-05-13T19:23:00.000-07:00

I just finished it. I thought I had read it before, but I was looking through it on Sunday at McNally Robinson and realized I hadn't. It's an assortment of short stories, mostly from when he was in jail (perjury). The best one is 'Don't drink the water.' You should definitely read it. Jeffery Archer is probably on my top ten list--he writes in a way that grabs you. his Prison Diaries are super good, and I think 'As the Crow Flies' is his best fiction book. (by the way, has anyone read his newest one? I want it super bad)

I think I'll do this with all the books I read now....It helps keep it fresh.

Right now I'm reading 'Crime and Punishment.' Except I left it in the gravel truck at work, so I can't read it at all tonight :-(

Library Fines....

2008-04-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

I got a letter in the mail about a week ago (actually, it was like 6 weeks now, because I'm finishing a draft post I started forever ago) from the University of Saskatchewan. Naturally I assumed it was a letter telling me I that next year my tuition will be waived because I'm such a wonderful addition to the college, and would I please please please stay? Alas, it was actually from the Murray library, letting me know that my account would be frozen and I wouldn't be able to register for classes next year unless I paid my outstanding $18.00 fine by April 23d. Bummer.

Let me break off on a tangent here and say that I think library fines are a good idea--without them all the good books would be missing and people would be dumber. But, I don't really like paying them. I started forgetting to take books back when I was about 9. Fortunately for me, when I was 9 I happened to be sort of cutish (don't ask what happened haha), and the librarian always felt sorry for me. Sometimes I did have to pay them, but if I went away or something and had a huge build-up, she would usually just click her tongue reprovingly, tell me I really should check out less books at one time, and delete the fine so I could check out the new batch. This continued for about....well I guess like 9 years--when I stopped reading books in the Children's department I would go in there to 'pay my fine' and catch up with the librarian (same one...she's worked there forever). When me and Rebecca had that accident we managed to destroy about $200 worth of library CDs.... I made the mistake of going to the Arts section to talk to them; the woman made me pay all of it--but then I went to the Children's section and had a good old visit with the friendly lady, who called the Arts section and made them give me my money back :-)

Anyways, to get back to the present; I drove to the University Library dejectedly, sorta bummed about having to waste $18 (I had no idea they charged $1 per day per item...how crazy is that?!). I didn't have much hope of not paying it, since I'd only been there once--to check the stuff out. I explained of course, that as I had checked the stuff out just before Christmas break, I really had no opportunity to take them back. The guy then pointed out that the stuff had been returned on January 12th. Touche. I resigned myself to paying the fine, but then another librarian who had seen me stop at the entrance of the library to turn off my phone and smile at her came over and said she had overheard;

"Oh dear, you say you returned them earlier?"

"Well I thought I had, but it's alright, I'm sure the computer isn't wrong." (haha)

"Hmmm, well it shows that it was on Sunday night, since we closed at 8 that night and they were in the slot Monday morning."

"Oh, really? That's interesting. I guess it may've been on Monday morning, but I wouldn't've returned them Sunday night since I was at church until quite late.....but it's alright, I'm sure I did and just forgot."

"Oh dear, well....you know what; don't worry about it. Our fines are exorbitant anyways--but now you know (smile)."

**First guy is now scowling in the background...I'm sure he never had his fines forgiven**

"Oh! Well that sure is generous of you................

I like to think that there's a certain aura about a book-nerd that nice people who've worked with books long enough can see.....or smell....or something. Either way, you should be nice to librarians, they have power :-)

2008-04-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness) everyone certainly would (my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

-e.e. cummings

Annie Oakley?

2008-04-16T21:43:00.001-07:00

Don't judge me ;-) This says nothing about my political preferences, I just don't like Hillary very much.

Incidentally though, Obama's a pretty good public speaker. That is an incredibly valuable tool in a society where people have forgotten that communication can be beautiful and eloquent; it doesn't have to be uneven, haphazard, and crude.

Motivation

2008-04-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others.
-Ayn Rand

I read this quote and was going to put it in my "quote of the day/every few days," but I couldn't. I had to write at least something about it. First let me say that if you've never read anything by Ayn Rand, you need to. You can flip to a random page in any one of her books and start reading, and almost immediately you will come across something that makes you want to stop and think for a few minutes. Her style is inimitable in every way.

There, now that I've told everyone what to do with their spare time for the next month...

I've read this quote 10 times since I first saw it. I actually love it--it broadcasts purity and truth and realism. One thing that sets Rand apart from most authors is that she doesn't fit into our culture. You read something like this and know it's true, but it contradicts so much that we've had ingrained in us since we were small. Not that competition is a bad thing, not at all. What is bad is when your only reason for doing something is to beat out someone else. Everything about the "keeping up with the Joneses" mentality (apologies to any Jones who might read this)--pretty much what 90% of middle class North America lives for.

But we get sick of that lifestyle. It may take time, but eventually, if you don't have an anchor or another reason--"something that concerns you more than your time" as Jack Johnson would say--for living, you get tired and cynical. That's the reason for individuality. I think everyone has something they do; maybe just some small activity or ritual; that they keep a secret. There's something about keeping a small part of us for ourselves that feels wonderful. It delivers us from any possibility that we might only be doing it for the recognition that comes with it.

That's why God is so awesome. A relationship with Jesus is completely separate from an average everyday life; It brings something eternal and big into it.

On Having Character

2008-04-11T11:53:00.000-07:00

What a subject; character. I don't even know where to start. This post was conceived in my mind a long time ago, and it's an incredibly interesting one for me. There are certain people that automatically come to mind (my grandpa, my dad, my old History teacher, the guy I talked to for 10 minutes at the bookstore the other day) when I think about 'character.' What is it? I was interested to know what everyone else thinks, so I googled it. I found a website talking about respect, honor, ethics....; one preaching the golden rule; another imparting to me (quite haughtily) that character is all about experiences and attitude. I don't like these definitions. I looked for a while before I found one that comes close to how I think about it:

"7 a: a person marked by notable or conspicuous traits character>" (Merriam-Webster.com)

very close. Almost bang-on, I think. I like the word 'conspicuous,' they make it sound like the person is weird--and who says they shouldn't be?

In a way, character is like leadership: everyone can think of someone who is a leader, and even name a few things usually common among leaders, but I haven't talked to anyone (even though we spent 30 pages on it in my organizational behavior class) who can tell me the recipe for being one. It's like it just happens--but not necessarily over time; there are very young leaders, and incredibly old leaders. Likewise, character is hard to define. There's a wonderful quote from The Picture of Dorian Grey that I just thought of:

‘“You are a sceptic.”

“Never! Scepticism is the beginning of Faith.”

“What are you?”

“To define is to limit.”

“Give me a clue.”

“Threads snap. You would lose your way in the labyrinth.”

“You bewilder me. Let us talk of some one else.”’

Perhaps that is what makes these subjects so interesting to us humans. We make a word for something, we know it when we see it, but we can’t manufacture or limit it. (If you’ve actually read ‘The Picture,’ you might think I’m taking the quote out of context....I am ;-)

I’ve been reading an incredibly interesting and entertaining book for the past few weeks (usually instead of studying) called “Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman”—Adventures of a Curious Character. I could write a whole post about the author and the book (I think I might, actually), but in a smartcar (I don’t like the word ‘nutshell’); he’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever read about. It’s amazing to read some of his thoughts and opinions and experiences, because he’s so real! No pretence or artifice; just adventures. I’ll save most stuff for my post about it (I’m actually going to write one), but one of his stories is about a time when he went to Brazil to give some of lectures on quantum theory and ended up joining a bongo band and staying for six months. He writes that “interesting things can happen to everyone, but you have to want them to happen and look for them.”

Getting to the pith; I really think character has a whole lot to do with being open; living life—not as a job, but as a journey and an adventure! (I’m getting too close to a different subject I want to write about, so I’ll quit.)

(Other opinions are welcome!)

Wow

2008-04-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

This post isn't going to be original or thoughtful or profound--just to let you know.

I wrote a final exam last night for Comm101--Business Decision Making. It covered chapter 4,5, 8-13--So about 350 pages of the textbook. That might sound like a lot; and it is. ;-) Perhaps that gives you a teensy bit of respect for the amazing ambition and discipline it must have taken me to read and memorize everything of note that was on the final....well it shouldn't.

I can't remember verbatim, but here's a sample, as best I can remember, of a few questions on the final:

123) How many stages are there in the business life cycle?
a) 3
b) 4
c) 5
d) 6

124) of the four stages in the business life cycle, which on is usually associated with peak sales?
a) Introduction
b) Growth
c) Maturity
d) Decline

(I swear I'm not joking....just wait for the next one)

125) What are the four stages of the business life cycle?
a) Conception, Marketing, Manufacturing, Distribution, Obsoletion
b) Introduction, Growth, Maturity, Decline
c) Sales, Reengineering, Relocation, Termination (what does that even mean??)
d) Patenting, Making, Selling, Phasing out

The funniest part is that the girl sitting next to me chose D,B,A (in that order). So if you ever ask her, she'll tell you:
- There are six stages in the business life cycle
- Growth (don't ask me why) is the stage usually associated with peak sales (really? why not introduction?)
- Those six stages are Conception, Marketing, Manufacturing, Distribution, and Obsoletion. Yes you did count right--there are only five there (I guess having four written in the next two questions shows that the exam-makers are using reverse reverse reverse psychology on us).

I can only hope that she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, knew it, and was just hoping to get at least one of them right--ummm yeah, that still doesn't explain the fours....well whatever.

Wow... I wish all my exams were like that. Questions that answer each other are wonderful.
(unfortunately, my final this Friday has 5 essay questions, so I should probably get off Blogger and, um, kinda study a bit)

smell an gramer chequer

2008-04-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

I'm taking commerce in university--there's a lot of group work. I don't want to be rude, but I couldn't not bring this up (but I really hope my group members don't read my blog).

I don't I'm incredibly literate (see, I even forgot to put 'think' in the right place for that last sentence, so I left it like that to prove it), but I was up until 3 last week editing a report that my group did while I was in Calgary; you would laugh so incredibly hard if you could read it... it was pretty much a 25 page version of this poem:

Spell Checker Blues

Eye halve a spelling chequer

It came with my pee sea

It plainly marques four my revue

Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word

And weight four it two say

Weather eye am wrong oar write

It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid

It nose bee fore two long

And eye can put the error rite

Its rarely ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it

I am shore your pleased two no

Its letter perfect in it's weigh

My chequer tolled me sew.

There is no skill more widespread and comprehensive, except maybe speaking, than writing. People will notice that you wrote "workign toward a more better and literate community: report on the externel communication's of Mcnally robinson."

You should read Eats, Shoots, and Leaves by Lynn Truss--you'll laugh and actually learn grammar.

Diffusion

2008-04-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

"Diffusion is the spontaneous net movement of particles from an area of high concentration to an area of low concentration....in a substance. ...diffusing molecules will move...but molecules tend to move to a lower concentrate. Therefore, there will be a net movement of molecules from high to low concentration." (wikipedia)**1

In high school I wrote an essay about Canadian Identity; apparently we were supposed to discover ourselves as a country in English B30. The problem is, Canada is huge. Is there really a "culture" that spans our 6700 kilometer country? What characteristics apply to Vancouverites and Newfoundlanders; or to immigrants and 4th-generation Canadians? None, I thought; so I decided I didn't care a whole lot about my mark and wrote that "Canadian Identity" is a conglomerate of all the individual identities in Canada. Maybe that is sort of a cop-out, but it's still kind of interesting when you think about it. I used the example that if I decided to start playing hockey, Canada as a whole would get just a tiny bit more interested in hockey, and if I become an accountant, Canada gets a bit more money-savvy. I thought of it at three in the morning, so I'm not saying it's super profound (I did alright on the essay though...bonus marks for "creativity"). Here's where I'm going with this: I thought about the same principle today from a different perspective--Church.

I know what the ideal "church identity" consists of. A lot of God's presence, unity, wisdom...characteristics of God. BUT, if I ever come to church in a funk, I throw everyone else out of sync. Suddenly their "high-concentrate" of spirit is being diluted by my "low concentrate" attitude. Suddenly, everyone doesn't just need to pray themselves through, they have to carry me too! Suddenly, A whole service can be thrown off course; why? Because I was too lazy to get a bit of my own anointing. Yikes. I want to be the most saturated solution I can be.

fact: Solutions can hold a lot more catalyst when they're Agitated (stirred) and heated up.

1**sorry for the definition, I know it's annoying. You're not reading Merriam-Webster, for goodness' sake.

Words

2008-04-03T09:52:00.000-07:00

The room is cool and warm; I turn off the music. I hold The Book on my lap—cradle it. The other one in the room is quiet too. We sit together, each knowing the other is there, and enjoying the silence. It has been awhile since we were alone together; I’ve missed him. I don’t break the silence. He doesn’t either. I would, but-------------------------------------I have nothing. Thank you? You Rock? Love you? I can’t come up with much

Creator who fills the universe, you designed the perfect invention.

Your intricate plan involved far more mercy than should have been necessary,

but you still gave it.

You move in the background of the lives of your people, allowing us to think that we are the ones.

Humble me; break me; contrite me; show me.

Are there any words that haven’t been spoken?

Is there any hidden way of describing your intricate simplicity;

your comprehensive specificity;

your fierce mercy;

your loving judgement

.....where is the end?

Take away my impediments; I live only for your favor.

Silliness

2008-04-01T10:30:00.000-07:00

In life, you have to have balance. We know "all work and no play"...but how often do you actually do something completely irrational and cracky? You need a bit of fun in your life; people who give themselves entirely to seriousness and sober things tend to be a bit.... stifling. There are times when you just need to chill out; smile; look dumb :-)

I wrote last year about imagination and how people should do fun stuff. Here I'll take it further and say people need to do fun and even stupid stuff. Life is crazy; I don't think God meant for us not just make it through, bawling at every service, hating our jobs, and reading the WSJ for fun. For every Shake hands with the Devil that you read, read a Hunting of the Snark too; if you must write business reports, write limericks too!

"From my own investigations and the bearings on the chart,
In my heart I can see
A potential Snark may lurk in every tree.
As I make these observations I suggest that we should start,
For we haven't any time to spare
(No we haven'tanytimeto spare)
In your hearts you'll agree,
A potential Snark may lurk in every tree!"

Read This out loud in a storyteller voice to your kids :-) (I know; I'm going on a hyperlink rampage...)

Happy April Fools day!

Genuinity and appearance...revisited

2008-03-18T17:40:00.000-07:00

If this sounds familiar, it's because I wrote about the same thing (Seem Vs. Be) a few weeks ago. I didn't read it over before I started this, because I don't care if I repeat myself.

I get most of my blogging/thinking /conversation/argument topics from books --about 95%, actually. So even if I've written about something, sometimes I find another example of it and want to rewrite it, Just as a 'thought experiment.' I'm reading The Republic. It's good....in a very tiring way. The entire first book is kind of an intro to the rest of it; but it's interesting. Socrates and Adimantus are setting the stage for their discussion of what makes a good nation, and they get on the subject of whether it is better to be just or to be unjust.

I won't rehearse the whole thing--there's nothing more annoying than someone telling you in great detail what they read when you don't have the gestalt of it--but Adimantus says that of course injustice pays since, if you are successful at being unjust, you will appear to be just. Socrates counters with an analogy (is it better to appear as a good ship's Captain, or to actually be one?) It's funny--but I found myself wanting to jump in. "Wait," I would say. "It depends on what perspective you're looking at it from. What are your goals? If the just man is really just, he doesn't seek to appear just, he just is just. The unjust man may look just, but in the end, when he's by himself, he'll know; all the appearances in the world won't offset that feeling." (Of course I wouldn't've said it that clearly.....but as we're in Ancient Greece here, I think I can give myself a bit of oration skill ;-) I wonder what they would say to that? Probably sit stunned for a few hours at the eloquence....haha.

Of course now is when I tie it to life: What am I doing? Am I looking the part? Trying a bit, but filling in the rest with my knowledge of a subject; or trying to be different for different people?

I really think that the most dangerous thing someone can do is fake. When you do it, you lose the innocence of a beginner, but don't gain any experience as a veteran.

In the end, me and God are the only ones who know, but what am I doing if I fake? I'm trapping myself; digging myself into a pit; weaving a web without any non-stick silk.

Tolstoy and Selfishness

2008-03-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

For some reason I don’t really like telling people things. I like to reserve a lot of my pleasures for myself—maybe I’m trying to convince myself that I’m the first one to discover a wonderful experience, and that it’s a bit sacred until I tell everyone about it. As soon as people know, I’m scared that they’ll take it and counterfeit it, overplay it, and take away its significance for me. It gets to where I'll put a book away so I won't have to show anyone--it seems a bit neurotic when I write it. But, if I meet someone who's already read it, I love talking to them about it--like if I can see that they're genuinely interested, I don't mind. (I know that's weird)

I was thinking about it though, and came to the conclusion that if I tell people and they don't appreciate it, then they won't read it (or listen to it, or eat at that restaurant, or do it), so no injustice done. And if someone does appreciate it, then I don't mind them experiencing it too.

All that being said--there's this book I just read: Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy. He's the guy who wrote War and Peace. (this one's shorter though) ;-)

I hadn't even planned to finish the book--I just grabbed it off the shelf downstairs for something to browse until the bookstore got my book in--but I couldn't put it down. I can't really explain why it was so amazing, but the way he writes is like no other author: he actually gets inside people's heads--there's a lot to learn about spoken vs. implied words, and miscommunication. (I quoted a good example from it in another post, where the guy and his brother are talking). If you read it, you will get angry and frustrated at the characters, and you'll wonder if real people act like that, and you'll probably cry. It's one of the best books I've ever read--but you won't like it unless you really, really like books.

It's long though, so take some time.

You're welcome by the way.... :-) (And if you want to return the favor, I'll add it to my list--if you don't want to tell everyone, email me...haha)

Ouch...

2008-03-05T07:19:00.000-08:00

@ March 4: "&*%@#$%*"

She's so annoying! Her voice alone is reason enough to vote for someone else.

Being Nice

2008-03-03T06:58:00.000-08:00

I stopped at Starbucks yesterday morning on my way to school for a Zen (my new morning favorite). The Barista was kind of grumpy--it was 7 and there was already a line. I said good morning and tried to be nice. I asked her something conversational; we talked for a couple minutes about random things; I ordered; we talked about ordering; I said debit; she said don't worry about it, it's nice when someone is nice.

You notice people who are happy--you can think of one right now. Not the ones who are fake, but ones who try to be nice... and smile at people. There are usually more benefits that just feeling good; People actually like doing a favor for someone who is considerate and interactive. Plus, maybe they'll ask you why you're smiling. Good segue.

Promises

2008-02-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

Albert usually walks to work, even though it takes him through a bad part of town. One day, when he's passing an alley, a mugger jumps out with a gun. Terrified, Albert shouts "Oh God help me! Get me out of this and I promise I'll start going to church again; I'll quit drinking and smoking; I'll even give back all that money I stole at work!! Help!" At that very instant, a policeman walking the beat turns into the alley; the mugger runs off. "Phew" Albert sighs, "Never mind God, I took care of it."

I heard that joke a long time ago, but it was brought back to my mind by something I read recently*

I'm sure most people get the joke. You understand the irony; that good old Albert is pretty stupid, etc. We all get it because it's happened to us at some point; someone asking for a ride or a loan or a favor and forgetting about it the next day; but it takes an olympic effort for us to think of a time when we might've done the same.

But promises, whether spoken, thought, written, or implied by us, get broken all the time. When, after a church service, we think to ourselves or pray to God: "I know I need to pray more; I'm going to start tomorrow" or when we meet an old friend who's in great shape: "wow, Cindy looks fab! I'm calling Curves on Tuesday,"

There's a lot of directions one could go with this; but I'll leave it for now. The point is, some people live life in a perpetual state of promise-breaking: they commit, then break the commitment; Decide, then change their mind without even noticing; pledge, then renege. I don't want to do that.

*"Ease would retract,
Vows made in pain, as violent and void"
(Edmund Burke--1775)

Well it IS Valentine's day...

2008-02-14T11:47:00.000-08:00

I looked at my wall this morning and noticed my favorite sonnet that I had pinned there a while ago:

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Perfect... but it isn't about what you might think. Bill was a tad vain.

My opinions--not shared by many.

2008-02-10T12:47:00.000-08:00

*I thought I did a post like this one, but I can't find it anywhere; sorry if I'm repeating myself; I think it's relevant.*

"Moral of The work

In War: Resolution

In Defeat: Defiance

In Victory: Magnanimity

In Peace: Good Will

Theme of the Volume

How the English-speaking Peoples

through their unwisdom,

carelessness, and good nature

allowed the wicked to rearm"

Is what I read when I open the cover of The Gathering Storm by WSC. For those of you who haven't heard of or read it, it is the first of his six "journals," for lack of a better descriptor, about the events leading up to and including WWII.

The "theme of the volume" is true in spite of Churchill's efforts. I have not a shadow of a doubt that, had he been in a position of power earlier (anytime between 1919 and 1935), WWII would never have taken place. At all. That's a pretty hefty argument, but I believe you would agree if you read his book; in the years between the two wars Churchill spoke out against allowing Germany to rearm many many times; So many times that he became wearisome and annoying to quite a few other politicians.

Sadly, and at the cost of millions of lives, civilian and soldier, Churchill was vindicated eventually. He writes that he often wished he was wrong. Here I'll ask a trick question--I'll even tell you it's a trick question so you think about it and don't renege later: Wouldn't it be nice if he were wrong? Or if there was no need to be proven right--perhaps if Hitler had just said "you were right; I was planning to press my luck until you guys eventually figured it out, and then fight you for five years, but you guessed, so game over" we could've saved all those lives. It would have been awesome if Churchill was wrong. But: then I wouldn't be writing about Churchill right now--in fact, Churchill wouldn't have schools or towns named after him...he wouldn't be a hero, or even popular. He'd be a dead backbencher who did some interesting things in the Boer war. I think we would all agree that, however much we like Churchill, having never needed to discover his talent for leading in wartime is the nicer alternative (and I think he would agree).
.

So if we give ourselves the power to change history, it would seem that we have to make a choice: WWII, or no heroes--including all the books and stories and inspiring things we now take from the war. Again, we can probably agree (unless you are very messed up) that no war is probably the best alternative. Or, if imagine ourselves to have a bit more power, we could remove Churchill (obviously he's not the only one who won the war, but without him it would have been lost) from the scene altogether. Now it's not looking so hot--we have Hitler pretty much taking over the world; using Japan and Italy as his scapegoats and killing everyone who gets in his way. hmmmmm, that might not be such a good idea, right?

That's all very clear

So applying the same logic (this is where you're glad you knew that other one was a trick question), how would you suggest dealing with military dictatorships who are likely to have access to freaky weapons? Ones who already have sanctions in place insisting that they not develop their military past a certain point (a bit like the treaty of Versailles, except less friendly)? You get to keep your powers of history-changing, and your current knowledge; what would you do?

-Leave them alone--because, after all, we have no certain proof that they have militant plans against us? Most would say of course!--so many lives could've been saved. The logical response: We already tried that--In Europe; and we tried it for 2 decades! Guess how it turned out? Not so awesome.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing"
-Edmund Burke

**feel free to leave comments--I would appreciate the feedback; even if you don't agree... especially if you don't agree. I may very well be wrong: tell me why. Anonymously if you want.**

Super Tuesday...

2008-02-05T19:08:00.000-08:00

Inside--->Out

2008-02-04T20:22:00.000-08:00

This has been on my mind for a long time, but I didn't think of it as a possibility for a post until yesterday. When I was in grade 11, there was a kind of "anti-bullying" campaign at our school put on by the police. It was mandatory to go to; or I probably would've just gone home, not really being into the whole bullying/high school thing. Of course everyone knows, if not from experience then at least from others, that most things like this tend to be quite stupid; the ones who should be listening are probably skipping and bullying people... anyways; it had all the themes you'd think a campaign like that would have and was quickly forgotten.

All that to say this: I started thinking about the presentation, and thought about the effect, if any, it would have on people. From there my mind jumped to thinking about why people do the things they do, and live their lives the way they do. Why do people do things? My Organizational Behavior prof. tells our class that all action has motivation, and it usually makes sense to the person doing it. So taking it a bit further: Why would someone... become an alcoholic, fail a class, or whatever? Conversely, what makes someone become great, or make a million dollars...?

I thought about this for a long time; and came to a conclusion: Most people live life "outside in;" their thoughts and actions are determined by others, whether directly or indirectly. They follow the crowd, try to fit in, join the trends rather than setting them. Their goals are for other people, not themselves; a success is when they get recognition, not if they're satisfied themselves. On the other hand, all the people I know who I'd consider "great," or even happy, don't rely solely on other people for their direction and affirmation--they live life "inside-out;" Independantly of what's going on around them; "For themselves" if you will--not meaning they're selfish or self-centered, but that they have enough confidence and interest in themselves that they can do something without needing to tell everyone.

Another aspect of this is people's values: most people (I think) have morals that go along with everyone in their circle; if the people they're around are a certain way, they tend to adapt and conform. What really distinguishes someone from the rest is when they can stand up or stand out--not relying on being "average" or "normal."

People get ahead and stand out in life by defying the status quo; by being weird; by doing something because they want to, or because it's right no matter who thinks so.

Try it--live inside out for a bit. Determine your surroundings as opposed to letting them determine you. (wow; sounds a little too...self-help book, but w/e)

Oh Great...

2008-02-02T01:18:00.000-08:00

It's 3:19... and I'm only half finished my proposal.

So sorry.... this'll be one of the last

2008-01-27T12:44:00.000-08:00

Everyone's probably very sick of my take on American politics; especially all the Americans--but I still have to post this one....

I love the New York Times:

"Kennedy Plans to Back Obama Over Clinton"
"Obama Carries South Carolina by a Wide Margin"

within 24 hours of each other...
I think it was 55% to 27%

Brute Neighbors

2008-01-24T13:06:00.000-08:00

I started reading the work that this is taken out of when I was in grade 10--unfortunately I was too impatient and bored to ever get to page 158, where I would have read this and posted it sooner. I'll start over as soon as I'm done my current book. It just so happened that my word of the day web site decided to send it to me as an example of the word "internecine." I lucked out; I might've never read it:

"One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, and black, fiercely contending with one another. Having once got hold they never let go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly. Looking farther, I was surprised to find that the chips were covered with such combatants, that it was not a duellum, but a bellum, a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted against the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The legions of these Myrmidons covered all the hills and vales in my wood-yard, and the ground was already strewn with the dead and dying, both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; internecine war; the red republicans on the one hand, and the black imperialists on the other. On every side they were engaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I could hear, and human soldiers never fought so resolutely. I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other’s embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noonday prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red champion had fastened himself like a vice to his adversary’s front, and through all the tumblings on that field never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near the root, having already caused the other to go by the board; while the stronger black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw on looking nearer, had already divested him of several of his members. They fought with more pertinacity than bulldogs. Neither manifested the least disposition to retreat. It was evident that their battle-cry was “Conquer or die.” In the meanwhile there came along a single red ant on the hillside of this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either had despatched his foe, or had not yet taken part in the battle; probably the latter, for he had lost none of his limbs; whose mother had charged him to return with his shield or upon it. Or perchance he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus. He saw this unequal combat from afar — for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the red — he drew near with rapid pace till be stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and commenced his operations near the root of his right fore leg, leaving the foe to select among his own members; and so there were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been invented which put all other locks and cements to shame. I should not have wondered by this time to find that they had their respective musical bands stationed on some eminent chip, and playing their national airs the while, to excite the slow and cheer the dying combatants. I was myself excited somewhat even as if they had been men. The more you think of it, the less the difference. And certainly there is not the fight recorded in Concord history, at least, if in the history of America, that will bear a moment’s comparison with this, whether for the numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and heroism displayed."

If you skimmed, you missed out.

Makeup

2008-01-15T13:32:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about doing this post for a long time, but I needed to wait until something motivated me--the motivation arrived last week, when someone I was talking to started talking about how much they spend on make-up... I mentioned that I think make-up is disgusting, and makes the majority of people who wear it look stupid. (The same goes for hair dye; your natural hair color always looks better; no exceptions. Fake is not attractive). The girl I was talking to didn't agree...she said she spends more than $200 a month on hair and make-up...

I heard someone make a comment about make-up a few months ago: they said that make-up is the western version of a burqa. At first, that seems a bit extreme to say; but the more I think about it, the more I agree. It's ironic because most people would argue that it's the complete opposite: a burqa is usually seen as a symbol for oppression of women and something to break free of, but I would argue that make-up is totally comparable, if not just a burqa by another name. How can I think otherwise when I hear women talk about how they won't leave the house without their "face"? Or when girls I go to school with whisper about how ugly ___ is when she's not wearing pounds of the stuff?

What makes it necessary? Is it a lack of confidence? A true belief that it makes one exponentially more attractive? A result of the beauty industry's 'brainwashing?' It seems to me that it's self-perpetuating; mothers and sisters and models and stars reinforce it in nieces and daughters and girls. I think it's making people forget how to take care of their skin and hair--they just throw some animal fat over their unhealthy complexion or cut off the split ends.

I've never understood it. I know some good looking girls, and none of them wear make-up--I have no way of knowing if the rest are gorgeous or plain or pretty or normal, because I've never seen their face. they're all covered by the mask they put on every morning before going out.

"Women who use make-up on a daily basis are absorbing almost 5lb of chemicals a year into their bodies" (Telegraph).
Cancer, anyone?

The Republicans

2008-01-12T18:57:00.000-08:00

Sorry about only doing politics for the last few posts... I'm not feeling a whole lot deeper :-)

Anyone who's talked to me about this upcoming election knows I like Obama--maybe it's just because I read his book, or because I think I have a pretty good feel for where he stands on a lot of issues--and that I think he can win; but it kind of bugs me a bit that I don't really feel like cheering for the Republicans. I think it might be because the one guy I was starting to like (probably because I read his book too, and no one else's) placed 6th in Iowa and 3rd in N.H., and now it looks like he's not even a serious candidate anymore. I don't see anything in Huckabee or Romney, or even McCain, really, that I can get behind and hope for. In my post this summer, I said I hope Hillary gets the nomination, because then the Republicans will win (I don't think Hillary has made herself very electable--people would sooner "risk" another republican President than vote for her, she comes across as very eager, in a bad way), but since Giuliani isn't living up to my expectations, I kind of want Obama to get it... and maybe even win. Again, maybe I should read up a bit more, but Huckabee doesn't seem like a great leader to me, and I'm not too fond of Romney--he speaks well and looks the part, but I thought he did badly in all the debates I watched. If I'm going to root for anyone, it'll probably be McCain: I like a lot of his policies, but I need to read up more on his "Iraq" platform.

Maybe I just don't think any of the Republicans can win after the bad press they've had for the last 4 years, but I don't have a good feeling about it. If I was a betting person, I'd give 3-2 on the Democrats--or 4-1 if Obama gets the nomination (and McCain to 'place')

(and 3-1 for the R's if H.C. gets the N)--(in the words of Bertie Wooster)

Saving Face:

2008-01-09T06:08:00.000-08:00

Okay so Hillary won in New Hampshire--but one might argue that it didn't mean a thing; after all they both have 9 delegates, so in the actual voting NH was a tie. Although I must admit that I thought Obama would take it; the polls weren't very accurate (they gave Obama 40% to Hillary's 29% at one point)

Although it's a bit cynical of me, I think Hillary's acting skills probably got her the win:

"Several New Hampshire women, some of them undecided until Tuesday, said that a galvanizin (sic) moment for them had been Mrs. Clinton’s unusual display of emotion on Monday as she described the pressures of the race and her goals for the nation — a moment Mrs. Clinton herself acknowledged as a breakthrough." (nytimes.com)

I have class in 10 minutes... later on John McCain.

Gloating...

2008-01-03T22:09:00.000-08:00

If you'd care to take a gander at the front page of nytimes.com; or read your paper tomorrow morning, you'll find that yes, indeed, it seems that more people read the Audacity of Hope than read Living History... I read somewhere (this may be wrong) that the percentages in Iowa have predicted the nominations correctly for all but four U.S. Presidential elections.

For those of you who have absolutely no idea... or just don't care;

D: Obama 38%, Edwards 29%, Hillary 28% (that's third place... I love it)

R: Huckabee 34%, Romney 25%, Thompson 13%, McCain 13% (Giuliani came in 6th with 3%... that was a bit surprising).

Not bragging or anything... but I'm pretty sure I called it. :-)

Seperate topic: Why are fat people always on the good treadmills? Like; you're barely walking! You don't need a higher incline or a fan!

Seem Vs. Be

2007-12-27T18:26:00.000-08:00

Does anyone else notice that sometimes a thought or concept will get into one's head, and suddenly it seems like the world is full of examples of it? The same way it sometimes seems like the whole world reads the same 'word of the day' and decided to use it in a conversation (the other day it was supercilious), which then forces one to look the word up, because they feel stupid for not knowing it. Sometimes I'll read about a theme or idea, and then someone will mention it to me in a conversation, or it'll be preached about, or I'll read about it from a blog or newspaper. This week three of those happened; or perhaps it was just my mind finding confirmation for its thoughts. Regardless, I'll try to explain.

I'm in the middle of a fantastically awesome book, which I actually started accidentally because I couldn't find the second book in a series I wanted to finish reading, so I picked this extremely dusty classic off of a basement shelf and started it, thinking I'd only get a bit of the way through (because it's massively huge and I've heard it's boring). To come to the point though, it ended up being one of the best books I've read in... well, maybe ever, and I'm about a third done... fabulous book. The general story isn't really relevant here (I'd find some way to work it in if it were) but there's a recurring theme throughout the book of deceit and smoke screens, where the characters pride themselves on what they can keep hidden from others, but also on what they know about others. The author frequently interjects to explain what the people are really thinking:

"Levin felt guilty and could do nothing to correct it. He felt that if they hadn't both

been pretending, but had had what is called a heart-to-heart talk, that is, simply told each

other what they were thinking and feeling, then they would just have looked into each

other's eyes, and Constantine would only have said: "You're dying, dying, dying!"--while

Nicholas would simply have replied: "I know I'm dying, but I'm afraid, afraid, afraid!"

That's all they would have said..."

.
The second thing was a sermon I heard (I forget the title) about being faithful in the small things, like prayer and going to church and reading the Bible.

"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much."

Which made me start thinking about sincerity and honesty: Many people want to have all the accolades and honors that come with being spiritual and wise, but they don't want to take the time to get there--they'd much rather put on a good fake.

So finally I come to the point... (again, I don't even know if this is readable... it's the way my mind goes) The world is FULL of people who are all trying to reach the top of... whatever, be it sports or knowledge or 'spirituality' or anything, but it's becoming increasingly rare to find someone who's willing to put the work in; to be honest and meticulous in every way; to be willing to spend hours praying or days fasting without telling anyone; to put in all that time at the gym without getting any glory from it--when it comes down to it you have to make a choice in every aspect of your life: Do I want to seem? Or do I want to be?

Yeah! what IS up with that??

2007-12-10T08:28:00.000-08:00

whats with the the screensaver that has some logo floating on the screen... why doesn't it bounce properly?? it's incredibly stupid to have it bounce like 4 inches from the side of the screen; makes no sense whatsoever! And why doesn't it ever bounce in the corner?!

(clearly I'm putting off studying for my final tonight...)

Many of you will have already seen this...

2007-12-10T08:19:00.000-08:00

How things ought to be.

2007-11-29T20:32:00.001-08:00

It Appears That the Marketers have no "Grammar check"...

2007-11-20T20:13:00.000-08:00

My homepage on my computer has a space for ads on it; and it just so happened that today Toyota Canada decided they were ready to rent the space for their new Rav4 ad.... in which a mini Rav4 zooms across my screen and comes to a screeching stop just before what looks like a finish line.... By now I'm thinking something like: "Wow, these Rav4's must have awesome brakes...," (paraphrasing...) But alas; what flashes on the screen next shows that they aren't advertising the "brakes," they're advertising the:

The "Breaking System."

Wow.

Me: "Am I not getting it? Is there some witty reason that "Breaking" is actually relevant?"

So I called them just for the fun of it; but there wasn't an option in the menu (like: "push 9 if you wish to report a misspelling in one of our ads.") so I had to wait to talk to someone. I ended up talking to a suprisingly normal girl who thought it was hilarious.

So go explore the new Toyota Rav3; it's breaking sistem is awsum.

Sorry....

2007-11-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

Many regrets about the lack of posts... My writer is on strike. We're working something out; hopefully by the end of this week.

In Defense of Elitism.

2007-10-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

"It is scarcely the same thing to put a man on the moon as to put a bone in your nose."
~William Henry III

"democracy demands that all of its citizens begin the race even. Egalitarians demands that they all finish even."
~Roger Price

Have you ever thought to yourself: "you know, when you really come down to it, people really aren't completely equal?" I have, but it's a bit of a taboo to actually say it. Why does it seem like society favors the mediocre and bottom of the pool more than the best? People used to be competitive; people who weren't good enough were told as much, and there was a lot more incentive to try. But we've come a long way from that. The "elite" of society aren't celebrated and emulated anymore; to be an elitist is an insult, not a compliment; you hear people use elitist as a synonym for prejudiced, racist, or sexist.

When I think about the word "elite," to me it implies excellence, diligence, dedication, specialty, professionalism, etc., something I'd like to strive for and seek after (and most other people, I think), but it seems to be an attitude with some people that if you try to get ahead, you're seen as 'ambitious', 'heady', or 'self-absorbed.'

You really should read the book I just read... He says it better.
in defense of elitism by William Henry III

The greatest designer ever...

2007-09-26T15:28:00.001-07:00

I think these colors "go," don't you?

I've always thought the riverbank around Saskatoon is the most beautiful I've seen; especially in the fall--But I couldn't find a picture of it, so this one will have to do until (if ever) I take the camera out of the box...

A Favorite...

2007-09-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

OZYMANDIAS

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,

The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

"Nothing beside remains: round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

~Percy Bysshe Shelley ~

I've been really into memorizing poetry lately; years and years ago, in the ages of Twain, Hemingway, Emerson, Walden, and Churchill, people knew about poetry and literature, and could quote whole plays or poems. Sometimes I wish I could take a few years and just read.

A post on two eras...

2007-09-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way-
in short, the period was so far like the present period,
that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received,
for good or for evil,
in the superlative degree of comparison only.

I was in a "read-a-bit-of-a-book-again" mood a while ago, and picked up A tale of two cities for a quick glance. The opening lines of that book are famous, so much so that most people can probably quote them, (or at least the first couple). I read them with pleasure--like you would greet a distant friend that you remember being very interesting--and then I read them again. And I thought about them; and read them again. I think that some things have to be read two or three times, or even more, to be really appreciated (like Shakespeare, or the Bible). That's how I feel about Charles Dickens: I could read all of them over again and get just as much enjoyment out of them.

So anyways, I read the first bit, and thought about it, and started mulling it over. Just for a bit of context; A tale of two cities is centered in Paris and London (the "two cities") in the late 1700's (the early industrial revolution).

Now read those lines, with no thoughts about when that "epoch" was... I think it sounds a lot like it was written in, oh say, 2007. It seems to me that this "age" we live in, this "time" that we have before us to live our lives in, is as close to that paragraph as it could be. One could, with good reason, say that in some respects the time we're in now is "the best of times." Certainly it is the most advanced, the most relaxed, and the most instant of all those before it; but at the same time, one wouldn't be taking a quantum leap by saying that it's also "the worst of times" when our families are no longer really families, our public decency is almost completely gone, and our standards have fallen to embarrassing lows.

"it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,"

Never before have we known so much, and felt and been so little.

it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,

We believe, but we don't know what in.

it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,

we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,

I remember something Andy Bentley said the last time he was in Saskatoon: "The promise of technology, the promise of health, and the promise of medicine; they're not coming to pass, and people are recognizing it." It's true.

In short, times haven't changed as much as we think. This was written mostly because of the industrial revolution (lots of commerce, but poor conditions; the potential for a better life while still in squalor). Here we are in our own technological revolution; and we're faced with the exact same fears, although to a higher degree.

I just thought that was interesting...hopefully I'm not the only one.

I miss Europe... :-(

2007-09-08T22:44:00.000-07:00

Example

2007-09-03T15:30:00.000-07:00

Life is full of examples. In school, examples are probably the most effective way of teaching something; in conversation, examples help clarify.... In life, examples are rare.

A while ago I read Malcolm X's autobiography (black panthers....."By any means necessary"... ring a bell?) and was struck by a quote I read in it; when asked what he thought the best strategy for showing people the injustice of segregation and keep people from thinking of his group as a bunch of thugs was, he said:

"the best way to show someone that they're drinking dirty water is to show them a glass of clean water." Read that again....think about it;

Can you think of anyone who is a prime example of a glass of "clean water?".... They're easy to notice aren't they? People who set themselves apart from peers, who are accountable to themselves, who have convictions no matter who's around. I want to be a clean glass.

"Example is the best precept."

~Aesop

Disappearing Urinals... cont'd...

2007-08-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

Today at work, for example, there was a huge stack of drywall that needed to be moved, but it couldn't be moved until the doors were nailed down. When the doors eventually got nailed down, there was 5 million things that could be done. In a perfect world, the work would be spread out through the whole day, but as it was I got paid to sit around for two hours, and then sprinted for the next 7.... what if I only appeared when there was work? They could've saved 5 dollars an hour on me... ;-)

On a side note, have you ever wondered why people write weird things (like this) on blogs? Me too. But before there were bloggers, there were essayists; basically the same thing but a lot more literate, and they wrote about more random stuff. Like Plutarch; He wrote a huge long essay on lettuce, yes lettuce; its properties and what happens when you cook it and eat it and cut it in various ways. So look on the bright side....

Disappearing Urinals...

2007-08-30T05:23:00.000-07:00

My eyes have been opened....I've gotten a revelation--granted it may not've been from God--but still a revelation. ;-)

I was running yesterday, and since running is not the most mind-occupying thing in the world, also listening to one of my favorite podcasts. I don't remember the exact article, but the narrator mentioned outsourcing... which I thought I had a decent understanding of before....

I'm sure we've all heard/read snippets about what a big problem outsourcing is for some companies here, and there's always someone in the process of closing down assembly plants and contracting out the work. Now outsourcing may suck if you're a laborer or a sweat-shop worker hoping that western ethics will soon close your plant; but think about it from the company's perspective for a minute (here's the revelation)... Have you ever been in a play or airport washroom where there's a whole wall (or two) of urinals/stalls? I'm sure anyone with the smallest amount of common sense realizes that they have that many for high traffic times; like early morning flights or intermissions.

So.....what if as the owner/manager of that theatre or airport you had the ability to make urinals and stalls appear only when you actually need them??? Sound too good to be true? That's exactly what outsourcing does; if you don't have to pay the employees when you don't have the work--you can just hire a company that specializes in, say, truck making, to do it--then you can save millions in payroll; especially for companies that have more than 50,000 people.

....Continued

Silence.

2007-08-27T18:14:00.000-07:00

Let me paint a picture for you; well actually, two pictures. In the first (as best as I can recall) I'm riding to a job-site with a co-worker in his truck. We leave the shop at about 7:10, and the trip is ten minutes long. As soon as we get in the truck I can feel it: It's going to be one of those trips that lasts ten hours, every second of which is spent looking out of the corner of your eye at the other guy, tapping your fingers on the armrest, and trying to think of something to say. It lasts for about five of the ten minutes, with interspersed "so.... this sun sure is a nice change," and other time-taker-uppers, until he finally turns on the radio and sighs with content, as the pressure to talk is taken from our shoulders and put on the all-too-ready announcer's.

In the second, I'm riding in the car too, this time with my sister (either one) going anyplace. We get in the car, and drive; occasionally saying something if it comes to mind; asking a question or mentioning the scenery, but not attempting to break the silence--even enjoying it. The trip might be five minutes or five hours long. But awkwardness doesn't once enter the car and not one work is spoken out of necessity.

The point is a very simple one; silence, especially among friends, is a wonderful, wonderful thing. It's great to feel no obligation to say something, and yet still communicate and fellowship with someone; one might even say it's better than conversation or discussion. If there's one thing I appreciate in a friendship; it's having an unspoken understanding that no words are necessary.

P.S. This is especially true today, when more than ever we feel like we must always be talking, texting, IMing, Calling, emailing, watching, etc., and when our culture is so focused on loudness and entertainment. It's special. And it's rarity makes it even more so.

Here's what others have said on the subject:

Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves together.
-Thomas Carlyle

To communicate through silence is a link between the thoughts of man.
-Marcel Marceau

Silence is best.
-John Hewson

For everyone who made fun of my red socks... ...;-)

2007-08-26T12:54:00.001-07:00

(Click to expand)

Click here to read what all the admirers have to say...

Funny Post...

2007-08-24T23:15:00.000-07:00

...On this blog

The last one continued.....

2007-08-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

If 9/11 had been just a one-time thing--fly into our buildings and go home--then we could've dropped a few bombs and forgotten about it...like we've done with previous disasters/attacks/tragedies in history, but (according to George Tenet in his book [see last post]) the government believed (and rightly so) that 9/11 was just the first of a series of extensive attacks on the States. Knowing that, there wasn't much of an option open to Bush other than to try and "take out" Bin Laden before it could happen. And since it didn't happen, some people say he was just crying wolf. To them I would ask: would you rather no action was taken and run the risks of other attacks occuring?
.
Someone told me that they'd rather we forgot about Bin Laden and Al Qaida than catch them and lose so many lives, but what if you knew that forgetting about them was interchangable with more attacks on western cities? When someone declares war on you (Osama did, on America and western society) you can't very well ignore them. To me it's like saying inthe decades leading up to WWII: "forget about Hitler, maybe if we ignore him he'll go away" hmmmm, come to think of it, we did do that; The three most powerful nations in the world tried to appease Germany from 1919 until 1939, when they finally realized (because of Hitler's invasion of Poland) that some people/countries/terrorist organizations cannot be appeased. Should we have done that in 2001? And now, in 2007, is it possible that we'd be engaged in warfare on our ground instead of theirs?
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Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
~Voltaire

In Defence Of George W. Bush

2007-08-24T17:09:00.000-07:00

Whoa....before you ask yourself "Where did those Dehods go wrong with Thomas? He seemed like such a normal (or not) boy..." It's just my opinion; If you have a different one; feel free to let me know. Seriously.
.

I thought about blogging this awhile ago, but decided not to...just because it's a little awkward...but in the last while it seems whenever the United States or George Bush comes up in a conversation, whoever I'm talking to can barely keep the bile out of their throat, leading me to wonder when they met George Bush, because it appears that he personally must have killed their children or stolen their truck.**

To clarify, I'm not the biggest fan of Bush; I don't know enough about his policies or background to think he's the greatest, or the worst, President we've had. (And I'll admit that readily)
.

I do, however, think he's done great in some ways:

- Economic policy

- Immgration policy

- Foreign policy (gasp)

And bad in other ways

- No Child Left Behind

- Climate change policy
- Public speaking
.

A lot of people's main gripe with Bush is the "War in Iraq," while they can't tell the difference between Iraq and Afghanistan. "They're both over there somewere, and it's _____ George ____ Bush's fault that our guys are too" Said a guy I work with today.

To get to the point: Before you rave about what a lunatic someone is, try reading both sides of the issue. If you don't think "Bush" should have "meddled" in Iraq/Afghanistan, read At the Center of the Storm: My Years at the CIA by George Tenet. Or the "National Strategy for Victory in Iraq" or even a press conference given by George Bush on progress in Iraq, all widely available all over the web (If you're actually interested...if not, don't. They're a bit boring)

And then (or first...whatever you choose) try:
- Imposter: How George W. Bush Bankrupted America and Betrayed the Reagan Legacy by Bruce Bartlett
- The Sixth Year Itch: The Rise and Fall of the George W. Bush Presidency by Larry J. Sabato
-or almost any newscast or political blog, or newspaper (I haven't read the last two....I'm not a scholar, but it's not hard to read the paper)
.

Sorry for the long-windedness, if anyone actually read this boring, poorly written post, kudos to you.

**(obviously this is a joke, or a half-joke, please don't get mad ;-) )

Permission

2007-08-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

Was thinking about this scripture--

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour

~I Peter 5:8

--And thought about the language of it, and the imagery it connotes. Obviously we're warned to be careful and "on our guard," But the last part: "seeking whom he may devour" caught my attention. It seems like it involves him [the devil] being permitted to devour.
.

I remember asking my mom "can I go outside and play?" and she'd say "I don't know, can you? You may go outside and play, if that's what you mean"
.

It seems to me (and yes, I do know that I'm probably butchering any proper interpretation of this scripture.... sorry; I don't know greek) that for the devil to take advantage of, victimize and terrorize us, we have to give him some permission. I heard a preacher say somewhere that the devil is only as powerful as you let him be.
.

Of course when you think about all the challenges we face every day in living for God, it's hard to think that you can just tell the devil he's not allowed to bug us; but that's really the way it is. He preys on those who want to be victims, who want attention, and want to feel like they're up against a huge army. If you want to be a martyr, you probably will be one.
.

~Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

James 4:7

Flee. last I checked, that meant "run away in fear" or something of the sort.

Just A Thought....

2007-08-20T15:31:00.000-07:00

There's no feeling quite like leaving a bookstore with two bags full of books you don't expect to understand or enjoy, but had to spend $500 on them anyways. Thrilling.

Striving to......ummm strive?

2007-08-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

Try this: go to google and search: "striving for." Or don't; I'll tell you what you find: a lot of people/companies claim to be striving for tons of different things: Striving for Growth, Striving for Economic Success, Striving for Honesty, Striving for Quality, Truth, Greatness, Perfection,... the list is almost endless (well, actually at page three it starts to get sparse).

The point is, people love to say they're "Striving," it sounds nice; something you'd say to a customer or put on a resume to impress, but are that many people actually striving? Yearning for something, seeking after something, desperately longing for something so that it consumes them and they can think of nothing else? How often, in response to "Hey where's Joe?" do you hear someone say: "Oh he couldn't make it; since he started striving for higher productivity at work he hasn't left the office?" Not too, right?

I find that in general, the people that are actually striving aren't too concerned about letting you in on it, and people who want people to think they're striving for something spend more time talking about it than striving for it.

There's a country song called "How bad do you want it," I thought one of the verses was fitting:

People always ask me

"Son what does it take

To reach out and touch your dreams?

"To them I always say

Are you hungry?

Are you thirsty?

Is it a fire that burns you up inside?

How bad do you want it?

How bad do you need it?

Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming

With that one thing on your mind?

How bad do you want it?

How bad do you need it?

Cause if you want it all

You've got to lay it all out on the line.

That's pretty much it. Sooner or later you've got to face it: Striving means actually striving. Whether it's starting something, stopping something, learning something, saying something, or doing something; you'll do it when you eat, sleep, dream, and live it.

If you happen to be striving for God, try this:

You shall seek me and you shall find me when you search for me with

all of your heart

Jeremiah 29: 13

So I'm not striving, I'm trying to get to that place where the thing I'm trying to attain IS all I think about and do. You might say I'm striving... to Strive.

Awfully Sorry.....

2007-08-12T15:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not assuming that anyone cares, but I haven't posted anything in a bit because I was just slightly busy last week ;-) .... I'm working on something
.
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Incidentally, I think that this camp meeting we're coming out of was the best one ever. I'm incredibly pumped for what happened there and what's going to happen in our district.

Thought this was cute...

2007-08-05T17:45:00.000-07:00

I'm sure everyone has seen this photograph before. Alfred Eisenstaedt snapped it in Times Square, New York on August 14 1945, the day the war officially ended with Japan's surrender. For years no one knew who the sailor in the picture was or how to find out. Turns out his name is Glenn McDuffie, and he's 80 years old now.

"Mr. McDuffie said he's relieved that Ms. Gibson's analysis supports what remains a vivid memory. He said he was changing trains in New York when he was told that Japan had surrendered and the Second World War was over.
"I was so happy. I ran out in the street," said Mr. McDuffie, then 18 and on his way to visit his girlfriend in Brooklyn.
"And then I saw that nurse," he said. "She saw me hollering and with a big smile on my face ... I just went right to her and kissed her."
Mr. McDuffie said the kiss was prompted by the realization that his older brother, W.D., would soon be coming home from a Japanese prison camp.
"We never spoke a word," he said. 'Afterward, I just went on the subway across the street and went to Brooklyn.'" (Globe and Mail)

That's perfect...it seems like you can tell just from looking at it that it happened that way.

Politicking Ramble....Not very interesting

2007-08-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

Well I did say it wouldn't all be interesting; I wrote this mostly for my own benefit.

I'm reading a book by a politician, and it made me start thinking about why people seem to have a disgust for politics and politicians in general; It seems like no one is completely satisfied with our leaders today, we're constantly being let down and lied to by people trying to get elected. And I thought: why is that? Well, I think it's because we put our leaders in a Catch-22: we elect them based on their promises, but then call them liars when they can't act on them because of minority governments or opposing views.

So this is what I think: the best kind of government is not, in fact, a democracy, it's one what I've heard described as a "benevolent dictatorship" where people choose one person who they deem honest and wise and shrewd and savvy, and they lead the country. That's how they did it in Greece thousands of years ago, and it turned out rather well for them (ask Plato and Socrates.) But on second thought, I'm not sure people at this point want someone wise and honest and eloquent and savvy (or that they would be able to discern who was and who was faking). They prefer someone entertaining and funny who lowers the standards to their level rather than raise the people to his.

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.
~Abraham Lincoln

....I might finish this sometime, I'm tired though. (I'm sure the multitudes reading this are crushed with disappointment)

Reading

2007-07-31T20:25:00.001-07:00

Since I have no homework (no school) and get off work in the afternoon, I've recently started reading every day again; something I haven't done since Christmas break. Since I've started getting a couple hours a day in, I can honestly say that I've learned more so far this summer than I did in my last year of high school. Today as I curled up on the couch with the afternoon sun casting beams on my pages, I remembered the days before I went to school, when I would go to the library 3 times a week and stay up reading until my mom made me turn off my lamp, only to continue under the covers with a flashlight until I finished the book, sometimes until two or three in the morning. I thought about the great books I read and all the places I travelled in my mind, not realizing I was learning, only that I was having an amazing time. I'll never forget books like The BFG, Matilda, Where the Red Fern Grows, all the Bill Peets, the "illustrated classics," Value tales, and an infinity of others.

I'm recommending:

South by Ernest Shackleton---just finished it, amazing. You'll cry. (by the way if David sees this, I didn't mean to take it, I'll give it back at camp) ;-)

The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens---Incredibly well written, he's funny and if you're smart you'll like it even more.

2007-07-30T20:22:00.000-07:00

2007-07-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

Here's one of those Ramblings...

2007-07-26T19:01:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting here, watching a video of Richard Dawkins and Alister McGrath discussing the probability of God and the difficulties in reconciling God with science, When a thought popped into my head. Richard had just mentioned how the theory of God helps people to keep "grasp on the concept of the world," and suddenly I thought: What if I suddenly decided to not believe in God? What if I decided to desert the way I was raised and pursue my fortune and way in the world without the "cumbersome, inhibiting" (his words, not mine) view that there is a God and a heaven and hell and a final judgement and all that jazz?

So I explored the idea in my mind for a moment: Would I become enlightened, rich, famous, intelligent, wise, or amazing? Or become like all the people I work with who get high on their coffee breaks, smoke two packs a day, and tell the only guy on the job who doesn't that he's retarded? Or live a happy, content life and die? How mad would my parents be? I weighed these things in my mind, considering the chances of each, and realized that even if I wanted to, I could not just decide there's no God and carry on with life. Seriously, I physically couldn't do it. And I think that's awesome.

.....

2007-07-22T15:32:00.000-07:00

Let me break it down a little bit..... Hurry up and get married before you get so ugly that nobody will go for you. ;-) For all you poetry analysts.

2007-07-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may go marry :

For having lost but once your prime

You may for ever tarry.

There's an incentive.... ;-)

purple elephants

2007-07-19T16:52:00.000-07:00

how to be a purple elephant:

Wow...Let me tell you about my God experience today:

1; and it came to pass that Thomas was in the upper room partaking of his daily sustenance of grilled asparagus, waiting for his sister to cease use of the computer, when a messenger came.
2; And the messenger said "Hey, what are you doing tonight?" and Thomas held his peace, for his thumbs were rent sore from texting.
3; and Thomas said unto his father, "Lo, I will descend into the lower regions of the house and write a blog post. And he did so.
4; And it came to pass that when he was gone into the cellar, he came upon his computer, and found written upon the screen; "Purple elephants" and below was written "how to be an elephant." And Thomas inquired of his family: who could have written it. And they said unto him, God forbid that we would do such a thing. And then Thomas cried out with a loud voice saying:
5; "The Lord has spoken, and now I will ... umm Iunno."

Yeah, that's pretty much how it went down. I don't know if anyone got this far, you're probably slain out by now....but whatever ;-)