I Got Minecraft...

Log in everyday!

After much pushing from my best friend, I gave in and got a game called Minecraft. Basically, Minecraft is a sandbox game in which you run around and mine different kinds of blocks (dirt, stone, gravel, coal, etc.) and then place them back down to build structures. You can also combine them through various methods to build new blocks or objects to use or place.

When I first saw it, I wasn't impressed. The graphics are not amazing. Most everything in the world is made up of pixelated, poorly textured blocks. As you might guess, the end result is... blocky. Gameplay seems boring and infinitely repetitive. Why on earth would I buy this game.

Then I did. And played it for the first time.

Oh my.

I could build ANYTHING.

Anything my heart desired, I could sculpt out of blocky dirt and stone. I could build castles in the sky or towers reaching to the heavens. I could level mountains and reroute rivers. I could recreate the Pyramids of Giza. I could construct a village of tiny cottages and then burn them all down like a crazed conqueror. The world was my oyster.

What's more, I could do it alongside my friends.

Since then, I've been spending a fair amount of time logging onto the server my friends and I set up and working with them to create elaborate castles, soaring towers, long distance rail bridges, and enormous mountain fortresses. I guess I was wrong for doubting my friend on this one. Minecraft is awesome.

For a taste of what Minecraft looks like and a truly awesome song, check out this video. Enjoy.

So Close

Yet so far.

I really, really want to be done with this semester. I'm sick of my classes. They've sucked this time around. I'm sick of several of my teachers. If I never see them again, it'll be too soon. And I want a break. I'm tired of doing school work and being an RA all the time.

Unfortunately, I still have a few days of finals to get through. That means the next four days will consist of lots of studying and misery. But then I'm done, and I can coast through until Friday when I get to go home to Bemidji and see my family and friends. Can't wait.

Faith Like The Three

I'm pretty sure you've all heard the story.

I have. It's the story of the fiery furnace. In the Bible, in the book of Daniel, the story goes something like this...

King Nebuchadnezzar built an image of himself out of gold, ninety feet high and nine feet wide (that's a lot of gold and mildly vain, in case hadn't noticed). Then he called all of his officials to the dedication of the image and told them to bow down to it when they heard lots of music playing (that's really vain, in case you hadn't noticed). Three Jews, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (more commonly known by their Babylonian names, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego) refused to bow down to the image.

Nebuchadnezzar wasn't too happy about this, so he called in the three Jews and told them to do what he said. If they didn't, they would be thrown into a fiery furnace. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused again, so the king order the heat on the furnace turned up (7 times hotter than usual; that's a lot of fire) and had them tied up and tossed in. It was hot enough that the soldiers who threw them in were killed by the flames. Nebuchadnezzar was probably sitting and gloating when he realized that their were four guys walking around in his furnace. He asked his guards "Didn't we throw three guys into that furnace? And why does that fourth one look like a son of God?" Nebuchadnezzar then called to the three Jews and told them to come out of the fire, which they did. He realized that God had protected them and decreed that God was God (slightly obvious at this point) and that anyone who disagreed would have Bad Things happen to them.

I'd heard this story many times, but when I read through it recently, one part in particular caught my eye. When the king told Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to bow down to the image, they said the following:

"O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."

I was amazed by the faith that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had. They were sure that God would rescue them from Nebuchadnezzar if they were thrown into a furnace. Impressive as that is, what I find even more awesome is that their faith was not dependent on God saving them. They told the king that even if God did not save them from the furnace, God was God, and they could never turn away from him.

They understood that our faith in God should be strong not because of the things we will receive or the things that God will do for us but because He is God. I pray for faith like that.

Hammering It Out

Good steel takes lots of time and lots of work.

A good story takes the same, I think. I haven't had as much time to work on my writing this semester as I would have liked, but I still have spent many a night trading sleep for the chance to get some work done. Tonight was one such night. Was gonna go to bed early. Got lots of revising done instead.

I'm finished my first revision cycle tonight, actually. While the basic structure of the story is the same, I have done a LOT of work fixing basic grammar stuff. More importantly, though, I've spent a lot of time trying to flesh out themes, to correct problems with the story, and to bring the characters to life and flesh them out as real people. I've gotten good feedback from a number of different people. It's been interesting to listen to the different things that different people comment on, and while I haven't necessarily followed all the advice I've received, I've taken it all into consideration.

I'll shift gears for a bit now and spin some more actual story to weave in. Then I'll be back to hammering away and trying to pound out the impurities in my story. It takes time and its definitely work (not play), but its work that I love doing, and work that I can lose hours to without even realizing it. That's why I want to write stories. Because I really love spending time at the forge, smithing together words and trying to hammer it into something beautiful.

Without Aim

I'm not sure what I'm going to write about.

And yet for some reason, my hands feel drawn to the keyboard. I've got thoughts rolling through my head, but they're troubling and nebulous and shifting, hard to nail down. But I've found that oftentimes, the best way to nail things down is to put them into words, so here I am. These are just my thoughts... there's no highly reasoned and thought out conclusions or airtight arguments. In fact, there might not even be solid, coherent reasoning. They are what they are.

I know the general topic matter of my thoughts. You probably could, too, if you thought about it. Why? That's easy; they're troubling thoughts.

An old friend of mine once said something that's stuck with me for a long time because it's as funny as it is true. One day, I was feeling (and looking) down, so he asked if I was feeling crappy. I told him I was and he asked if it was about a girl. He was right, it was. I was surprised that he knew what was bothering me and asked how he had figured it out. In response, he laughed and said "Peske, anytime a guy is looking down, it's probably because of a pair of tits and some estrogen."

This is the point where I don't really know where to go, though, so I'm just going to start typing. I'm pretty good at talking to girls. I figured that one out a long time ago. I can keep a conversation going no problem and get to know a girl. But I think I may have gotten myself stuck in a rut.

Since about early high school, I've liked quite a few different girls. I've only ever dated one girl, though (and that relationship didn't turn out very well). In most of the rest of the cases, I realized that the girl in question didn't requite and settled for becoming friends with her. I had a number of good friends who worked out that way, honestly.

I think that over time, I kind of developed a system. Turned it into an art, if you will. The girls that I liked, I became friends with. And didn't become anything else with.

Ironically, I've learned over the years that a number of the girls who I liked but became friends with ended up liking me at some time or another. The timing wasn't right or I didn't notice their feelings or something, though, because it never worked out. I was just their friend, and that's all I'd ever be.

I've decided I can't keep that pattern up anymore, though. I can't meet a new girl, like her, realize she doesn't like me, and then become friends with her instead since she's such a cool girl. I'd rather meet a girl, and if I like her, I'll ask her out on a date. And if she says yes, that's great, and if she says no, I'll forget about her and move on. None of this half-assed, "let's be friends since you don't like me" stuff.

Because I've grown tired of the game. I can't keep dealing with the same bullshit. I can't keep watching girls I like date douchebag guys who don't treat them right. I can't keep smiling and nodding in agreement when girls say things like "We went on a date and he kissed me, but now he won't even talk to me. Guys are such assholes!" because hey, here I stand, doing my damndest to be a shining example of a not-asshole, and it's getting me nowhere. I can't keep sitting there and watching girls be fun and charming and maddeningly attractive while I have to bite my tongue and think about how I can't sweep them off their feet like I'd like to. I can't keep doing the nice-guy thing, because hey, we all know where they finish.

Ironically, I sometimes think that I don't know how to romance girls courtesy of my friendship policy. Even I were to like a girl and she were to like me, I don't have the foggiest idea of how to make the transition from the let's-get-to-know-each-other stage to the we-like-each-other-and-we're-dating stage. I think I'd just end up sliding right into the now-we're-friends line of thinking. I suppose I could just do what most guys do and try to get into their pants, except that that's not even a little bit me and would go against everything I am and believe. Which is too bad, because that method seems a lot simpler.

When I get sucked down into these kinds of thoughts, I usually grow frustrated and dream about washing my hands entirely of the female species and being a bachelor for the rest of my life. It certainly has its perks. Total freedom; no one to nag you or force you to check in or keep you from doing whatever spontaneous thing you decide. Money, the kind that you can throw around at whatever toy catches your eye. A lot less conflict.

But for as often as I consider it, I think of a life without a girl, and there are a few things that I just can't escape. An empty house. No one to talk to. No one to hold, or to be held be in return. Sex, specifically the lack-thereof (cause hey, I'm an abstinent 22 year old guy - these things occur to me).

I could lead a successful, contented life without a wife. I don't know how happy or fulfilled I'd be, but successful and content is probably more than many people can hope for.

Even as I say things like that, I realize that many people I know would be shaking their heads at the way I extrapolate out my current situation. Which is fair, because I'd probably shake my head at me too if I weren't me. Hell, I kinda shake my head at me anyway. There are plenty of situations in my past where I've been miserable at the time, and now I couldn't care less about what was bothering me at the time.

I don't even really know where my thoughts are at anymore. I guess I'm left feeling like I'm playing a game that I'm forced to play. Thing is, I'm no good at the game. Not even sure I know the rules. I take to pretty much everything else without much effort, though, so maybe that's my trade off.

But I don't really have much else to say. If you've read this far, congratulations. You've suffered through my disorganized thoughts.

Sweat It Out

"I said not long before that work and weakness are comforters, but sweat is the kindest creature of the three - far better than philosophy as a cure for ill thoughts."

Proof that C.S. Lewis was a wise man.

As often as not, when something's bothering you, the best thing you can do is just go and sweat it out. Run until you can't, do pushups until til your arms shake, pound on a bag until your hands are sore.

Because sometimes, when you're too tired to think, things suddenly become plain. Or maybe you become too tired to run from the facts that you knew all along. No matter how it works, sweat is one of the best ways I've ever found to straighten your mind out.

Let's Go!

A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to... Bottineau?

That reference probably makes me a huge nerd, but whatever. Tolkien was a genius, and I love his work. That's another post, though.

This past weekend I took a trip with one of my friends and fellow RAs to a town called Bottineau. It's in North Dakota, near the border of Canada, and it's basically podunk nowhere.

You see my friend had a history project that required him to find a monument in North Dakota that nobody in the class had researched and research it. That, in turn, required him to go and see the actual monument. Hence the trip.

It's roughly a five hour drive to Bottineau, a fairly large undertaking, and I didn't really want to make him do it by himself, so I decided to give up a weekend in Bemidji to go with him. It wasn't exactly my first choice of things to do with my weekend, but being there for your friends is important to me so I sucked it up and went.

While it was a long drive, and while I may have had more fun per second doing something else, it wasn't the worst trip I've ever been on by a long shot.

Kinda last minute, we picked up another RA and friend (Ethan) who lives near Minot, not that far from Bottineau. That way, instead of making the trip all in one day, we drove to Ethan's house and met his family. They were about the nicest people you could imagine, and it was fun to meet them all. I'd even heard legends about the ever present nacho makings that reside in Ethan's household and, true to form, Ethan's mother made a big pan of them for us to munch on.

Yum.

On the road, we found various ways to amuse ourselves. One of these ways was a service called ChaCha. Basically, you text a question to the sight and they have a bunch of people who Google your question and see if they can find an answer. It's no encyclopedia, but you can get some pretty hilarious answers if you get the right people and ask the right question. You can also get answers that are useful. For example, we were driving back to Fargo and wondering what was in the dining center that night, so we texted ChaCha asking for the menu of the Residence Dining Center at NDSU, and the guy found it! We were all very impressed .

We also asked ChaCha if Cookie Monster cries himself to sleep ever night because he eats veggies now instead of cookies. Some answers we got were lame (we asked multiple times, and a different person answers each time), but the winner was the guy whose answer involved cookie rehab and cookie monster being caught melting down cookie down in a spoon. Golden.

The most important thing I saw on this trip, though, was the beginning of the end. That's right, the world as we know it does not have much time left. Do you know why? Let me show you...

Exhibit A:
Click on the picture and look closely. Do you know what all those little white lines in the background are? That's right...

Windmills. *dramatic music*

Windmills you say? What's so bad about windmills?

See Exhibit B:
When I first read this comic(thank you xkcd), I thought it was a funny joke. Then I saw them.

Late at night, a single red light pulsates atop each mighty sentinel, it's scarlet gaze watching the world below and waiting. Waiting for its chance to break its terrestrial chains and stride across the land, crushing all that oppose it. Waiting... for the robot wars to begin.

But no really, late at night, red lights on top all of the windmills flash in unison and put out this eerie glow. It's totally creepy.

My final story on this ridiculously long post is a short one. We were driving through the city (and I use that term loosely) of Rugby, and were pulling up to a stop by a stop sign. Suddenly, a tumbleweed rolls across the road. We all blinked in stunned amazement and watched the tumbleweed travel it's course. Then we all burst out laughing. I promptly started singing The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly theme. I even managed to catch a picture of it out the back window as we drove away.

That's the tumbleweed by the red car there. We figured out later that it was probably some kind of wreath or something and not a true tumbleweed, but still... nothing screams that your in Nowhere, ND like seeing a tumbleweed on the road.

Overall, it was a trip that I don't regret making. I had some fun and I was able to help out a friend. If the need ever arises for you to help out a friend even though you would rather spend your time some other way, I'd say go help your friend out. In my experience, it usually works out to be a pretty good time.

Until next time, though, hope you survive the robot war!

Wistfulness

These words disturb me...

I've decided relationships should grow smoothly out of friendships.

When you have problems, I'll be there for you, night after night.

Selflessly.

I'll tear down the jerks you date, and wait for you to realize how good I am for you. That only I will ever understand you.

You won't want to hurt my feelings, and I won't ever force the issue. I'll tell myself it's because I "value our friendship."

Bit by bit, I'll make you depend on me.

You'll think about how long it would take to build this kind of connection again.

And in a moment of weakness

and loneliness

you'll give in.

It'll feel comfortable and natural. You'll quietly revise your definition of love and try to be happy. And sometimes you will be.

Only the wistfulness in your gaze and the tiny pause before you say "I love you" will hint that this wasn't the ending you'd hoped for.

~Randall Munroe

I used to think that relationships should grow out of friendships. I used to think that that was the smartest way to do things because you would already know the person and be building a relationship on top of the base of a strong friendship.

These days I'm not so sure.

Because a heart that doesn't burn for you isn't worth the pain that hearts bring. And a heart that doesn't burn for you shouldn't cheat itself.

On The Art Of Listening

Shhh.



Hear that? That's the sound of you listening.

Listening is a skill that not a lot of people are good at because they don't realize its value. If someone has a problem that they want to talk about, others will often want to speak up. They want to give advice or solutions or reassurance or examples of similar situations that they went through. And don't get me wrong, all of these things are good. But unless they're used sparingly, they actually tend to inhibit good conversation.

That sounds a little counter-intuitive, I know, but hear me out.

If someone comes to you with a problem or a situation that they want to talk over, it's more important that they talk than it is that you talk. Why? Because they're the one who wanted to talk about it! They're the one with the problem. They want to get their feelings out, and the only way for them to do that is for them to talk about it. Oftentimes, putting your feelings and problems into words is the biggest help, whether or not you find the solution in the process.

But if someone comes to you and you fill every pause in the conversation with your own thoughts, you're probably missing out on THEIR thoughts. And their thoughts are what you really want to hear and what they really need to say.

But if you don't fill the silence, what will? Won't there be a big awkward silence?

Yep.

But that's exactly the point! Silence is good! And in most cases, it's not actually an awkward silence. It's time for the other person to think. Because if you're not stuffing their brain full of your thoughts, they have time to figure out their own and give them to you.

The problem of good-intentioned people talking over those they are trying to help is really quite widespread. In RA training, we do something called "open doors" where returner RAs (such as myself) act out possible situations that new RAs might have to deal with. One thing that I found in my situation was that hardly anyone gave me any time to actually talk about the situation. They would begin desperately throwing solutions and advice at me the instant they thought they knew what was going on. They wanted to be helpful, but in their rush to be helpful, they actually did the worst thing that they could do. They talked over the person trying to talk to them.

Most people don't even realize they do it. I have found, though that it takes a conscious effort to listen.

You see, ever since I learned the importance of listening (from my father - thanks Dad), I have started thinking about everything I say to a person when I'm talking with them on a deeper level. I try not to offer advice unless it's asked for. I try not to say anything that isn't either very important or clearly helpful. I even try not to murmur in constant agreement (which can be bad, believe it or not). And if someone trails off, I don't leap forward to fill the silence. Sometimes I won't say anything for a good minute or two, just to give them time to think.

It's not easy, but it works. I've been amazed by what some people will say if you give them the opportunity to say it. I've heard interesting facts, bitter admissions, and dark secrets simply because I didn't say anything for a while. Because as soon as you start talking, the other person stops. But if you let a little silence linger, people will bare their souls.

So the next time someone wants to talk to you, take time to listen carefully. Think about each thing you say and decide whether or not it's REALLY important. Then only say half of those things that you thought were REALLY important. And when you find yourself searching for something to say because the other person isn't saying anything, stop. Listen. You'll be surprised at what you hear.

Sigh...

I'm going to rant for a moment.

Somewhere, there is a man who thought to himself, "You know what would be a good idea? To design paper towels that require people to grab both sides and pull straight down in order to remove them from the paper towel machine. If they try to do it any other way, the paper towel will rip and be useless. I will invent these paper towels because I hate humanity."

I would like to meet that man so that I could punch him in the face. Seriously.

Stupidest. Idea. Ever.

Watch the Stars

I'm a late night driver.

I love Bemidji, so when I visit for a weekend, I often won't head back to school until it's already dark. Some people think it's weird that I drive back so late, but there are a couple of reasons that I like doing so.

One is that there's no traffic. It's just you and the road. No cars passing you or slowing you down. No headlights blinding you. Just you. It's a nice time to sit, think, sing, let your mind wander, and basically just enjoy the solitude.

The other reason is kind of an offshoot of the first one. Since I take pretty sparsely populated back roads, I travel through some areas where there is almost no light pollution. On nights like last night, when the moon is gorgeous bright and the stars are shining, I will sometimes pull over and lie on my car and just watch the stars.

Last night, as I lay there by myself and listened to Shinedown play, things were good. No confusion or misery or sorrow. Just the starry heavens. Things were good.

Get Outta the Way!

Vehicular manslaughter is... bad... right?

Yeah, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they don't it so much when you do that. Nonetheless, I was severely tempted to commit about 20 counts of it yesterday. I was driving into Bemidji after the two hour trip from Fargo and was looking forward to being back. The stupid 16 year old girl who couldn't see over the steering wheel and was driving ten miles an hour under the speed limit for the entirety of the construction zone just outside of Bemidji had already kinda pissed me off, but whatever. I was glad that I was finally back.

Then, at the stoplight right by where I turn to get to my house, I noticed a bunch of bikers on the road.

Before I go any farther, I need to explain my thoughts on bikers. I don't mean motorcycles, though. I mean pedal bikes. Now I like biking as much as the next guy. It's a fun activity. People who bike really hardcore (think spandex shorts) bother me. Partially because all they talk about it how far they biked and far they are going to bike and how they are doing things to make themselves bike better. Guess what? You may be really excited about the 4 hours a day you spend on your bike, but for the rest of us, it's boring as hell.

The other reason I hate bikers is their "share the road" mantra. They always go off about how the road is for bikers, too, and how cars need to share the road. Well guess what? The road is not for bikes. Bike paths are for bikes. Roads are for cars, no matter what any idiot says. Because cars are an order of magnitude more massive and move twice as fast as you and your bike will ever hope to. So stop being pretentious and stupid and get out of the way.

Now that you understand my thoughts on bikers, let me return to my situation. I'm at the light, and I see a group of bikers, probably 10 to 15 strong. Taped onto their backs are signs that read (you guessed it) "share the road". What's worse, these bikers aren't even the spandex-y kind that can sort of keep up with traffic. They're a bunch of average joes on assorted non-racing bikes. And they're piddling along at about 10 miles an hour.

I was able to restrain my impulses, but I wanted SO badly to spin the steering wheel and send my car right through the middle of their little group. Seriously, though... bikers don't belong on the road unless they can keep up with traffic or stay out of the way. Otherwise you're just making a nuisance of yourself.

Day9 on Dentists

Day9 is a funny man.

Day9 (aka Sean Plott) is a webcaster who does a daily show on the game Starcraft II. His casts are excellent and cover really interesting and useful strategy. However, the main reason that I watch him is that he's really a lot of fun to watch.

In the first two minutes of this video, he discusses dentists and how he hates going to the dentist's office. Don't worry, you won't need to know (or care about) video games for the first two minutes of this video. It's just funny, so you should watch it. Cause he's totally right.

Watch it!

Chop chop!

My hair grows really fast.

And I hate paying for haircuts, so I generally rely on my mother (who is quite experienced from cutting the hair of a family of 8 for many, many years). However, when I'm at college, my mother isn't around. So more than once, I have gotten a hair cut from one of my friends.

I'm not entirely sure, but I've always gotten these haircuts from girls. Maybe cause it'd be weird asking a guy to cut my hair. Or maybe it's just not a guy thing. Whatever.

I've always been amused, though, by the actual process of getting my hair cut. Few girls in college have much experience cutting hair, so most of the girls who have done mine are very nervous. I'm not really nervous, cause I'm a college guy and not many people care what I look like, but I guess they don't want to mess anything up and turn me into some horrible social outcast as the result of a bad haircut.

It's usually a good time for me, though, since I get to sit there and get a haircut (cause having other people work with your hair feels good) and chuckle to myself as the girl in question timidly slices at my head.

My most recent chop was just yesterday, courtesy of one of my friends, Emily. It wasn't the best haircut I've ever had, but it definitely wasn't the worst either, so I'm satisfied. My thanks to her. Hopefully she (and all the other girls who have asked to/I have wrangled into cutting my hair) got to pick up a little experience along the way.

Free Day!

No class tomorrow!

Nothing quite as wonderful as getting that email saying that the one class you have the next day is canceled. Still have RA duties and such, but still... good day.

Losing Sleep

Experts probably cringe at my sleep habits.

Being a college student and a night owl, I am often up until all hours of the night. I don't get nearly as much sleep as I probably should, or in the way that I should. I am often up late and then up early the next morning. I'm pretty sure I look like death warmed over when that happens. Everyone says so, anyway. I usually make up for that by taking a midafternoon siesta. And by siesta, I mean two hour nap. It's a good time.

The reasons I short myself on sleep vary, though. On the crummy side of the spectrum, there's things like homework. I've stayed up late doing homework a few times before, and it's not a lot of fun, but it must be done. Same story goes for my RA duties. On occasion, a restless mind will keep me up, too. Just some of the things that you have to grin and bear.

On the other side of the spectrum, though, are the good things, the things that I will gladly lose a little sleep for, especially since I'm at a point in my life where I can lose sleep without suffering many consequences. So when I'm up late cruising along on my novel or hanging out with friends or something else, then yeah, I'll sacrifice the sleep.

Because in my mind, some things that aren't worth letting go of in exchange for a little more or a little better quality sleep.

Reposting!

One of my friends posted something on Facebook that made me laugh, so I'm going to repost it for any of you to read, if you are so inclined. I'll leave it to you to figure out which part made me laugh.

Ode to the Nice Guys

Violence is About to Ensue

One of two things is going to happen.

One - I'm going to rip my smoke detector off of the ceiling and reduce it to its constituent atoms.

Two - I'm going to go on a beeping-induced murderous rampage and destroy the entire world, starting with everyone responsible for my smoke detector.

Seriously, the thing has been beeping about once every 45 seconds for the past two nights, and only during the nighttime when I'm trying to sleep. Last morning I woke up with my jaw clenched so tight it was nearly painful. I think I realize why, now. I might just go entirely insane tonight.

First thing I'm going to do tomorrow is find Shawn (my floor custodian) and beg for his help on bended knee.

Until then, I'm just going to think about how much I hate my smoke detector. Some duct tape and a pillow may come out later. This will not stand.

I May Have A Problem

I'm a huge nerd.

I've known that for a while, but in the past two days, I really kicked it up a few notches. You see, while I was playing some Starcraft with my friend, I noticed that Blizzard had a writing contest going on. Being a writer, I was naturally curious, so I tracked down the contest information and found out what it was about.

Apparently, Blizzard has a writing contest each year. They take submissions of short stories (2500-7500 words) and then pick their favorite one. I thought this would be really cool because it appeals to both the writer and the huge nerd within me. To my dismay, though, I found that submissions were due in about two days. I had just caught the extreme tail end of a month and a half long submission period. Darn.

But wait. Why not try? I can pound out 2500 words in an afternoon if I want to. I sat down and began brainstorming. From there, I didn't stop for two days. I spent most of Sunday brainstorming, planning, and researching (that's right) the Starcraft universe. I started writing Sunday night and continued for pretty much all of Monday. At roughly 11:00 this last evening, I submitted my draft to the contest. Being as long winded as I am (when it comes to writing anyway), my story clocked in at just under 7400 words.

So there you have it. I am officially one of the elite nerds. I have written a story in a game universe. I won't stoop to calling it fan fiction because it was for a contest, but... yeah. Anywho, it'd be fun if the people at Blizzard liked it, but I don't hold any realistic hopes that they will pick it out of the countless other submissions. I more so did it because it was a challenge and a lot of fun. What can I say?

Stupid Boards

I hate bulletin boards.

As an RA, I have to make bulletin boards to put outside of my room. Somehow, though, they always end up being a time sink. Last year, I thought I could spare myself some future pain by making my bulletin boards in a single piece so that I could take the whole thing down and put it up again this next year.

I should have known better.

I found out that my bulletin board this year is a little bit differently sized than my one last year, so none of my old boards fit quite right. I can trim them down, but they look a little bit odd since I can never get it exactly right. Plus I have to change the names of which RAs are on duty since there are different RAs in the building.

Basically, what I thought would be a thirty second job (a few staples in the corner and done) turned into the familiar long process of trekking back and forth to the office to get a glue stick that I thought I was done with or print out another copy of something that didn't turn out right.

Stupid boards. At least I'm done for a month.

I Return To Serve!

Me oh my.

It has been a while.

I have been very this past month or so. My summer was an incredible time filled with hanging out with some of the best people. I'd often start in the afternoon and go to the beach, then remaining hanging out with some group of friends or another until late into the night. We watched movies, played games, barbecued, and generally had a good time.

Then Starcraft II came out. Forgive me, I am a huge nerd. For those of you not in the know, Starcraft II is a real time strategy game. Basically a game where you build up an army of little dudes and try to kill your opponent who is attempting to do the same to you. More to the point, the original Starcraft was THE real time strategy game, and its sequel was long awaited and much anticipated by people like myself. Regardless, I spent a fair amount of time playing the game when it came out.

Then my summer got even more fun. I think I was trying to squeeze as much fun as possible into the last bit of summer because my last week was filled with great times. I went on a camping trip with some old friends, helped out with the annual zombie shoot, went to the lake with some other friends, and spent most every night in the last week hanging out. Had a great talk with my dad, too, the day I left. I don't see him as much as I'd like because I tend to be out and about when he's home and vice versa, but I love my dad to death. He's the best father a guy could ask for and one of the best listening ears I've ever come across.

Anywho, the point of all this is that I haven't had much time to spend writing blog posts. Now I'm back at NDSU, though, and life is slowing down a little even though I'm in the middle of RA training. Strange, that. Probably means that I'll have more opportunities to hammer out blog posts. Also, I'll have more time to work on my writing, something that suffered a bit towards the end of the summer. I want to finish this revision of my book and start working on adding in some new material!

Until next time, though.

Pretty Good People (revisited)

Let's go back a ways.

My sister recently commented on a Facebook note I wrote about a year and a half ago. She said that it had really impacted her, and she still thought about it fairly frequently. I was kinda surprised by this, but I read through it and found myself somewhat convicted by my own words. Thought I'd share what I had written. Hope you can get something good out of it.

The note reads as follows:



Have you ever asked someone what they think of the way they live their lives, what they think of their moral character? The answers you get are somewhat amusing (if you have the right sense of humor), because they're all the same. Most everyone thinks that they're a pretty good person. Not a really good person, not a bad person. A pretty good person.

The reason everybody says this is because it's easy to think of someone who you can call a worse person. The guy who cheats on his wife can say he's still a pretty good person because he doesn't deal drugs. The student who cusses like a sailor and drinks like a fish can say he's still a pretty good person because he doesn't cheat on his tests. Anyone can come up with a rationalization that puts them in the middle of the herd and makes them a pretty good person. Because no one wants to believe that they're doing something wrong, but nobody wants to be too good.

Here's the bad news. Our goodness isn't based on how the people around us act. It's based on the bar that God sets for us. And that bar is very, very high. Check it out...

"But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity or of greed because these are improper for God's holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving."
~Ephesians 5:3-4

When I read this I realized that I fall way short. I'd always thought of myself as a pretty good person. I don't get smashed or do drugs, I don't sleep with girls, I don't murder or burglarize. Those verses, though, reminded me of how high the bar is and how often I fail to meet it. It's not a trite little Wheaton phrase like "being broken for God" that makes you feel all spiritual when you say it. It's something much more visceral, much harsher, much less roll-off-your-tongue-at-a-revival. It's the simple fact that but for Jesus, I would be a miserable failure.

Hence, a call to action. Don't get caught up in the trap of thinking that you're a pretty good person. Don't let yourself and your faith stagnate because you're an alright guy (or girl). Instead, "throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and [...] run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Heb 12:1) Live your life in a way that is as pleasing to God as you can possibly make it, and keep a sharp eye out for things that hinder and entangle you. It's rarely easy, and not always a lot of fun, but it's the only route to true joy and lasting peace.

"Be very careful, then, how you live - not as unwise but as wise,"
~Ephesians 5:15

Driven

raindrops on flesh, tears unshed
rolling thunder, stifled screams
lightning, the kiss of pain

guided by Unknown
regret? misery? loneliness?
can’t see through the gray

I remember the Road,
but the Road has forgotten me
my tracks replaced by others

the Fork

to the right, the place I loved
if only for a little while
my feet knew it well

to the left, an empty field
hides nothing, holds nothing, hinders nothing
my feet know it well

long for the right
watch it over my shoulder
as I walk down the left

The Fair!

A fair is a veritable smorgasbord, orgasbord, orgasbord.


I went on a trip to the fair recently with some good friends of mine. It's been a while since I've been to a fair/carnival. My family hasn't attended the city fair for a couple years, and I generally avoid the carnival at the waterfront like the plague. Too many trashy people for my tastes.

I had a really great time at this fair, though. The cruise over was enjoyable and relaxing. When we got to the fair, we hit up the rides right away. Since we arrived in the afternoon, the lines were pretty much nonexistent, so we rode all the rides we felt like. After one of our brave crew got sick from some over-zealous spinning, we went and tracked down some delicious, fattening fair food and sat in the cool car while we ate it. The rest of the afternoon and evening consisted of lots of looking at and petting animals, browsing fair exhibits, more fair food, and more rides. All in all, a great time.

I'd forgotten how much fun the fair could be.

Waiting

Party now, settle later?

I've chatted with a friend or two recently about the mindset that many people seem to have regarding dating. It seems that people my age are interested in "having fun" with their dating. What does that translate to? It means girls date the bad guys and assholes. It means guys chase whoever will sleep with them. They'll "settle down" in 10 years or so when they decide they want a family. Then they'll find the nice guy/girl who'd make a good father/mother and marry them. I've heard this sort of sentiment expressed more than once, albeit not in that many words, and I've talked to friends who have picked up the same vibe as well.

I'm the type of guy who gets told by all the older women (mom's of friends, aunts, etc.) that I'll be "such a good father!" I hate the "good father" label; it translates to undateable, undesirable, and unattractive in the eyes of every dateable, desirable, and attractive girl. But I am who I am. I can't and won't pretend to be something I'm not just to get girls. I'm guess I'm the type who's just supposed to wait 10 years.

That idea has always pissed me off. I couldn't put my finger on the exact reason, but the thought of having to wait around for years for people to settle down seemed grossly unfair. Regardless, I knew that I wasn't going to do it. I'm not the subservient dog who waits patiently for his owner's arrival and then jumps up and wags his tail when she finally gets there. Forget it.

The other day, though, I was standing in the shower and this issue started rolling around in my head again. Maybe shampoo is beneficial for the thinking process, cause I think I finally figured out what bothers me so much about the "bad guys/girls now, fathers/mothers later" mindset. It's all about you.

Every part of the mindset if focused on you and what you want. I want to have "fun" right now so I'm going to date the guy/girl who'd be good for that. I want to get married and have a family, so I'm going to find a guy/girl who'd be good for that. I, I, I. It never takes into consideration what your spouse might think or feel about everything you do. It never worries that they might be sitting in loneliness and misery while you were having your fun. It never puts their welfare before your own.

But who cares what they think? Nothing compares to the all-important edifice that is you, right?

KREEE-AAH!

From the ashes of the old, the new arise!


Or something.

Steve and I recently endeavored to fix his iPod Touch. You see, many moons ago, Steve purchased a fantastic new iPod. Then, not three days after he peeled off the wrapper, he and I went to the arcade. Because the arcade is fun. While we were playing an intense game of air hockey, he stowed his iPod in the pocket of his hoody. As I was performing a triple-backflip slapshot, the iPod slipped onto the table and caught a puck to the face, breaking the glass screen. It was still functional, but it had a rather unappealing crack running across. Like the Phantom of the Opera, but an iPod. And not insane. A couple months later, while Steve was fighting no less than four bears, the iPod slipped from his pocket and he stepped on it. That made a second, even bigger crack. His iPod was now more like Quasimodo. Except that it didn't ring church bells. Then again, maybe there's an app for that. I don't know.

Anyway, I recently stumbled across a replacement glass face (called a digitizer) that you can buy online for a very reasonable $15. Steve purchased it and it arrived today. We eagerly began reconstruction surgery on Quasimodo the iPod, but quickly ran into trouble. In the video tutorial we watched, the suave British commentator smoothly removes the glass front and sets it aside so that he can sip some brandy and puff on an expensive cigar.


Cut to Steve and Mike. Mike has the iPod laying on the ground and is it hitting it with a rock. Steve is waving his arms and running in circles around Mike. Both are hooting and screaming. Glass shards and bits are flying in every direction.

Finally, we get the digitizer off. In pieces. Lots of pieces. Whatever, it's off.

We look at the digitizer and notice that it's missing a button. Using our powers of deduction, we deduce that we have to use the button from the old digitizer. Except that we can't get the button out of the old digitizer.

More pieces.

"Okay, it's out."

Now we notice that a metal piece on the new digitizer looks different from the metal piece on the old one. More howling. We go back to the video tutorial of the cultured British man taking apart his iPod. By now, he had completely disassembled and reassembled the iPod and is giving us a disdainful look as he reclines in his armchair and peruses The Times. He explains to us that we have to switch the two metal pieces.

"Okay, so we pry the metal piece out and switch it with the one from the old digitizer."

"The one from the old digitizer? You mean the piece I just bent to get at the button?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"Great. Let's do this."

Finally, we get everything we need and use our unbending powers to restore things to a workable state. After some delicate reassembling, we get the iPod back together. The moment of truth arrives and I press the button. Success! The iPod roars to fully-functional life. It now looks all new and shiny. Everyone is happy. Throngs of cheering men and swooning women crowd the sidewalks as we parade up and down the main street, waving the repaired iPod for everyone to see.


At least, I'm pretty sure that's the way it all went.

Two Long

No, that's not a typo.

Sometimes, things from your past just won't leave you alone. They fade with time, but they don't ever fully disappear. And every once in a while, you get reminded, and you remember all the pain and misery you went through. Or caused. Or both.

Doesn't matter if, given the opportunity, you wouldn't change anything that you've done. You're still miserable.

Luckily, it'll fade. Again. Because life goes on. Always does.

To pass the time until it does, you go play video games until your brains are mush.

Til then,

One Two Three, No Substitutions, Exchanges, or Refunds

Can you place that Disney quote?

Anywho, I was recently reminded of why I don't drink much. The reasons fall mostly into three different categories which I will represent using sounds, because I can.

One: ka-ching. Booze costs about a bazillion dollars a bottle. One bottle doesn't last long if drink a lot. Multiply one bazillion times however many bottles you go through, and you get a lot of bazillions. When I'm trying to go to college, which costs many, many bazillions of dollars, I do not have many spare dollars to throw around.

Two: blech. A buzz can be enjoyable, but any more than that, in my opinion, doesn't really feel that good. Having Poseidon (or perhaps Broseidon, God of Alcohol and underaged drinking) take up personal residence in your head and spin your head guts into a swirling whirlpool of dizziness doesn't exactly thrill me. And then you feel like crap afterwards, because Broseidon shifts his residence down to your stomach guts and repeats his whirlpool party trick. If he's in top form, he can even tsunami your booze right back up your esophagus. Good times.

Three: smack. That was a facepalm, in case you didn't catch it. You see, in order to write a book that contained accounts of all the stupid things that drunk people have done, we'd probably have to terraform the rest of the planets in the solar system into lush, verdant forest worlds ala Pandora from Avatar. Once we'd managed that, we'd have to chop them all down and grind them into paper so that we wouldn't run out. We'd also have to invent a new binding system that would probably involve force fields, wormholes, and yet-undiscovered elements. And that's only for one copy. Because drunk people do a lot of stupid things.

Hence, I do not drink a lot. That will be all.

The Dragoputer

I am a nerd.

Therefore, I find computer cases cool. I was poking around on Newegg, and I found this one that I thought I'd share. I feel that anyone who looks at this computer case should find it awesome, even if you aren't a nerd. Because, I mean, it's a dragon. Shooting fire! But also a computer! That's awesome!

Behold!


Or, for the dragophobic customers/Spiderman fans among you, the Spideyputer.


Sweet, huh?

Pain!

"Uh, betray us, and I will fong you, until your insides are out, your outsides are in, your entrails will become your extrails I will w-rip... all the p... ung. Pain, lots of pain."

In case you missed it, that was a quote by Wat from A Knight's Tale. It isn't exactly relevant, I just like it.

Pain is kinda unpleasant, hence why it works so well as a threat. Luckily, people have discovered lots of fun drugs to help get rid of pain. I have a bag of Tylenol with Codene sitting a foot away from me right now that I got to help deal with the double ear infection I got, because throbbing pain in both sides of your head isn't exactly conducive to living and sleeping.

Here's the thing, though. I don't plan on using that Tylenol much. Not because I'm not in pain, but because the way I see it, pain is a part of life and learning to deal with it instead of just washing it away with a cocktail of drugs is important. Why is it important? Because when emotional pain rolls around, knowing how to cope with physical pain and soldier on can also apply to emotional pain.

Sure you can go to a therapist and get some antidepressants and melt your brain until it can't process emotions anymore, but you sacrifice a lot more than you gain by taking that route, at least in my humble opinion. I am REALLY not a fan of anti-depressants, as they seem to be a medical solution to a non-medical problem (that's right, I don't believe depression is a disease).

Anywho, the main effect of this worldview of mine is that when my ears get infected and my throat burns like fire, I don't reach for the Tylenol bottle so quickly. I grit my teeth, push down the pain, and learn how to keep going about my daily business. Painkillers have their place, but so does pain.

I'm An Expert In Numberology!

Yes, I know that it's actually numerology. I was referencing Boondock Saints. Mad props if you caught it. If you didn't, your mean for assuming that I'm dumb. That hurts.

Okay, so anyway, I watched a movie called "The Number 23". It's a little bit of a strange movie, a psychological thriller if you will. Overall, the movie was... alright. I'm not a fan of Jim Carrey (who played the lead) but I'll allow that he did a decent job in this film. The thing that got to me, though, was the ridiculousness of part of the premise.

Basically, the main character things the number 23 is haunting him. He sees it everywhere he goes and everything in his life can be turned into 23 somehow or another and he eventually goes crazy and becomes a murderer. The movie plot much more involved and a little twisted up, so I'm not going to try to explain it, but the idea of everything turning to 23 just struck me as silly. Not because it's impossible but because it's so utterly normal.

My friends and I started looking around the room and picking random objects and turning them into 23. It's really not hard. You just have to twist the numbers around until they do what you want. You can do it with pretty much anything. The thought that that'd be enough to drive someone crazy was a little far out there. Then again, some people are crazy.

I started thinking about numbers people notice, though, and I was reminded of one of my friends from Wheaton. His name was Joe Michalka, but we mostly called him Joe Pi, because he loved the number pi.

For you non-math-wizards, pi is the ratio of a circle's diameter to its circumference. It's really long, because the calculations to get it don't terminate. In simple people speak, that means it's a number that's infinity digits long. Mathematicians have calculated the first zillion digits or so, though, which is all anybody needs. Important part: the first three digits of pi are 3.14, cause most of the time you don't need to be much more exact than that.

Anywho, Joe would pick out 3.14 from random places all over his life. The number of a hymn, the length of time it would take us to finish a game of Super Smash Brothers, you name it. It's interesting to see how often it pops up when you're looking for it. Instead of going crazy, though, Joe once explained that he thinks of it as seeing little reminders of God's presence around him. I'm not sure exactly how he phrased it, but it seems much better than going crazy and becoming a murderer.

So if you keep seeing a number all around you, I'd suggest handle it using the Joe method, not the Jim method.

Ninja Mah-jeek!

Some of my friends and I went out to one of our favorite swimming holes late tonight. This place really is the classic example of a "swimming hole": it's hardly more than a pond but it's clear and deep and it's got an awesome rope that you can use to swing out into the water.

One of my friends is able to a backflip off of the rope, which is about the coolest thing you've ever seen. I was curious to see if I could do it so I asked him to teach me how. He ran me through how to swing and tuck yourself to do it properly, so I decided to give it a go.

I climbed up to the highly specialized rope launch pad. It's a log. My friend and instructor handed me the rope and I prepared myself, mentally running through the technique in my head a few times. Either that, or I was trying to overcome the puss-out factor.

But I was up there, and there was no way I was going back after having come this far. So what did I do? The same thing any man does before he's about to do something stupid, dangerous, and potentially harmful. Nuts up and does it.

Grit teeth. Jump. Swing. Reach top of arc. Tuck legs. Throw head back. Let go.

The world spun like a mad beast. There were stars and ground and water and trees flying every which direction. All of a sudden I feel myself coming upright and my feet hit the water. Glorious splash! Bubbles and water and darkness. I swim back towards the air and am already whooping and screaming when I break the surface. The people having a fire close by probably thought I was crazy.

But who cares? I did an epic backflip off of a rope swing and it was sweet. Now I just need to perfect it before I move on to the backflip-and-a-half or the double backflip. Or, you know, death.

But before I die doing something stupid, I've included this handy-dandy tutorial (possibly influenced by Hyperbole and a Half) to teach all those interested how they too can do a backflip off of a rope swing. See below:

Furred Friends

Today I sprawled out on the carpet in my living floor. When you're gargantuan tall like I am, you learn to appreciate wide spaces in which you can sprawl. Anywho, as I was laying there and enjoying a good spread eagle, my dog came wandering over to say hi and flopped down next to me. He even rested his head on my arm and put a paw on my chest. Add some big ole puppy eyes to the equation and there's really no way that I could resisted petting him.

I don't know how long I lay there on the floor, but it was a while. And he wasn't moving as long as I kept scratching his back. I was content. He was content. The sunshine was warm on the carpet.

It felt good to simply sprawl on the carpet with the reassuring presence of another being. Even better, this being didn't require anything except a scratch behind the ears. No human social constructs. No conversation.

That's one of the reason's I've always liked dogs, especially bigger ones. There's something to be said for having a furry buddy who is willing to just sprawl with you, enjoy the sunshine, and not demand anything in return.

Robin of the Hood

Woo, three posts in one night. Such are the results of having lots of time on your hands where the only thing you can do is sit still with your head tilted back and wait.

So tonight Steve and I went to go see the new Robin Hood movie that came out starring Russell Crowe. I'm kinda a Russell Crowe fan. He definitely ranks near the top of my list of "Most Awesomest Actor Dudes Ever". Needless to say I was excited to see the movie.

In many ways, it delivered. It didn't exactly follow the lore of many of the other Robin Hood stories. Of course, the original (namely, everyone is a jerk and then everyone dies) is hardly a charming story. And there have been so many off shoots and reinterpretations that I hardly held it against the director for changing and reinventing the characters a little bit. And if he changed many of the events, many of the characters shared the same quirks as previous renditions. And of course, Robin Hood was a pro archer.

If you didn't gripe about the differences between this plot and others, the movies was really quite enjoyable. I only really had two gripes with this movie, but I've had the same grips with other movies, so I think it might just be a trend in the way movies are being made these days. Allow me to elaborate.

The first was Prince John. Prince John has never really been portrayed as a good sort of guy. This time around, though, he was a spineless cretin kind of guy. Power hungry, pathetic, and the most worthless leader ever seen. While I can appreciate having a character who is written to be weak, Prince John made it seem as though he was still a bratty teenager at best. His childishness didn't really seem to fit with his character. In fact, it wasn't even his childishness that got to me. It was that instead of being pathetic, he was just straight up laughable. I'm just not a fan of having bad guys who are laughable or who are supposed to be comic relief. Bad guys don't always need capes and cowls, but if all I want to do is laugh at them, they aren't convincing.

The only other part that pulled me out of the movie for a bit was a story thread regarding Robin Hood's father, who was apparently a reformist and philosopher who died for his beliefs. Liberty and power to the people, etc. For a few minutes of the movie, Robin Hood seems to take up the banner and become William Wallace. In a way, Robin Hood was a freedom fighter too, but the plot thread was just to underdeveloped to make much sense where it was and just kind of left me scratching me head.

A lot of movies try to throw in little speeches about freedom and liberty these days, a habit I find annoying. Sometimes it works and it's incredibly powerful, but just saying "freedom is great!" doesn't do it, especially when it lacks context. Show me the depth of this person's beliefs by their actions and spare me the canned speech on liberty and freedom. I've heard it before, and I don't need to hear it again.

Despite those two things, though, I really did enjoy Robin Hood. I thought Both Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett (the actress who played Marion Loxley and the same one who played Galadriel in LOTR) did great jobs in their roles. The romance between Robin Hood and Marion Loxley was especially well done. Above all, I appreciated the fact that they didn't just pile into bed the moment they realized they loved each other. Most movies do that so quickly that I've just begun assuming it's a given. But I was pleasantly surprised by the slow growth of their love and respect for each other and by the way it didn't instantly culminate into animalistic rutting.

Final review - well worth seeing. If you have the chance, I wouldn't pass it up.

SO MUCH STUFF!

Every time I move to or from college, I feel like I have WAY too much stuff. I don't really thing this is true. In fact, I probably have less stuff than your average college student. But still, it's way too much stuff to make moving easy or enjoyable.

I spent most of Saturday morning furiously packing and piling stuff into my car. My car is a '93 Plymouth Sundance. It's approximately the size of a shoebox. Don't get me wrong, I love my little car, but heavy lifter it ain't.

Therefore, trying to pile all of my stuff in my car (even after dropping off a few things at my sister's apartment and storing the big items in the basement of my dorm) is a bit like trying to fit a lot of stuff into something really small. A good metaphor escapes me at the moment. I'll pretend for the moment that when I think of one I'll come back here and put it in. But I know I won't. I blame my nosebleed (see the next post down) for my lack of creativity. The laziness if totally my fault, though. Anyway, I'm tangenting...

Back to the issue at hand. Lots of stuff. Little car. A couple of my friends were skeptical that I could pack all of my stuff into my car. Silly them. They obviously don't realize that all matter is about 99% empty space. There's always more room, you just have to apply enough force. Such is the case with my car.

I actually did manage to get my car loaded without resorting to collapsing the constituent atoms of my possessions. It did require a lot of careful packing and stacking, though, as well as a little dark magic. You do what you have to.

Even so, I wish there were some way to make moving a little easier. If anyone ever invents transporters ala Star Trek, I'm totally starting a moving company using the technology. Want to move? No problem, we'll set up pads in your old and news rooms and presto, job finished. Best. Idea. Ever.

Until then, I guess I have stick to doing things the hard way. Such is life.

%#&@#& Nosebleeds...

So it's two in the morning and I'm sitting up with a Kleenex shoved up my nose and a nosebleed that's cousins with Niagra Falls. Sigh.

Nosebleeds are frustrating in that they kind of kill your ability to do much except sit there and try not to get blood everywhere. Cause bloodstains are about the worst thing ever to try to clean.

They're also kinda gross. I'm not really a squeamish person, and blood doesn't usually bother me, but when it's leaking out of my nose at a rate that makes me wonder if I'm having a stroke and I can feel it in the back of my throat, it doesn't quite sit right with me. Grumble.

Regardless, I'll probably be up until this stupid thing decides to stop. For now, I'm going to abort this rather gross post and write another one about something a might more interesting and fun to read about.

When Your Life Comes Crashing Down Around You

Today I had a final. That alone should be enough to tell you that this story will not be a good one.

Today I had a final. It's for my circuits class. I needed an A on the final to pull an A in the class, so I had been studying hard for it (by my definition of "studying hard" anyway). Last night I had a bit of a weird sleep schedule, though. No matter, though. I woke up on time.

I had planned ahead to get up early and go eat some breakfast because I've heard it's good to take tests awake and with something in your system. Makes the brain juices flow real good or something like that. Also, they were serving bacon in the dining center this morning.


Mmmm, bacon.

After eating some delicious breakfast, I went back to my dorm. Instead of studying like I had planned, though, I decided to take a nap. Yes, you know where this is going.

I woke up two and a half hours later, having slept my alarm and my circuits final. I knew as soon as my eyes snapped open that I had missed my final. So I did what any rational person would do.


Next, I catapulted into action and began furiously running for my professors office in the hopes that I could beg him, bribe him, threaten, him, or do whatever else I had to do to him to get him to let me take the final. I arrived to find his office vacant for the moment. Freaking out redoubled as I asked one of the nearby profs if he was about. Apparently he was. Then I remembered that I had forgotten to grab my calculator, so if he would let me take the final I would have no way to actually take it.

More running back to my room. More freaking out.

All throughout these back and forth trips, my mind had been going wild with the possibilities of what might happen if I missed this final. I would fail circuits, which would probably drop my semester GPA below a 3.0 which would probably mean I would lose some serious scholarship money which would probably mean I couldn't go to college which would probably mean I couldn't get a job to support myself which would probably mean that I'd end up a beggared bum curled up on a hard bench in a dark corner sucking cheap alcohol out of a brown bagged bottle. You get the idea.

Luckily the story has a happier ending than my imagination. I got to his office just as he got back and he was in a good mood and didn't even bat an eye at letting me take the final. I took it and it was actually pretty easy despite my scrambled brain state.

Still, take it as a lesson. Don't take naps right before important tests. Bad idea.

I ARE POET! RAWR!

So the other day in my creative writing class, my teacher was handing back some of our work and I got a couple of poems back that I had written. Now before I go any further, I need to preface this by saying that I've never thought of myself as a particularly good poet, nor do I usually like the poetry that I write. So I wasn't really expecting anything good when I looked at her comments.

Paint me surprised.

She actually really liked what I had written. She even suggested that I submit one of the poems somewhere, which took me completely by surprise. When I saw everything she had written, I kinda wanted to jump up and down and giggle like a giddy little boy.

Since my teacher liked them, I figured they might actually be fit for reading by other people and decided to put a few of them up here on my blog. Hopefully you'll enjoy them. Therefore, without further ado...

---

I________________________Painted On
was____________After reading Tar, by C.K. Williams

I like to look around at the world we have built;
forced_ smooth and beautiful,
but this world isn’t; there are only skins, masking over what
to_____ we don’t want to see:
paint and wallpaper covering dust sheetrock and splintered studs with rusty nails
put____ driven through them,
steel and glass and carbon fiber encasing dirty black oil and grease caked tubes
white__ and smog spewing fire,
plastics and polymers to wrap and organize and disguise the truth
text___ of what we buy and eat and play with.

Yet how very appropriate this we world have built is for us, creatures so similar to their
here___ toys and cars and houses.
Blood and mucus and sinew and slime and gristle, all
to_____ sheathed in smooth skin.
Fiery hate and searing pain and aching grief, secreted away
make___ behind a winning smile.
But even as I see these things, I do not hate them, for this is what we are; our nature
the____ cannot be escaped.
And perhaps life is such that what beauty and order exist is worthy, even if it does not
blank__ run to the core.

---

spaces_________________Delicate Fingers

From time to time, as I stretch out and rest my head on the unyielding ground,
floating aimlessly within the dim silence,
good_________________I miss the delicate fingers that played with my hair.

---

job______________Onto Your Own Shoulders

Pain is a rainbow, made up of the reds of loss and blacks of despair
But the strongest color by far
is that suffering which you are helpless to soothe;
the cerulean of tears that no number of tight hugs or kind words can stem.
Only time, that infernal, unstoppable master of humanity
can cleanse such a colorful stain,
if he so chooses.
And you are forced to sit on the sidelines,
wishing their misery onto your own shoulders.

finding the hidden text

Heh Heh Heh... Doodie

I, being male, am immature sometimes. No excuse.

For instance, a good number of the RAs in my building this year have formed a running joke. Once or twice ever couple weeks, each RA has to be "on duty" for a night, which means we check the building periodically, take care of problems that arise, and do other RA type things. We, being the exceedingly mature individuals that we are, quickly noticed that "duty" sounds a lot like "doodie", a.k.a. poo. Therefore, whenever someone says "I'm on duty tonight" at least one or two other people will response with "heh heh heh... doodie."

Cause we're awesome like that.

However, today I was vindicated. In my creative writing class, we were reviewing each other papers. One girl read a piece she had written about a friend who pooed his pants in a K-mart. The teacher pointed out once she was done reading it that there had been a number of papers regarding poo/butts/toilets, but that surprisingly none of them had been written by guys. Most of the time, us males are responsible for the scat humor, but in this class, all of the papers regarding poo were the work of womenfolk.

I guess poo humor isn't restricted to purely the male species. Phew.

Woe Is Me... Or Not

This semester I had to take a creative writing class. Despite a little skepticism early in the semester, I've realized that it has probably been my favorite class of any of the classes I've taken at my current college. I enjoy it FAR more than any of the engineering classes I'm currently taking. That's a post for a later, though.

Right now, I wanted to focus on the topics that people choose. I feel like a lot of work, especially poetry, deals with very dark or very sad topics, and it bothers me a little bit.

Don't get me wrong, I understand why these topics are so prevalent. Unfortunate as it is, the dark and sad end of the spectrum of human emotion is probably stronger than its opposite counterpart. The experiences that leave behind some of the greatest marks are often negative ones. Therefore it makes sense that writing which stems from the thoughts and feelings and experiences of the author should reflect this to a degree.

But here's the thing. We aren't in communist Russia. We aren't oppressed and threatened with death every day. Most of us have pretty decent lives, especially compared to the rest of the world. We all have rough or low spots. We all have bad things happen to us. But we should remember the good things as well.

For that reason, I've made an effort over the past few weeks to write pieces that reflect a little of life's joy. I try to make people laugh with my work. Or if not laugh, then smile. Or if not smile, then appreciate. I want to balance the bad with some of the good. Because I'm a believer that if you tell yourself your life is miserable, then you will be miserable. If you remind yourself of the good things you have in the various aspects of your life, you'll remain a much more balanced and even-keeled person.

Not all of my work has been happy or encouraging, and I'm not saying that my classmates are wrong to write about heavy or depressing topics. I just want to keep things in perspective.

Now if you'll excuse me, this post tastes too much like optimism for my likings. I think I'll go sit in my chair and imagine 1000 different ways for the world to be destroyed. :P

Pretty Lights

My best friend pointed my to a band called Pretty Lights earlier this year (bless his soul), and I figured I'd pass along the goodness. Derek Smith, the guy who is behind Pretty Lights, gives away his music for free. All you have to do is go to the Pretty Lights website and download it. If that's not enough reason to check it out, I don't know what is.

Stylistically, Pretty Lights is something different from anything I've ever heard. The best way I could convey what it is to you without actually having you listen to it would be to have you imagine something like this:

You are driving through a city late at night. Any light from the moon is drowned out by the garish colors of the various city lights shining through the windshield. Everything around you seems to blur by, a surrealistic blur of motion that never coalesces into distinguishable shape. As you drive, you feel entirely calm and relaxed, almost to the point of being disconnected. You simply cruise forward without thought or destination.

Got the image? Good. Pretty lights is the music you would be listening during this.

I introduced a friend at my college to Pretty Lights, and he had a similar response. He is a snowboarder, and he said that it made him think of cruising down some mountain on his board, gliding through the darkness, taking the occasional easy jump, and making long, lazy slashes through the snow. That sounded about right to me.

Anyway, if you're reading this and you haven't listened to Pretty Lights before, you should go and remedy that. It's some of the best cruising/chilling music that I've found.

No Small Feat

It's a great big feat! Crikey, look at the size of 'im!

Earlier this week, I reached a milestone. I finished my first novel. Wow. I still feel weird saying that. I write novels? Since when?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I've created a masterpiece just yet. In fact, I've been doing a lot more learning that masterpiece creating. Writing a book is an enormous and involved task. A novel is not just a really long paper. Way more sophistication and depth is required in a novel than in a paper, and it's by no means easy. I'm learning as I go how to make characters that are realistic, interesting, and worth reading. I'm learning the importance of various elements of story line. I'm learning why certain techniques that author's use are important.

Nonetheless, I wrote a book.

It's been a heavy investment of time, thought, and sometimes even emotion. I've spent almost a year now planning, writing, and rewriting my story, and I'm just getting warmed up. I've loved every bit of it, though. I'll often be sitting in class or doing something else and suddenly I realize I'm thinking about my story world, considering possible future plot points or character traits that I want to tweak. Or I'll see something that will spark a really cool idea for a setting. I really enjoy getting to create a world in which I can make anything happen.

For now, though, I'm going to be spending a while going back through with successively finer combs, cleaning and polishing and changing and doing all those other edit-y sort of things to my book. In the end, I'd like to submit it to an agent and see if I can get myself published, as I realized a while back that that is what I'd really like to do with my life.

Here's hoping it goes well.

This Is My Job

Life as an RA has been pretty good so far. The job is easy, and I haven't even ever had to deal with much more than telling people to shut up after quiet hours.

Enter this weekend.

I should've known it couldn't last. This weekend, I had to bust my first party, clean up my first vomit, and fix my first prank. All of these things were separate instances, which means that they take up even more time than if they had all been together. Things could have been a LOT worse, I'll admit that readily. I've heard of many a weekend that has had many times the number of incidents I had to deal with. Still, this weekend wasn't a lot of fun to deal with.

Busting the party went as well as it possibly could have. I had an experienced RA backing me up, and the residents were very cooperative. Still, I spent more than an hour of my Friday evening watching people poor alcohol down a drain and then writing about it. Yay.

Saturday night, I was going my 2:00 rounds, and I walked into one of the bathrooms and immediately felt something slippery. Great. Someone had vomited all over the place. A student was already in there trying to clean it up, but wasn't really equipped for the task. I told him I'd take care of it and sent him along. The building is equipped with these spill kits, which actually work very well for what they're supposed to do, so cleaning it up wasn't that bad. Still, it wasn't exactly pretty, and I'd rather have spent the time doing something else.

Then, as the group of people I'd been playing games with left the lobby, we found a prank someone had pulled sitting on the middle of the floor. I gotta hand it to the guys, it was a pretty harmless prank. They'd found a way to open the paper towel dispensers in the bathrooms and taken every single paper towel roll from the whole hall and used them to build a five foot pyramid in the middle of the hall. It looked like they'd spent some time figuring out how to do it quickly, so props for planning. Still, a fellow RA and myself would have had to go and replace them all, which would have taken a while. We didn't have the tool to open the paper towel dispensers, though, and neither of us felt like dealing with it, so we just threw all the paper towels in the office and figured people could do without for a few days.

Over the course of the weekend, I started to get frustrated, but then I stopped to think. The vast majority of the time (meaning the entirety of the year up til this point) has been pretty cushy. Sitting in the office for our duty hours is easy... most of the time we just play games. Staff meetings are actually fairly fun, and I don't mind going to them at all. Program ideas can be hard to come up with, but execution isn't all that hard and you usually get to do some fun stuff along with the residents who attend. Training is boring, but the same goes for any job.

So when things fall apart and I have to take care of them? Well, that's what they pay me for. I don't have much cause to get frustrated with a few things that go wrong, because the school compensates me (pretty darn well) for dealing with things that go wrong. I knew that coming in, too, so I don't have any excuse.

In the end, I decided that I'll gladly deal with the occasional mess or party, because the benefits of this job far outweigh the occasional crappy times. If nothing else, this weekend helped me gain a little perspective on that matter.

n00bs!

I was walking around my dorm and hanging up signs for a Frisbee event that I'm putting on (part of the RA gig), and I heard someone playing Halo. I could recognize the sounds of the campaign (the arbiter yelling, Cortana talking at you, etc.) and could even place which part of which level they were on (because I'm that big of a nerd).

The impressive thing was that I could pick all this out from the next floor down. They were on the third floor, I was still in the stairwell of the second floor. I figured it must be a room right next to the third floor stairwell, but I walked up and glanced around (continuing to hang signs) and didn't see any doors open. As I headed down the hallway, I realized that the sounds were coming from a room almost at the end of the floor. And they kept getting louder. A lot louder. As in thunderously loud. I glanced through open doors as I walked along, looking for the enormous setup that must be generating all this sound. Then I found it. And laughed. A lot.

The guys who were playing had an enormous surround sound system (an amp, giant speakers, a subwoofer the size of a small car, etc.)... and a tiny little TV. This thing couldn't have been over 23 inches. It looked so lonely and pathetic sitting there amidst all those speakers. I was seriously expecting an 80 inch plasma. Anything else would have (and did) seem silly when paired with all that sound.

How does someone put all that money into a sound system and not get a decent TV to go with? Maybe the sound system and TV belonged to different roommates and they'd decided to just throw it together. Or maybe they're silly. Hmm... yep, I think I'll go with just silly.

Om Nom Nom!

Our dining food center isn't great. It's generally a dozen or so meals recycled over the course of a few weeks, with a very small bit of variety thrown in there. One thing I appreciate, though, is the fresh fruit selections they sometimes put out.

I'm a kiwi fiend, and one of their selections is a big pan of halved kiwis, of which I usually take about a half dozen. Kiwis are delicious.

Today, though, I walked into the dining center and, low and behold, I was greeted by piles of fresh, delicious-looking, gleaming-red strawberries. I love me some strawberries. It definitely made my day better. After all, I don't often get to pig out on as many of those delectable little morsels as I can eat. Hopefully they will continue to have them during the last few weeks of school!

Constructive Criticism

One of my friends already wrote a blog post regarding getting decent feedback from people. I don't care, I'm going to do it anyway.

I really hate the phrase "I liked it". More often than not, whenever I'm working with peer review groups, 90% of what people say to each other are "I liked it" or "it was good" or maybe, if they're feeling ambitious, "I liked the way you..."

That's all good and well, and I understand that people want to be careful not to rip on people and make them feel bad, but come revising time, the only comments that help are the negative ones. Because they point out something wrong, which you can then make better. The past few times I've sat down to revise, I've had next to no commentary to help me, and I've ended up just changing things because I'm not sure what to revise. It's somewhat frustrating.

Cars on Strings

Today, I took a test in my materials science class. I'm fairly certain the test was put together by a monkey. A retarded monkey. With a bad cocaine addiction.

Allow my to illustrate. (Don't worry, I'll be using non-engineer speak)

Problem 1: You are asked to pick which material (copper, stainless steel or aluminum) you should use to build a 1/4 inch thick rod that will hold ten thousands pounds.

Stop and think about that for a second. A 1/4 inch thick rod is about half the width of your pinky. Ten thousand pounds is about the weight of three cars. It doesn't matter which of the three materials you use, a 1/4 inch shaft won't hold 10000 pounds. Common sense and the actual calculations (which I did) back it up.

Problem 2: Why do we use a certain type of acid to each steel instead of using water?

You don't have to know much about the problem to see what's wrong. You just have to know what that when you turn on your faucet, the only way you're going to get burned is if the water is really hot. Because water is not an acid. It doesn't burn things. That's why we don't (and can't) use it to etch steel. That's why we use acid. It's like asking you use gas to fuel your car instead of sand. Because gas works, and sand... doesn't.

There were a number of other frustrating things about the test, but they would involve getting technical, so I won't go there. The point is, professors should not write tests that are filled nonsensical questions.

*shakes head*

Stand in Awe

Sometimes, you find an image where nothing you can say will make it better.

Telephonic Talkin'

Stupid phones.

For some reason, I can't hold a decent conversation on a phone, not even to save my life. Something about talking on the phone just throws me off. There are always long awkward pauses, or I end up trying to talk at the same time as the person on the other end. No matter what I do, my conversations always tend to be staggering and unnatural. That's one of the reasons I'm not really a call-you-up-and-talk kind of person.

Luckily, I can usually hold a decent conversation when I need to, telephone handicap or not, but it's still frustrating the rest of the time.

I think part of it might be that there's a small lag with my phone that throws off my conversational timing. A larger part, though, might be that when I'm on the phone, I can't pick up many of the non-verbal cues that I rely on for timing and use to form my response. Often times people will say that 80-90% of the way we communicate in non-verbal, and while I've never been sure the number is that high, I will definitely agree that removing the non-verbal communication makes life difficult.

Some people can talk on the phone like they were born doing it, but I'm not one of them. Hope you can forgive me if I blunder my way through phone conversations. It doesn't reflect on you, I promise.