Be My Valentine

You've probably seen my video regarding the choosing of a valentine this year. If not, watch it here. Here is the application. You can submit your application via Facebook message or by emailing to TheJRMY@gmail.com.

Remember that I need at least five applications in order to actually run the contest, so feel free to pass it along to all of your friends. Be sure to submit your application by 12pm Pacific time on February 2. Good luck!

1. What is your name?
2. How old are you?
3. Where do you live?
4. Do you currently have a significant other (spouse, partner, boyfriend/girlfriend, etc)?
5. What is your favorite book (excluding the bible)?
6. What is your Briggs Meyers personality type?
7. Mac or PC?
8. What is your favorite food/type of food?
9. If you were a dinosaur, what kind of dinosaur would you be and why?
10. Who is Heisenberg?
11. Who is your favorite Simpsons character?
12. In 100 words or fewer, why should I choose you to be my valentine?
13. Is there any additional information you would like to add?

You've probably seen my video regarding the choosing of a valentine this year. If not, watch it here. Here is the application. You can submit your application via Facebook message or by emailing to TheJRMY@gmail.com.

Remember that I need at least five applications in order to actually run the contest, so feel free to pass it along to all of your friends. Be sure to submit your application by 12pm Pacific time on February 2. Good luck!

1. What is your name?
2. How old are you?
3. Where do you live?
4. Do you currently have a significant other (spouse, partner, boyfriend/girlfriend, etc)?
5. What is your favorite book (excluding the bible)?
6. What is your Briggs Meyers personality type?
7. Mac or PC?
8. What is your favorite food/type of food?
9. If you were a dinosaur, what kind of dinosaur would you be and why?
10. Who is Heisenberg?
11. Who is your favorite Simpsons character?
12. In 100 words or fewer, why should I choose you to be my valentine?
13. Is there any additional information you would like to add?

Be My Valentine

On Nicknames

[This blog post was somewhat inspired by a YouTube video I did as part of a series called PIKnIC. Click here to see that video.]

Nickames are an interesting thing. Sociologists say that we assign them to the people we care about most, whether that be a strong sense of like or dislike. I don’t know whether or not this is always true, but it’s certainly something worth thinking about. I mean, really, what’s in a name? We often speak of names as expressing someone’s character, but in our day and age people are frequently assigned names based on the way they sound, resulting in this not being true. More likely, a name simply is a way to get someone’s attention, and a nickname makes that process a little bit more fun.

There is a biblical precedent to nicknames, or in some cases total renaming. There are many examples, though we are not going to take the time to look at all of them right now. One great example is Jacob wrestling with God all night before God changes his name to Israel, literally meaning, “He strives with God.”(1) From him come the Israelites and, more loosely speaking, the modern nation Israel.

My personal favorite example is when Jesus changes Peter’s name from Simon to Peter(2)(3), then tells him that upon himself as the rock he will build the church(4). Of all of the examples, this could probably most be said to be a nicknames as he is frequently referred to by both names throughout the remainder of his life. Further, Peter was impulsive and headstrong, but later freaked out when confronted by a young girl – calling him Rock was akin to the biggest guy around being called Tiny.

The third and final example I want to very quickly look at it is found in the book or Revelation. #scary (#not really)(5) In addressing the seven churches scattered throughout Asia Minor (a much bigger discussion than this blog post allows, though something I would love to discuss with you) Jesus promises to give the one who endures a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”(6) This shows once again the use of names that I mentioned in the first paragraph, dictating character, showing our new nature at glorification(7).

Throughout my life I’ve had a lot of nicknames, whether things I liked to be called or things people called me to give me a hard time. Let’s just hit a highlight list here: Pete; Jerm; Jhirmack; Funky Joe; beaNie; Moscow; Jem. I want to talk briefly about the one I used the longest: beaNie. It was juvenile, but it lasted for about 10 years. Back 1997-ish I went to Charlotte, NC on a mission trip with my youth group. We went with another youth group, in which there was a girl named Jill. She loved Mr. Bean. She decided I looked like Mr. Bean, which I did much more back then. She began calling me that. And it stuck. And now you know the proverbial “rest of the story.”

I don’t think I know a more interesting nickname than my Aunt Pete. She and Uncle Butch (actual name John) of course have two children, Hank (again, actual name John) and Sis (actual name unknown). Welcome to central Pennsylvania. Pete’s actual name is Melinda. Her father wanted sons but instead had three daughters. He gave them all as nicknames the names he had chosen for his sons. Interestingly her sisters share nicknames with her husband and son, Hank and Butch.

In reality, what we call each other is of little significance. I will never understand Ray J. Johnson Jr. or Carley Ray Jepsen’s choice of “Maybe” as what she would like to be called, but in the end that doesn’t determine who we are.



(1) Genesis 32:22-32; 35:1-15
(2) Sometimes the name “Cephas” is used instead. This is a language difference between Greek and Aramaic, much like Jose and Joseph.
(3) Petros/Cephas is Greek/Aramaic for “Rock.” Either way, the exact word used here refers more to a small rock or even a pebble. The word used later refers to a large rock, such as bedrock. As such, Jesus is not referring to Peter as the rock upon which the church will be built, but instead himself. This argument for the papacy simply does not hold water.
(4) Matthew 16:17-18; John 1:41-42
(5) Did I really just hash tag my blog? I’m sorry about that.
(6) Revelation 2:17
(7) This is once again a topic for too broad for this post, but a summary can be found here</>.

[This blog post was somewhat inspired by a YouTube video I did as part of a series called PIKnIC. Click here to see that video.]

Nickames are an interesting thing. Sociologists say that we assign them to the people we care about most, whether that be a strong sense of like or dislike. I don’t know whether or not this is always true, but it’s certainly something worth thinking about. I mean, really, what’s in a name? We often speak of names as expressing someone’s character, but in our day and age people are frequently assigned names based on the way they sound, resulting in this not being true. More likely, a name simply is a way to get someone’s attention, and a nickname makes that process a little bit more fun.

There is a biblical precedent to nicknames, or in some cases total renaming. There are many examples, though we are not going to take the time to look at all of them right now. One great example is Jacob wrestling with God all night before God changes his name to Israel, literally meaning, “He strives with God.”(1) From him come the Israelites and, more loosely speaking, the modern nation Israel.

My personal favorite example is when Jesus changes Peter’s name from Simon to Peter(2)(3), then tells him that upon himself as the rock he will build the church(4). Of all of the examples, this could probably most be said to be a nicknames as he is frequently referred to by both names throughout the remainder of his life. Further, Peter was impulsive and headstrong, but later freaked out when confronted by a young girl – calling him Rock was akin to the biggest guy around being called Tiny.

The third and final example I want to very quickly look at it is found in the book or Revelation. #scary (#not really)(5) In addressing the seven churches scattered throughout Asia Minor (a much bigger discussion than this blog post allows, though something I would love to discuss with you) Jesus promises to give the one who endures a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”(6) This shows once again the use of names that I mentioned in the first paragraph, dictating character, showing our new nature at glorification(7).

Throughout my life I’ve had a lot of nicknames, whether things I liked to be called or things people called me to give me a hard time. Let’s just hit a highlight list here: Pete; Jerm; Jhirmack; Funky Joe; beaNie; Moscow; Jem. I want to talk briefly about the one I used the longest: beaNie. It was juvenile, but it lasted for about 10 years. Back 1997-ish I went to Charlotte, NC on a mission trip with my youth group. We went with another youth group, in which there was a girl named Jill. She loved Mr. Bean. She decided I looked like Mr. Bean, which I did much more back then. She began calling me that. And it stuck. And now you know the proverbial “rest of the story.”

I don’t think I know a more interesting nickname than my Aunt Pete. She and Uncle Butch (actual name John) of course have two children, Hank (again, actual name John) and Sis (actual name unknown). Welcome to central Pennsylvania. Pete’s actual name is Melinda. Her father wanted sons but instead had three daughters. He gave them all as nicknames the names he had chosen for his sons. Interestingly her sisters share nicknames with her husband and son, Hank and Butch.

In reality, what we call each other is of little significance. I will never understand Ray J. Johnson Jr. or Carley Ray Jepsen’s choice of “Maybe” as what she would like to be called, but in the end that doesn’t determine who we are.



(1) Genesis 32:22-32; 35:1-15
(2) Sometimes the name “Cephas” is used instead. This is a language difference between Greek and Aramaic, much like Jose and Joseph.
(3) Petros/Cephas is Greek/Aramaic for “Rock.” Either way, the exact word used here refers more to a small rock or even a pebble. The word used later refers to a large rock, such as bedrock. As such, Jesus is not referring to Peter as the rock upon which the church will be built, but instead himself. This argument for the papacy simply does not hold water.
(4) Matthew 16:17-18; John 1:41-42
(5) Did I really just hash tag my blog? I’m sorry about that.
(6) Revelation 2:17
(7) This is once again a topic for too broad for this post, but a summary can be found here</>.

On Nicknames

First Date

[I know I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry, but I will not make excuses. I've been posting primarily on my YouTube channel. My intent has never been to neglect this. Please bear with me as I strive for balance.

The forthcoming post is a part of the February in March series that I started at the beginning of last month and am still working to complete. This is based on the concept "Words." Further, it is based on a poem originally posted here in August of 2010, one of my earliest posts.]

Those of you who have known me for a while know that I wrote a lot of poetry several years ago. That being said, I scarcely write so much as a stanza anymore. It simply doesn't happen. Occasionally though something will move me in that manner. The verses flow in unison with the blood in my veins. My heart races as I see the words materializing on the paper. It's a beautiful thing.

I've never been a fan of form. Emphasis has always been difficult for me, leaving meter as the bane of my existence. The only real exceptions to my hatred for form are the Sestina and Haiku (which is arguably not a real form in the English language). Occasionally, in order to push myself out of a box, I have to make an exception to this rule.

There is an ancient French form called a Paradelle. It includes a very complex pattern of line re-use, followed by a large amount of word re-use. The first poem ever written in this form was Billy Collin's Paradelle for Susan in his 1998 book Picnic Lightning. Yes, you read that right - this ancient form has been around for a whopping fifteen years. In actuality Collins coined the style in order to critique heavily formulaic poetry.

About three years ago I decided to write a poem inspired by the form. It was two stanzas long, with each stanza using an identical list of words. The goal, which I never accomplished, was to reach 54 words. This one is 15. I got up to about 25 before I stopped. This particular one, entitled first date, is definitely my favorite. I hope you enjoy.

You and I.
The date.
The chairs and the table.
Under the surface? A mystery…

Table and chairs date under a surface mystery.
The you. The I.
And the the.

While I'm sure some of you do not like the second stanza, I feel it is an accurate definition of the awkwardness that surrounds a first date.

[I know I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry, but I will not make excuses. I've been posting primarily on my YouTube channel. My intent has never been to neglect this. Please bear with me as I strive for balance.

The forthcoming post is a part of the February in March series that I started at the beginning of last month and am still working to complete. This is based on the concept "Words." Further, it is based on a poem originally posted here in August of 2010, one of my earliest posts.]

Those of you who have known me for a while know that I wrote a lot of poetry several years ago. That being said, I scarcely write so much as a stanza anymore. It simply doesn't happen. Occasionally though something will move me in that manner. The verses flow in unison with the blood in my veins. My heart races as I see the words materializing on the paper. It's a beautiful thing.

I've never been a fan of form. Emphasis has always been difficult for me, leaving meter as the bane of my existence. The only real exceptions to my hatred for form are the Sestina and Haiku (which is arguably not a real form in the English language). Occasionally, in order to push myself out of a box, I have to make an exception to this rule.

There is an ancient French form called a Paradelle. It includes a very complex pattern of line re-use, followed by a large amount of word re-use. The first poem ever written in this form was Billy Collin's Paradelle for Susan in his 1998 book Picnic Lightning. Yes, you read that right - this ancient form has been around for a whopping fifteen years. In actuality Collins coined the style in order to critique heavily formulaic poetry.

About three years ago I decided to write a poem inspired by the form. It was two stanzas long, with each stanza using an identical list of words. The goal, which I never accomplished, was to reach 54 words. This one is 15. I got up to about 25 before I stopped. This particular one, entitled first date, is definitely my favorite. I hope you enjoy.

You and I.
The date.
The chairs and the table.
Under the surface? A mystery…

Table and chairs date under a surface mystery.
The you. The I.
And the the.

While I'm sure some of you do not like the second stanza, I feel it is an accurate definition of the awkwardness that surrounds a first date.

First Date

On Saints: Valentine, Patrick, and More!

::A very similar post to this was written and never published on February 17. I have repurposed the post, almost unchanged, for St. Patrick's Day.::

St. Valentine's Day is obviously over. As such, this post is over one month late...or just under eleven months early. My friend Brett posted the drawing to the right on Facebook on February 15, which is some of the inspiration behind this post.

Unfortunately, Brett is not big on self-promotion and the like, particularly with regards to his drawings. As such, he does not have a website to which I can send you to check out his other stuff, which is pretty great. When we were in high school his notebooks would become comic books, and he still posts to Facebook some wonderful (but much shorter) comics. This is of course a self-portrait, one of my favorite series that he has undertaken(1). That being said, let's get down to the matter at hand.

As you probably know, I'm Protestant, not Catholic. We do not venerate anyone as all who are in Christ are saints. Even so, I find the tales of the classic saints interesting, especially those with holidays bearing their name, as they are cultural institutions about whom I know nothing. How did they get holidays? How can I get a holiday(2)? And what do cards, hearts, and candy have to do with Valentine?

Honestly, no one really seems to know a lot about him. Nearly all of the history surrounding Valentine comes to us from later hagiographies. Fortunately, there are a few constants.

Valentine is by all accounts promoting Christian marriage in some way, generally by performing them. Christianity was illegal, and consequently helping Christians in any way was illegal. Some say that he restored the sight of the blind daughter of Judge Asterius while imprisoned, resulting in Asterius being baptized and Valentine being released, only to be re-arrested by Emperor Claudius for performing the sacrament and later beheaded.

Outside of this we have little but rumors, conjecture, and variance. Such is unfortunately the case with many of the saints. While I love a great story, true or false, the inconsistency irks me. In that his story is rather filled-in and consistent, St. Nicholas is a bit of an anomaly.

Another drawing by Brett? Don't mind if I do!

I wanted to do a series on the saints through and possibly even beyond St. Patrick's Day (aka tomorrow, or maybe today depending on what time it is right now). I really did. Was Patrick really a total lush? No, Alfred Guinness had not even invented his elixir yet, and Patrick was not a heavy consumer of uisce beatha(3). But what else do we know? What do we know about anyone historically?

History is an interesting study. The "good guys" always win because the story is told from their perspective. We make up the rest. We as a society come to pathologically believe it. I'm sure each of the saints had a lot of good qualities, but they were not perfect. They were merely humans. Most of what they did has been forgotten, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.


(1)Series is not the correct word. Really, it is just a collection of drawings that happen to follow a theme. Either way, I very much enjoy seeing Brett's drawings of himself in various circumstances and guises.
(2)Just kidding - I hate holidays.
(3)This Gaelic phrase, from which we derive our word whiskey, literally means "water of life," which is also what distilled spirits were called in Latin (aqua vitae).

::A very similar post to this was written and never published on February 17. I have repurposed the post, almost unchanged, for St. Patrick's Day.::

St. Valentine's Day is obviously over. As such, this post is over one month late...or just under eleven months early. My friend Brett posted the drawing to the right on Facebook on February 15, which is some of the inspiration behind this post.

Unfortunately, Brett is not big on self-promotion and the like, particularly with regards to his drawings. As such, he does not have a website to which I can send you to check out his other stuff, which is pretty great. When we were in high school his notebooks would become comic books, and he still posts to Facebook some wonderful (but much shorter) comics. This is of course a self-portrait, one of my favorite series that he has undertaken(1). That being said, let's get down to the matter at hand.

As you probably know, I'm Protestant, not Catholic. We do not venerate anyone as all who are in Christ are saints. Even so, I find the tales of the classic saints interesting, especially those with holidays bearing their name, as they are cultural institutions about whom I know nothing. How did they get holidays? How can I get a holiday(2)? And what do cards, hearts, and candy have to do with Valentine?

Honestly, no one really seems to know a lot about him. Nearly all of the history surrounding Valentine comes to us from later hagiographies. Fortunately, there are a few constants.

Valentine is by all accounts promoting Christian marriage in some way, generally by performing them. Christianity was illegal, and consequently helping Christians in any way was illegal. Some say that he restored the sight of the blind daughter of Judge Asterius while imprisoned, resulting in Asterius being baptized and Valentine being released, only to be re-arrested by Emperor Claudius for performing the sacrament and later beheaded.

Outside of this we have little but rumors, conjecture, and variance. Such is unfortunately the case with many of the saints. While I love a great story, true or false, the inconsistency irks me. In that his story is rather filled-in and consistent, St. Nicholas is a bit of an anomaly.

Another drawing by Brett? Don't mind if I do!

I wanted to do a series on the saints through and possibly even beyond St. Patrick's Day (aka tomorrow, or maybe today depending on what time it is right now). I really did. Was Patrick really a total lush? No, Alfred Guinness had not even invented his elixir yet, and Patrick was not a heavy consumer of uisce beatha(3). But what else do we know? What do we know about anyone historically?

History is an interesting study. The "good guys" always win because the story is told from their perspective. We make up the rest. We as a society come to pathologically believe it. I'm sure each of the saints had a lot of good qualities, but they were not perfect. They were merely humans. Most of what they did has been forgotten, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.


(1)Series is not the correct word. Really, it is just a collection of drawings that happen to follow a theme. Either way, I very much enjoy seeing Brett's drawings of himself in various circumstances and guises.
(2)Just kidding - I hate holidays.
(3)This Gaelic phrase, from which we derive our word whiskey, literally means "water of life," which is also what distilled spirits were called in Latin (aqua vitae).

On Saints: Valentine, Patrick, and More!

My Favorite Photo of Myself (February in March)

::I can't believe I've let it go this long. Apologies. Anyway, yesterday I started a project called February in March. I took a photo of the day thing for February and am now making something (whether it be video, blog, or other) about each day. Today is my first blog post in the project. Expect a post explaining a bit more soon.::

Somewhere out there, probably in my grandpa's house, is a photo of me that is pretty well-known in my family. It is a photo of several firsts for me. It's the first time I met my sister Amanda. It's the first time I held a baby. It's my first memory.

Obviously this is not the photo in
question. It is, however, a photo of
Amanda, grandma, and me.

Those of you who know Amanda know that she is almost 3 years younger than I am. When this photo was taken she was at most a few days (though more likely a few hours) old(1). I was of course not actually holding her - no one lets a two-year-old hold a newborn. My grandma was holding us both. I had no idea of this at the time.

Since I couldn't go to the hospital for the delivery, I stayed with my grandparents when Amanda was being born, as I did for the birth of my two other sisters as well. I waited very impatiently for my new friend. I was quite disappointed when I discovered that babies do little outside of sleep, eat, cry, and poop. She had no interest in Legos except putting them in her mouth, and Transformers were even less fun to her. When I eventually found this out I was ready to send her back, but I didn't know any of this just yet.

Sitting in my grandma's lap someone handed me the baby. Excitement and pride beamed from my face as someone snapped a photo. This was it, the moment I became a responsible older brother: I'm helping by holding the baby!

Here we are 28 years later. Amanda and I have not always been as close as we thankfully are now. But that one moment when we first met sitting on our grandma's lap is to this day my favorite photo of myself.

(1) I always tell people that I've been holding babies since I was a baby myself, and it's true.

::I can't believe I've let it go this long. Apologies. Anyway, yesterday I started a project called February in March. I took a photo of the day thing for February and am now making something (whether it be video, blog, or other) about each day. Today is my first blog post in the project. Expect a post explaining a bit more soon.::

Somewhere out there, probably in my grandpa's house, is a photo of me that is pretty well-known in my family. It is a photo of several firsts for me. It's the first time I met my sister Amanda. It's the first time I held a baby. It's my first memory.

Obviously this is not the photo in
question. It is, however, a photo of
Amanda, grandma, and me.

Those of you who know Amanda know that she is almost 3 years younger than I am. When this photo was taken she was at most a few days (though more likely a few hours) old(1). I was of course not actually holding her - no one lets a two-year-old hold a newborn. My grandma was holding us both. I had no idea of this at the time.

Since I couldn't go to the hospital for the delivery, I stayed with my grandparents when Amanda was being born, as I did for the birth of my two other sisters as well. I waited very impatiently for my new friend. I was quite disappointed when I discovered that babies do little outside of sleep, eat, cry, and poop. She had no interest in Legos except putting them in her mouth, and Transformers were even less fun to her. When I eventually found this out I was ready to send her back, but I didn't know any of this just yet.

Sitting in my grandma's lap someone handed me the baby. Excitement and pride beamed from my face as someone snapped a photo. This was it, the moment I became a responsible older brother: I'm helping by holding the baby!

Here we are 28 years later. Amanda and I have not always been as close as we thankfully are now. But that one moment when we first met sitting on our grandma's lap is to this day my favorite photo of myself.

(1) I always tell people that I've been holding babies since I was a baby myself, and it's true.

My Favorite Photo of Myself (February in March)

"On Vegetarianism...and Not," or "Praise the Lord and Pass the Meat"

I distinctly remember October 2005. I was living in Maryland, and for the first time in my life I was responsible for purchasing and preparing my own food. This newly found responsibility brought with it the new freedom and responsibility to make decisions about what I should eat, specifically with regard to meat.

I'd long been curious about vegetarianism and veganism but had never taken any steps toward it. I found the animal rights books at my local library, one of which stood head and shoulders above the others based on the reviews: Animal Liberation by Peter Singer(1). In that book Singer laid out a laundry list of atrocities regarding the factory farming and meat processing industries.

As I read Singer, I also spent a great deal of time in the early chapters of the book of Genesis in the bible. Genesis, as the book of beginnings, begins with creation and God charging Adam and Eve with responsibility to care for the creation, a responsibility that carries to us today. As I considered and researched Singer's points in light of the framework of Genesis, I starkly saw this as a stewardship issue. Then Singer made the point that connected the dots for me: every purchase is a vote for the system. Buying (and consequently consuming) animal products is what keeps the system going.

Case closed: time to become a vegetarian and work toward being a vegan. I bought no more meat; I began purchasing non-leather shoes and belts; I drank soy milk, which I later found out is by no means the best alternative; I bought soap not made with animal fat (which is actually quite disgusting); I was amazed at the way dead animals creeped into so much of what I bought. At this point in my life though, it was an easy change to make.

Over the years I learned a lot about things like complete and incomplete proteins, the dark side of soy, and several other things that made me much healthier. With each passing day I learned, and vegetarianism became easier.

About six months ago I began praying for God to loosen my conscience on this issue. It was tough for those with whom I was sharing meals as they felt the need to make everything meat free, despite my insistence that they didn't need to do so. On rare occasions I felt like I was missing out, such as when I couldn't eat the Dublin burger(2) at the Barley House in Concord, NH. I had it with a black bean patty, but the whiskey gravy is made with beef broth. I was able to substitute Guinness cheese sauce, which was delicious, but it wasn't the real thing. Five months I prayed and received an answer of "not now."

One of several meat grilling stock
photos from my Facebook page.
Be sure to like me on Facebook.

Then, suddenly one day, yes...what? Umm...ok, cool.


So, first things first: to Li'l Woody's for Macklemore's (no longer existent) Heist burger! But wait - then I have to explain to people why I'm eating meat, and that's going to get old really quickly. And besides, I'm the vegetarian guy. Everyone loves seeing the vegetarian grilling their absolutely delicious hamburger. You know what? I'm going to keep not eating meat.

Then a week ago at church we started a new series called "Who Do You Think You Are?" based on my pastor's new book by the same name. It deals with identity, whether we find it in Christ or something else. I've been searching my heart, looking for areas of my life in which I find my identity in things other than Christ. We were created in the image of God. Our dignity, value, and worth come from that, whether we believe it or not. Anything else we look to for those things will fall short. When we let those things tell us who we are, we are believing the lie. Only Christ is our true and best identity.

This is right before I found out you have to
cook it. And take it out of the plastic.

This is exactly the role vegetarianism was filling for me. I was afraid to eat meat because I was "the vegetarian guy." I had placed my identity in vegetarianism instead of Jesus. Repentance looks like worshipping God for this realization as well as the change in my conscience. That, and eating meat in accordance with what he changed in my heart.

I've had some chicken. I need to slowly re-introduce meat into my diet for the sake of my body, which is not used to digesting it. I also need to learn to cook meat: I'm a great vegetarian cook, but my attempt to cook chicken was very dry. I will learn by doing it. It will take time. But for the moment, I'm hungry and my identity is in Christ...who wants to buy me a burger?



(1) I would now call Singer my favorite philosopher, despite the fact that I completely disagree with him on many issues. Animal Liberation was the first of many of his books that I have read.
(2) From the menu: peppercorn charred, whiskey gravy, creamy blue cheese, crispy onions.

I distinctly remember October 2005. I was living in Maryland, and for the first time in my life I was responsible for purchasing and preparing my own food. This newly found responsibility brought with it the new freedom and responsibility to make decisions about what I should eat, specifically with regard to meat.

I'd long been curious about vegetarianism and veganism but had never taken any steps toward it. I found the animal rights books at my local library, one of which stood head and shoulders above the others based on the reviews: Animal Liberation by Peter Singer(1). In that book Singer laid out a laundry list of atrocities regarding the factory farming and meat processing industries.

As I read Singer, I also spent a great deal of time in the early chapters of the book of Genesis in the bible. Genesis, as the book of beginnings, begins with creation and God charging Adam and Eve with responsibility to care for the creation, a responsibility that carries to us today. As I considered and researched Singer's points in light of the framework of Genesis, I starkly saw this as a stewardship issue. Then Singer made the point that connected the dots for me: every purchase is a vote for the system. Buying (and consequently consuming) animal products is what keeps the system going.

Case closed: time to become a vegetarian and work toward being a vegan. I bought no more meat; I began purchasing non-leather shoes and belts; I drank soy milk, which I later found out is by no means the best alternative; I bought soap not made with animal fat (which is actually quite disgusting); I was amazed at the way dead animals creeped into so much of what I bought. At this point in my life though, it was an easy change to make.

Over the years I learned a lot about things like complete and incomplete proteins, the dark side of soy, and several other things that made me much healthier. With each passing day I learned, and vegetarianism became easier.

About six months ago I began praying for God to loosen my conscience on this issue. It was tough for those with whom I was sharing meals as they felt the need to make everything meat free, despite my insistence that they didn't need to do so. On rare occasions I felt like I was missing out, such as when I couldn't eat the Dublin burger(2) at the Barley House in Concord, NH. I had it with a black bean patty, but the whiskey gravy is made with beef broth. I was able to substitute Guinness cheese sauce, which was delicious, but it wasn't the real thing. Five months I prayed and received an answer of "not now."

One of several meat grilling stock
photos from my Facebook page.
Be sure to like me on Facebook.

Then, suddenly one day, yes...what? Umm...ok, cool.


So, first things first: to Li'l Woody's for Macklemore's (no longer existent) Heist burger! But wait - then I have to explain to people why I'm eating meat, and that's going to get old really quickly. And besides, I'm the vegetarian guy. Everyone loves seeing the vegetarian grilling their absolutely delicious hamburger. You know what? I'm going to keep not eating meat.

Then a week ago at church we started a new series called "Who Do You Think You Are?" based on my pastor's new book by the same name. It deals with identity, whether we find it in Christ or something else. I've been searching my heart, looking for areas of my life in which I find my identity in things other than Christ. We were created in the image of God. Our dignity, value, and worth come from that, whether we believe it or not. Anything else we look to for those things will fall short. When we let those things tell us who we are, we are believing the lie. Only Christ is our true and best identity.

This is right before I found out you have to
cook it. And take it out of the plastic.

This is exactly the role vegetarianism was filling for me. I was afraid to eat meat because I was "the vegetarian guy." I had placed my identity in vegetarianism instead of Jesus. Repentance looks like worshipping God for this realization as well as the change in my conscience. That, and eating meat in accordance with what he changed in my heart.

I've had some chicken. I need to slowly re-introduce meat into my diet for the sake of my body, which is not used to digesting it. I also need to learn to cook meat: I'm a great vegetarian cook, but my attempt to cook chicken was very dry. I will learn by doing it. It will take time. But for the moment, I'm hungry and my identity is in Christ...who wants to buy me a burger?



(1) I would now call Singer my favorite philosopher, despite the fact that I completely disagree with him on many issues. Animal Liberation was the first of many of his books that I have read.
(2) From the menu: peppercorn charred, whiskey gravy, creamy blue cheese, crispy onions.

"On Vegetarianism...and Not," or "Praise the Lord and Pass the Meat"

The End of the Ender: Speaker for the Frustrated

I finished Ender's Game. I would have finished it a while ago, but I lost the book for about two weeks. I almost checked it out of the library or re-bought it, but then I decided not to. 

When I began, my friend Biz told me to take my time. Soak it in, she said. It isn't the same the second time. It got dark about halfway through, but I expect this from Orson Scott Card. I can re-read this no problem. 

The last two chapters changed everything. I don't think I could re-read it. It would certainly not be the same if I did, but I don't think I could bring myself to do it. I mean, maybe someday, but certainly not right now. 

I bought Speaker for the Dead, the second book in the series a few days ago. "Second book" is somewhat of an unfair designation, as the series goes so many different directions. There is the main storyline, of which SftD is the second book, but then there is an entire shadow storyline which takes place simultaneously. Further, the books are not all sequels in the way that we normally designate things sequels: they are more of a web of interrelated stories. 

Herein we find my biggest frustration with Orson Scott Card: he cannot let a series end. He is too attached to his characters. On the cover of Slanted Jack by Jack L. Van Name* is a quote from Card, in which he says that he'd like to see Jack in at least a dozen more novels. Card needs to learn to write endings as well as he writes stories. 

Let's take an example: I've been reading The Tales of Alvin Maker. I have read the first three books. While I've enjoyed the series, it should be over. However, there are three more books. Card will introduce characters, only to kill them off two or three chapters later. They will interact minimally with the main storyline and bear no consequence to the plot, but a few chapters were spent unnecessarily discussing their lives. 

At least in the Alvin Maker series there is a definite end. The end is hinted in the first book and openly discussed in the second. The other four books are a matter of getting there. In theory, Card could (and quite possibly will) continue writing Ender books until he dies. There is no definite end. There is no overarching goal. There is only the universe. 

Further, Card's protagonists always have special knowledge which no one else has. They do not communicate this knowledge (whether by decision or inability), but it is absolutely necessary to the whole of humanity. Instead they carry around their secret (whether represented by a golden plow or a silken egg) bringing about destruction (active or passive) of everyone else by accident. And yet somehow these are the good guys. 

despite my frustrations with Card (a list from which this is only a sampling) I cannot not read him. He draws me in. I get attached to the characters. I never get closure, so I never stop reading. His words ring through my mind in a way that few authors can achieve. And unfortunately, as if it were written by Card himself, this post doesn't really have an ending. 

*Van Name is without a doubt the worst pseudonym I've ever seen - it seems like more of a placeholder. On the off chance that actually is his real name, he should have used a pseudonym. 

I finished Ender's Game. I would have finished it a while ago, but I lost the book for about two weeks. I almost checked it out of the library or re-bought it, but then I decided not to. 

When I began, my friend Biz told me to take my time. Soak it in, she said. It isn't the same the second time. It got dark about halfway through, but I expect this from Orson Scott Card. I can re-read this no problem. 

The last two chapters changed everything. I don't think I could re-read it. It would certainly not be the same if I did, but I don't think I could bring myself to do it. I mean, maybe someday, but certainly not right now. 

I bought Speaker for the Dead, the second book in the series a few days ago. "Second book" is somewhat of an unfair designation, as the series goes so many different directions. There is the main storyline, of which SftD is the second book, but then there is an entire shadow storyline which takes place simultaneously. Further, the books are not all sequels in the way that we normally designate things sequels: they are more of a web of interrelated stories. 

Herein we find my biggest frustration with Orson Scott Card: he cannot let a series end. He is too attached to his characters. On the cover of Slanted Jack by Jack L. Van Name* is a quote from Card, in which he says that he'd like to see Jack in at least a dozen more novels. Card needs to learn to write endings as well as he writes stories. 

Let's take an example: I've been reading The Tales of Alvin Maker. I have read the first three books. While I've enjoyed the series, it should be over. However, there are three more books. Card will introduce characters, only to kill them off two or three chapters later. They will interact minimally with the main storyline and bear no consequence to the plot, but a few chapters were spent unnecessarily discussing their lives. 

At least in the Alvin Maker series there is a definite end. The end is hinted in the first book and openly discussed in the second. The other four books are a matter of getting there. In theory, Card could (and quite possibly will) continue writing Ender books until he dies. There is no definite end. There is no overarching goal. There is only the universe. 

Further, Card's protagonists always have special knowledge which no one else has. They do not communicate this knowledge (whether by decision or inability), but it is absolutely necessary to the whole of humanity. Instead they carry around their secret (whether represented by a golden plow or a silken egg) bringing about destruction (active or passive) of everyone else by accident. And yet somehow these are the good guys. 

despite my frustrations with Card (a list from which this is only a sampling) I cannot not read him. He draws me in. I get attached to the characters. I never get closure, so I never stop reading. His words ring through my mind in a way that few authors can achieve. And unfortunately, as if it were written by Card himself, this post doesn't really have an ending. 

*Van Name is without a doubt the worst pseudonym I've ever seen - it seems like more of a placeholder. On the off chance that actually is his real name, he should have used a pseudonym. 

The End of the Ender: Speaker for the Frustrated

I Don't Even Have a Chimney, or An Historic Account of St. Nick

It's that time of year: Christmas. We trim our trees and hang the lights, knowing that soon St. Nick will arrive, fat and jolly. But who is this cookie-eating, reindeer-driving breaker-and-enterer? How did he become such a cultural institution, while St. Augustine has never visited my house?

Let's look at who St. Nicholas was. He was born in 270AD in Greece, modern day Turkey. His parents died when he was young, so he was taken in by his uncle, himself a bishop. When Nicholas came of age his uncle ordained him as a priest because of upstanding character.

Nicholas was born into a rich family, but his parents associated frequently with the commoners as opposed to the wealthy and bourgeois. By virtue of growing up rich but being among the commoners, Nicholas learned the importance of generosity, earning him a reputation that followed him for his entire life and well beyond.

The most famous tale of his generosity involves three young ladies and their father. He was a single father and poor. He could not afford to pay the dowries for his three daughters. As such, he would have to sell them into prostitution so that they could provide for their own needs. Two consecutive nights Nicholas threw money through the open windows of their house sufficient to cover the dowry of the older two sisters. The father, wanting to know who did this, waited in hiding by the window on the third night. Suspecting this, Nicholas climbed up onto the roof and dropped the money down the chimney.

There are numerous variants of this tale, though it is unlikely that this exact situation occurred more than once. This is to be expected with oral tradition. There is debate about whether he threw purses of currency or lumps of gold. Further, some say he left the money in recently laundered socks hung to dry. Still others say he did this over the course of three years, not days. Whatever the case, it's a beautiful example of Nicholas' generosity, not to mention the generosity of God.

Another story, this one of miraculous nature, involves three children who stayed a night at a butcher's house during a famine. The butcher killed the boys and prepared them to use in a dish. Nicholas showed up and resurrected the boys. It is not uncommon to see these kinds of miraculous deeds accredited to the saints.

This season Nicholas has been gaining a lot of attention for his participation in the council of Nicaea and particularly his opposition to Arius. Arius was teaching that Christ was not divine but instead a created being who became a god. This heresy became known as Arianism (for obvious reasons), the primary proponents of which today are Jehovah's Witnesses. At one point Nicholas became so frustrated with Arius and his ignoring of scripture that he stood up, walked across the room, and slapped Arius in the face. The other attendees persuaded him to apologize, but he certainly made an impact (both literally and physically).

So this leaves one question: where do we get Santa Claus? Well, his name is derived from the Dutch Sinterklaas. The highest rank Saint Nicholas reached was bishop, for which he wore red. He was known for giving gifts, and in the tale of the three women he even gave a gift through he chimney. I do find it funny that the patron saint of thieves becomes the man who breaks in to your house, albeit to leave things behind. And the reindeer and all the fat? It just makes for a good story.

It's that time of year: Christmas. We trim our trees and hang the lights, knowing that soon St. Nick will arrive, fat and jolly. But who is this cookie-eating, reindeer-driving breaker-and-enterer? How did he become such a cultural institution, while St. Augustine has never visited my house?

Let's look at who St. Nicholas was. He was born in 270AD in Greece, modern day Turkey. His parents died when he was young, so he was taken in by his uncle, himself a bishop. When Nicholas came of age his uncle ordained him as a priest because of upstanding character.

Nicholas was born into a rich family, but his parents associated frequently with the commoners as opposed to the wealthy and bourgeois. By virtue of growing up rich but being among the commoners, Nicholas learned the importance of generosity, earning him a reputation that followed him for his entire life and well beyond.

The most famous tale of his generosity involves three young ladies and their father. He was a single father and poor. He could not afford to pay the dowries for his three daughters. As such, he would have to sell them into prostitution so that they could provide for their own needs. Two consecutive nights Nicholas threw money through the open windows of their house sufficient to cover the dowry of the older two sisters. The father, wanting to know who did this, waited in hiding by the window on the third night. Suspecting this, Nicholas climbed up onto the roof and dropped the money down the chimney.

There are numerous variants of this tale, though it is unlikely that this exact situation occurred more than once. This is to be expected with oral tradition. There is debate about whether he threw purses of currency or lumps of gold. Further, some say he left the money in recently laundered socks hung to dry. Still others say he did this over the course of three years, not days. Whatever the case, it's a beautiful example of Nicholas' generosity, not to mention the generosity of God.

Another story, this one of miraculous nature, involves three children who stayed a night at a butcher's house during a famine. The butcher killed the boys and prepared them to use in a dish. Nicholas showed up and resurrected the boys. It is not uncommon to see these kinds of miraculous deeds accredited to the saints.

This season Nicholas has been gaining a lot of attention for his participation in the council of Nicaea and particularly his opposition to Arius. Arius was teaching that Christ was not divine but instead a created being who became a god. This heresy became known as Arianism (for obvious reasons), the primary proponents of which today are Jehovah's Witnesses. At one point Nicholas became so frustrated with Arius and his ignoring of scripture that he stood up, walked across the room, and slapped Arius in the face. The other attendees persuaded him to apologize, but he certainly made an impact (both literally and physically).

So this leaves one question: where do we get Santa Claus? Well, his name is derived from the Dutch Sinterklaas. The highest rank Saint Nicholas reached was bishop, for which he wore red. He was known for giving gifts, and in the tale of the three women he even gave a gift through he chimney. I do find it funny that the patron saint of thieves becomes the man who breaks in to your house, albeit to leave things behind. And the reindeer and all the fat? It just makes for a good story.

I Don't Even Have a Chimney, or An Historic Account of St. Nick

They Call Me Mr. Tea

I like tea. This, as you may know, is a huge understatement. I drink it frequently, whether black, green, oolong, or herbal*. While most people know me as a coffee addict, I drink nearly twice as much tea as I do coffee.

Recently, in an unfortunate turn of events, I got a stomach ulcer**. This is my second ulcer, and it will probably not be my last, seeing as they are caused by a virus. Even a sip of coffee resulted in stabbing pain just beneath my ribs and slightly off center to the right – the exact location of my ulcer. Tea it is.

English breakfast tea is a life saver, or at least a headache preventer and zombie cure. It's a delicious source of caffeine, albeit in a lower quantity than coffee. However, herbal teas have a lot of health benefits, and particularly many that are good when you have an ulcer. As such, I bought an herbal tea sampler.

The teas varied in quality, but one was head and shoulders above the others. Oh the cinnamon and apple goodness, chock full of chamomile and hibiscus…you are the most perfect tea an evening could ask for. Yes, you are the reason this box of tea exists.

I immediately head back to Red Apple to pick up a box of this tea. Much to my chagrin, it is not there. Come on Red Apple – all you are good for is items I need last minute, expired food, and this, and now you fail at one of the three. Disappointing.

A few days later I’m at Safeway buying bagels***. I wander aimlessly around the store looking for sales and deals, as I generally do when I’m in no hurry. I notice that Celestial Seasonings is on sale, 2/$5. What was that one I liked so much? I’ll know it when I see it. Something with chamomile…honey vanilla chamomile? That sounds right. I buy two boxes. After all, it’s on sale. I head home, excited to enjoy another cup of this tea. I impatiently heat the water and brew. It’s delicious, but disappointingly not the right one.

Days later I find myself once again at Safeway, having just discovered the Just4U deals on their app. Once again I find myself in the tea aisle with the sale still going on. I notice a box – Apple Cinnamon Spice. I check the ingredients, finding exactly what I expected to find. It’s on.

Back home, I tap my fingers on the counter as water heats. After what seems like an eternity, I sip the tea, allowing the warm and naturally sweet tea to glide lazily across my palate. Enraptured, I still realize it doesn’t taste quite like what I had before. Wait, I still have half of that sampler! I can look at the box and see exactly what it was. STASH TEA? It wasn’t even Celestial Seasonings? I bought the correct tea, but in a completely different brand! Everything makes sense. Different or not, it’s every bit as wonderful, being quite possibly the most perfect chamomile tea I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.

At the beginning of the week I had one box of chamomile-based tea. I now have four. Honey vanilla chamomile was a delicious mistake to make, not to mention begin helpful to my insomnia. At this rate, they will call me Mr. Tea. And let me tell you, I pity the fool who doesn’t enjoy this hot and delicious infusion.


*I realize herbal teas are not actually tea at all. I rightly include rooibos and yerba mate in the herbal category. I've never gotten very into white tea.
**I had recorded a video about this. However, the video sucked so I didn't upload it. Even with editing, there was not enough quality material to make an entertaining video.
***Until recently bagels were generally all I bought at Safeway. However, their app has offered me some good deals recently, so I've been shopping there a bit more. It is probably the best balance of price and quality in a convenient location at this point in my life.

I like tea. This, as you may know, is a huge understatement. I drink it frequently, whether black, green, oolong, or herbal*. While most people know me as a coffee addict, I drink nearly twice as much tea as I do coffee.

Recently, in an unfortunate turn of events, I got a stomach ulcer**. This is my second ulcer, and it will probably not be my last, seeing as they are caused by a virus. Even a sip of coffee resulted in stabbing pain just beneath my ribs and slightly off center to the right – the exact location of my ulcer. Tea it is.

English breakfast tea is a life saver, or at least a headache preventer and zombie cure. It's a delicious source of caffeine, albeit in a lower quantity than coffee. However, herbal teas have a lot of health benefits, and particularly many that are good when you have an ulcer. As such, I bought an herbal tea sampler.

The teas varied in quality, but one was head and shoulders above the others. Oh the cinnamon and apple goodness, chock full of chamomile and hibiscus…you are the most perfect tea an evening could ask for. Yes, you are the reason this box of tea exists.

I immediately head back to Red Apple to pick up a box of this tea. Much to my chagrin, it is not there. Come on Red Apple – all you are good for is items I need last minute, expired food, and this, and now you fail at one of the three. Disappointing.

A few days later I’m at Safeway buying bagels***. I wander aimlessly around the store looking for sales and deals, as I generally do when I’m in no hurry. I notice that Celestial Seasonings is on sale, 2/$5. What was that one I liked so much? I’ll know it when I see it. Something with chamomile…honey vanilla chamomile? That sounds right. I buy two boxes. After all, it’s on sale. I head home, excited to enjoy another cup of this tea. I impatiently heat the water and brew. It’s delicious, but disappointingly not the right one.

Days later I find myself once again at Safeway, having just discovered the Just4U deals on their app. Once again I find myself in the tea aisle with the sale still going on. I notice a box – Apple Cinnamon Spice. I check the ingredients, finding exactly what I expected to find. It’s on.

Back home, I tap my fingers on the counter as water heats. After what seems like an eternity, I sip the tea, allowing the warm and naturally sweet tea to glide lazily across my palate. Enraptured, I still realize it doesn’t taste quite like what I had before. Wait, I still have half of that sampler! I can look at the box and see exactly what it was. STASH TEA? It wasn’t even Celestial Seasonings? I bought the correct tea, but in a completely different brand! Everything makes sense. Different or not, it’s every bit as wonderful, being quite possibly the most perfect chamomile tea I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.

At the beginning of the week I had one box of chamomile-based tea. I now have four. Honey vanilla chamomile was a delicious mistake to make, not to mention begin helpful to my insomnia. At this rate, they will call me Mr. Tea. And let me tell you, I pity the fool who doesn’t enjoy this hot and delicious infusion.


*I realize herbal teas are not actually tea at all. I rightly include rooibos and yerba mate in the herbal category. I've never gotten very into white tea.
**I had recorded a video about this. However, the video sucked so I didn't upload it. Even with editing, there was not enough quality material to make an entertaining video.
***Until recently bagels were generally all I bought at Safeway. However, their app has offered me some good deals recently, so I've been shopping there a bit more. It is probably the best balance of price and quality in a convenient location at this point in my life.

They Call Me Mr. Tea

The Beginning of the Ender

[Earlier in the week I posted a video on YouTube in order to motivate myself to write. In it I stated that anyone could punch me in the arm should I not update my blog once and upload three videos to YouTube. This is said blog post. Want to watch the videos? (1) (2) (3)]

About two weeks ago I finished a book and couldn't decide what to read next. I had been meaning for a while to read Michael Crichton's final book, Micro, but it is still rather pricy as it is only available in hardcover. When it is released paperback or I find it used, I will buy it. I walk into the library, trying to decide what to read. There it sits, highlighted on the shelf: Micro. I check it out.

Getting home, I immediately begin reading it. Mystery and intrigue fill the first chapter. From there it steadily goes downhill. I have no attachment whatsoever to the characters. I know they are going to die, and I don't care. A storyline with a great deal of potential is boring. A far-out, non-scientific event is given a shallow, illogical scientific explanation. I give it about 150 pages before returning it to the library.

The time has come. I have put it off for too long. I will read Ender's Game.

Frankly, I have been afraid to read this book for a considerable amount of time. It is too culturally entrenched. I already hate Lord of the Rings. If I don't love Ender's Game, it's over. I find this to be the favorite book of a lot of nerdy girls, a group I certainly don't want to alienate. "I've never read it," is much better than, "I don't like it." But the time has come. It's being released as a movie next year, and I have to read it before I see the movie.

I shouldn't be afraid of this: this is Orson Scott Card. Don't get me wrong - he has written some crap. This being said, he has also written some amazing stuff. What with the general sense of agreement on which is which, I should not be concerned. Further, I've been told that some of his Seventh Day Adventist themes that seem to be crowbarred into some of his other books (i.e. the later books in the Legends of Alvin Maker series) are absent from this series. Okay, fine, I'll do it. Here we go.

After work on Tuesday I walk up the hill to Half Price Books. I head straight to the sci-fi section. I pick up Ender's Game. I consider buying the rest of the series (or at least the four they have on the shelf), but I'm trying not to spend very much money, so I only buy the first. I check the board games section, but decide not to pick anything up*. Discipline. I do need to remember that they have a deal going next month - buy $25 in gift cards, get a $5 card free.

I brought it home and immediately began reading. Card does not waste our time with background or description of characters. After all, those will be interspersed throughout the story and are not as such necessary at the beginning. The character interactions reveal everything we need to know. We can be thrown straight into the story with little difficulty. And he's got me. We all know what will happen, but how? Oh how?

As of yet, I don't know how. But I'm finding out, and thus far I'm loving it. I will soon go back and buy the rest. I look forward to seeing the movie. And, much like the episode of Seinfeld in which George pretends to be a socialist leader, "the future of the world depends on the outcome of this 'game.'"

*It was very hard not to buy Sid Meier's Civilization: The Boardgame.

[Earlier in the week I posted a video on YouTube in order to motivate myself to write. In it I stated that anyone could punch me in the arm should I not update my blog once and upload three videos to YouTube. This is said blog post. Want to watch the videos? (1) (2) (3)]

About two weeks ago I finished a book and couldn't decide what to read next. I had been meaning for a while to read Michael Crichton's final book, Micro, but it is still rather pricy as it is only available in hardcover. When it is released paperback or I find it used, I will buy it. I walk into the library, trying to decide what to read. There it sits, highlighted on the shelf: Micro. I check it out.

Getting home, I immediately begin reading it. Mystery and intrigue fill the first chapter. From there it steadily goes downhill. I have no attachment whatsoever to the characters. I know they are going to die, and I don't care. A storyline with a great deal of potential is boring. A far-out, non-scientific event is given a shallow, illogical scientific explanation. I give it about 150 pages before returning it to the library.

The time has come. I have put it off for too long. I will read Ender's Game.

Frankly, I have been afraid to read this book for a considerable amount of time. It is too culturally entrenched. I already hate Lord of the Rings. If I don't love Ender's Game, it's over. I find this to be the favorite book of a lot of nerdy girls, a group I certainly don't want to alienate. "I've never read it," is much better than, "I don't like it." But the time has come. It's being released as a movie next year, and I have to read it before I see the movie.

I shouldn't be afraid of this: this is Orson Scott Card. Don't get me wrong - he has written some crap. This being said, he has also written some amazing stuff. What with the general sense of agreement on which is which, I should not be concerned. Further, I've been told that some of his Seventh Day Adventist themes that seem to be crowbarred into some of his other books (i.e. the later books in the Legends of Alvin Maker series) are absent from this series. Okay, fine, I'll do it. Here we go.

After work on Tuesday I walk up the hill to Half Price Books. I head straight to the sci-fi section. I pick up Ender's Game. I consider buying the rest of the series (or at least the four they have on the shelf), but I'm trying not to spend very much money, so I only buy the first. I check the board games section, but decide not to pick anything up*. Discipline. I do need to remember that they have a deal going next month - buy $25 in gift cards, get a $5 card free.

I brought it home and immediately began reading. Card does not waste our time with background or description of characters. After all, those will be interspersed throughout the story and are not as such necessary at the beginning. The character interactions reveal everything we need to know. We can be thrown straight into the story with little difficulty. And he's got me. We all know what will happen, but how? Oh how?

As of yet, I don't know how. But I'm finding out, and thus far I'm loving it. I will soon go back and buy the rest. I look forward to seeing the movie. And, much like the episode of Seinfeld in which George pretends to be a socialist leader, "the future of the world depends on the outcome of this 'game.'"

*It was very hard not to buy Sid Meier's Civilization: The Boardgame.

The Beginning of the Ender

The Business of Busyness

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Things have been crazy since I've gotten back from vacation. I've been writing, but nothing for here. I have been updating my list of concepts, so that's a good start.

Expect a post Thursday, then maybe another this weekend. A lot of stuff coming down the line, here and in general. But that's all you get for now: it's 4:38am, and I would still be asleep if I didn't need to work in less than an hour.

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Things have been crazy since I've gotten back from vacation. I've been writing, but nothing for here. I have been updating my list of concepts, so that's a good start.

Expect a post Thursday, then maybe another this weekend. A lot of stuff coming down the line, here and in general. But that's all you get for now: it's 4:38am, and I would still be asleep if I didn't need to work in less than an hour.

The Business of Busyness

How Did I Get Here?

[This was written nearly 24 hrs ago. It includes a photo Blogger isn't currently allowing me to upload.]

This is at least the fourth post in which I've mentioned it: I'm on vacation. Right now I'm in the air, flying from Pittsburg to Manchester, via Baltimore-Washington. This, you might know, was not exactly the plan. Indeed, it was not my plan at all. 

Don't get me wrong: New Hampshire has been on the agenda for months. I bought a Greyhound ticket almost three weeks ago, narrowly missing the most discounted rate. My ticket was to leave last night and arrive this morning. This put me there in time for my friend's birthday party, the pretext for us finally getting to see each other after so many years. 

But wait - remember my previous post? Oh yes, Hurricane Sandy. While what's saw was minor, my bus went through Philadelphia, New York City, and Boston. None of these three are pleasant places to pass through right now. Greyhound? Not happening. 

Greyhound customer service is deplorable. I called customer service to find out if trains would be running. "I don't know. Call the stations." That was the most helpful thing I got. Since the stations were completely closed down with zero employees, phones rang and rang. I left a message for one station, the hung up after enough rings to determine a second to not have voicemail. 

I then called Delta Air. I need to change the city of origin on my return trip, since I won't be able to get to Manchester to fly out. To be fair, Delta had nothing to do with my being unable to get there. When I called, they told me that changing my ticket would result in a $200 penalty. Unfortunately my ticket was only $173.98*. So how much credit does this leave me for a new ticket? $26.02. Negative. Yes, they wanted me to pay the price of a new ticket PLUS $26.02. Had I not been able to get there, I'd have just not shown up. This belongs on Anderson Cooper's Ridiculist**. 

Amtrak was as awesome as Greyhound was horrible. They sold me a ticket, offering me a full refund should I not be able to use it. I have barely begun the process of getting my Greyhound refund. Harrisburg to Philthadelphia to Boston to Concord. Complete avoision of New York. This is Tuesday. I had decided the trip wasn't happening, but thanks to Amtrak it's back on. 

I make arrangements to get to the stations such***. All I need to do is pack my bags. Suddenly I get an email:

That schedule has been cancelled due to a-service-disruption. There is no alternate service available. To speak to a customer service representative about travel options such as selecting another date or destination call us at 8772319448 at your earliest convenience. 

This is not happening. It was off, then back on, now off again. We look at plane tickets, but everything is upwards of $500, and some of them may still be cancelled. My brother-in-law Tony (which is weird to say, because I've known the guy for years and he's been my BiL for less than a week) offers to give me a ride halfway. My friend Jared (the one I'm visiting) calls me to tell me that Southwest is offering flights from Pittsburg to Manchester for around $100. I call Tony and ask him for a ride. It's on. Ticket bought, ride secured. 

We get a later start than planned, but we still have plenty of time for the road trip to Pittsburg. Until the rain. And the wind. And the GPS gives us wrong directions. Let's just say I got to the airport about 45 minutes before my flight, when realistically we left plenty of time to have at least an hour and a half. 

Check in was simple. TSA was amazing. I actually stopped to commend TSA for providing the smoothest TSA experience I've ever had, even before the latest round of changes****. I was to the airport with sufficient time to get a soft pretzel in the terminal. 

I'm now in the air. It's happening. After all this thinking it wasn't happening, it's happening!

I had it planned. This is the responsible thing to do. But in the end, my plan means nothing. Ultimately God is in control. His plan is often not the same as my plan. But when I don't get too upset about my plan not happening, I'm always amazed at how much better his plan is than mine. 

*For those of you who have heard me cite my ticket price as $191.xx, I was wrong. I checked on it to get an exact number for this. Sorry for the confusion. 

**Dear Apple, in the future, please build your iOS devices already knowing the word Ridiculist. Also, while we are discussing the great men of CNN, if you could add a voice option that sounds like Wolff Blitzer, that would be awesome. Thank you in advance. 

***This just means I asked my mom for a ride, but it makes me sound like I'm still in high school if I say that. 

****To be fair, I'd never flown pre-September 11, 2001. 

[This was written nearly 24 hrs ago. It includes a photo Blogger isn't currently allowing me to upload.]

This is at least the fourth post in which I've mentioned it: I'm on vacation. Right now I'm in the air, flying from Pittsburg to Manchester, via Baltimore-Washington. This, you might know, was not exactly the plan. Indeed, it was not my plan at all. 

Don't get me wrong: New Hampshire has been on the agenda for months. I bought a Greyhound ticket almost three weeks ago, narrowly missing the most discounted rate. My ticket was to leave last night and arrive this morning. This put me there in time for my friend's birthday party, the pretext for us finally getting to see each other after so many years. 

But wait - remember my previous post? Oh yes, Hurricane Sandy. While what's saw was minor, my bus went through Philadelphia, New York City, and Boston. None of these three are pleasant places to pass through right now. Greyhound? Not happening. 

Greyhound customer service is deplorable. I called customer service to find out if trains would be running. "I don't know. Call the stations." That was the most helpful thing I got. Since the stations were completely closed down with zero employees, phones rang and rang. I left a message for one station, the hung up after enough rings to determine a second to not have voicemail. 

I then called Delta Air. I need to change the city of origin on my return trip, since I won't be able to get to Manchester to fly out. To be fair, Delta had nothing to do with my being unable to get there. When I called, they told me that changing my ticket would result in a $200 penalty. Unfortunately my ticket was only $173.98*. So how much credit does this leave me for a new ticket? $26.02. Negative. Yes, they wanted me to pay the price of a new ticket PLUS $26.02. Had I not been able to get there, I'd have just not shown up. This belongs on Anderson Cooper's Ridiculist**. 

Amtrak was as awesome as Greyhound was horrible. They sold me a ticket, offering me a full refund should I not be able to use it. I have barely begun the process of getting my Greyhound refund. Harrisburg to Philthadelphia to Boston to Concord. Complete avoision of New York. This is Tuesday. I had decided the trip wasn't happening, but thanks to Amtrak it's back on. 

I make arrangements to get to the stations such***. All I need to do is pack my bags. Suddenly I get an email:

That schedule has been cancelled due to a-service-disruption. There is no alternate service available. To speak to a customer service representative about travel options such as selecting another date or destination call us at 8772319448 at your earliest convenience. 

This is not happening. It was off, then back on, now off again. We look at plane tickets, but everything is upwards of $500, and some of them may still be cancelled. My brother-in-law Tony (which is weird to say, because I've known the guy for years and he's been my BiL for less than a week) offers to give me a ride halfway. My friend Jared (the one I'm visiting) calls me to tell me that Southwest is offering flights from Pittsburg to Manchester for around $100. I call Tony and ask him for a ride. It's on. Ticket bought, ride secured. 

We get a later start than planned, but we still have plenty of time for the road trip to Pittsburg. Until the rain. And the wind. And the GPS gives us wrong directions. Let's just say I got to the airport about 45 minutes before my flight, when realistically we left plenty of time to have at least an hour and a half. 

Check in was simple. TSA was amazing. I actually stopped to commend TSA for providing the smoothest TSA experience I've ever had, even before the latest round of changes****. I was to the airport with sufficient time to get a soft pretzel in the terminal. 

I'm now in the air. It's happening. After all this thinking it wasn't happening, it's happening!

I had it planned. This is the responsible thing to do. But in the end, my plan means nothing. Ultimately God is in control. His plan is often not the same as my plan. But when I don't get too upset about my plan not happening, I'm always amazed at how much better his plan is than mine. 

*For those of you who have heard me cite my ticket price as $191.xx, I was wrong. I checked on it to get an exact number for this. Sorry for the confusion. 

**Dear Apple, in the future, please build your iOS devices already knowing the word Ridiculist. Also, while we are discussing the great men of CNN, if you could add a voice option that sounds like Wolff Blitzer, that would be awesome. Thank you in advance. 

***This just means I asked my mom for a ride, but it makes me sound like I'm still in high school if I say that. 

****To be fair, I'd never flown pre-September 11, 2001. 

How Did I Get Here?

A Wedding Crasher Named Sandy, or Don't Believe the Frankenhype

As you know from my last past, I'm currently in Pennsylvania. Or perhaps I only mentioned that I was flying without mentioning my destination, in which case this could be the first time you knew where I was going. Either way, I'm in Pennsylvania until Thursday.

On Friday, shortly after my arrival, I began hearing about Frankenstorm: Hurricane Sandy joining forces with another large front, coming off water and over land in the mid-Atlantic.
On Saturday my sister got married. The wedding was great. I managed to not cry until my other sister gave a toast at the reception. That being said, I'm no wedding writer. Moving along.

Saturday evening after the wedding I headed back to my mom's house, obviously exhausted. Sunday we did a bit of preparation, acquiring supplies and such. Fortunately my mom keeps her house, and doubly so her kitchen, quite well stocked, so disaster preparation is a minimal task. This meant that we could spend time resting up from the wedding. Monday I spent some time on tasks like filling buckets and pots with water, just in case the power went out and we were unable to draw water. My mom and I found a few extra candles in a box of stuff, certain to be useful later.
And then the storm came.

Wind. Heavy rain. It was all there, but not yet to the extent we were expecting. However, for early in the storm, this was bad. If this is only a foreshadow, we are in trouble.

Prior to the storm, this
tree was full of leaves.

The ditch in front of the house was beginning to clog, so I used a hoe to dig a pile of leaves out of it, along with a few rocks and the occasional stick (the originating causes of the damming effect). Trees had been full of leaves only a few hours ago. Now the leaves are gone, though in some cases they are still attached to branches, which are themselves grounded.

After getting leaves unjammed several places, I noticed a bush in the ditch. It looked dead, but had formerly been growing in the side of the ditch where roots kept hold. It was blocking leaves and creating a dam, with water backed up about 8 inches deep behind it. I went back to the house to confirm with my mom that the bush was dead, then headed back to the bush with the two-handed pruning shears.

I jump into the ditch, quite glad to be wearing boots to keep my feet dry. I cut away at the bush, throwing the scraps into the yard. I fall, using the remainder of the bush to catch myself and not end up face down in a puddle of filthy water. With each passing car I jump out of the ditch, just in case*. It falls under this new thing I was trying: safety first. I finally get the dead bush out, followed by most of the leaves. Those I don't remove are still dislodged by their lack of support and float away.

As I am getting out of the ditch, a far more complicated task than normal given this weather, a gust of wind nearly knocks me over. A leaf hits my face, instantly leaving it numb. When I arrive inside, I ask my mom the question she always hates to hear: "Am I bleeding?" Fortunately, this time the answer is no.

Hours later the power outage begins. I spend my time mostly reading Freakenomics by candlelight and eating salt water taffy left over from the wedding reception. Quite pleasingly, the power comes on after about two hours, not the several days we'd been told to anticipate.

The heaviest part of the storm was over by about 10 PM, only hours after the meteorologists had anticipated the peak period to begin. Today I once again cleaned leaves and rocks out of the ditch, as well as picking up broken limbs and the pieces of the aforementioned bush. Flooding throughout the area was minimal, and most people here have regained power. I've slept through bigger storms than this. I understand the storm was much worse other places, but here in central Pennsylvania, Frankenstorm was a whole lot of Frankenhype.

*There was a car accident across the street Sunday evening. No one was injured as far as I know, which was no small miracle as it was a car overturned, then hit by a truck. At least twice we've had cars in our ditch. There have been others. This area has a much higher-than-average rate of car accidents. Conditions were also bad. I was not being irrational.

As you know from my last past, I'm currently in Pennsylvania. Or perhaps I only mentioned that I was flying without mentioning my destination, in which case this could be the first time you knew where I was going. Either way, I'm in Pennsylvania until Thursday.

On Friday, shortly after my arrival, I began hearing about Frankenstorm: Hurricane Sandy joining forces with another large front, coming off water and over land in the mid-Atlantic.
On Saturday my sister got married. The wedding was great. I managed to not cry until my other sister gave a toast at the reception. That being said, I'm no wedding writer. Moving along.

Saturday evening after the wedding I headed back to my mom's house, obviously exhausted. Sunday we did a bit of preparation, acquiring supplies and such. Fortunately my mom keeps her house, and doubly so her kitchen, quite well stocked, so disaster preparation is a minimal task. This meant that we could spend time resting up from the wedding. Monday I spent some time on tasks like filling buckets and pots with water, just in case the power went out and we were unable to draw water. My mom and I found a few extra candles in a box of stuff, certain to be useful later.
And then the storm came.

Wind. Heavy rain. It was all there, but not yet to the extent we were expecting. However, for early in the storm, this was bad. If this is only a foreshadow, we are in trouble.

Prior to the storm, this
tree was full of leaves.

The ditch in front of the house was beginning to clog, so I used a hoe to dig a pile of leaves out of it, along with a few rocks and the occasional stick (the originating causes of the damming effect). Trees had been full of leaves only a few hours ago. Now the leaves are gone, though in some cases they are still attached to branches, which are themselves grounded.

After getting leaves unjammed several places, I noticed a bush in the ditch. It looked dead, but had formerly been growing in the side of the ditch where roots kept hold. It was blocking leaves and creating a dam, with water backed up about 8 inches deep behind it. I went back to the house to confirm with my mom that the bush was dead, then headed back to the bush with the two-handed pruning shears.

I jump into the ditch, quite glad to be wearing boots to keep my feet dry. I cut away at the bush, throwing the scraps into the yard. I fall, using the remainder of the bush to catch myself and not end up face down in a puddle of filthy water. With each passing car I jump out of the ditch, just in case*. It falls under this new thing I was trying: safety first. I finally get the dead bush out, followed by most of the leaves. Those I don't remove are still dislodged by their lack of support and float away.

As I am getting out of the ditch, a far more complicated task than normal given this weather, a gust of wind nearly knocks me over. A leaf hits my face, instantly leaving it numb. When I arrive inside, I ask my mom the question she always hates to hear: "Am I bleeding?" Fortunately, this time the answer is no.

Hours later the power outage begins. I spend my time mostly reading Freakenomics by candlelight and eating salt water taffy left over from the wedding reception. Quite pleasingly, the power comes on after about two hours, not the several days we'd been told to anticipate.

The heaviest part of the storm was over by about 10 PM, only hours after the meteorologists had anticipated the peak period to begin. Today I once again cleaned leaves and rocks out of the ditch, as well as picking up broken limbs and the pieces of the aforementioned bush. Flooding throughout the area was minimal, and most people here have regained power. I've slept through bigger storms than this. I understand the storm was much worse other places, but here in central Pennsylvania, Frankenstorm was a whole lot of Frankenhype.

*There was a car accident across the street Sunday evening. No one was injured as far as I know, which was no small miracle as it was a car overturned, then hit by a truck. At least twice we've had cars in our ditch. There have been others. This area has a much higher-than-average rate of car accidents. Conditions were also bad. I was not being irrational.

A Wedding Crasher Named Sandy, or Don't Believe the Frankenhype

What's Done in the Dark Will Come to the Flight

It's 2am PDT. I don't know about local time, as I have no idea where I am.

Sometime between the last time I flew and now I developed a fear of flying. Really, it's likely just the fact that I've slept at most 30 mins since 4:10am yesterday. And I slept only a matter of about 4 hours last night.

Coca Cola is helping to calm my nerves. So is writing. And really, it's all Jesus' doing. He's just using two of my favorite tools.

I think I land in Minneapolis in two hours, but I'm not sure thanks to time zones. Local time will be 6:05am I think. I have a one hour layover, during which I plan to post this. Part of me wishes I had longer: I think this is the airport at which I had both of my layovers last time, in which case they have a pretty cool bookstore in the airport. Not that I need to buy even more books right now.

On my way back my layover is in Atlanta. Never been to the city or airport before, so this will cross one of those off the list, even if it is brief. Maybe someday I will return for the city itself.

I don't fly very much at all. I don't drink Coke all that much. Frankly, I'm probably scared of the wrong one of those two. But I think maybe, just maybe, I can get some sleep now. Goodnight.

[update: slept roughly 1.5 hrs. That's also the 24 hr total. 48 hr total will in a few minutes be about 5.5. Also just recorded a video about Burger King. Didn't their breakfast used to be bigger?]

It's 2am PDT. I don't know about local time, as I have no idea where I am.

Sometime between the last time I flew and now I developed a fear of flying. Really, it's likely just the fact that I've slept at most 30 mins since 4:10am yesterday. And I slept only a matter of about 4 hours last night.

Coca Cola is helping to calm my nerves. So is writing. And really, it's all Jesus' doing. He's just using two of my favorite tools.

I think I land in Minneapolis in two hours, but I'm not sure thanks to time zones. Local time will be 6:05am I think. I have a one hour layover, during which I plan to post this. Part of me wishes I had longer: I think this is the airport at which I had both of my layovers last time, in which case they have a pretty cool bookstore in the airport. Not that I need to buy even more books right now.

On my way back my layover is in Atlanta. Never been to the city or airport before, so this will cross one of those off the list, even if it is brief. Maybe someday I will return for the city itself.

I don't fly very much at all. I don't drink Coke all that much. Frankly, I'm probably scared of the wrong one of those two. But I think maybe, just maybe, I can get some sleep now. Goodnight.

[update: slept roughly 1.5 hrs. That's also the 24 hr total. 48 hr total will in a few minutes be about 5.5. Also just recorded a video about Burger King. Didn't their breakfast used to be bigger?]

What's Done in the Dark Will Come to the Flight

How To Pack for a Trip

I'm packing right now for my upcoming trip. Tomorrow (technically Friday morning, as it's 12:55am, but we will say tomorrow) I leave for vacation. My sister gets married on Saturday, followed by my visiting my mom for a few days before heading to New Hampshire for a friend's birthday. So today is a day full of packing.

That is to say, today is supposed to be a day full of packing. I've been off work for more than four hours, and my duffle bag is still empty. I'm really just procrastinating. I figure, what better way to procrastinate than to blog? I couldn't think of an answer either. So here I am, blogging at the library. That's right, I'm such a good procrastinator that I'm not even at home.

Here is a picture of me walking to the library:

So I'm thinking, because that's what I do...why do I procrastinate? Honestly, I don't know. I guess this will give me another thing to think about on my trip. I have a pretty good list of those. Here are some of the things on that list, most (if not all) of which will continue to need thought after the trip.

-servant leadership - leading from the back (negative) vs serving from the front (positive)
-the future - what do I want to do with my life? Goals, priorities, etc
-sabbath/rest - what is the purpose/benefit of this?
-cookies - how can I make better ones?
-gardening - what is th best use of my limited space? This is particularly relevant as I move toward doing more canning and other preservation
-future of blog, etc - it looks like the near future will include some shakeups, including but not limited to more video content, a new location (seriously Google, where are all thes improvements you keep promising?), and possibly even a domain (TheJRMY.com)
-a wife - seriously. I'm not getting any younger here.
-dinosaurs - there isn't anything I need to figure out about dinosaurs. They're just awesome, so I think about them a lot. I'm not kidding.

Yeah, that's a lengthy list. I realize that. But even getting it out of my head and onto paper (albeit not real paper) helps. I always am thinking about a lot of things. It's vital.

Ok time to end this post. I leave you with a YouTube video not of my creation. Speaking of finding a wife...

I'm packing right now for my upcoming trip. Tomorrow (technically Friday morning, as it's 12:55am, but we will say tomorrow) I leave for vacation. My sister gets married on Saturday, followed by my visiting my mom for a few days before heading to New Hampshire for a friend's birthday. So today is a day full of packing.

That is to say, today is supposed to be a day full of packing. I've been off work for more than four hours, and my duffle bag is still empty. I'm really just procrastinating. I figure, what better way to procrastinate than to blog? I couldn't think of an answer either. So here I am, blogging at the library. That's right, I'm such a good procrastinator that I'm not even at home.

Here is a picture of me walking to the library:

So I'm thinking, because that's what I do...why do I procrastinate? Honestly, I don't know. I guess this will give me another thing to think about on my trip. I have a pretty good list of those. Here are some of the things on that list, most (if not all) of which will continue to need thought after the trip.

-servant leadership - leading from the back (negative) vs serving from the front (positive)
-the future - what do I want to do with my life? Goals, priorities, etc
-sabbath/rest - what is the purpose/benefit of this?
-cookies - how can I make better ones?
-gardening - what is th best use of my limited space? This is particularly relevant as I move toward doing more canning and other preservation
-future of blog, etc - it looks like the near future will include some shakeups, including but not limited to more video content, a new location (seriously Google, where are all thes improvements you keep promising?), and possibly even a domain (TheJRMY.com)
-a wife - seriously. I'm not getting any younger here.
-dinosaurs - there isn't anything I need to figure out about dinosaurs. They're just awesome, so I think about them a lot. I'm not kidding.

Yeah, that's a lengthy list. I realize that. But even getting it out of my head and onto paper (albeit not real paper) helps. I always am thinking about a lot of things. It's vital.

Ok time to end this post. I leave you with a YouTube video not of my creation. Speaking of finding a wife...

How To Pack for a Trip

Two Weaks

I know it's been two weeks since my last post. My last post was my most viewed post ever. And it was a pretty heavy post. My next post is another that is very special to me, though not so sad. Anyway, since it's an important post, I really want to do it right.

It's been a busy two weeks, especially as I prepare to go on vacation. One week from today my sister is getting married. Crazy. And really, on the East coast (where she is) it's already Sunday, so one week from yesterday. Point: I haven't had time to write this post properly.

I'll say it again: this upcoming post is very important to me. I don't want to just throw it together. And I could throw together something else to take up space and make my posts more frequent, but I don't feel like that's fair to you. It's a waste of your time if I throw it together just to make my posts look frequent. I have more respect for you than that.

I promise it's coming. For now, this is all you get. I'm sorry, and thank you for your patience.

I know it's been two weeks since my last post. My last post was my most viewed post ever. And it was a pretty heavy post. My next post is another that is very special to me, though not so sad. Anyway, since it's an important post, I really want to do it right.

It's been a busy two weeks, especially as I prepare to go on vacation. One week from today my sister is getting married. Crazy. And really, on the East coast (where she is) it's already Sunday, so one week from yesterday. Point: I haven't had time to write this post properly.

I'll say it again: this upcoming post is very important to me. I don't want to just throw it together. And I could throw together something else to take up space and make my posts more frequent, but I don't feel like that's fair to you. It's a waste of your time if I throw it together just to make my posts look frequent. I have more respect for you than that.

I promise it's coming. For now, this is all you get. I'm sorry, and thank you for your patience.

Two Weaks

What a Difference a Year Makes, or Fuck Cancer

[For the most part, I keep my blog very clean. Some things simply cannot be expressed in this way.]

On Friday it was one year since the day Steve Jobs died. None of us will ever forget his long struggle with pancreatic cancer. It sucked. This being said, I don't know Steve Jobs. If he had lived one hundred years or more, I probably would have still never met him. I have a lot of respect for him as an innovator and a leader in an industry. Give it a few years. Someone else will come along and revolutionize the way we compute. People will begin calling him or her "the new Steve Jobs" or "Steve Jobs of the East" or something like that. 

Jeff's shirt says it all.
Photo cred to Sarah Murphy

About two weeks ago one of my regular customers came in, obviously shaken up: that morning the doctors told him he had pancreatic cancer. Worse, they gave him six months to a year to live. He never did anything to get famous. When he dies, not that many people will know. But I will know.

Who will sit there at my bar and drink a decaf nonfat light whip latte? Who will look out for Jimmy? Who will offer me free guitar lessons repeatedly despite my not taking them?

Every time that I hear about cancer, there is a pain in my soul. As C.S. Lewis says it in Perelandra, "Even Maleldil weeps at the thought of death."* This is not how God intended it.

This evening while talking to my roommate, he reminded me that someday this is where we are all headed. To quote Fight Club, "With a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." I hope I don't go this way. I hope it is quick and painless. Whatever the case, it will happen. Then he asked me the question: when it happens, how many people will truly be upset? Am I impacting and influencing people or just getting by? Think about it. It's worth the time.

*That is quoted from memory. It is as I remember. I cannot look it up as I loaned my copy to a friend, and a quick search of the internet did not turn up that particular quote. 

[For the most part, I keep my blog very clean. Some things simply cannot be expressed in this way.]

On Friday it was one year since the day Steve Jobs died. None of us will ever forget his long struggle with pancreatic cancer. It sucked. This being said, I don't know Steve Jobs. If he had lived one hundred years or more, I probably would have still never met him. I have a lot of respect for him as an innovator and a leader in an industry. Give it a few years. Someone else will come along and revolutionize the way we compute. People will begin calling him or her "the new Steve Jobs" or "Steve Jobs of the East" or something like that. 

Jeff's shirt says it all.
Photo cred to Sarah Murphy

About two weeks ago one of my regular customers came in, obviously shaken up: that morning the doctors told him he had pancreatic cancer. Worse, they gave him six months to a year to live. He never did anything to get famous. When he dies, not that many people will know. But I will know.

Who will sit there at my bar and drink a decaf nonfat light whip latte? Who will look out for Jimmy? Who will offer me free guitar lessons repeatedly despite my not taking them?

Every time that I hear about cancer, there is a pain in my soul. As C.S. Lewis says it in Perelandra, "Even Maleldil weeps at the thought of death."* This is not how God intended it.

This evening while talking to my roommate, he reminded me that someday this is where we are all headed. To quote Fight Club, "With a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." I hope I don't go this way. I hope it is quick and painless. Whatever the case, it will happen. Then he asked me the question: when it happens, how many people will truly be upset? Am I impacting and influencing people or just getting by? Think about it. It's worth the time.

*That is quoted from memory. It is as I remember. I cannot look it up as I loaned my copy to a friend, and a quick search of the internet did not turn up that particular quote. 

What a Difference a Year Makes, or Fuck Cancer

Crazy How-the-Teeth Face - That Guy!

(the title is a typo I made in a note to myself about this guy)

Getting on the light rail to head downtown, I immediately realize there is a Mariners game. Not only is the train packed, but if I time the trip wrong I will have to deal with it again on the way home, this time with them all drunk. Jerseys stand shoulder to shoulder, except one man who sticks out like a sore thumb. My friend, that guy, is certainly not heading to the game.

He actually had crazier eyes, less of a smile, and wasn't on his side.

He sits there in the side facing seat, roughly sixty-five- to senenty-years old. His green, high-water corduroy pants lie in stark contrast to his purple UW sweatshirt. His face is reminiscent of an older, bearded Mr. Timn. In his lap is a cat carrier. The handle is still very much intact, but he is carrying this by a measure of rope, which is wrapped around his wrist.

I suddenly catch a whiff of a horrific fart. I'm blaming the cat, who is freaking out in its carrier. Eventually the smell fades. We go back to the smell of shoulder-to-shoulder dudes, which is somehow a relief versus the aroma of rotten flatulence.The cat's panic continues.

Our friend begins turning the carrier every way, trying to calm the cat. It's looking every direction as its miniature world turns, falling against the sides and back as the down-orientation repeatedly changes. He then presses the carrier against the window. This brings some much-craved stability to the cat's life, allowing it to calm down a bit.

The man coughs. I once again smell the fart smell. Yes, the same fart smell. Could it be his breath? Is that even possible? As I think this, he kisses the cat carrier. Mumbling unintelligibly to his feline friend, he coughs a few more times confirming that it is indeed his breath.

Life is full of interesting characters. Whether it's someone on the bus, someone at the grocery store, or someone writing this blog, pause for a moment to take it all in. If you think life is boring, you aren't paying attention.

(the title is a typo I made in a note to myself about this guy)

Getting on the light rail to head downtown, I immediately realize there is a Mariners game. Not only is the train packed, but if I time the trip wrong I will have to deal with it again on the way home, this time with them all drunk. Jerseys stand shoulder to shoulder, except one man who sticks out like a sore thumb. My friend, that guy, is certainly not heading to the game.

He actually had crazier eyes, less of a smile, and wasn't on his side.

He sits there in the side facing seat, roughly sixty-five- to senenty-years old. His green, high-water corduroy pants lie in stark contrast to his purple UW sweatshirt. His face is reminiscent of an older, bearded Mr. Timn. In his lap is a cat carrier. The handle is still very much intact, but he is carrying this by a measure of rope, which is wrapped around his wrist.

I suddenly catch a whiff of a horrific fart. I'm blaming the cat, who is freaking out in its carrier. Eventually the smell fades. We go back to the smell of shoulder-to-shoulder dudes, which is somehow a relief versus the aroma of rotten flatulence.The cat's panic continues.

Our friend begins turning the carrier every way, trying to calm the cat. It's looking every direction as its miniature world turns, falling against the sides and back as the down-orientation repeatedly changes. He then presses the carrier against the window. This brings some much-craved stability to the cat's life, allowing it to calm down a bit.

The man coughs. I once again smell the fart smell. Yes, the same fart smell. Could it be his breath? Is that even possible? As I think this, he kisses the cat carrier. Mumbling unintelligibly to his feline friend, he coughs a few more times confirming that it is indeed his breath.

Life is full of interesting characters. Whether it's someone on the bus, someone at the grocery store, or someone writing this blog, pause for a moment to take it all in. If you think life is boring, you aren't paying attention.

Crazy How-the-Teeth Face - That Guy!

Love in the Fall

Today is the first day of fall, or autumn if you will. Whatever you call it, it begins today. As such, here is a poem about it that I wrote in college. Either Fall semester 2003 or Spring semester 2004. Also included, videos of me reading the poem and discussing it. Enjoy!

"Love" in the fall is the best "love" of all.
I sit beneath the trees thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst the piles of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, so sweet and soft.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know.

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move on like seasons with moments so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully;
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to, I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dried up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder, something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt, that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know that you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that, I'll just fall.

Video or the about video.

Today is the first day of fall, or autumn if you will. Whatever you call it, it begins today. As such, here is a poem about it that I wrote in college. Either Fall semester 2003 or Spring semester 2004. Also included, videos of me reading the poem and discussing it. Enjoy!

"Love" in the fall is the best "love" of all.
I sit beneath the trees thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst the piles of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, so sweet and soft.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know.

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move on like seasons with moments so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully;
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to, I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dried up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder, something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt, that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know that you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that, I'll just fall.

Video or the about video.

Love in the Fall

I Hate Vicodin

Vicoden makes me shake and feel like crying. Everything is overwhelming. I'm going to try to sleep without it tonight. I'm going to try to never have to take it again.

Vicodin in itself is overwhelming. With the financial stress that this month has been with my surgery and buying some plane tickets and several other things, I don't need that. I'm glad Jesus is there. More than I can say.

I got a receipt today from the oral surgeon. $129. I have no idea what it's for. I didn't authorize it.

Vicoden makes me shake and feel like crying. Everything is overwhelming. I'm going to try to sleep without it tonight. I'm going to try to never have to take it again.

Vicodin in itself is overwhelming. With the financial stress that this month has been with my surgery and buying some plane tickets and several other things, I don't need that. I'm glad Jesus is there. More than I can say.

I got a receipt today from the oral surgeon. $129. I have no idea what it's for. I didn't authorize it.

I Hate Vicodin