We were never millwrights

The sun's rays penetrate the oak's boughs into the glade, and play gently with the pine needles carpeting the ground. Their edges gleam dully as though they are tiny chipmunk foils. My brown leather boots, scarred by close calls with saws and hammers, brush aside leaves from past autumns now forgotten. They scuff the dirt, pushing aside soil transplanted here from receding glaciers.
Yellow-green leaves look down on me, batted about gently by the breeze, waving as though we were best friends. The land here lives and breathes the stories of forgotten men and women. It has lungs but no tongue, leaving me with the sense of great untold history. The loam tugs at the strings holding the purse of history, tied tightly by men too afraid to share.

I feel a connection to the wide sweeps of timber before me, harsh mistresses that have no ties to the soft middle class boy, naïvely tramping about. Don't regale me with tales of your camping, the living you do in the luxury of your warm portable houses, pulled about by monstrous machines.
The stones can tell you stories of men and women camping for months in the deep snows relying on naught but layers of birch bark and thatch. You reside here now, but it was not your hand that tamed the land. Your ancestors were not even here to see the timbers fall and industries rise from grassy fields.
Take my admonitions gently, coos the Old Mother. The trees spreading their limbs are for you to take shade from and rest beneath. I ask only that you think of, and remember, your place. Remember those before you and think of those that will come after. You all rest on my bosom.

bearD

Beards are relentless. A bearD is just a bear standing ferociously on your mouth, daring those around you to look you in the eye.

Sloats and Frains: Preface

I'm playing with the idea of releasing this as a series of vignettes; I want to write it as a reflection and anecdotal account, in addition to the more thorough account I wrote while in Europe.

Preface
Slow boats and fast trains hold the key to my heart. The two mark a time in my life when I didn't have to be somewhere punctually, mostly, and when I could savor moments spent with scenery and thoughts. A summer counting car rides on one hand, and writing a book with train ticket stubs. A new pair of sneakers stepped off the plane into a Mercedes wagon in May and left dilapidated and broken, by train to the airport in August.

MittelrheinBahn is my favorite. It snakes from the Mainz main station, along the glittering Rhein, bends north past Bingen am Rhein at the Knee, up through Koblenz and Bonn, to Köln. Little castles dot the landscape, some sit in the middle of the river--having taken ancient tolls they now smile with age upon the young generations passing by. The slopes above the Rhein are home to expansive vineyards, providing the leaves with a second dose of sun, reflecting off the water. It was this stretch of land that I explored, with two compatriots, most thoroughly in Rheinland-Pfalz during the South-African-World-cup summer of 2010.

I was joined by fellow foreigners, tourists, business people, drunk soccer fans, school-children and families on trips near and far, now scattered to the corners of the globe. That summer changed me. I became more independent, confident and added a language to the bag of things that nothing but time can strip from me (at this point I would like to apologize to everyone that didn't want to hear stories from "when I was abroad" because that can be ever so annoying). I was given time to connect with my ancestral roots and meet distant relatives in the Fatherlands. Summer dripped gold over the sheep speckled hills, chemical reaction mixtures and crumbling castles.

This was inspired by #93 on this post from red Ravine.

"just expressing an opinion belief" [Rant]

We tend to value the fact that people have opinions and beliefs, but not how well thought out or constructed they are (perhaps due to the rise of social media and the ubiquity of simple tools to publish content).

I'll give an example. Recently, with respect to the same-sex marriage controversy, someone commented on a facebook post,

"just expressing an opinion",

in response to

"I'm interested in hearing why you think that...",

about their stance on the issue. Opinions are important. However, in this case opinion was confused with belief. It's important that people think. I love to hear a well thought out belief that conflicts with my own. It makes me evaluate merit and do one of three things: reject the stance due to weakness, change my position completely because of the strength of the argument, or modify my belief based on thoughts I hadn't considered before.

I respect having strong beliefs on the nature and existence of truth, but you should be able to defend them in at least a basic sense. It's difficult to value belief that hasn't been thought through. If your beliefs are based on the Bible, be able to give a reason as to why it's authoritative, and why your interpretation of it supports a belief you espouse. Credence isn't dispensed for free; "always [be] prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect" (1 Peter 3:15).

Just "expressing an opinion" in the guise of sharing a belief is weak, and I don't want to hear it.

Pleased to make your acquaintance

It's a weird morning, when you're using something, and someone else is trying to fix that thing, and they don't realize you're using the thing in question.

Especially if that thing is the showers at the pool.

And the water turns off when you're still all soapy.

And the repair guy walks in.


And then you bargain with him, naked, for a few more minutes of scalding hot water since the cold water got completely turned off.

If this happens zero more times I won't be mad.

brothas dig the lyrics

How important are lyrics in music? I'm still developing an opinion on this. I consider language an important and powerful tool, that has been increasingly undervalued and ignored in favor of saying anything at all. This is something I struggle with personally: using imprecise language or being content with weak statements that don't adequately convey my meaning. Poetry counters this in me completely, because it is the act of playing with language, bending it to one's will and surprising the reader with spice, bite and nuance.

In the last couple of days, I've been listening to a couple of my favorite albums by the band dredg. A friend introduced them to me in high school, and I've followed them since, listening to their albums and enjoying their sound as it twists, wiggles and ultimately retains a consistent voice over the years. The band has written several concept albums, with themes of questioning belief and religion, a Dali painting and a man seeking to cure his moral disease.

I listened to them for a long time, into college years even, without thinking seriously about the lyrics and simply enjoying the music (which is exquisite and vibrant and different than anything else I had heard--calling it art-rock seems appropriate to me). Looking back, this is kind of ironic, considering the themes of the albums. I've been content to experience and appreciate the music solely for its aural quality, to bask in the sound washing over me, purposely ignoring the worldview of the artists.

It turns out that the way the members of dredg see the world is very different than how I see it. I identify with their sense of questioning belief and religion, but we've come to different conclusions. At first I considered this and came to the conclusion that it wasn't appropriate for me to listen to music that was advocating a position in opposition to my beliefs. Looking back on that initial thought though, it seems hasty.

I have plenty of friends with whom I disagree on many things. We're still friends though. We enjoy each other's company and discussion and spending time. I've come to this realization about music as well. It's a friend that I enjoy being around. I respect her opinion, though I don't necessarily have to agree.

In fact, I've learned something from this friend and seen things in a different light.

I was trying to decipher the meaning of the lyrics from one of dredg's songs recently: I Don't Know (live) [music video]. At first blush it seems to be a strong statement of agnosticism, but I don't know if the message is inherently anti-religion or if the writer is merely frustrated and is giving up on searching for meaning apart from himself. There were a lot of interesting takes on the lyrics, but one from Qohelet caught my eye:

Flowing, powerful song; the vocals almost force you to pay attention to the lyrics.

Concerning the anosticism [sic]:

Well I don't know what to believe anymore
But every now and then I feel a moment of awakening
But then it's gone, then it's gone, then it's gone
I'm blanketed by the warmth of ignorance

Apparently, the moments of awakening have enough value to create frustration that they don't pan out to more. It seems like the writer is embittered that the awakening is fleeting because although his blanket is warm, he calls it ignorance.

I totally agree with:

Cause there's no guarantee
Of a god or longevity
Admit you don't know anything
And give it up

although the "it" may mean more than one thing. It is interesting that we communicate as if a possible-god is obligated to guarantee us anything, as if such a being is on trial by us instead of vice versa. Speaking agnostically, if there really was some ultimate, all-knowing being able to guarantee us longevity, a special place, etc., would it be more realistic to suppose that he must prove himself to us or that we must prove ourselves to him? If the latter, then we may well be in a state without all the answers so that this possible-god can assess what we are really interested in finding out / becoming.

Qohelet takes a stab at what makes agnosticism frustrating...the moments of "awakening" and not only being unsure of the existence of a god, but unsure of how we might be supposed to interact. I don't know if this is exactly what dredg meant or not, but the song engaged me and provoked a deeper thought.

Maybe that's the story to hear from this song, an agnostic's view of agnosticism, and how they understand/struggle with/define it. Words like these are enough for me to keep listening. Enough for me to wonder at the meaning behind carefully crafted verses.

The point, via drawn out case study, is that lyrics in music do matter. At least they should. They matter to me even if we're not in accord.
Title inspiration

Animosity, made ya speak but ya spoke

Rap isn't poetry. Poetry is poetry. Rap is rap.
Rap is musical performance. The emcee, as Rakim, one of the best rappers ever put it, is the microphone soloist.
A poem might be sonorous, lovely to the ear, but it--it's still a completely different form. It's not a song.
But just as some of the best poetry has great musicality, some of the best rapping is as densely, tightly packed with figurative language and surprising meaning as a poem.
Often the layers of allusion and secondary meanings are hidden, intentionally so in fact--a marginalized culture is incentivized to speak a language its oppressor doesn't speak.
--Jesse Thorn

Jesse is the host of some my favorite podcasts. He's a thoughtful culture critic as well, and I've gotten many good recommendations from him in the last few years.

He develops the statement above by using as an example, a verse in Jay-Z's song "Threat". The lyrics are explicit, and I won't quote them here, but the way Jay-Z incorporates symbolism and meaning into his verses is pretty incredible. I don't understand many of the references (thank goodness for rapgenius.com), but I do understand a well crafted verse. I understand the desire to be lyrically dominating and to use words fiercely. I'm not looking to "build The Sands on you", but "y'all [will] wish I was frontin'" with my pen...

In the latest Bullseye episode (23 April 2013), Jesse works through some of the lyrics of Threat by Jay-Z in his outshot (9th Wonder on the production). If you have any interest in rap or lyricism, I would suggest a listen below.



Some lyrics may seem prosaic at first blush, but read deeper and appreciate meaning and thought (even if it's about how someone might be threatening violence explicitly).
I'm not going to try and downplay the violence and sexism that exists, much less condone it, but remember: Nickelback makes rock music.
If you don't appreciate rap music, that's fine. But be aware that you're missing out on some delightful word play and electric rhythm.

I stand by Jesse's thesis:

"Rap's not poetry, but that doesn't means it's not worth a close listen."

Nice to meet you, I'm me

I really needed to read this post today.

Things at work haven't been going particularly well, and I feel in danger of my fellow classmates outpublishing, outworking and succeeding in ways that I'm not ( all still true :D ), but I know that doesn't really matter. Not to say I've given up, but I know in my head that I don't need to worry. My heart will catch up eventually, by God's grace.

This morning I got a "thanks", after sending a file to someone who hasn't shown me a lot of patience lately. It felt like a weight had been lifted even though it was just one word in an email. I need to dispense that person some thanks as well. Because I mean it, and because it feels good to reciprocate feelings that are, even in a small way, mutual. It reminded me that even small progresses are good. I underrate progress in small packages, when really, those progresses make a Ph.D. eventually (I hope).

Today, I'm Steve. There is no one else that I have/want to be.

nothing rhymes

I've been eating oranges a lot lately because they're absolutely, incredibly delicious. The formatting was kind of an afterthought, but I like how it turned out. I initially useD capitals at the end of verbs to distinguisH them, but it waS too confusing and didn't differentiatE them clearly. In other news...I'm glad I learned HTML once upon a time.
The formatting is still kind of meh...and I feel like my ad/verb usage is weak, but for a first runthrough I liked the result.

rubbery and pliant, almost waxy in Texture--it slides smoothly, rolls easily, in my Hand.
Thumbnail pierces Skin, releasing a pungent, aromatic Spray, transforming the Room.
Flesh trapped in a protective webby Prison releases pleasant, fierce limonin counter Attacks.

the Orange sits on the Desk taunting me, daring me to open it up and taste its sweetly-bitter Juices.
it promises that my Beard will be wet and sticky by the end.
the Beauty of an Orange lies as much in the Anticipation of those saccharine wet Bites as in Consumption.
my Teeth poke fiercely through the Membrane and my Brain conducts the sensory Orchestra.
notice first the crisp Notes that the Nose picks up, proclaiming, "we have Purchase!"
the Tongue enters boldly like the bombastic Tones of a trombone Section blaring loudly and brightly!
dribbling out the Corners of my Mouth, Nectar is snatched up by eager Fingers, a suspended Cymbal resounding.
i notice the Mess i've made of my Surroundings. it dries quickly, leaving sticky Steps for Mice to meander o'er.
quarter-at-a-time the Carpels are consumed with abandon.
over before it started, Hands lay limply at my Side, drenched and drying.

Makin me ta wanna rite

My friend is an English professor who reminds me of John Keating from the Dead Poets Society. She is a prolific writer and blogger too. Her love of Jesus and of those around her oozes out of her writing and conversation.

It seems to take friends like this to reignite my love of writing. We were talking a few weeks ago, and she suggested a short writing idea. It felt so good to write again--to write about a memory, to write about anything.

I like to have ideas and drafts waiting for me to poke at, to prod, to contribute to and prune.

This afternoon, I decided to eat an orange outside in the sun for a few moments, and I thought about the verbs and nouns around me. I felt the sun beating down on me and the black bench outside my lab. Heat radiates to me directly from our star, and from beneath me through the energy contained in the metal bench, warming and washing me from head to toe. Somehow today brings the cleanest warmth imagined, so I sit, and I munch. The plump navel orange peels easily, leaving me with sticky sweet hands while I eat.

My lightly freckled, blonde haired hands soak it in, pale and white after the bitter, refreshing winter. They bring each plump bit of pale citrus from its place on my juice dotted lap to my lips, waiting with breath abated.

With each bite I'm tenuously satisfied, yet have the desire for more, to jump into a pit of pulpy orange juice and let it saturate my pores, inhale it deeply and breathe it.

The moment is brief, but delicious. Busyness will squeeze the enjoyment of a moment like this from our lives, so I enjoy it while I can.

I'm determined not to be squeezed out like my snack, unless it be into the maw of the worthwhile.

Friends, Redditors, summonermen, stack me your tears;

Friends, Redditors, summonermen, stack me your tears;
I come to bury Bronze, not to be n00b.
The games that summoners throw live after them;
The wins are oft interred with their bone-tooth-necklaces;
So let it be with Bronze. The noble Silver
Hath told you Bronze were feeders:
If it were so, it was a grievous wound,
And grievously hath Bronze QSS'd it.
Here, under leave of Silver and the rest -
For Silver is an honourable tier;
So are they all, all honourable tiers -
Come I to speak in Bronze's promotional series.
It was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Silver says they were feeders;
And Silver is an honourable tier.
He hath brought many n00bl0rds home to Jesse Perring
Whose firstbloods did IE's from the shopkeeper buy:
Did this in Bronze seem feeder?
When that the n00bz have cried, Bronze hath wept:
Lucker-dogs should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Silver says they were feeders;
And Silver is an honourable tier.
You all did see that on the Rift
I thrice presented him Trondomodere's crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this the promo-series?
Yet Silver says they were feeders;
And, sure, he is an honourable tier.
I speak not to disprove what Silver spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did feed there once, not without rage quitting afkers:
What cause withholds you then, to rage with them?
O judgment! thou art fled to Dunning-Kruger,
And men have lost their reason. Volibear with me;
My heart-of-gold is in the coffin there with Bronze,
And I must pause ere I come back to feed.

I made it from Bronze I to Silver V last night, in my favorite game (League of Legends), so Shakespeare seemed appropriate. This means I passed from a lower rating into one with better players, which is hopefully where I belong if I continue to win games, for the uninitiated.

That's Mr. Prosaic Confabulation to you...

A good friend told me about how excited she was to teach college students the next unit in her writing course: memoir. Her students write about their favorite memory in as much detail and nuance as they can. Their stories pop with detail, bubble over with spicy particulars and sizzle with meaning when she's through.
It got me thinking about some of my favorite memories, one of which is completely fabricated. I'm not delusional about this memory--I know it never happened, but it feels as real as if it had. In fact, it seems more real than some memories which actually happened. Brains are so funny sometimes.

This memory is about time with my grandfather at my grandparents house, bordered by a small crick in the back yard. There's an old, rusting, wrought iron and cement bridge which crumbles at the edges in places and spans a very shallow sandy bed no more than 10 feet wide. Neighborhood kids have taken a dirt path to the bridge and crossed to school for generations. It's very unassuming, with simple chain links running along its profile, room enough for two children to pass, perhaps. Growing up, the boy cousins made boats from sticks and leaves to drop from the bridge and race until the end of the property, a mere 50 feet downstream.

One day when my little brother and I stay with my grandparents for the day, while our mum is at work, we decide to make boats with Grandpa. It means we get to go downstairs and work with him in his shop. Grandpa's shop had nearly everything in it. This is by virtue of the fact that a good dutchman throws away nothing if it can be of some use later, real or imagined. Waste not, want not, he always says. The dark side of this is his pickle "juice" drinking habit, balanced by the beautiful grandfather clocks my aunts and uncles all sport in their houses, which he constructed from kits he saved from dumpsters over the years. Grandpa's shop also has Werther's candies.

The boats we make are simple and flat, made in a boat-shape of course, with little keels on the bottom. We sand them down together and Grandpa helps us glue the keels to them. With the keels attached, we're faced with a decision, sail the boats now in the sofly burbling crick, or paint them and wait for them to be christened. Funnily enough, in the part of the memory that transpired in real life, I don't remember who made the decision, but we paint them. Mine is painted red and black; the little bro chooses blue with red. He writes our initials on them of course. That way they match every other item in our toy chest back home.

The painting was the point at which events passed from fact into the realm of fiction, constructed from desires in a child's mind. I don't know at which point the following became entrenched in my memory, vivid as the sun on the dull red brick outside my window, but my tangled mess of neurons holds onto it tenaciously and naïvely.

In my memory, we take our painted boats to the back yard instead of piling into our old and worn, red minivan. We drop the boats in the crick with Grandpa and walk along the bank through neighbors' backyards as the boats slowly drift along the current. The sun shines through the pine trees leaving dappled patterns on the brown, soggy leaves that are left in the spring after the snows finally melt. The afternoon feels golden, lit like the artificial set of a movie. My little brother isn't even part of the memory at this point, poor fellow. In fact, no boats float in the stream, we just walk. It ends there--my Grandpa and me, strolling along the bank. A simple pleasant memory.


The detail about the lighting is probably what tipped me off initially about the falsity of the memory. That and the speed of the crick. In the spring, the crick becomes a creek, moving swiftly and bone-chillingly from the snows dripping in; wade after boats at the peril of your warm tootsies.
Though it's fraught with errors and inconsistencies, I treasure this memory of my Grandpa. This is the memory I wanted to have with him. I wanted it so much that in my mind, it happened.

I shelve it in my brain along with the real memories of my Grandpa. It sits next to us fishing for catfish with my cousins on the side of a channel (We ate those terrible, bottom-feeding fish later. Boiled. I didn't have fish for years because of this.), sits next to camping trips with him listening to Rush on a picnic table with kids cavorting loudly around him, next to uncles and aunts skiing behind us in his ancient, rickety, underpowered fishing boat, next to Sunday afternoons eating pot roast, green bean casserole and mashed potatoes, and hearing him pray for the "lost and sorr'ing (sorrowing) ones".

I don't know why I fabricated this memory, or even if it was on purpose. I'm going to leave it there though, because if I had asked him to, Grandpa would have walked that crick for miles with me.

Meemeemeemee ABC 123

I love visiting cities for all the voices you hear during the course of a day. Some voices speak languages I don't know, some speak in tones that are vibrant, others harsh. Voice tells me something about your attitude currently, and when I've gotten to know you, about your worldview. Listening to voices is an incredible joy: accents twist, cadence tickles, pitch pinches and pace asserts. Some people who study voice and speech can even tell where you're from, very specifically--we share parts of our voices, while retaining the part which makes it ours.

Difference in spoken voice is so salient and delightful. Written voice is also an incredible phenomenon. I didn't have much of an appreciation for it until a few years ago when I began to think more consistently about how my writing sounded, and what it was trying to communicate. Blogging poetry is easy, you sculpt each sentence carefully and with meaning. Each word is chosen carefully to evoke a specific image in the mind of your reader. For me, poetry is the most intentional of writing styles...but this is because I overvalue poetry. Poetry is not the only style with a voice. All writing has a voice and it is up to the writer to clearly enunciate that voice in each word she pens, be it in narrative fiction, poetry, persuasive essay or research paper.
My "poetic" voice in high school was incredibly angsty. Parts of that voice stuck around, but it matured, in the way that my squeaky high voice deepened through puberty. It's fun to read what that early voice had to say, but only in moderation.

My ninth grade high school English teacher really encouraged me to write in my own voice. He loved the zany stories and essays I would write. I really tried hard to be descriptive and let my words drip with savory juices. My vocabulary was growing, and I explored each new word I was learning, trying to fit them in appropriately, and more often humorously. Writing in high school was new and fresh and I loved it. I was finding my voice.

A friend of mine blogs regularly--for the moment. That's not a criticism, it's just acknowledging the reality of this blog, which had regular posts for some time, before going fallow for about 2 years. It happens. In any case, she's blogging, and writing about her life. She writes about God working in her life, about giving up control, about finding her place in her field, about scones and tea. It's fun to read and get insights into what she thinks about. Her voice though is still developing. I hear someone else's voice in her words.
A mutual friend of ours blogs every day. She has a brand, a style and a consistent readership. Her voice is incredibly consistent and vibrant. Few people I know write in this way, and it's clearly hers. This is the voice I hear in my other friend's blog. It's a good voice, but it's not hers (that I know of). I haven't read enough of the first friend's writing to say what her voice might sound like, but I know the voice she speaks with in her blog is nearly identical to the other familiar voice I'm used to reading. I like that voice, but I want my friend to find her own voice. Her writing is good, but I think it can be so much better if she can find that voice, and speak comfortably with it. I want to hear the spunk her spoken voice has, but written. I could be wrong, but I think there's another voice hiding in there, waiting to set words on fire.

I want to hear that voice too.

I ain't afraid of no ghosts!

EDIT: I posted this three days ago, but Blogger apparently disagreed with my request. Well, it's published now...

It's snowing now. We're supposed to be in for a helluva storm, but I'm skeptical. It's fear that the news stations and weather sprinkle into their forecasts, so we'll pay attention. We need some fear, to make sure we take care, to keep our priorities straight, to live life instead of watch it go by. Fear loses its usefulness past these (maybe more) functions. Fear is what would have kept me from working abroad when I was in college, from traveling by myself and exploring places with strangers become friends. Fear is what keeps me from sharing my Jesus with the people around me. Fear is what kept me, at Calvin College, from living the life that Jesus would have. There was no growth there, but several years of contented inaction.

Fear was all I knew as a child. Fear that my parents would die in an auto accident and I would be left with my younger siblings, to try to provide for them, or be separated among our larger family. Fear was always there, lurking, wondering with an overactive imagination, "What if?"

Fear has a hold in inaction, I've found. It delights in the status quo. Moments of spontaneity crush fear.
Asking a crush from high school to dance with me for the first time started to liberate me from my fear (maybe fear of rejection) of women. I can count her as a friend now.
Taking the initiative to step into Prof. Nielsen's office and inform him that, yes, I would like to travel overseas to take a job in Germany, knowing no German, and knowing I would earn no money to put toward my tuition.
I'd like to say that it was faith which propelled me through those decisions and on that course, but it was probably adrenaline in the first case simple curiosity in the second.

My life changed significantly from these two experiences, from taking a pass on fear, taking a chance that it might not be as bad as I could envision. I left the superfluous thinking in my head, and let my feet lead me to a slow dance in a sweaty gym, and to an amazing experience in culture, friendship, language and chemistry.

So take that weather station, I'm not afraid of your banal weather warnings. I'll boldly take to the roads on my way home tonight.


P.S. When you see my grey Vibe in a ditch tonight, kindly call me a tow truck when you get home.

My Kindle 3 Review (Wifi and 3G)

I have had my Kindle for two weeks now and decided to comment on the process that resulted in its purchase.

I was deciding between the Kindle and iPod Touch. Both have internet and book capabilities and each shines in a particular area. As I am not properly acquainted with the Touch, I will only comment on the capabilities and features of the Kindle.

Reading on the Kindle has been very easy, and the formatting is quite nice. This is the main strength of the device and I have no cause for complaint there. Locating and buying books is also quite easy and can be completed in a matter of seconds.

What was of more concern to me as I was researching devices was the online capability of Kindle. I have since found that it handles the mobile versions of sites such as Facebook, Gmail and blogs quite well. I had hoped the device would be well suited for checking email and possibly answering in short replies. It has certainly met that, considering that I am typing this entry from the Kindle. I bought the 3G model and have had occasion to use it to find directions to a wedding, outside of wifi access. It is certainly slower that way but very functional.

The Kindle does not have all of the multimedia capabilities that the Touch may have but it proves itself as a very capable reading device with ancillary internet browsing ability.

This was not intended to be a thorough review, merely to say that the Kindle can do most of what the Touch can and some things better as long as it is remembered that it is primarily an Ereader.

Edit: 1/8/13
I've had the Kindle for almost two years now and I still love it. I've been reading it a lot lately and find it a fantastic device. The Kindle store has been receiving many of my hard earned pennies--it's so easy to find good books. Most of the books that I've wanted to read have been on here and those that aren't I can sometimes find elsewhere (paper isn't so bad after all).
Battery life is still great and it's nice to be able to use the internet on those emergency occasions. Other than that though, it's a little clunky, but the browser is "experimental" for a reason.
TL;DR...I like the Kindle3 and would buy it again in a heartbeat (or receive it as a graduation present, more accurately!).

Summer of 1862

May, too soon. There is just not enough time in the day. But my decisions have been made, some projects finished while others await completion. There is still no time.

Solace in the decision to attend Penn State, happy to meet new friends, yet somewhat doleful...

I've made the best of my time here academically, and I have no regrets about being with my friends or the times we've had. Balance is so terribly difficult to achieve, just try to reach that equilibrium and you will be eaten up. Try your best, live with it.

Conversations deepened through years as friendships have grown. And I'm glad. What does the future and transition hold? Heck if I know. I'm just happy to be in it and have the opportunity.

I just want to share some coffee with you.

Transitions

Hmmm...I haven't posted in a while. Life has been full though. Full of friends, school, preparation and seeing the rewards of hard work come to fruition. This will be an interesting year now, of that I'm sure. A simple decision will land me hundreds of miles either east or west for the next five years of my life. The friends I have made won't be next to me anymore, and their company will be missed.

Further study is an amazing opportunity and blessing for me--a way to use the skills that I've developed to expose new areas of human knowledge...or at least that's the hope. Well then, here I am, (at the end of the beginning),staring at the shrouded entrances to two potential futures, trusting in God's faithfulness. As much as I can.

Two Thirds

I am now about two-thirds through the most memorable summer of my life. In May I embarked with two other students to Germany where I have been working as an intern at Böhringer-Ingelheim, a pharmaceutical company. My German has been getting steadily better, but I worry about what will happen when I return to the States. The work and travel experiences that I have had here have been incredible, and I feel incredibly blessed to have this opportunity. Germany is a fantastic place, and I stand by my belief that it is the people that live in a place which makes it special. It was the same way with China, and I know that I will remember the people that I have interacted with much longer than I will ever remember the places that I have visited. The places are wonderful and beautiful, but the relationships much more so.

Cartwheeling through life

So Dave's bachelor party was pretty great last night (kudos Ben). Some great paintballing was done, welts were received all around and a good time was had. We retired to Brasser's house for pizza, gaming and spirits (some more than others). Hopefully Dave had as good a time as I did, for we both had to drive home, and I enjoyed myself immensely. This morning brought a great breakthrough in Wushu. I was able to perform some cartwheels for the first time...quite the accomplishment for my too-tall, rather uncoordinated body--pretty much the best moment of my life. We'll see how much I enjoy doing engineering homework for the rest of the weekend. Probably a lot.

As of two minutes ago: if one more person complains to me for me not being their partner for beer pong, I might have to take drastic measures.

Ein hundert

Apparently this is the hundredth time that I've attempted to communicate something on the internet via this space (probably 96 times too many). Today is Easter, praise God for the Resurrection! It's even a nice day outside today, which is rather fitting. This morning brought a combined breakfast with Open Bible and GRCCC. It was a great mix of Chinese and Western fare, with some new friends. Lixin was baptized today! They did immersion for the two younger people and sprinkling for the older two. That adds up to four baptisms! It was wonderful. I couldn't stop grinning :D. Also, lunch with Grandpa, Grandma and Nathan was delightful. That is all.

等一等! Jetzt, yo voy 走一走. Guten Nachmittag.

Mountain bikes are not for touring

Nathan and I went on our first longer bike ride of the year yesterday: from Calvin to Rockford via the White Pine trail. It was quite the beautiful day, and our fellow road dwellers weren't even being jerks. Knapp Street was delightfully downhill (which made me worried about the way back), and Riverside park was full of vim and vigor. We made it to Rockford just fine, and had some lunch/supper before heading back.

At the outset of our return trip however, it became apparent that we would have to battle a headwind the whole way back. Twas quite the trip, and like the title says, I have to implore you not to tour with a mountain bike, unless you want a good workout, which is what we got. In general though, it was a fantastic ride and rather enjoyable. I think it was about 40 miles round-trip; perfect for an afternoon jaunt.

Man sagt auf Deutsch: ich konnte gestern Rad fahren.

武術 (Wushu)

So I had my first Wushu lesson today. Wushu is one of the Chinese martial arts. It employs staffs and swords pretty often, but luckily today was just the basics for me, other than some of the more basic staff work. This is going to take a while. I can barely even get the warmups yet :). No matter, it will just take a lot of practice.


Alotalotalot...of practice.

I have the best friends

This is just a quick post, but I have to because I'm floored right now. This evening a couple of my housemates gave me a Chinese-English Bible as a belated birthday present. I was very much caught off guard and could not appreciate it more. I'm fortunate that God blessed me with amazing friends/housemates who are incredibly thoughful. Wo xihuan tamen henduo.

Gute Nacht, buenas noches, 晚安 and good night.

中国教会

I had the most delightful Sunday, kind of. Let me rephrase that. From 2:15pm-3:45pm was the most delightful time I've had in a while. Today I decided to go to Chinese Church instead of Ada Bible. The church is about a minute's walk from my house, which is convenient to be sure. I have some friends who go there, and apparently some I didn't even know go there. At the last minute I got Scott to go with me (he was literally driving in as I was leaving and decided to go on the spot), which was fun. I was ok with going alone, but it was great to have a housemate along.
Just like in China, the church was incredible hospitable. The pastor spoke to us for a while after the service (he's originally from Malaysia, just like Wen!) I was especially very happy to see Penny (Lixin), Yang and Yujing there; they are great.
The pastor who preached was visiting, and originally from Indonesia, so he knew three languages. Since it was the first Sunday of the month, it was in English and Mandarin instead of the typical headsets. The pastor spoke about the Bible as God's gift to us, and our most important tool.
There was food afterward as well, which reminded me of Chinese breakfast in Shanghai...yummy. I will be going back next week :)

Oh, and the title says Chinese church. The first two characters mean China (middle kingdom).

Rangeela 2010

Epic, wonderful, inspiring, beautiful. Oh, sorry, just describing Rangeela over here. It is a showcase of the many diverse cultures that Calvin is host to, put on by students. And it is awesome! One of my favorites was the Chinese act that combined a traditional fan dance, wushu martial arts sequence and an energetic Taiwanese hip-hop dance. I also enjoyed the Indonesian act, which had a kecak chanting sequence done by a small choir, accompanied by dance. These two were particularly interesting to me because I had experience Chinese culture in a very real way over interim (and knew some of the students) and had studied Indonesian music for my World Music class last year. It was cool to see an actual performance, even if it wasn't actually trance-induced ^_^. The last dance was great too. It was an African dance, all of the performers were dressed very colorfully and had lots of energy. I can't help but smile when I see all of the people up there. It's quite the event.

What makes you happy?

I like my roommate a lot, because he makes me think. Don't get me wrong, I think a lot. About heat transfer, thermodynamics and how to compute surface integrals. Those are all fine and good, but I think that other questions are usually more important.

On the way to Founders last night Mark asked, "Are you happy Steve?" Wow. I had to think about that (I think the question may have been in response to some of my bellyaching). I concluded that I was happy about some things and not others. The learning that I am able to do, and the problem solving are my favorite parts about studying at Calvin. Those parts that pertain to my future career. No problem there. The things I'm not happy about are maintaining a GPA at a certain level, trying to keep scholarships up and the constant nagging feeling that I should be working on hw, when I'm not. I think that these things have a place however; they help build character and mold you (just so long as you don't let them break you that is). I hope that I can keep asking myself this question with little deviation in answer.

That said, I think that we put too much stake in being happy. Perhaps fulfilled is a better way to be, or even are you in a position to make a real difference? I want to be both, but I'm not there yet.

How about you? Are you happy/fulfilled/doing something about something?

Una otra vez por favor!

Well, my time in China is done. I could not have enjoyed it more, in fact those were the most amazing 20 days of my life thus far. Immersion in another culture was amazing, especially in one so foreign to me. We're back now though and another semester must begin. It's been nice to be back in the house; I really enjoy living with these guys. Thus far the semester is looking pretty ok. I'm very much enjoying my German class as well as the engineering workload. This Monday I even did something crazy: instead of sitting in my room and doing hw all night, I went out and hung with new and old friends. Can you imagine that? This semester should be a little less busy for me, so I might have a social life for the first time in years. We'll see how this goes.

Tschüss.

P.S. Shrews in haus; woher kommen sie?

Alzheimer's

The loss of memory, a sense of self and knowledge of family is devastating. Similarly is it devastating to watch a loved one slowly succumb, knowing that nothing can be done. To see them confused, trying desperately to remember details, names and faces that once were ingrained, seemingly impossible to forget. For all of the anguish you feel for them, their experience is all the worse, you can't even understand. It's heartbreaking, but you give them a hug and talk all the same. I almost think it's worse in the middle, because the realization is there, that something is not right, that there is something missing. They know what is happening, but they know that there is nothing to be done. Everyone knows, but everyone is powerless, except to be a shoulder, to be a hug, to comfort. To comfort once, twice and many many more times. But that is what is family is for.

We went to clean the house today. Sometimes it seems we will be cleaning that place for years. I don't know how to end this post so I think I'll just leave it at that.

Anticipation

In contrast to the wonderful time I've had with friends and family over break so far, I started thinking about anticipation (we did not used to be friends). For a while I've wanted to get some of these thoughts down as a manner of coming to terms with myself and closing a chapter of my life.

What comes to my mind most when I think about anticipation is all of the negative experiences I had as a child. My most vivid memory of anticipation was for a trip I took with the "Travel" class in sixth grade. It was an exploratory course that looked into how and why we traveled. The most enjoyable part of the class was to be a trip we would take at the end. It was very short and simple because of the non-existent budget the class had: a train ride on the Amtrak from Grand Rapids to Holland. Perhaps one of the safest ways to travel. However the night beforehand was one of the worst nights of my life. I was up for most of it, my insides churning and my mind despairing of any of the painful deaths to which I could imagine myself succumbing (thinking about it now though, there are really only two, derailing and collision, both extremely unlikely, oh well). For me, as a child, the new and unknown were the worst thing I could be put through. They were to be feared (think swimming lessons) and shunned because they represented uncertainty. It was hard to grapple with the notion that not everything I would experience was something I had done before or could handle with ease. This is a very constricting way to live, which is probably why I spent my time reading about people who did the things I was afraid to do. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my childhood, and the time I spent going to other galaxies and doing crazy things through reading, but it was really more of a defense mechanism than anything else.

What caused me to consider all of this is my upcoming trip to China. Having never flown before, I immediately considered thoughts of being lost in any number of places and having everything stolen. Reverting to the instinctual fear. But the funny thing about new things is that because you don't know everything beforehand, there is incredible opportunity. That is the flip side of the coin I have never seen. Considering that, I rethought it a bit: I'm fortunate enough to have the opportunity to fly halfway around the world to visit a country I've only heard of, to see things I've only seen in pictures and to experience a culture like I never have before. I may never have a chance to do his again. Wow, that's kind of entirely different. Could I get lost, dismembered, fed to pigs and forgotten in doing so? Perhaps, but at very least it will be a new experience and I'll probably be surprised enough that having my body rent asunder won't bother me much.

But seriously, I think it's time to embrace the new. Look the unknown in the face, wish it a good day and inquire when tea will be served. We'll see how this goes. (Even more seriously, if you hear about any mass dismembering in China, please let me know.)

True-ish to form

It seems like after each semester is done, I will inevitably dream about failing at least one of my classes. Let's be clear, that didn't happen this year. I'll keep this short in the interest of not boring you.

I was driving with Joel O. in a desert. He was using the wheel, I was working the pedals and we were both sitting in the drivers seat, which is impossible considering that neither of us is the least bit small. I ran a stop-sign for some reason and became angry at Joel when I got the ticket, even though there was nothing he could have possibly done about it.

Considering the amount of dreams we have, compared to the amount of dreams we actually remember, I think I'm getting jipped here. The next time I dream, I demand to recall cross-country skiing with polar bears through the streets of Hudsonville while pulling tricks in the air from jumping off of houses. The polar bears will be equipped with lasers and be playing acoustic guitars real mellow-like (I'm thinking Valley Winter Song by Fountains of Wayne). None of this getting a ticket or failing of classes nonsense.

More than your last retreat

Here is a recipe that will lead to success every time:

Get a cup of coffee + hot chocolate,

wear a warm hoody,

listen to "More Than a Memory" or "Rocking Chair" by P.W. Gopal,

look at a picture of the Straits of Mackinac covered in ice,

imagine you are kayaking beneath the bridge in the summertime.

(a liberal portion of sappiness should also be applied)

That is all...no apologies or excuses.

Feeling Blessed

I thank God that I can live with great friends.

That I can use the intellect that I have been given, no matter how modest.

That my housing situation has been solved and that the worry of having to move has been taken care of (by a move, which went smoothly).

That I can be happily single, and recognize that what happens will happen.

That I have the opportunities to travel abroad extensively in the near future.

That I can worship without fear.

That I can listen to wonderful music.

That I can be transparent and not worry about being judged.

I've been listening to P.W. Gopal, the man who was the music leader at Castaway a few summers back when I was privileged to go there with some awesome guys. These are his lyrics:

You were sent to remind me of faithful things
That there are mountains beneath the sea that I'll never see
That were put in place with gentle hands
Knowing you and I will climb - we'll climb and stand
And let all His grace, let all His grace remind me
--Remind Me



Also, based on the size of his arms, I'm guessing he can lift and perhaps toss about many, many heavy things.

Cold falls

It sprinkles down in little pieces,
resting on my head and shoulders, a blanket.
Nestled in the crevices it fills the folds,
and spills over, falling away in patches.

Dampness begins almost immediately,
where my flesh is left to the air;
tiny crystals melting into a trickle,
a river of molten ice running down my back.

How exhilarating to feel life coursing so,
to feel alive and free and real and right.
The directions to this happy place are simple:
embrace the earth and make your angels of snow.

The Yellow Windows of the Evening Train

The day was passing class by class;
mind filled with Hawthorne and Gibbs.
It was rather prosaic a fall afternoon,
but for the door that opened to me.

Dark brown hair dangled freely,
a frame housing lovely features.
Exquisite to behold, quite the dame,
these are words that go together well.

But for such a rare moment,
it was not unlike any other day.

between the lashes of your eyes

This is what you shall do:
Love the earth and sun and the animals,
Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labors to others,
Hate tyrants, argue not concerning God,
Have patience and indulgence toward the people,
Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown,
Or to any man or number of men,
Go freely with powerful uneducated persons,
And with the young and with the mothers of families,
Read these leaves in the open air,
Every season of every year of your life,
Reexamine all you have been told,
At school at church or in any book,
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul,
And your very flesh shall be a great poem,
And have the richest fluency not only in its words,
But in the silent lines of its lips and face,
And between the lashes of your eyes,
And in every motion and joint of your body.
--Walt Whitman

I was reading "Leaves of Grass" last year, during a Chem lab I think, when I came upon this passage, which is an absolute delight (they should probably make a commercial for bluejeans with it or something). I stumbled upon a representation of it today, which jogged my memory, so naturally I had to share it. There's not necessarily a particular line that I can pick out as a "good" one. The whole passage comes as a package. What it comes down to, is that I want to be this poem.

Largely, I think this passage is Biblical as well. Whitman certainly didn't intend it to be, but except for "argue not concerning God" (anti-evangelism maybe?), I think that Jesus lived each line of the poem. His life was a great poem in the way he lived it, in order to die for us. As Christ followers, the life we live should have the "richest fluency" not in the language of men, but of God.

¡A Alemania!

Voy a vivir y trabajar en Alemania durante el proximo verano! Tengo un puesto de interno con una compania se llama Boehringer Ingelheim en Ingleheim, Alemania. Es una compania de farmaceuticos. Recibi las noticias hoy, de mi profesor. Es en Alemania ahora, con mi jeffe futuro. Hasta hoy, solo he viajado a Canada, en terminos de otros paises. Asi, estoy muy emocionado para ir a Europa y vivir solo conmigo.

Puedo communicar en espanol con un poco dificultad, de mis quatro anos en la escuela secondaria. Pero aleman no es espanol. Ahora tengo la opportunidad aprender una otra lengua, y para mi, es el parte mas fantastico (y tambien la cultura y la compania y viviendo en un otro pais con extranjeros).

My mind traces the steps, passed over so many times,
etched into memory, they leap out, concrete.
VanBuren, Marlin, childhood stomping grounds;
dreams of following jets to unknown places.

We would lie on the grass, having vanquished our imaginary foes,
and see their trails stretch across the sky.
Inklings of other times, places, to be explored someday,
under circumstances more Franklin and less Bond.

What business has a boy from the salad city,
tracing the steps of humanity, history?
His business is wisdom,
and the development of his frail mind.

YLBiblestudyChristmasLights

Lately I've been reminiscing about Young Life, and my experiences I had there. Particularly I've been thinking about Campaigners, and missing the guys from that group, and the discussions that we had. I haven't found anything like that since I've been at Calvin; those friendships are hard to build quickly. In that context, Sunday night came as an absolute delight, and blessing to me. As a house, we did a Bible study. It was nothing elaborate, no one had planned anything for it, but we talked about some scripture, and about some of the different things that had happened during the week. And it was the most amazing thing. I've been living with these guys for over two years now, and now have the opportunity to talk with them seriously about things that matter. It was refreshing to be sincere and to think deep thoughts with some of my peers, and I fervently hope that this becomes a regular thing.

I've been listening to Hillsong quite a bit lately. Here are some of the lyrics that have been particularly stimulating to me.

A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
And should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace

Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
my heart and my soul, Lord I give you control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
--From the Inside Out

Also, I have to include this, because it is awesome:

Amazing Grace Techno - Computer Controlled Christmas Lights from Richard Holdman on Vimeo.

Define:Saturday

Wow, what a day today was. First of all, it may have been the most beautiful day of 2009. Scratch that, it was the most beautiful day. It made me happy to have to wake up early and do some work, mental and physical.

The biggest part of today was cleaning up the old house and getting everything moved over. It should be noted that some walls were torn down today. Namely walls of drywall and two-by-fours. At this point I would like to recommend that if you must dismantle such a wall indoors, it would not be advised to use a circular saw. It may be that in the course of your cutting you in fact fill an entire house with dust. No guarantee, but...yeah, it's a guarantee.

The rest of the day can be summed up very succinctly: Cam'nNate, Guitar Hero, hw, "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels," apple pie.
--
A cloudless bluebird sky hangs effortlessly above,
taunting beautiful spring before a blustery onslaught.
First morning breath, afraid to leave, catches in my throat,
but is welcomed by balmy arms.

As my bike gathers speed, the squeaking and squealing build in a distinct crescendo,
and I reach the peak, easing into a gentle coast; suddenly silent.
The warm air rushes past my face,
liberating from my vocal chords an expressive, "Yawp!"
--Cómo hermoso el día, la vida

Housing update

We moved on Saturday and now just have a few things to take care of at the old house. However, currently we have only one key to our door, and it only stays closed when it is locked, so that's fun. Our garage doors are stuck open, and tied that way which means that I keep my bike in the living room, also fun. Finally, we won't have Internet access until Friday, which is why I'm writing this from the basement Chemical Engineering lab. Despite some rather unfortunate parts, I really do like the new house a great deal. Most everything about it is better, it is cheaper, and since we split up the seven of us there is more room in the refrigerator (in which there is a joyful dearth of alcohol). Also, there is just more space especially since Mark and I have the whole basement as our room now.

Though, the best part of the new house is the natural light in my room now! I wake up, and am bathed in wonderful soft, white light, and I see the bare trees that stretch skyward, trying to grab the planes constantly embarking and arriving. Their swarthy bark, a stark contrast to the pale grey sky above, having dropped their colorful charges to the ground beneath, like a slow steady rain. That is why I love this house.

Octubre [edited: Mamihlapinatapai]

Soft grey clouds stretch to the horizon:
svelte, occasionally undulating, blanketing.
You walk in their perpetual shade; at each moment,
a million droplets threaten to obscure your frame.

A chill wind strikes at your sweatshirt, whipping it about;
it seeps in, toying with you, sapping heat for no purpose.
Still, I wish to walk with you, to shuffle through the dampness;
leaves clinging to our shoes, listening to the wind in the trees.

I watch as images flow from your pen;
they're trapped in my mind: beautiful, evocative.
Sadly I trundle away, my head quickly turns,
wishing that this could be, yet too reticent, coy to ask.

Odd milestone

Today, Google Analytics tells me that search traffic (via Google and Yahoo) to this page has eclipsed the 50% mark in terms of relative sources. I've been getting a lot of hits from terms like "tennis etiquette" and "peter singer famine affluence morality", even "60 ton angel" (Porcupine Tree reference). Which is weird because those are only three posts that have those terms. I'm sure that they didn't find whatever they were looking for (I know that for a fact because the average time on the site was 00:00:00, and there were 100% bounce rates across the board! :]).

I also think its weird (mostly cool) that I get occasional international traffic: Brazil (spam bots), South Korea, U.K., Norway, Japan, Vietnam and Ecuador. There's someone in Belgium who visited, and even comes back occasionally (Amazingly! I mean, I'm barely relevant to my friends, much less a Belgian. Nonetheless, thank you for reading).

I guess because I intended this initially as a place for me to be introspective and occasionally sappy (then as a place where I can write things that Alex will read), it's weird to me that others read it, albeit mostly unintentionally. But I certainly don't mind.

Orbiting the Room

This evening was host to a boisterous jaunt with some buds. We went to see Mutemath at the Orbit Room. The opener was a local band called: Something, something, way too loud and flappy bass. They were ok, but the bass was way too loud and flappy. As Tall As Giants followed, and though their singer was back home having surgery, they played some wicked instrumental tunes with fantastic energy. The bassist was electrifying; a very exciting human being.

Mutemath followed and played some songs from their album Armistice. They really brought a good mood and got people up on their feet. Roy went on to dominate the cello which really made my night. Both of my favorite songs from their first record were played: "Typical" and "Break the Same". This was the first time seeing them in concert, and I was very impressed. I probably wouldn't mind seeing them again.

Arguably though, the concert had three best parts all of which took place during the encore/reset portion of the show. First, was the man in the balcony who whipped off his shirt and made out with a girl who was up there (strange), then, the drummer Darren put his bass drum on top of people in the crowd, and stood on top of it for a bit, then leaped off in order to crowdsurf. And if that weren't enough, a man in a bear suit, followed by Goldilocks walked in front of me on their way to leave. An actual bear suit... i.e. he probably killed a bear, skinned it and made it into a suit that he could wear. He wasn't dissing @JohnCMayer though.

Walden Excerpt

"I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if if were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion."
--H.D. Thoreau

Beauty

...is in the differences. This was never real to me growing up. Sure, my little sister is Chinese, and we spent time at multicultural festivals, but there was never any real interaction there. My experiences were of someone who saw from afar, different people, but did not comprehend. This became especially obvious to me (and I learned that I am a sad confused little boy) at a recent visit to Meijer. The particular Meijer store I went to is often referred to as "ghetto" Meijer, and I had never been there before.

Let's be clear, this was no grand revelation, which is what makes it particularly pitiful. Apparently during any interaction that I've had with Africans or Hispanics or Asians, or any other race, I have been in the majority. At Meijer last week I was in the minority. This certainly wasn't the first time that I've been in the minority as a Caucasian, however it was probably the first time it was salient to me. How sad is it, that as a 20 year old college student, I finally became aware of such a thing. The worst part, the part that makes me feel utterly juvenile is that I was very uneasy. Pathetically uneasy. I felt like a racist pig, in my feelings of unease. There was no reason to feel ill at ease, yet there I was, dodging eye contact like one of those racist fathers depicted in movies about the south before/during the Civil Rights movement. These feeling hurt me; hurt that I felt like I had to act that way.

It seemed that for all of my welcoming intentions, my reaction went around my brain's back. My visceral reaction brought me to the sad and obvious realization that racism is not over. Academically, I believe in the beauty of difference, in the celebration of difference, and in the realization that for all of our outward differences, we are the same. We are a tapestry, beautiful in scope, that is made of the same thread. The strands are of course individually beautiful, however in combination they set each other off. African thread looks different than Caucasian thread, looks different than Hispanic thread, looks different than Asian thread, BUT IS THREAD!

I realize I've said nothing new in this post. It is intended to draw to the forefront of my mind something that needs to change in me. It is intended to show me that I have to rectify my instinctive reaction with that which I believe in my heart.

Diversity is pulchritudinous. I want to feel that in addition to knowing it.

I desperately need you

Drops of light, they glide over the sphere we call home,
like water on a snow globe, lit by the brightest day, during the darkest night.
Peering into our world in short bursts,
obedient to time and space, they wait for us each year.

In our appreciation we spurn their advances, for what can we do,
but allow them to render themselves vapor?
Glorious and vibrant they streak across the sky in a most violent and beautiful death,
they think us rude, but we just stand and stare.

Temprano en enero hay ésos azules y rápidos de Bootes,
pero en un instante no son no más.
Los mejores vienen durante agosto, se llaman Perseids, y son tan hermosos,
ésos que cepillan el pelo oscuro, suave y fluyendo que es el cielo del noche.

Necesito practicar más a menudo (mi español se está volando)

This is just to say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
-- William Carlos Williams

Evicted

I have indirectly told
the police
that you are
in violation

though you
were rather quiet
and bothering
no one

Forgive us
we don't understand
that you
aren't housing prostitutes.
-- Calvin College

Like an introvert

This weekend couldn't have been more spectacular. I got to spend Friday night with some good friends watching the beautifully done Ghostbuster films...for the first time: "Listen...do you smell something?"

Saturday morning brought a couple of sets of tennis that were far better than last week for the both of us. We might have looked somewhat competent this week. Night ushered in Thermo homework while watching Fight Club, a fantastic combination if ever there was one.

And now Sunday I got to go to church with my roommate from last year at my school church home, followed by lunch at Grandma and Grandpa's house.

Quiet sure, but that's how I like them. Our house finally wasn't host to a party which meant no tripping over who knows what on Saturday morning. AMEN!

...I drew my overshirt.

Curses on fire-alarms

I've been known to rant in the past about the fire alarms in Kalsbeek-Huizenga, the dorm I lived in during the last two years. The new addition to the dorm apparently wreaked some havoc with the electrical systems, and additionally people find it funny to pull the things at 3 in the morning. Well fine, I can deal with that, very explainable: wiring and college kid antics. I absolutely enjoyed my time there, and kind of expected to be free of that in our new house. Until I realized the guys who I live with and I are cursed. Last night, inexplicably, our fire alarm went off three times in 20 minute spurts for a duration of about 3 seconds each time. This was just enough to wake us up sufficiently. Our fire alarms are of the kind that yell, "fire!" in addition to beeping, so that was kind of annoying. By the third time, one of us had a bat, and was hell-bent on hurting anyone who wasn't us in the house. Of course no one could be found, so we've just chalked it up to a curse. If there are no unexplained alarms in KH this year, we'll know it was us. We'll also probably defecate in our respective pantses.

Boot to the head

I managed to incur a strange injury while running the other day. My roommate Mark and I started running together Tuesdays and Thursdays for 3 miles. Not a ton, but with the idea of staying in shape. Our route takes us down Lake Drive, which has no sidewalk and is particularly busy, so we run along the side on the grass and among trees. Some of these trees/bushes hang particularly low on the side, which isn't a too much of a problem. Anyway, I kind of bumped one of these low-hanging pieces of foliage and didn't think much of it. Well, later as we were jogging past the dorms, I had gotten particularly sweaty, so I went to enthusiastically rub my face on the shoulder part of my shirt. Sweat in the eyes is certainly no fun. So I plunged my face into my shirt, and instead of becoming dry, my face and eyes were penetrated by a nest of burrs that was stuck to my shoulder. Clearly not a horrible injury, but the sweat filling the cut sure made it smart.

In other news, as I was composing this, I got a twitter update from Don Miller about the manuscripts they are hiding around the nation to promote his new book. One was in Grand Rapids, on Wealthy St.: Yesterdog! In mid post, I left with a housemate to scurry over there. It turns out that someone had gone in 5 minutes before we got there. Quite a bummer. Oh well, now I can finish this post.

Momentous Occasion

Moments ago I created my first program using the C++ language. The program is so complex that I'm going to have trouble explaining it to the plebs. Those who know a bit about C++ will understand how momentous this program is. I'll throw a bone to the rest of you that can't appreciate upfront the wizardry involved: It cures cancer while creating excess food, and distributes the food simultaneously to those who need it most (also, the food is delicious).

I know, I can tell that you're all impressed. You wish you had thought of it first. Sorry folks, history favors the dutch kid from West Michigan with no skillz. There's nothing to be done about it.

As an aside, I've had no luck displaying the code with correct formatting using the blogger, the small ineffectual .bmp will have to suffice.

To a new year

Huzzah and such, for a nascent semester is upon us. This year is notable personally because it is the year when I end my reliance on the cooking of others. I will be attempting to cobble together food-looking stuffs for my own consumption. You can point to this post in the future if I: a) Die of starvation or b) Am found auto-poisoned to death. It was probably my fault. My mob ties had nothing to do with it.

Fall 2009 brings a new roommate in Mark. Nate and I live in different rooms for the first time in two years, so that's kind of weird as well. We finally got our things moved in and settled now, so I can relax a bit before the academic rigor begins. The good news: Mark's already playing vinyls as I write this. The neutral news: he has enough wines and whiskeys to float several ships. The bad news: none yet, unless his calm, small exterior hides an abusive step-father.

[Removed: boring details about how hard I think this year will be academically.]

I think it's also worth noting that I will be traveling to and from school via bicycle this year. Hopefully it will only be raining on weekends.

Tennis Etiquette

I just came back from watching a high school tennis match that my brother Jeff played in. The problem is, I cannot imagine a worse display of etiquette, tennis or otherwise, from the opposing parents and coaches. Usually I have to get after my mum and dad for things like this, but today they did fine.

The main "ridiculosity" I'll call it was the opposing coach. Each time she chose to cheer for her player came after an unforced error from my brother. Now, it would be one thing if she had applauded winners from her own player, that's understandable. But no, she did not. Often, when Jeff would hit it into the net, I would hear clapping and some variation of, "Good job, way to go Vlad!" I can maybe see a parent doing something like that, oblivious or unknowingly, but a coach? I almost had to leave the courts to stop from going over to her and backhand slapping her. Coaches should know better than to cheer unforced errors from opposing teams. The worst part is, when her player hit winners I heard no clapping or cheering. And it that weren't enough, the parents were insufferable as well.

The parents of Vlad seemed to think that we were there to cheer for their son, and that he was the most fantastic thing. I heard the mother say to my mother, "He really needs a win." Oh really? Well guess what, we could give a crap lady. We want Jeff to win! Then of course, they would make the inane noises when balls were close, question obvious balls and all other manner of inane-ry. But in addition to all of the small faux pas that are largely excusable, the mother of the opposing player had the nerve to say one simple sentence that I did not believe I would ever hear in high school tennis. She said, near the end of the match, "All right now Vlad, finish him." FINISH HIM? EXCUSE ME?!? Ma'am did you just say finish him? What is this, a game of high school tennis or are they playing Mortal Combat? I still can't believe the gall of that woman. That had to be the most rude and inconsiderate remark I have ever heard from a parent. She's lucky I have some level of restraint, or she would gotten a dressing down right then and there from me, maybe a punch in the ovaries to boot.

Anyway, I had to say that to some audience just to get it out of my system. Be it Alex, who is probably my sole reader (btw thanks!), or the 13 Brazilian spam bots. Actually, that's not fair, I have a sporadic international readership, no inkling as to why though.

Oh, and Jeff lost his match, it was close. The tennis was great though, really good playing by both sides.

... ... ...Abraham Lincoln

Haven't been able to run in over a week due to a silly hip flexor strain I sustained during softball. From slowpitch softball of all things, not soccer, not from running, from making a stretch from first for a force-out. How silly. I suppose it didn't help that I tried to play soccer and re-injured it, then re-injured it again when trying to run on Thursday. Needless to say, I'm not a fan and I would certainly not recommend that anyone get one. It may look appealing at first, especially since it's fun to say flexor, but you don't want to open up that can of worms. Now a can of beans is a much better thing to open. Or peaches. I would recommend opening some of my Grandma Split's baked beans. She doesn't mix in any hip flexor strains to her recipe. However she does mix in pineapple I think, which is far better, and some bacon, which is best. Even better than bears, beets and Battlestar Galactica. Things that are also better than Battlestar Galactica and beets, IMHO, include Stargate SG-1, flannel sheets, wall-sized Periodic Tables, "Jordan, Jesse Go", potatoes and Spanish-English pocket dictionaries. Translating the Periodic Table from English to Spanish, using the pocket dictionary, is the second best thing, followed by rainy summer sundays. There are few other good things worth mentioning.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I'd really like my hip flexor to be back to normal so I can start running/playing tennis again.

SG-1 completed

Well, tonight I finished watching Stargate SG-1, seasons 1-10 in order. Nate and I started it during school and this evening I finally completed season 10 and the Behind the Mythology episode. The only things left then are the Ark of Truth and Continuum movies. Now none of this is particularly interesting in itself of course. I just think it's kind of strange how attached people can get to a television series. (I know I'm not alone out here. On an unrelated note, the same thing happened with Scrubs.) With absolutely no basis in reality, the characters still grow on you to a somewhat ridiculous extent. I think at this point, if I saw Michael Shanks on the street, I would walk up and expect him to know me. I guess my point is that visual media in the form of a lengthy series is powerful and a poignant form of storytelling. Drawing the line between life and production is harder than we might expect. This is also me sulking because they had to cancel the series when they did (I really missed Colonel O'Neill in those last couple of seasons).

Side note: I expected Michael Shanks to be brilliant because Daniel Jackson is brilliant, but in the "Behind the Mythology" segment none of the things he said made sense nor contributed meaningfully to the topic being discussed. It seemed like he was just saying things as a kind of filler. If I find out that Amanda Tapping can't tell a wormhole from a black hole, there will be hell to pay.

To Atlantis!!

On second thought, I should have titled this: "Look at how big of a nerd Steve is and laugh at him please."

Ready...set...relax.

Well, my summer research fellowship is finished. I'll probably update soon with a general overview of what went down. Most likely for posterity, maybe for the 1000's upon 1000's of people that read this.

I have two weeks now to do next to nothing. Today was a great start. Brian gave me an amp and speakers that they had no use for anymore, so I've been working on getting it set up with another set of speakers we have, and my record player/ipod/computer. Got a great start today with a trip to Radioshack and picked up "the Unforgettable Fire" from the Corner Record Shop. Tomorrow will hopefully be devoted to getting it all online and set up in Jeff's room (he'll be taking care of it while I'm gone at school). So that's fun.

The best part of today though was softball tournaments tonight. It was by far my best night of the season. During our first game, I had a two singles, a double and an unassisted double play. I bring this up not to be a boring snooze-brag, but to point out how uncharacteristic and statistically impossible such a performance is for me. We did win the first game handily, but the second game was a disaster. We were mercied by our other church team, I re-injured myself and didn't make it to base. This was punctuated by my last out where I watched as the ball dropped in as strike with no swing from me. Awesome. I guess all good things must come to an end. It was still a very enjoyable season and I think I'll remember this game for a while.

Finally, tomorrow morning our Japanese student Moe (Moy-ay) will be leaving. She is part of a Jr. and Sr. High handbell choir from Japan that toured the Midwest this summer. They were in Hudsonville since last Tuesday and put on phenomenal performances. Moe is a small girl but she plays the biggest bells they have. She throws around these massive bells so quickly and with such precision (most songs were from memory), it's reallllllly amazing. I'm convinced she has the arms of an NFL linebacker. Anyway, we will all be sad to see her go.

Well, that's all I have for now. It had been a while though and it feels oh so good to write things even if they are quite trivial and esoteric. Domo arigato.

Wheeeeee!

This summer has proven to be a fulfilling one thus far. I've taken up running/jogging and have been reading like I used to before college made it a chore. The work is also more stimulating than any work I have done before. Progress is measured in the creation/reading of papers and establishment of new procedures rather than square feet of carpet cleaned or classrooms restored. I think that working with a computer during the day has given me a new love of things that don't revolve around transistors or pixels. Truly this has been a learning summer, perhaps this will continue, or more likely, I will run into an unforeseen and painful roadblock that shakes my very core. Anyhow, I have enjoyed the months which have transpired and hope to wring some last productivity and progress from the remainder. ¡Vive el verano!

Also, we went to Michigan's Adventure today. Even though it rained, a good time was had by all.

Also also, never trust the driver of a white Saturn Ion (He is most likely a poor driver who thinks that the lane going around a busy entrance is for him to enter, in order to let people that don't want to turn, use the turn lane to pass him. Though I prefer not to pass judgment, it should be noted that such a man is an idiot, and his car naturally stinks of ignorance.).

Also also also, I apologize to responsible drivers of white Saturn Ions. You should give one of your own a talking to. Teach him how to not be terrible at driving. ¡Ay chico! Soy serio.

nox noctis divum

The firmament, revealing and ancient, stretches boundless.
Each pinprick of light revealing a sight millions of years past.
A quick glance above yields more history than a thousand museums.
Fresh light from the moon absconds photons of antiquity, bathes humanity in purity.

Light predating Alexander and Gilgamesh presents itself faithfully.
An ocular masterpiece, deep and dark, it delightfully suits the retina.
Planets, swiftly tilting in the continuum of spacetime, pay visits, the omens of old.
I want to dance among the stars, to sing their song, to listen to the sounds of the world.

Illinois mayor and other minutiae

I was listening to the Free Beer and Hot Wings Show today when they were interviewing the mayor in Illinois (Robert Butler) who wants the Guantanamo Bay detainees to come to the penitentiary in his town of Marion. At some point during the interview, Butler differented between the inmates already there, and the terrorists by referring to, "Our good American prisoners." That sounded kind of ridiculous to me, considering that the men and women in that prison are rapists, murderers and thieves, but not so bad as to be terrorists. So I sent a quick e-mail to the guys, telling them that it had been my favorite line of the interview. A minute later they read my note and name on the air! Made my day. Inconsequential yes, but wow that felt good.

Oh, and thanks to my good friend Alex I finally started listening to You Look Nice Today for the first time today. Those guys are excellent, hilarious and right up my aisle humortaceously (not a word).

In other news, I'm making good progress with research and will hopefully...finally be in the lab next week tearing hexoses and pentoses from woody mass.

You can not be serious...

Tonight played host to some of the poorest tennis of my life. Three sets of lameness and failsauce, punctuated by a few bright winners (though incidentally, I might have fixed my foot fault tendency and gained a better first serve). Which is funny because last night playing with Quack felt like some of the best tennis I'd played in a long time.

I think if Coach had been there tonight, from double faults alone he would have made me sprint 11 miles then do hurdles, after convincing me to shoot myself in both heels with several arrows. It would have been completely deserved too.

I suppose failure is inevitable though, that's why it sucks. And it likes to sneak up on you and kick you where it hurts most. It is a nice reminder of humanity however (and by nice I mean incredibly unfortunate), and serves to knock us off of our high equinaceous beings (note: equinaceous is not a word, but it can be used in combination with "attila" to get one result from a google search).

But I digress...even failing at something as silly as a friendly game of tennis doesn't feel good for anyone, but we deal with it. Humans are resilient like that. Also, it makes for a good angry run; maybe not 11 miles though. I stuck with my normal 3, but immediately following three sets even that was a challenge.

Ahhh...writing feels good. Even when it's read by none and serves as a memento mori.

The Unknown Soldier

You need not ever know my name
This unknown soldier seeks no fame

I'm here to bring out thought from you
May your heart see more than your view

America, we marched with pride
We gave our life, for you we died

How well we knew the time might come
When life could sound that final drum

Please think of us as life moves on
We tried so hard till that last dawn

Do let our spirit fill the land
Pass treasured freedom, hand to hand

God blessed this country with such love
Hold in your heart, abundance of

And when you stand before my grave
Think not of one, but each who gave

--Roger J. Robicheau

This verse seems particularly poignant today. May God bless those in our military and the principles as well as millions upon millions that they protect. I think especially of Stephen, Justin, Ron, Rob, Cam, Alan, David, Rachel and Darin; they have and deserve the utmost respect from me, from us. Thank you.

Summer night run

Leaving the house I quickly become the night,
my body warm and white, blending with the dusk.
Water hangs in the air, holding my breath,
lungs foolishly requesting it back.

Air rushes past, convectively driving away heat,
my Reynolds number laminar, sub-3000.
Sweat pools on my brow,
a dam set for catastrophe.

Venturing into my eyes, the brine wakes me from my reverie,
eyes focus through the pain, on the asphalt ahead.
The street lights flicker on as night falls,
falls like my footsteps as I pass into the distance.

Acclimated to the heat, lungs purr and arms sway,
and perspiration rises from my pores like a flood.
Legs churn past rows of houses and slumbering folk,
I arrive glistening and spent, completely fulfilled, first shirtless run.

To the guy...

that melee'd me in the face tonight with his nerf gun at Zomb, drawing blood and giving me a nice goose egg: You are naughty.

Cinci update: ramblings

It's raining and thundering and lightninginging right now, which makes me giddy. Adam and Rachel were married tonight despite the weather, and I pray that their road together is long and storied. Those things are wonderful, but my time in Cincinnati is currently at the forefront of my brain.

This was my sixth visit to Cinci in as many years, so I knew what to expect generally, but I couldn't have known what God would accomplish this week. The small group that Justin assigned me to was the 8th grade/Freshmen guys, with him and Cam. The guys didn't really know each other that well, with a few exceptions, and I didn't know them either. Throughout the course of the week, were were able to have some good discussions. This was especially surprising, since not only were the other guys unfamiliar, but these were guys either entering or just finishing their first year of high school. I know when I was that age, conversation and sharing were not high on my list of things to do. I'm not sure that would have happened without the power of God.

This trip was bittersweet. Justin will be leaving for Pasadena (Fuller Sem.) in August. It was likely his last trip with us to Cinci. I know that he is going on to bigger and better things, but I'm going to miss him a lot. He and Dawn have been with us for five years now, and he's become a powerful example to me. I'll probably write more about Justin in later months.

During the course of the week, and painting and such things, I was able to hang out with Wiechel quite extensively. We made some very inappropriate jokes, and had a good time putting some paint on walls. Prematurely of course. "I'm a hip-hoppapotamus and my lyrics are bottomless." "Did Steve tell you that? Steeeeeve!"

Though I didn't work with the kids this week, I was able to see Bruce and Jonathon. Bruce didn't talk much when I sat by him, but it was good seeing him and the other kids that I got to know last year. I don't know if we can ever know the impact we will have, but I am confident that the seeds we plant are nurtured and God will do good things with these kids.

It just doesn't seem like the right time to blog about this, but I will risk sounding silly. I might update this with a more concise and cohesive report later. Right now I just want to sleep.

It says it in every detail of your face

"Up, M'Lady--Pack your things, this place is not your home.
Nor was it ever, sever every tie, tonight we ride. Tonight we ride."

I can't say enough good about Thursday night. First, I got to hang out with two friends that I really enjoy (oh, Steven and Josh too!), and La Dispute & company always put on a fascinating show. The opening bands have been high quality lately, haven't had to deal with a Three-esque band recently. Oceans just blew me away as well. The instrumental bands they bring with them are just awesome. They've had Lights at Sea with them before as well, those guys know how to play. Native was great as usual, they always manage to top themselves in energy and quality.

Night washes over the hushed bodies,
frames draped with expectation.
The lights dim and we jostle for room,
moving as one, tonight we ride!

We are become the song from his mouth,
singing back one hundred fold.
Sweat begins to fall as we close in,
there is no room to breathe, only move.

Pain is forgotten as the lights flash,
well-being imparted, and voices lost.
A large family united by common joy,
he screams in my face, I scream back.

Like it began, the moment is ended,
they are once again men, for the time.
Sopping, we cool quickly in the chill night,
Prufrockian sentiments we have not.
Slurpees we do.