Who vs. Whom

2010-06-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

"Men have in their minds a picture of how the world will be. How they will be in that world. The world may be many different ways for them but there is one world that will never be and that is the world they dream of."

Hahahahaha

2010-05-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

"Sunday's Coming" Movie Trailer from North Point Media on Vimeo.

2010-05-01T16:55:00.000-07:00

This is Audrey. We've been listening to records, watching baseball games, and feeling glad to have each other.

Ten years later

2010-04-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

A needle in these grooves still incites the sort of melancholy comfort found in a sunrise over a valley of ashes. A reminder that God is as present on the empty streets as in the town square celebrations. Figuratively. And vice versa.

My favorite places to make papers bleed

2009-12-02T22:03:00.000-08:00

Across the street, two doors over

2009-11-11T01:22:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, as I was carrying boxes from the U-Haul to our garage, I was excited to see a neighbor roll down her driveway and pedal toward the city on her bike. I imagined that she was a staunch proponent of responsible transportation, a locavore, a reader, a purchaser of baguettes. After a few days in the new house, I realized the cycling neighbor had a few female roommates who spent a whole lot of time on their porch. Sometimes they’d be smoking, sometimes they’d just be talking, sometimes they’d still be out there when I went to bed. As I sat on my porch they were far enough away to where I didn’t feel like we were watching each other, but I could always hear the muddled buzz of their activity; It leant a sense of vibrance and comfort to the dark cul-de-sac. It wasn’t until we’d been settled for 6 months that I found out it was a half-way house. After the house painter told me, I admitted that I should have been more curious about why 4 or 5 middle-aged women lived together like that. I also realized that the bike rider pedaled by every day because she had lost her driver’s license, not because she subscribed to any of my idealistic suppositions. No matter. Then, about two months ago they had to move out because the owner of the house decided to sell it. When I sit on the porch nowadays I feel like I’m hanging out on an abandoned movie set.

Currently Reading (Still)

2009-08-18T21:18:00.000-07:00

"When he asked her would she not have been afraid to ride through this country by herself at night she said that there was no remedy for it and that one must put oneself in the care of God. He asked if God always looked after her and she studied the heart of the fire for a long time where the coals breathed bright and dull and bright again in the wind from the lake. At last she said that God looked after everything and that one could no more evade his care than evade his judgment. She said that even the wicked could not escape his love." - Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing

Chicago in Doodles

2009-08-09T22:30:00.000-07:00

Currently Reading

2009-07-17T21:58:00.000-07:00

"He looked fourteen going on some age that never was. He looked as if he'd been sitting there and God had made the trees and rocks around him. He looked like his own reincarnation and then his own again. Above all else he looked to be filled with a terrible sadness. As if he harbored news of some horrendous loss that no one else had heard of yet. Some vast tragedy not of fact or incident or event but of the way the world was."

2009-04-02T21:11:00.000-07:00

Album and book cover art are my two favorite mediums. While every piece of art contains depth greater than its colors, each piece of cover art is forced to represent all that it literally contains. It's a great burden, and many independently beautiful pieces of art have collapsed on the foundation of weak writing and poorly composed songs. When the level of quality coincides, however, covers are deeply powerful and affect me in a way no other visual form can.

That said, you can imagine how I dorked out when I saw someone selling an exact reproduction of the 1st edition of The Great Gatsby for less than the ugly new version on Amazon. I won't get into the coolness of First Edition Library and how it's currenly on hiatus; I'll just say I was lucky to see this book on the same morning it went up for sale.

Because I teach it, I've read The Great Gatsby eight or nine times, and I love it more each time. The themes are as relevant as the day it was written, the characters inhabit the real word, the symbols are both striking and natural, and Fitzgerald strung words together so beautifully that it's practically a 200 page poem. The cover could be hung in a museum even without an associated story, yet it represents all of these things as well. Does visual art get any stronger?

P.S. Adrian, your senior art show was my favorite.

P.P.S. If people really stop buying physical albums, I think record shops should become art shops where you buy album art that comes with a code to download the album. Of Montreal sort of tried it, but I'm talking shops full of this stuff. Posters, t-shirts, mobiles, etc., each tied to a specific album. What do you think? Bad idea? Yeah, I hope vinyl never dies.

Third Revolution Straight

2009-03-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know it's very cliche to rave about this album right now, and it probably belongs on Stuff White People Like, but I seriously can't get enough of the new Animal Collective. Here's a video for the song that's been stuck in my head all day. "I don't mean to seem like I care about material things like a social status, I just want four walls and adobe slabs for my girls." That chorus is so sticky!

Great day? Bad day? Not sure.

2009-03-10T21:27:00.000-07:00

The good news: I wasn't one of the 160 teachers in my district to be given a pink slip today. It looks like I'll have a job next year, and I feel as though I managed to dive under a moving truck without being hit.

The bad news: 160 teachers in my district are facing unemployment. Among the casualties is Jeff, an excellent English teacher with a mortgage and a pregnant wife. The only reason I'll be able to dream peacefully while he will surely endure a sleepless night is because I was hired a year earlier. I want to praise God, but I know Jeff serves the same one, so I realize I have to praise him simply because he's God, not because of my circumstances.

2009-03-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

Mondays are the only weeknights I'm at home; I teach on Tuesday and Thursday nights, go to church on Wednesday nights, and Friday, well, you know how Fridays are. So I really should blog on Mondays, and I usually think about it at work that day, but once evening rolls around I'd rather read on the porch, immerse myself in a record, or hammer something together. Since I appreciate it when friends keep their blogs updated, I really would like to be consistent, but, well, I don't feel like being on the computer right now and it's a good night for putting on a hoodie and taking a walk. Wait, was that a blog entry? Done.

Favorites from SFMOMA

2009-02-17T21:29:00.001-08:00

I'm drawn to imperceptible moments made perceptible.

The poodles have been interpreted by some as guardians and by others as villains, but why would guardians face opposite the danger? And Chris, consider the Manichean significance! The poodles are obviously evil.

Magritte is my favorite Surrealist, so seeing an original up close was pretty exciting.

There were about 15 guys working on a huge mural.

2009-01-29T19:21:00.000-08:00

This video isn't new, but it never gets old. When one of the most beautiful sights (a girl on a bike) is combined with one of the creepiest sights (masked men in a dark forest), and set to a pretty great song, the result is WIN.

2009-01-19T00:07:00.000-08:00

"Big clumsy flies bumped into my face, swarmed on my neck and wiggled in my underwear. Blundering and soft-bellied, they had been born before they had brains. They had spent a year under water on legs, had crawled out on a rock, had become flies and copulated with the ninth and tenth segments of their abdomens, and then had died as the first light wind blew them into the water where the fish circled excitedly. They were a fish's dream come true - stupid, succulent, and exhausted from copulation. Still, it would be hard to know what gigantic portion of human life is spent in this same ratio of years under water on legs to one premature, exhausted moment on wings."

2009-01-17T07:36:00.001-08:00

"He stood at the window of the empty cafe and watched the activities in the square and he said that it was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they'd have no heart to start at all."

Wes Anderson Party

2009-01-10T23:34:00.001-08:00

The early arrivals. Ten points if you can identify them all, five if you at least know which movies.

Max Fischer: Winner of "Shoot the ear off Magnus Buchan"

Rita (Sweet Lime): "Pin the Javelina on the wall"

Mordecai perched on Richie's arm

Back on the Radar/ We Have a Place for You...

2009-01-06T21:20:00.000-08:00

We were without internet access for nearly a month, but a couple days ago I traded Charter Communications some cash for access to the outside world. I tried to work a deal by which the nearest Charter office would be provided with enough lemons to tang approximately 3, 562 glasses of iced tea, but they wouldn't go for it. "This ain't the wild west anymore, and I ain't Dr. Quinn," said the operator. "This is the wildest west there ever was," I said with strong conviction and the deepest voice I could muster. Alas, I caved and promised to write a check.
The above picture is of the room we finished most recently. If you want to see others, click on Jenny's name over to the left there. Anyway, this is the guest room. It really doesn't belong to us because it's made up almost entirely of other people's stuff. Seriously, we spent a total of 15 dollars on it (for the sheets, on sale). We painted the walls using some old Behr I found in the shed out back, the end tables are from the Kruses (Jenny painted them white with what was left over from the trim in the kitchen), the map is from Chris, the bed is from my parents, the chair is from Jenny's mom, there's a painting from Vietnam that Tyler gave me, there's a painting Donald Miller told me I could have when he was moving, an old hutch from my parents, and some other knick knacks given to us by friends new and old (no doubt some of those books as well). Anyway, if there's not something from you in there, bring something over and you will be represented. I think it would be cool if everyone who went in there recognized at least one object. Anyway, we're hoping to put a bigger bed in there soon to accommodate the marrieds who don't want to cuddle for 8 hours. So, that's that.

4 to 11 daily. Caint focus no mo.

2008-12-04T22:00:00.000-08:00

I basically just stand in a room and talk all day

2008-11-17T19:17:00.000-08:00

I'm becoming increasingly convinced that a man needs a certain amount of physical labor in his routine. I'm excited by the prospect of compensating for my pansy day job by digging sprinkler trenches, mowing the lawn, pruning trees, and generally finding reasons to spend a few hours in my backyard. It's a good thing we're buying a house because I was almost to the point where I was going to start doing something really stupid, like lift weights at the gym or something; that's when you know you've hit rock bottom. Plus, Jenny says she'd no longer be attracted to me if get buff arms; at least I'm pretty sure that's what she meant when she said, "You know, I wouldn't mind if you built up your arms a little bit."

Cantankerous!

2008-10-24T17:04:00.000-07:00

Taco Bell is always full of characters (I've considered starting a blog devoted entirely to experiences had there) and today was no exception. He sat at a booth, alone, next to one of the windows along the drive thru. I glanced in his direction regularly because through the giant window sticker demanding (not rhetorically asking) "WHY PAY MORE!" I could keep an eye on my bike outside. He must have been at least 70, and he sat hunched over his Gorditas like a pianist playing Rachmaninov on his Steinway. He was a white man with a ruddy complexion, nearly completely bald, and flanked by two bags. To his right, on the bench seat, was a large black backpack that looked to be completely full. To his left, on the ground, was a stuffed bag from Big Lots. When he stood to refill his drink he walked slowly and laboriously, but with confidence and evidence of a strong will. I was able to observe that his black slacks and black polo shirt were separated by a brown braided leather belt, and pinned on his concave chest was a Big Lots employee name badge. He didn't bother sitting down when he returned to his table. Instead, he lifted his backpack, slid his arms through the straps, snatched up his tray full of trash, and headed toward the exit. The Big Lots bag sat forlornly on the smooth tile next to the empty booth.
"Excuse me," I said as I walked up behind him, "Excuse me." No answer. "Sir."
He turned slowly and looked up at me with gunmetal blue eyes. "Yeah?"
"Is that your bag?" I asked while pointing toward his newly available real estate.
"Hell yeah it's my bag," he fired back. "Anybody tries to steal it, I'll knock their face in."
"Nobody's trying to take it, I thought you were leaving."
"I ain't leaving, I'm just trying to take a piss!" And with that, he turned and kept walking. I sure hope nobody stole his bag; for their sake.

2008-10-22T21:49:00.000-07:00

For four hours I attempted to memorize terms and processes associated with research and statistics for one of my comprehensive exams on Saturday. Whatever. When Jenny finally arrived home from church I put that junk away and we sat on the porch. In my palm I held a smoothly carved piece of meerschaum given to me by a dear friend while my wife read a passage from Habakkuk; that's what they studied tonight. We talked about our role in the world, the hourly struggles, life and death. It's these times I know who I am and wonder why I spend so much of my life acting as my own distractor.

State of the Union: All is Well

2008-10-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

Actually, our country is pretty screwed up. However, I've got Jenny and we've got Christ, and sometimes that bright side shines extra bright. I don't pretend to think anyone cares about how I spend my days, but if I blog about a great day, it gives me a chance to dwell on it for awhile. Purely selfish.
The sky was overcast and the breeze was cold, so we enjoyed the weather for the first time in months. Jenny has her supermodel face on, but it's really because she was sick and couldn't breathe through her nose.

I look very serious because the patio was full and we had to eat inside. Also, Jenny told me to freeze while she took out the camera and snapped a picture. I should have looked much happier, because I had the best shrimp burrito I've ever had.

After walking around downtown for a couple hours, we headed to the Open Air Theatre to see Iron and Wine and Swell Season. We got there really early, so we sat on a bench and listened to Sam Beam do soundcheck. It was a pretty amazing soundcheck though, because he played about eight full songs, and they were all different than the ones he played during his actual set. We had this tourist picture taken when Thomas and Maria met up with us. Double dates rule when they're with cool couples like Thomas and Maria.

The show was pretty great, as was the crowd. Thanks you's were exchanged at the concessions booths, conversations were quiet and clean, people sipped wine and beer without getting wasted, and there wasn't a whole lot of posturing. The only boo's were highly justified when some impatient yokel yelled, "Play the song!" as the Irish frontman (Glen Hansard) of the Swell Season told one of his great, long stories as an introduction to the next tune. Everybody booed the guy very loudly for not appreciating a well told story, then Glen launched into a new story about a stray dog that he remembered from his childhood. He finished the story by looking towards the guy who shouted and admitting, "That doesn't have anything to do with the song, I just wanted to piss you off." The music was tops, but I liked the stories just as much. A world where people are booed for not appreciating a good narrative is a world I like, and I was feeling pretty optimistic as my girl and I travelled up the 15 North.

Endangered Species

2008-09-27T15:30:00.001-07:00

"What's stranger," she asked, "projecting human qualities onto a tortoise, or projecting tortoise qualities onto a human?"

Way Up There

2008-09-08T20:08:00.000-07:00

I helped my brother build this bike a couple months ago. If I were about four inches taller, I'd have said, "Sorry 'bout your birthday present" and ridden this steed all the way to Maine. By now I'd be there, shucking oysters in a flannel shirt, awash in the hues of fall. In the evenings I'd don the neck muffler my loving wife knit with her delicate hands, button up a tweed coat, eat clam chowder and watch the sailboats drift in. I'd procure a block of briar and follow the grain with my knife while I puffed Peterson Sunset Breeze in a front porch rocking chair. Evening prayers would be completed to the crackling of a fire and Dostoyevsky would send me off to bed. If only I were four inches taller.

2008-09-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

I feel like the Joker every time I lick my lips.

There Ain't Much Sadder Than A Record Store On Its Death Bed

2008-08-27T20:54:00.000-07:00

New releases are eight months old, the owner is the only employee left, it's 101 degrees because he won't run the air, I think he might sleep in the stock room.

c'est le vie

2008-08-14T19:38:00.000-07:00

Awhile back my dad reminded me that to ask why bad things happen to us is a ridiculous question. In fact, we should be surprised when tough things aren't going on in our lives. He essentially said that we live in a fallen world and we can't expect it to be like heaven. Instead, life is a series of challenges that prepare us for heaven. I think that's an important thing to remember. It's like when it's miserably hot outside and you can't stop wishing it were winter. With that perspective, the heat will seem even worse than it really is and you'll remain miserable. But if you just accept the fact it's summer and that it's going to be hot for a few more months, it's a lot more bearable. So, Jenny had another miscarriage, which brings our 8-month total to 3, including one discovery and removal of a benign tumor. Yeah, it feels horrible and I don't ever want to feel this way again. At the same time, I realize I will. Pets will get run over, friends will move away, I'll witness loved ones battle serious illness, I may battle serious illness, stuff will get stolen, parents will die. That's the nature of life on earth. Through it all, though, there's one constant: "The relation of the soul to God is a higher, unique relationship which nothing can sever and which nothing can threaten or shake (...) If we wish to follow Him, then this life, too, with Christ, is joy, even amid difficulties. As Saint Paul says, 'I rejoice in my sufferings.' This is our religion, and that's the direction we must move in." That quote is from a book by Porphyrios (a Christian monk) we've been reading at Sunday night mens group, and I know it's true even though my emotions don't always agree.

Hip to the Hop

2008-08-08T17:23:00.000-07:00

Considering the size of their ears, I've decided rabbits are pretty weak at identifying the direction of sounds. Today, like every other day I ride the Santa Ana River trail, I had several dart out of the bushes and directly in front of my bike. They usually bounce around like a teenager in a mosh pit and then run back to where they came from, but sometimes they run straight across. I haven't hit one yet, but they're not all so lucky. A couple weeks ago I rode past a carcass with a bicycle-tire-sized gash across its neck. I wondered if it made the guy crash and I thought the cottontail probably screamed like a banshee until the lights went out. Chris has commented that the woods along the trail would be the perfect place for a person with a taste for rabbit meat. Sometimes I think about what I'd do if this country of ours got so bad I couldn't just go to the store and buy some food. I mean, what I'd do if I had to score food for myself rather than pay somebody who paid somebody who paid somebody who paid somebody to grow it or kill it. I thought maybe I'd head down to the river with a deuce-deuce and come back home a couple hours later with dinner slung over my shoulder like a Russian soldier. The thing is though, I probably wouldn't, because I've been castrated by a life filled with talking cartoon animals, cuddly teddy bears, and corporate Easters (Our profit margin has Risen!). Also, considering that Jenny called me one time, crying her face off because she'd run over a rabbit with her Suzuki, I don't think she'd eat one either. So I'd probably take my lady up the hill into the apple orchards or something, you know, depending on the season. I'd just sit there under a tree and grab some fruit whenever I got hungry until the tree was bare. Then I'd probably wander around looking for some berries until I starved to death.

2008-08-07T22:13:00.000-07:00

Qualitative research suggests one may experience feelings of guilt when writing casually after spending extensive hours writing an academic paper in APA format. I mean....my project is straight up done, ya'll.

Summer Reading Part 1

2008-07-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

This is what I think of the books I've read over the last 2 months. What are you reading? How do you like it? I want to know!

I enjoyed the second half of this book much more than the first, and I like the book more now than I did while I was reading it. Yeah, it’s a little tiring to read about high class Americans who simply eat, drink and socialize at Parisian and Pamplonan cafes for a couple hundred pages, but that’s the reality of a hedonistic life. Lonely, pointless, unfulfilling. Though this theme is central to the novel, I did begin to actually care about the self-absorbed characters and Hemingway ultimately developed a strong story to keep me turning the latter pages. My favorite section was when a couple of the guys left that fickle Miss Brett in the city and went fishing out in the woods for a few days.

I hadn’t read To Kill A Mockingbird since freshmen year of high school but remembered liking it very much. I wasn’t mistaken. It’s one of the strongest novels I’ve ever read and look forward to teaching it in the future. I’m amazed by Harper Lee’s ability to convey the characters’ maturation so believably in so few pages. The themes and symbols never seem forced, yet they’re as clear as the points in a Sunday sermon. I’d love to see aspects of Atticus in my fatherly roles.

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman is a collection of 24 short stories by Haruki Murakami. So far I’ve read about half of them and I’m a fan of about half of those. Really hit or miss. Some of it might be lost in the culture gap, but some of it might just not be very good. I do like Murakami’s style though, and he’s often hilarious. My reigning favorite is “The Rise and Fall of Sharpie Cakes” but I have a feeling there’s a bigger gem I haven’t gotten to yet. It’s like playing the lottery, except you get to bet 15 minutes instead of 15 dollars.

Before I had decided which novel to assign my second session summer school (alliteration!) class, one of my students asked if we could read The Outsiders. The school had a class set, so I took a survey which revealed that only 3 kids in the class had previously read the book, so that’s the one I chose. I didn’t know anything about the author when I started reading it, but about 20 pages in I thought, “This sort of sounds like a girl writing from a guy’s perspective.” Then I realized the author is indeed a female, and that she wrote the novel when she was 15. Ah-ha. So, it’s really impressive writing for a 15 year old. If one of my students turned in a bit of fiction like that, I’d piss my pants (after I thoroughly checked for plagiarism). Anyway, I enjoyed it, the lessons were worthwhile (though heavy-handed), and the kids were crazy about it. However, it should be read in 7th grade rather than 10th. I let them watch the movie on the last day of class and was pretty disappointed. Lots of people seem to love it, but the book is better without the visual influence.

Freakonomics was all the rage a few years ago, but I wasn’t interested. My brightest summer school student just finished reading it, however, and told me I should read it too. He leant me his copy, so I did. It’s definitely entertaining and some of the parallels Levitt draws are pretty interesting, but some are crap. For example, his data shows that there is a correlation between decreased crime and abortion. He proposes that this correlation may exist because unwanted or inadequately supported kids are more likely to become criminals. If these kids are aborted, they won’t become criminals and thus the rate of crime decreases. Last I checked, murder was crime, so whatever. My favorite chapter was about an ivy-league student who starts hanging out with a major drug-dealing inner city gang in order to study them. The stuff he finds out is fascinating.

This book is crazy powerful. It basically explores the human condition in a world where everyone stops caring about the Redeemer. Very quickly, the world essentially becomes hell. I don’t know what else to say about it except that it’s worth reading. Also, don’t watch the 1990 film version. It’s nothing like the book and awful, awful, awful.

This is the one I’m currently reading. I’m about 1/3 of the way through and it’s fascinating. If you’re not familiar, Oliver Sacks is a neurologist who writes about how the mind works by weaving in true stories of patients he has studied. This book is all about how music influences, and is influenced by, the brain. So far I’ve read about a non-musical guy who got struck by lightning and suddenly wanted to play the piano all the time (and was good), people who go into seizures when they hear certain music, people who are genuinely terrified of certain music, people who have musical hallucinations (where they regularly “hear” music playing when none is on), people who only hear terrible noise (like banging pots and pans) when others hear music, and people who have absolute pitch. Apparently 1 in 10,000 have absolute pitch, which means they naturally know exactly what note is played without even thinking about it. One guy talks about how when he was a kid he recognized without even trying that his dad blew his nose in G. People who have it say that it’s as easy for them to identify a musical note as it is for most people to identify a color. Anyway, I could go on and on about what I’ve read so far, but I can’t wait to finish it.

Who Done It?!

2008-07-14T17:59:00.001-07:00

This is our automobile. We don't deliver pizza, but thanks to some street wandering ruffian, we can pretend.

Why Summer School Rules Should Apply Year Round/ I Swear I Don't Use My Powers For Evil

2008-07-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

“Summer school’s a privilege,” I said, “If you miss 6 or more hours before the three weeks are up, you get dropped with an F. If you’re late in the morning or after a break, I automatically deduct 15 minutes. Even if you’re 2 minutes late. Understand? Good.”
After a couple days, smart boy gets smart. He tells 3 friends, “We should just be 14 minutes late every break. If he’s gonna take 15 off we might as well use it.” They agreed that was a very good idea.
They walked into class 14 minutes after class had resumed. “Why are you so late?” I asked.
“Just wanted to use all our time.”
“Well I guess you should have stayed out longer, because you just lost 45 minutes.”
“How’s that work?”
“You try to work the system, I make sure the system works you.”

Year Three Begins

2008-06-26T22:28:00.000-07:00

I love her because she can extract honey from a hornet. Because she never dons a mask, even for protection. Because her eyes are pure windows, when most watch through mirrors. Because she finds the treasure among the trash. I hope I don't ruin her.

Less Diagnosis, More Prayer

2008-06-22T00:28:00.000-07:00

Lately it seems wherever I am the background noise consists of women discussing and analyzing their kids. I use the term “discussing” liberally, however, because it’s really a series of monologues that teeter-totter from one woman to the other; These women are never really interested in anyone else’s kid, but if they nod their head and say, “uh-huh, right, yeah” a couple of times, they know their turn will come. Of course most women think their kids are genius, but I’ve observed that many of these same women also believe their children are abnormal or frightfully screwed-up in one way or another. Apparently there are all sorts of indicators when you’re a child that reveal the numerous problems you will surely have in adulthood. For example, a mother can be sure her child will become obese in due time based on the shape of his ankles (this seems to be true even if he is the thinnest kid in his second grade class), if a pre-school boy is caught playing with his older sister’s dolls, his mother can be certain he’s a homo, and if a child, when prompted, refuses to sing her uncle the oh-so-cute song her mother heard her singing from her room only days before, she probably has some severe social anxiety disorder. The list goes on, but the point is made. If I had realized when I was a child that so many women spend their time noticing and discussing these things, I definitely would have had a mental breakdown at recess. The fact that these women don't have anything else to talk about is bad enough, but the more troubling aspect that I’ve gleaned from my mostly unintentional eves dropping is that these women are actually taking action on their observations. The kids are sent to counseling, given psychological exercises disguised as games, served Kool-Aid made with Splenda. One may contend that the fact these women care about their children and want the best for them is a positive thing, which is true (though their underlying motivations may be called into question), and I do realize there are valid reasons for some kids to get help, but I also know this: If I had been forced to go to therapy because I liked playing on my own more than with other kids or because I thought pieces of trash got sad if I threw them away, it's more likely I would have become an insecure heroin addict than a gregarious leader or whatever they thought I should be. I'd probably even be in therapy.

Blimey!

2008-06-19T21:48:00.000-07:00

I began my decent down the middle of an empty public staircase. I had only progressed about two steps when a skinny guy in his twenties, wearing shaggy blond hair, dark jeans, and a soccer jacket began to ascend the middle of the staircase. Naturally I veered to my right in order to let him pass uninhibited. At the same time, however, he veered to his left. We were now on course for an awkward collision, so I quickly moved to my left as he strode confidently ahead. Who moves to their left to let someone pass?! Then I heard him answer his cell phone. He had a British accent. It all made sense.

Makeover: Complete

2008-06-11T16:50:00.000-07:00

This is basically the same bike I posted a few months ago, but I stitched some leather onto some new handlebars, got a new saddle, new pedals, new wheels, and most importantly, a new paint job. One of my students paints cars, so he sprayed it for super cheap. It's holding up much better than the rattle can job I did the first time. Hopefully I don't crash it.

First Attempt

2008-05-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

I tried painting with some acrylics.

Highlights From the Week(end)

2008-05-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

If you can identify where this picture was taken, you know why it was easily the highlight of the week.

Returning a rented movie to the video store is not usually a highlight, but it is when the chore is completed on a bike, with a pipe, during an overcast morning.

A Most Splendid Date or Why One Nerd Needs Another Nerd

2008-05-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

I used to think that people were lame for thinking it was important their potential spouse like similar music, film, books and what have you. As long as she loves the Lord and loves me, I thought, the other things are inconsequential. Well maybe they are to some extent, but I sure am glad I didn't get stuck with some philistine, because I'd miss out on amazing evenings like this.
We'd been looking forward to the release of Narrow Stairs for awhile so we decided to make it into a bit of an event. We drove to the record store with enthusiasm akin to that of a schoolboy on his birthday. We went out for dinner. We got in the car and headed for the longest stretch of open road I could find on Google maps. Jenny fed the disc to the car dash, pressed play and turned it up until the sound enveloped us like a down comforter. She kept her mouth shut, was absorbed in the moment, watched the sunset to her right, non-verbally appreciated the couple standing on the hill in a familiar embrace, squeezed my hand without looking at me, and analyzed every note and lyric without telling me she was analyzing every damn note and lyric. We had no destination in mind but it ended up being a bottle of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice, and that was enough. We wandered around and talked about what type of cabinets we should get for our new kitchen and where we should situate our prayer corner. Then we got in the car and headed home, taking in the album under a canopy of stars, airplanes, and telephone wires. The last note of the last song faded as I pulled into our parking space. And she got just as much pleasure out of that fact as I did. Yeah, we could still have a great marriage without taking turns reading a book to each other on the porch, riding bikes around the neighborhood, or going to concerts we are equally excited about. But when I think about the fact that I could have ended up with a girl who didn't derive pleasure from these things, who didn't reflect on passages of fiction or the bridges of songs, it makes me feel as though I've narrowly avoided a sea of quicksand. And that's why a nerd really should marry someone who is also a nerd.

To Depths Unknown

2008-05-04T20:13:00.000-07:00

Whenever I grow tired of dealing with the attitudes and antics of my students I really should just assign a poem. They always connect me with the reality that surrounds me and force me to realize that I've lived a rather priveleged life. These are two of the standouts from the last batch. The first poem was written by a kid who was shot in the arm by a rival gang the weekend after he wrote this.

When I was younger in the hood I was a young buck,
One of the OG's gave me the mentality of not giving a fuck.
I grew up in a messed up home,
Not paying attention but inside I felt alone.
I used to always sit and wait for a letter to come in
Because my dad was always in and out of the pen.
I sit and think about my messed up life
Hoping one day I'll stop banging and get a beautiful wife.
I always used to wanna be like my dad,
Who knew when I came out I was twice as bad.
The life I chose probably wasn't for me,
But I live the gang bang life and I'm from ________ St.

"I Am From"
I am from the ghetto streets of LA,
from tagging and killing.
I am from a junky house with
roaches and spiders.
(big, juicy and creepy crawly)
I am from my parents not caring
when I needed changing.
That's what I remember.

I am from eating out the trash because
I didn't have enough food.
I'm from not making the same mistake
my parents made, drugs and poor lives.
I'm from a foster mom who did care
and fed me and bought me clothes.

I'm from eating rice, corn, bread, steak,
and a good loving family.
From winning track meets and being happy
and having good friends, to my foster mom
passing away, from still living a good life
and staying clean with a roof over my head.

I am from becoming nothing to something,
listening and learning how to become
who I am.

I Think it's About Time for a Trip to the Beach with my Favorite Person

2008-04-25T10:56:00.001-07:00

Music Blooms in the Spring

2008-04-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

I know of a few who've sung this song and reaped/raped the reward.

Regeneration

2008-04-11T21:55:00.000-07:00

Merely seven days after smashing my face on asphalt with a great deal of force, the remnants are scant more visible than a few pimples. While flying would be fun, God has instilled us with some pretty impressive superpowers.

I Authored The Irony Before It Was Written On My Face

2008-04-03T21:48:00.000-07:00

I took a bit of a tumble while riding mi caballo today. I was riding from our apartment to Cal Baptist for one of my masters classes and, as you may surmise from the photo, I had to take a detour to the hospital. I was wearing a helmet for most of the way (something I hate, and just started doing this week), but it was making me pretty hot and sweaty. So a couple blocks from the university I stopped and took off my helmet. I figured I'd sort of cool down over the last couple blocks and not walk into class looking like I got stuck in a rain storm. Just after I had put the helmet in my backpack and started gaining speed, I noticed some severely uneven pavement across the length of the bike lane. I couldn't go left because there were cars next to me, and I couldn't go right because there was a curb, so I was forced to ride straight over it. Unfortunately, it was a little too steep. My bike flipped straight over and I was attached to it. Three cars behind me pulled over (one was the drama teacher at the school at which I teach) and they were very helpful. They gave me a towel and stayed with me until Jenny got there to drive me to the hospital. I got some stiches in my forehead. The lady who was driving behind me did a very good job of not running me over. She said the crash looked pretty bad and that my head was the first thing to hit the ground. Thank God for the tough Dutch skull. Jenny was laughing at me because she said I seemed almost giddy even when she first saw me all banged up. The reason is because I realize how much worse it could have been. I didn't break any bones, I didn't knock out or chip any teeth, I didn't smash my head open, and most importantly, I didn't get run over. As I was about to hit the ground I remember thinking about how there were cars right next to me and I needed to get out of the road. The woman who saw my head hit the ground also said that I seemed to bounce right up and walk onto the sidewalk.
It seems that whenever God needs to remind me about the uncertainty of life and the importance of serving Him only, He chooses to literally smack me on the head (a few years ago I hydroplaned and totalled my car). Theory doesn't seem to affect me very much. I start to get callous even when I know the truth. Therefore, I end up at the hospital surrounded by doctors who talk about how "lucky" I am. At that point I realize that I've been wasting too many hours and sense the importance of living every moment for the glory of God. I wish I wasn't an idiot and that it didn't take scars to make me take life seriously. Hopefully it will stick this time. The fact is, the next time might be a consequence rather than a lesson.

Vocational Lust

2008-03-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

Downtown, I sat grading a stack of essays written in the waning moments of procrastinative opportunity. I will hand them back with notes and suggestions for the future, and the students will glance at the tallied score and toss them in the trash on the way out of class. I spied a mailman across the street, a block away from the bank thermometer that read 76 degrees. He wore blue uniform shorts, running shoes, a healthy tan, and he walked with purpose. He carried packages that contained items the recipients had been dreaming about for a week and letters from geographically separated lovers that smelled like perfume. Children and the elderly alike anticipated his arrival. At 5:00 the mailman would head home and read a book, watch a baseball game, listen to a record while lying on his back, view a movie with his wife's head on his shoulder, or all of the above without feeling guilty about not working. At that moment, I thought he might have the greatest job in the world.

Campus Culture

2008-02-18T18:52:00.000-08:00

Tell me to write an essay at home and it will take me two hours to write a page. Send me to a good library and I can have the page written in half an hour. For the past two Mondays I've ridden up the hill to the La Sierra University library to get some homework done. They have a sweet atrium where I can type to the rhythm of a flowing fountain while surrounded by plants and their accompanying fragrance. Every 45 minutes or so, I stretch my legs by trying to get lost in the three story maze of books. When I don't have homework, I find it incredibly revitalizing to simply walk through the campus or sit under one of the mature trees with some good literature. When I think about my favorite cities (San Luis Obispo, Portland, Bozeman), I realize they are all home to a major university. While I detest frat culture, I love campus culture, and I don't think I ever want to live in a city where I can't ride across town to a good college library.

Barbaro

2008-02-16T23:45:00.000-08:00

His name is Barbaro because he could have won it all if it weren't for a gruesome injury that ended up costing him his life. I've got a new wheel set in the mail, a new paint job lined up, and plans for a new saddle and bars.

Thanks for the memories Barbaro. You're responsible for igniting the fire, but it's time for a new colt to carry the torch.

See comment section on DIY.

2008-02-15T21:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. Twain,
School is interfering with my education.

D.I.Y.

2008-01-26T20:15:00.000-08:00

This is the reason my hands are full of cuts and the cement outside my front door is stained blue. I started with a late '80s Centurion ten speed that the one and only Christopher Kruse so graciously gave me, then I tore it apart. I sanded off all of the Saved by the Bell'o'licious paint and then spayed it as you see above. I bought a few new parts, cleaned up some of the old parts, and assembled what I think is a pretty sexy fixed gear machine. It was a ton of fun to build and it's even more fun to ride. I feel slightly bad for Mr. Belvedere, but I'll still take him out when I need to carry a load or in the rain. Belvedere's the SUV, this is the sports car. I need a name for the fixed gear, so please give me some suggestions. Also, I recommend you all check Craigslist, buy an old bike for cheap, and build a fixed gear of your own.

Awesome!

2008-01-04T13:02:00.000-08:00

This is the bike I bought Jenny for her birthday. It was made by French people in the 1960's dontcha know. So far we've gone on a ride every day. Today I'm going to shine up the chrome, put on new brake and shifter cables, and put on new tires.
Did I mention how hot she looks riding it around town?

An Empty Cavernous Place

2007-12-27T23:15:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago we unwrapped a pack of onesies and a pair of size 6 months pajamas. Last week I was doing some Christmas shopping when I saw a plush turtle that looked as though it belonged to my child; the one inside my wife's womb. I bought it and put it in a box with the rest of the stuff for the growing baby. It's all just sitting there waiting for the day we walk through the front door with the baby in my arms. We have a whole box of that stuff. Today we had our second ultrasound. Before we left to see the doctor I strapped my bike to the back of the car. From the doctor's office I was going to ride to Chris's house, then we were going to ride back to my house. Jenny would have dinner ready when we arrived. But first we were going to see how our baby was growing. We were going to see a heartbeat this time. We would see the little lima bean body. The technician turned the screen toward me. She started pointing the camara all around my wife's womb. She didn't say anything. She seemed to do this for a very long time. I began to get worried. I held Jenny's hand. She squeezed harder. I felt as though I had splashed into a deep lake. Sounds became muffled. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't see a fetus," she slowly responded. "What does that mean?" I knew damn well what it meant, but I asked anyway. She told us it meant that the womb had been growing but the baby hadn't. The cells just got together and then didn't multiply. She said it happens to nearly half of all women. She left the room. I held my wife in my arms. We had a good cry. I didn't ride bike today. Plans change. We called our parents. We had to tell them they'd never see their first grandchild on earth; in so many words. We heard them sniffle and dry tears over the phone. They're praying for us. We prayed too. We asked for some of that peace that surpasses understanding. Chris bought us dinner. God sent him over to give us some comfort. Tomorrow I'll put the box away. I'll hide it real well and hope it vanishes.

A Small Victory

2007-12-22T18:20:00.000-08:00

As I rode to work this morning, the wind was a whisper that warned of waxing intensity. By the time my half day of work had ended, it had made good on its threat and blew with an urgency that mirrored the mall's atmosphere in these final 3 days of compulsory consumption. During much of my ride home, this urgent wind was at my back. Mr. Belvedere was the name of my clipper ship, pavement was my wavy sea, and I captained the rudder with the bending of elbows. In the distance I spied a tree that held big sharp-angled leaves; like those of a maple. One broke free and lifted toward the sky. I decided I would meet it in the air. Perfect timing was essential, the sail-like leaf was unpredictable, and I was still far away. I increased my speed and monitored the course of my target. It blew right, dipped hard, lifted again, blew left, rose higher. I was getting close, but the leaf was falling straight down now. There would be no more lefts or rights. Quick, powerful strokes propelled me to the point of intersection. I was arriving too soon. I sat down, straightened up, glided smoothly. The leaf seemed to pause in front of me, and then it glanced off my chest and fell to the ground.

2007-12-07T15:41:00.000-08:00

They walked in soaking wet. They wore dripping t-shirts or hooded sweatshirts that acted like sponges. They were shivering. I jacked the industrial sized roll of paper towels from the staff restroom. The kids don’t have paper towels. They have hand driers. They would make a mess with paper towels. Throw them on the floor. Throw them at each other. I tore off four foot strips. Held them out at arms length. The kids grabbed at them while their eyelashes dripped. They wanted them badly. They wanted more after they got them. It was like Christmas. It took ten minutes. Their hair was dry. My trash bins were full. Their clothes were still wet. That was last Friday. I thought they’d been caught off guard. Yesterday I gave them a warning. I said, “Wear your rain jackets tomorrow.” I said, “There’s going to be a big storm.” I said, “You don’t want to walk in looking like you did last week.” It was raining this morning before school started. Some walked in wearing t-shirts. Some were wearing hooded sweatshirts. I realized they didn’t have jackets. I realized I’ve lived a privileged life.

The Cossacks

2007-11-19T17:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I finished reading The Cossacks by Tolstoy. It was very good, leaving much to be mulled over and understood at a later time. It's a slim volume, but would require multiple readings to fully grasp a lot of the symbolism and social commentary. The following, however, is obviously a standout passage. It occurs about half way through the story and is an epiphany by the wealthy main character, who has been living as a hedonist for his entire life:
"This is what happiness is!" he said to himself. "How clear it is." [....] He was filled with such joy and excitement at discovering this new truth that he jumped up, and in his impatience began wondering who he could sacrifice himself for, who he could do good to, who he could love. "As one needs nothing for oneself, why not live for others?" he thought.

It's not a unique philosophy. In fact, living with this mindset is one of the primary goals for a Christian. Nonetheless, I enjoyed this passage immensely and found in it a good deal of encouragement.

Target Practice

2007-11-18T18:21:00.000-08:00

Today I had an experience that reminded me of Alyosha from The Brothers Karamazov. I was riding my bike (Mr. Belvedere) up a steep hill in a sparsly populated residential area when a rock whizzed by my head and skidded along the ground. I stopped and turned around to see three boys standing about 25 yards away. The oldest couldn't have been over 11, and the other two were probably in fourth grade. I just stood there staring at the older one. Then I said, "That's not funny, kid." He just stared at me. I just stared at him. After what seemed like a long time, I started riding again. Two more rocks flew past me. I had no idea how to react, so I just kept riding.

Damaged Goods

2007-11-17T15:22:00.000-08:00

Right in your own backyard

Simplification for oneself often leads to a complication for another

$3.00 + Emissions < Negative Calories + Fun

2007-11-04T18:41:00.000-08:00

I'm commuting to work by bicycle now. I've been thinking about doing this for a while. I finally pulled the trigger. A kid in the front row was making fun of kids who ride bikes to school. I told him I was thinking of doing the same. Good for the heart, good for the mind, good for the world. He said I shouldn't do that. It would make me a dork. That's the day I decided to get an efficient bike and leave the car at home. I'm excited to show the him the safety light on the back. After he sees the water-shielding fenders, I'm cofident he'll trade in his monster truck for a bike of his own.