(Seemingly) Clever Ruminations!

why does everything need a header?

2010-03-15T21:37:00.001-07:00

You can't smell much in winter. Spring comes like a steel tornado and fills your face with all these things you forgot had scents and all of a sudden you remember last year. Or a least a feeling of last year. Or the year before that? Who knows. But your nose is no longer lonely. All of the sudden. There, like a whisper in your window, you crack it open just a touch and someone's smoke seeps in like a snake too polite to ask if he can come in, yet too curious to stay out.

GIVE GIVE GIVE

2009-11-04T13:40:00.000-08:00

Banner Ad for Red Kettle

Workin' Stiff

2009-08-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

Goodness, goodness. Folks, I cannot stop listening to an album that's six years old. Normally I'm against that kind of thing, I tell folks to go find something new and great, but "Greetings from Michigan" fits so well with this coming season! So I ask you, forgive my hypocrisy.

But now some truly interesting stuff (to me at least): For those of you who don't know, and for those of you who don't care, I just got a full time job. That's right lads and lasses, an honest-to-God job! I'm a Grant Writer here for The Salvation Army. Now I know what you're thinking. "Kyle? A grant writer? With that hair?" But it's true! It is not a fabrication! I am sitting, right now, procrastinating to write this blog post for you!

^This is how I dress for work.^

Man I'm already bored with this post. I can't imagine how you feel. I guess I'll just jump straight to the witty observation I've had planned and we can take it from there.

I think that this job is the perfect "girlfriend job". What's a girlfriend job, you ask? Is it a job for a girlfriend? No, don't be simple. Is is a job that helps me attain a girlfriend? Well I doubt that. Let me explain, quit pitching your ideas. I doubt you'll figure it out. This job is the kind of job you want for when you eventually have a girlfriend. Why? For this one main reason: when she talks about you to her friends, or when you meet her parents, you or she can drop the top notch bomb of: "Oh yeah, of course he has a job. He's a grant writer for The Salvation Army."

Boom. That just blew up all over your skeptical face. Girl, I could buy you a house. Well, in a couple of years. Right now I can afford rent and not worry about it. But I can put away for a house! Heck yes, and then I can buy it for you! Tell that to your mom and dad, rub it in the face of that friend of yours who has terrible taste in boys but doesn't see it for herself and then criticizes anyone you're interested in.

Oh golly

2009-08-06T14:44:00.000-07:00

I just about cried watching an episode of NCIS.

Awesome.

Addiction

2009-07-29T21:47:00.000-07:00

It's a cycle, a really obnoxious cycle.

It happens to me way more often than I'd like. I get excited. I think things are going well and I stay confidant, and then something happens that shakes my confidence and nothing is the same. You keep moving, trying to go forward, pretty sure that this is different than any other thing or any other time it has happened, and you know what? Maybe it is different, but it doesn't matter because something happens and you don't know what it is and all of a sudden whatever you had, whatever hope your were grasping on to get obliterated by a single comment or ignored attempt at a connection. All the sudden you're thrown off into some terrible black hole of a place and you wonder what you did wrong, and you can't think of anything, and then only in this stupid terrible place to you begin to make real mistakes. Then everything stops. It all ends and you feel blindsided. Then you throw your hands in the air and you shout out, "never again!" and you listen to angry music and you feel a little better then you realize how sad you are that things didn't work out and you cry a bit and call your mother. Then you shake it off, walk about.

And a little later, it all starts again.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm looking too far into a pessimistic future. I hope that's the case. If I'm wrong, if this isn't true today, then I'll take this down. But right now? I'm mad, and I'm hurt, and I'm very clearly in the dark and I don't even know if I want to talk any more about it.

I'm sorry that I wrote this, but there is no one around for me to talk to.

Vulnerability wrapped in Silk

2009-07-06T23:19:00.000-07:00

My whole life has been on some sort of path, a certain track that I could always depend on. Even if my heart got broken, I lost friends, had to move, or if any other kind of major change happened in my life, I could always depend on one thing: I would have to go back to school, I would have to continue school, I would have to do well in school.

Well school is over. I've graduated. I have this wide open path in front of me, and no one is telling me what direction I have to head towards. It's a scary thought.

And it's only gotten harder. Last week was one of the hardest weeks of my life. What do you do when you feel as though the Lord provided something wonderful for you, only to have it all stripped away? I was presented with opportunities, work that I thought was the right thing for me to do, but in a long, drawn out moment, when time seemed to go stagnant, it dwindled away and I was left directionless. I had no idea what I was going to do to support myself. In fact, only now do I have a strong idea of what I'm going to do, but I'm still left with no clear goal.

My friend Jason told me to read Psalm 56. I needed to see it. Verse 4 says this:

In God, whose word I praise,

in God I trust; I am not afraid;

what can flesh do to me?

I guess what it is all coming down to is trust. I'm having trouble trusting God. I'm getting better at it, I want you to know that, but I'm still scared in so many areas of my life. I feel vulnerable and safe at the same time, as though... as though I'm wrapped in silk, but so much silk...

I have to learn that His plan is much more elegant than mine. And to be honest, it may include me stumbling, it may include hardships, so that I may grow, so that I may learn to depend on Him. I am desperate for His grace and intervention. I am craving His presence. I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going and I'm scared to death, but I will depend on God's grace.

"Oh the glory that the Lord has made, but He took my shoulders and He shook my face, and He takes, and He takes, and He takes. " (Sufjan Stevens sang that in Casimir Pulaski Day)

I am lost and cold, but I will wrap myself in that silk. I will embrace His tender grace and sleep in its strength. Pray for me. I have yet to completely smother the fear (but maybe I'm not supposed to rid myself of it entirely. That is a different story).

Better days I've surely seen

2009-06-25T15:20:00.000-07:00

I feel like my engines have failed mid-flight, and I think some of my friends and I have been replaced.

I'm allowed the occasional moment like this.

Paint thinner patience

2009-06-01T00:45:00.000-07:00

There's a dirty pane of glass between us. I can clean and wash and wipe and rise all I want but it's still sitting there. I grit my teeth and tear my clothes but there is just layer after layer of cloth wrapped around me, like a terribly soft prison. There, in front of me, but suddenly I'm a cotton-mouthed ghost with nothing more to say. I sit suspended in time, haunting an immobile moment and watch as the rest rushes past.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes hoping to shed it like the dreams that brought it, playing unwanted scenarios in my subconscious mind. My most vulnerable moments. My feet are cement, not dipped within it. There is no opportunity for speed.

There's a photo album with empty pages. Fill me, fill me, fill me. I pray.

Here is my wound. Bind it, loose it. See me bleed and watch my face. I will not flinch. I will not flinch for you. You probably have the sutures, but I won't hold my breath. Fill me, fill me, fill me. I pray.

Washed

2009-04-23T00:45:00.000-07:00

The sky today looked like cotton dipped in liquid coal. I walked home slowly as the smell of waiting rain gathered between the ground and sky. I sat in bed to work. There was a soft pitter patter, like horses in the distance. I opened my door and watched as the wood on my porch darkened under the weight of new water.

Dust turns to cement as rain plops down. You run your finger over a car, banister, or railing and you get a glue that you can use to cement your other rained out memories to the one you're making now. No one speaks. Birds only whisper. The water has the floor and it always says the say thing, only its volume changes. Soft, the little pitter-pat of drops wandering down to the ground, loud smacks as the rain is spit from the sky.

Water can sprinkle onto a bare forearm. It can sit, more welcome than sweat, reminding you that your skin is breathing. It can wander down your arm, past and through invisible hair, leaving a rumor of goosebumps in its cool trail. It can drift down to the ends of your empty hands, hanging onto lonely fingers, never wanting do crash down to the ground. This is the company nature gives.

The mist and clouds and fog and rain and dew wash the grass and roads. Why should your skin seek better? Congealing in the early morning on mailboxes and bicycle seats, reminding us in the quietest hours that we are not as lonely as we think. It is there. It is waiting. It will condense and clean our filthy skin.

A crisis of understanding

2009-04-20T00:37:00.000-07:00

Snow freezes in its fall, lingering in the sky and above the ground. All sound gets sucked up, soaked up in the flakes as a hush settles down around your shoulders and nestles up behind your ears daring you to make a sound. I'm too scared to, I don't know about you.

I'm prone to wander. I'm prone to leave the God I love.

But I fight it and I push it back and I remember that the impossible is what makes my life worth living. Life is just the membrane, living is the fruit inside. But sometimes everything I want and feel is soaked up, sucked into the frozen snow. What I know to be true and lovely is broken into thousands of tiny pieces that fit nicely in the cracks of miniscule ice crystals and I wonder if it will ever be warm enough to get them out.

My breath clouds into the black space, light bouncing off the snow on the ground and the snow in the air to cut though my exhale. An elk fades into view. I wonder if he's symbolic. I don't move. He looks around. The stars begin to separate themselves from the snowflakes. The world is coming into view and I can feel love beginning to thaw under my frozen skin and the snow begins to move. It drifts down, leaving my hope and faith lingering in its ghostly shadow, hanging in the air between me and the animal. I breathe. It breathes. Everything is collected in the plumes and I feel my faith begin to take a beautiful, shapeless form. The deer turns and leaves me quickly. I feel the blood rush to my face as my heart begins to beat again.

A rambling clambering for summer to break

2009-04-13T23:21:00.000-07:00

There's a smell in the early morning, you know. When you crouch down, just after dawn, when you lean into the grass and wait for the rest of the world to catch on that it's daytime, there's a smell in the dew of the grass that is getting your feet wet. All of your feet too, the bottom, the top, the little parts that are tucked away between your toes, the little spots you thought you hid so well. Surprise, the morning is hard to hide from.

Summer mornings. When you're up way before you have to be because the sun is lonely. When everything still feels free even though responsibilities are solidifying as the dew evaporates, but right now don't worry about it. Right now just feel it between your toes.

Something nostalgic. Some kind of English countryside where your mother or your aunt or a family friend read you Beatrix Potter stories and you assumed one day you would live that life. You assumed that one day you would buy a house, find a lover, build a chair that would always feel that way and keep you in a moment in time when the sun was only thinking about setting and only got around to it when the both of you agreed it was most appropriate.

I felt that way too. I feel that way too.

There is a taste in the evening. A certain type of sweetness that is thick in the wandering wind as it curls around your neck and around your face. You wonder if you're in the South, the North, the East or the West and you realize that really you're just in that moment and you better hold on to it and not think about it so darn much. Then you smell the air, and it creeps into your mouth and you taste it, you taste summer evenings and you forget what the winter even feels like and you thank God you're not somewhere like Southern California where you can take this kind of thing for granted.

This must be how people have always lived. With dew like silk settling on the ground, clothing the blades of grass in something you can't buy. With cool air soaking your skin, whispering to you how you'll regret getting that jacket you're thinking about. Don't block it out. This is how people must have always lived. Before ringing and buzzing and blinking and chiming. But with voices and intonation and whispers and laughs that don't need to be written out because you can see their head thrown back with their mouth open wide, and you're laughing too and never looking at your watch because there's a chance— a rather bold temptation— to live with the dew and see the morning. To keep the sun and moon company while others worry about themselves and the lives they wish they had, realizing that if they just opened their eyes— if they just stopped for a moment and opened their eyes they could have the same life as we do.

It's True!

2009-03-31T23:58:00.000-07:00

I'm hungry like the wolf.

Du-du-doo-doo du-doo-doo du-doo-doo da-doo-doo

The End of Things

2009-03-11T23:48:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a little kid, I've wondered if certain things will ever actually come to an end. Gimmicks, story lines, characters, will these things even close? Allow me to give an example. I have often wondered: What if Trix cereal is finally discontinued? Will the add campaign finally allow the rabbit to get those Trix? Will anyone ever finally say, "No more, Star Wars is over, quit adding stuff,"? It sounds silly, but think about it: how would hose kinds of things end? Will all Spider-Man story lines finally wrap up? Blah, blah, it all sounds geeky, but those are just my examples.

This whole idea has changed since the internet. Let me ask you, is there ever a day when you think you will get rid of your facebook account? Think about it. Is there a point when you'll close it down, turn it off? Maybe we'll use it less and less as we get older, but maybe we're a new generation that will keep it up. Now think... one day, we will have had our facebook accounts for years. Five years. Ten years. Twenty years. And the internet will have frozen pictures of us and our friends in progression for the past twenty years. When will we shut them down? Will our kids log onto our accounts and see these progressive photo albums of our teenage and adult lives?

I'm just curious. Goodnight.

Moments of Clarity

2009-03-01T00:17:00.000-08:00

There is a time of the day, it is early, when the light from the sun moves like grey water slipping by under the ice of a frozen stream. Amber light begins to sneak out growing cracks, lifting into the air, causing you to realize that the only thing you have any peace with in this world is with God and it is a comforting and terrifying idea all at once. The inky night knows that it is being erased, washed away by light the color of fruit, and I realize that I am thirsty as I look at it all and realize that in this moment I am not tired. I will be soon, once the day is no longer being born, once I've had that glass of juice, my body will remember that I am tired. Where are you? I'm here, watching the morning. How do you feel? I am at peace, and it scares me. Then you are not at peace, are you? Drink this sky, and try to feel stress. It is impossible. I feel God here in this moment. My knees are shaking. I understand you. I get you. Others say I don't but I do. Swim in this sunrise, and feel joy. Dip your fingers in these colors and wash the contented feeling out of your fingers. You can't and you don't want to. This is the morning. You get me. This is the morning and the light is decided it will stay. This moment will change, but my fingers will stay stained with color, and I'll never get the smell of peace out of my clothes. Not that I would want to.

Gladly!

2009-02-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

God's Gender

2009-01-29T01:22:00.002-08:00

Oh no. I'm going to get in trouble with this one. Take everything I say with a grain of salt, it's one in the morning after all.

So this is something that I've been thinking about for, well, years to be honest with you. I am sure that all of us have heard the term "God the Father". I'm also sure we've heard plenty of people shaking things up (read that with sarcasm please) by calling God "her" or referring to God as a woman.

Can I throw my hat into the ring? Let's get one thing out of the way: Jesus has a gender. Jesus has a gender because Jesus has a body. He had to be a man (unfortunately) because cultures past and present would not have listened if he were a woman, blah blah. Trust me, men and women are one hundred percent equal in God's eyes. But the main point here is that yes, Jesus has a gender because Jesus has a body.

When I was a little boy, I would make fun of the girls in Sunday School and say that since we are made in God's image, and "boys were made first, the God is totally a boy, duh." Other people, Christians and non Christians alike tend to image God the Father as male, or at least assume that Christians see God as a male. Please allow me to address this.

Can you imagine God walking around? Does he have a beard? A mustache? Some killer biceps? Does he enjoy knitting or playing football? Or maybe the other way around: Is God beautiful? What shade of lipstick does she prefer? Does she prefer dresses or skirts? Is this sounding ridiculous to anyone else? Are we, as people, so ignorant that we believe that that God has some form of biological gender?

That's absurd. It's stupid. It's closed-minded and silly. I think that some people get hung up on the term "God the Father". Yes, it is powerful, it is true, but don't limit the semantics of it. People tend to freak out if anyone ever says "God the Mother," but you know what? Read scripture, it's true too. The truth of the matter is that God is not just the perfect father, God is not just the perfect mother, what it really comes down to is that God is the perfect parent.

God created both man and woman in his image. God contains perfect masculine attributes (whatever those are) and perfect feminine attributes (whatever those are. I don't even pretend to have those answers guys.) Let us not get hung up on the idea that God is one half of anything. He understands us, man, woman, and anyone else because God can relate, God can understand, and because God created us. Don't be afraid or offended if God is referred to as "He" or even "She" unless the speaker honestly believes that something as grand as GOD is limited to physical plumbing. If that's ever the case, well smile and nod to yourself. You know better.

2009-01-29T01:22:00.001-08:00

A Model of Masculinity

2009-01-25T23:44:00.001-08:00

So I've been thinking a lot about masculinity lately. That sounds weird.

Well I'm too lazy to hit the delete key so I'm rolling with it. I think that masculinity is mostly defined by character, you know. Wisdom and the ability to make good choices. An education doesn't hurt either. (Okay, so let me clear this up. I think that having these traits improves upon masculinity. How's that? Does that sound better? So those things are not masculinity in themselves, but having those traits... well I'm about to repeat myself. I hope that's better.) So to sum up, masculinity is really just Atticus Finch. Or Gregory Peck. One and the same. Oh, and John Adams. He was a man's man.

Anyway, I did something that I felt was pretty masculine today. No, it wasn't breaking a moose's neck with my bare hands, though I've done that before.

I fixed a bike!

My friend gave me an old busted up bike for free ninety-nine, and I took it home and looked it over with my roommate Brian. We snapped the rusted chain off with sheer brute strength. We found and adjusted the problems with amazing mechanical dexterity. The next day I found replacement parts and brought them home. And so, spending most of the afternoon on it, we created my new bicycle. It works fantastically!

It is very pretty and red. It felt so good riding it today, knowing that I didn't have some pro fix it, that my friend and I went at it on our own. That I was actually riding the fruit of my labor. I set out to do something and get my hands dirty, and benefited greatly. It is my new favorite thing! I take this space to formally thank Tori, for giving it to me, Steven, for buying the parts with me, and Brian for helping me put it all together.

My bike, she has a name, but you have to ask me what it is in person. Maybe I'll put a picture or two up tomorrow!

Next on my masculinity to-do list is learn to ride a horse, preferably a bareback mustang. Then declare myself an independent nation.

Sometimes, these things are best expressed by others

2009-01-18T00:03:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure about you, but every once and a while I'm not sure how I "feel." It's not an: "I don't know how I feel about that" kid of thing, like I really just don't know how to describe it even to myself sometimes. Do you ever have that happen to you? It's not even a bad thing! It's not some odd melancholy that stops me in my tracks or anything like that. There are something that are simply hard to describe or explain.

This is where I find music to be absolutely essential in my life. How do I feel right now? I can't explain it, even to myself, but this song feels right at this moment:

I have called your name
I've an idea placed in your mind
To be a better man.
I've made a crown for you,
Put it in your room.
When the bridegroom comes,
There will be noise, there will be glad,
And a perfect bed.

Rest in my arms. Sleep in my bed.
There's a design to what I did and said.

Help me out!

2009-01-13T18:48:00.000-08:00

Help! I have to write this big old long story and I am kind of super stuck. I'll leave this space blank, that way you can fill it out with some pretty cool ideas.

Yay!

From Sea To Shining Sea!

2009-01-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

So I think I blog a lot more when I'm here in Virginia. There are just so many zany differences out here!

Virginia, as it happens, is on the East Coast, and is also in what many consider "the south." I, as it happens, originate from the West Coast, mostly California and Seattle. Out here things are old. Well as old as they get in the U.S. Colonial towns, Civil War cemeteries, etc.

Last night, I watched No Country for Old Men with my family. I've been reading a lot of Cormac McCarthy on top of that. The thing is, his stories, that movie is awfully "American." It American in the same way the wild west is American, adventure in a harsh landscape, horses, guns, all that jazz. But it is such a different "American" than this colonial feel.

I have very little to say. Only that there is such a fascinating, interesting diverse palate of what is American, in culture and ideals. Powdered wigs to cowboy hats, I guess.

I'm going to go fire my pistol in the air and sing the star spangled banner.

Yeah, I'm writing about this. So what?

2008-12-31T07:53:00.000-08:00

This is perhaps the most ridiculous thing for me to write about, but I don't care. Ladies and gentlemen, Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)"

Or at least a link to it. Can someone tell me how to upload videos? I'm so bad at this. Oh well, let us begin the analysis! I love this video. I've watched about four times in the past twelve hours. Now let's get a few things out of the way right off the bat. Yes, I'm a male, and yes, Beyonce is smokin' hawt. And yes, this video has plenty of pelvic movement, but so does Newsies, and no one is accusing me of enjoy that too much.

Now let's talk about some of the silly things in this video before I tell you why it is the best thing ever in the whole world. The butt smacking is a bit silly. Also, there are some ironic lyrical inconsistencies. Beyonce sings: "Don't treat me to the things of this world, I'm not that kind of girl..." Now this stands in contrast to the central theme of "put a ring on it," which begs for a material symbol of an emotional commitment. Yeah, I know, it's just a metaphor, but isn't this fun to talk about? Also, the ring in the video contains a very large diamond. And that robot arm: what's the deal?

But now, as I said, I will tell why this is the best video ever forever in the history of history. It is a rare thing to see a music video that focuses on minimalism. There are three women in this video, only three, and no props, only leotards. The dancing is complex and beautiful— elaborate and graceful! It is the focus, an exclamation point at the end of a simple, black and white colored sentence.

Let's talk about the color. Is there a statement on race here? We have three African American women here in the video, but the idea of it being in black and white (a particular black and white that seems to shimmer silver) seems to remove color. We have women, strong graceful women, not women of a certain race.

the lights evolve and shift, giving fascinating contrasts over the movements, never letting things get boring. Conventions are ignored! There are no stupid story lines, no one in a club, no one at a house party, just the simple elegance of a complicated dance over a catchy tune. It is simple in concept, yet complicated in movement, and gives value where it is needed.

Now if only I could get paid for this, then my degree would be easier to defend.

Virginia in Winter

2008-12-21T12:11:00.000-08:00

So here are pictures of Virginia in Winter. The same frozen flower is in here twice, I wasn't sure which picture of it I liked more.

Read Me!

2008-12-16T16:44:00.000-08:00

Thanksgivin' time!

2008-11-24T12:46:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving, I really do. It just might be my favorite holiday. There's something special about having no better reason to be together than just wanting to be thankful. Now I love Christmas too, but look: if I ruled the world, not a word about Christmas would be allowed to be uttered until Thanksgiving has properly passed. All this Christmas stuff can ruin Thanksgiving far too soon, like it's a holiday we just have to get through before the good stuff. No thanks! I want to sit in the Thanksgiving season, look at the changing leaves, and get sleepy from eating all that food. And I swear— if one more person comes and tells me how the first Thanksgiving was "not like we're taught in school" and goes on about small pox, I will tear the giant belt buckle off my large, black hat and smack the stuffing out of them. I know the Native Americans we're treated very well, but the holiday means something else now. It's not Columbus Day, for turkey's sake.

Last night I played my horn and sang (not at the same time) in our church's Thanksgiving concert. It was a pretty good time, my friend Caroline was there, so you can ask her and get a more honest opinion. Anyway, towards the end, our special guest, a Scottish gentleman named Stuart, gave a short devotional thought (Count the commas in that sentence!). He said this: "Thanksgiving, the spirit of the holiday, is counter-intuitive to most of western culture." It got me thinking. I appreciate the day even more now, that we can all stop, as a society, and think: "We are so blessed. Thank you."

I am so blessed. I thank God every day for the things he has provided, for the friends I have, for the family I've be given. I will try my hardest, and I ask you to keep me accountable, to appreciate Thanksgiving all the more, not because of the season, not because of the colors, not because of the sweaters, and not because of the food, and not even just because I get to spend time with friends and family, but because I've been blessed with those things. Thanksgiving is wonderful not because we get together, hang out and eat, but because we get together, hang out and eat. I know that there are people who are not going to enjoy their Thanksgiving. I know that there are people who do not have as much as I do, materially, in friends and family, in people that love me, but I will not ignore the fact that I have been given those things. To do so would be a slap in the face to the one who gave them. So thanks, God, and thank you friends and family, thank you internet for letting me write these things. I hope and pray that we all get the chance not just to enjoy the day and the company, but to really, truly give thanks for it all.

bye now!

Tally Ho, Academia!

2008-11-15T22:07:00.000-08:00

OMG, life right? Totally. It like, happens all fast and crazy. So it looks like I'm taking this whole creative writing thing seriously. Next quarter I'm in independent study, and I thought it would be a great idea to make it as hard as possible. That's why next quarter I'm writing a grad school application essay, as well as one hundred pages of another, single storyline.

I'm excited! I am discovering this real passion for academia. I thought I would have to convince myself that I liked it so that I could survive in graduate school, but it turns out I like it just fine. I've even started research outside of classes for departments and my own masochistic curiosity. But I love it, and it's so interesting.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say, I don't have an outline or anything. I guess I'm just trying to express my excitement for more and more learnin'! I have tons of friends who tell me that they can't wait to get out of the University, but for me, whenever graduation is mentioned I cry a little inside. Good thing I don't plan on stopping. I'm getting too much out of it.

Plus, this way someday I'll have to wear tweed, as some sort of requirement! This guy knows what I'm talking about. Check him rockin' that tweed. Somebody get me some elbow patches, I don't want to wear this jacket out.

Substitution

2008-11-15T11:27:00.000-08:00

Yay!

Staring History in the Face

2008-11-05T16:10:00.000-08:00

I could go on and on about how hopeful I am, I could write about how excited I am to see the world change before my eyes, I could tell you how happy I am to be proud of the people, but I'm guessing you've gotten the gist of that by now, and you've probably heard others say it better than I can. Instead I'll just tell you about what happened to me last night after the election was over.

I walked a friend home after an election party and heard what could only be described as "elation" buzzing through the street. I saw a large group of people sweep by and round a corner. I stopped, took a deep breath, and said to myself, "If I don't follow them, I am going to regret it." I wandered through the crowd, winding through the University District, until we arrived at Red Square, where hundreds of people filled the steps of Suzzalo library, chanting "Yes we can!" "Yes we did!" and a couple failed attempts at the star spangled banner. It was amazing. I found a couple of friends, we stared at the crowd, and we stood in awe and reflected on the fact that we, the people, had changed the world.

The crowd began to dissolve, but a large throng continued down the street. I found some more friends, and decided to keep going, no matter where the crowd was going. I wanted to be able to look at text books in the future and say yes, I was there, I joined in the celebration. My friends and I walked all the way from the University of Washington to Broadway and Pike, on Capitol Hill. In case you don't know, that is a long freaking walk. There was even a moment when we lost a member of the party, the adrenaline was dropping, and the celebration seemed just out of reach. But no! The two of us who kept going were well rewarded.

There, in the street, was a huge group of strangers, so many of us with not much in common, but we were all there, we were all happy, we were all celebrating, and we were all proud to be American. It was a night I will carry happily for the rest of my life, it is a night so many of us shared, and so many of us will look back on fondly. Thanks strangers, thanks friends, thanks fellow Americans. Tomorrow looks pretty exciting.

The Kids Are All Alright

2008-11-02T21:24:00.000-08:00

I have a question. Is it wrong that part of my desire to work for a doctorate stems from a hope that I will one day have but a taste of the life of Indiana Jones? That a dream of mine is to be the adventurous academic that knows the score and where the action is? And why is it that gambling in James Bond movies looks so classy, so sexy, but when you go to Las Vegas it feels like an arcade for the elderly?

I am doing well. I think everyone in the world had a rough week last week, but personally there's a lot to look forward to. There is a lot going on this year. A great deal of creative work is needed before I graduate, and it is very exciting and daunting at the same time, but I have to be honest with myself. It wouldn't be worth it if there wasn't a challenge.

A good deal of my friends also have a good deal on their plates. We are all starting to feel a little strain. But you know what? They are the most intelligent, talented group of people I know. I have complete confidence in them. They are brilliant, they are capable, they are there for each other. I am constantly impressed by what they can produce. Especially since our fields are pretty diverse. I pray for them everyday, and I am constantly assured that they will hold strong. Sometimes we just have to remind each other.

Anyway, my point is that the kids, they can handle it. I feel good. I hope they feel the same.

Hold on

2008-11-01T12:13:00.000-07:00

I have something to say, but I just can't remember what it is. Maybe it's about politics. Or like, truth and beauty or something. Or maybe how much Joe the Plumber annoys me. Seriously, man. Check back later, there will be something profound.

Somethin' New

2008-10-23T22:11:00.001-07:00

Ask me about being provided for, that's a good story I'd love to tell you in person.

Anyway. My advanced short story class (oh that's right— advanced) recently went through our first batch of short stories, of which mine was included. It was a startling process, especially after having spent so much time recently in my Writing Center training course. Allow me to explain. In Writing Center theory, the idea is (and this is a gross simplification) that the tutor is an equal, they and the writer sit side-by-side, the tutor asking questions to help the writer become better at their skill. Theoretically, both people bring something to the table, and both should leave with something more, even if it's just a warm fuzzy feeling. I give those out like candy.

Now when you get critiqued in a short story class, everyone in the class reads the work and you all sit in a circle. If your story is read, then you remain completely silent while everyone in the circle talks about what they liked or didn't like in your story. Sometimes someone will come in with discussion questions about your story.

Such was the case last Tuesday. I had spent four weeks reading and writing and practicing writing center theory, and then Tuesday came and I had to sit silent while a group of people that I do not know too well picked apart the themes of my story. Now hold on, there's value to that. You can't always be there to explain things to your readers. You can't always be around to say what you really meant or point out where they just "didn't get it." It's often very cool to hear people talk out your work, and how they got things out of it that you didn't mean to put in. I appreciate it.

But the flop side is this: with a community of student writers, none of which who are paid professionals enjoying a creative lifestyle, we all tend to fall into the trap of reading work and saying to ourselves, "their story isn't a s good as mine because..."

I think that there should be a new model. I think that some of the best writing is accomplished by two friends that want to see each other succeed, but who are honest with each other. Now obviously, the University can't force friends out of people and pair them up to make them better writers. You can't be assigned a muse or inspiration. But if you ask me, it can be encouraged much more than it is now. Writers, I encourage you: find someone who writes that you trust and want to see succeed. Help them be the best writer they can be, and hope they return the favor. I'll be looking for mine, I hope you're looking for yours.

Here are more things

2008-10-17T00:55:00.001-07:00

Hey guys. I have a couple more of things to show you. I'm a little nervous about it, but oh well! Enjoy, if you wish. Again, click for a better view. This one above is actually my favorite

Click on these guys to get a much better view

2008-10-08T23:31:00.001-07:00

adsf

Politickin'

2008-10-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

So when I was a kid, I thought that the term "separation of church and state" meant that the government hated my church and did not like me singing in the choir. As I got older, I thought it was all about just keeping prayer out of schools, which sounds like bullying to us Jesus lovers if you live in suburban Colorado.

My mother helped me see it differently. Church is not just Christianity, and thinking so is a bit ignorant of me.

Looking at this current political season, I am caused to mull over my thinking of the topic again, and perhaps encourage others to think about it. Sarah Palin made a comment in tonight's debate that to many people, myself included, would find gentle and kind, but when said in the political environment, it felt... awkward. Governor Palin said to Senator Biden that his wife's treasure was in heaven for teaching for thirty years. Said personally over lunch, in a church, or in someone's home, a lovely comment, but out in the open during a debate, I had to think: does Christ want in our politics? Let's keep this brief, I could go on all day.

We should keep the church and the state seperate. I will tell you why I think this way. There is the very simple, clean view of states run by religion have a history of performing terribly. There, easy answer. Here's another: the government belongs to man. It is in place by man and rules over man. Our accountability to God is between us and God. We have governments to prevent total anrachy, and to prevent folks from murdering each other over fender-benders (I generalize). We do not have governments to make sure that my relationship with God is tip-top. We do not have laws making sure that I'm praying before lunch. We do not have laws that make sure I'm not lying and being an all-around jerk. That's my relationship with God, not my relationship with my government, my morality is a tough thing to ink into broad laws for everyone.

And here's the kicker: Christ said, "Give to Ceaser what is Ceaser's, and to God what is God's." So yeah, respect your government, but remember who you have the most important relationship with. The final note: if Jesus wanted to be the political and literal King (or president), he would have came and done so. But you know what? He came as a back-woods lecturer and teacher who just happened to be God as well. I don't think he wants to be voted into office.

A Post of Arguable Substance

2008-09-29T10:23:00.000-07:00

Welcome back, readers! What a time we're having. Are you excited to be here? I sure am. Today I'm throwing up some color photos from the ol' plastic camera. Take a gander, slip a stare, give a hoot, don't pollute. An interesting thing to note: These pictures, when held in you hand, are often very interesting, but occasionally just look like photos of an interesting size. But once you scan them, well it seems that another aesthetic slips over, a spectral film that adds to a vintage look. Sometimes I like the scan better. I am distracted and my writing is disjointed. But look! Pictures!That's Matt Costa, he performed at school a little bit ago. I am under the impression that he and I are best friends.

This is what happens when you leave the shutter open and slide the camera through the air.
I was a little dissapointed that I didn't get this one to turn out with him up close, but you know what? Instead of just a pictuer of a musician, it became an interesting photo that happened to have a musician in it.
Ah, the University. Look at that color! Fascinating. Well today I'm turning in a roll of black and white 35mm film that I jimmied into my 120 camera, so we'll see how that turned out! PEACE.

Holga'd

2008-09-24T00:28:00.000-07:00

So I saved up and bought myself this small plastic camera called a Holga. Plastic body, plastic lens, it shoots onto 120 film and prints out square images. Before you are my favorite shots from my first roll.

Here's Steven in the hardware store. I like how it's blurred and unfocused, but still symmetrical.

This one's probably my favorite out of the bunch. Dogs are pretty awesome, you see.

Notice the vignetted corners there in the top

I have no idea how this image became so sharp.

Look who it is! My good friend Alex was spotted on the Ave that day! Notice the light leaks there at the bottom running up her coat. Signature Holga!

Well I hope you enjoyed it. Tomorrow we'll have some color images from the Matt Costa concert at school and some other things. Huzzah! It is far past my bed time.

I'm dreaming of you, Kiddo.

2008-09-21T23:03:00.000-07:00

Did you know that every time you sleep, no matter what, you dream? Of course you did, you're awfully smart. You also know that the average dream, no matter how long it seems, lasts only a matter of seconds. Science! Crazy, right?

I had an embarrassingly trivial dream last night. It meant nothing, but it really bothered me, and got me thinking about this whole thing. Sometimes I have dreams that are not nightmares, there is nothing terribly disturbing going on, but I wake up hating them, hating that I went through it. Do you ever feel that way?

Now of course the opposite is true as well! I have dreams that can be awfully mundane, just some weird conversation or I think that I'm cooking— I don't know it doesn't matter, but I wake up desperate to sink back into it, or create it in the real world. But it's just an emotion, ecstasy, fear, whatever, laid over images in my spinning mind.

Then of course there are the dreams that follow some chain of events, or feature my friends and family, where something really happens that I can react to in as reasonable a way as dreams allow ("You only have french fries left? THERE IS NO JUSTICE." Not an uncommon interjection for my subconscious). Sometimes I wake up with someone on my mind, like I haven't been abel to stop thinking about them, but I didn't necessarily dream about them. Almost as if they were lingering just out of sight during the whole thing. And other times two or more people will be merged into one stranger that waltzes in. Kah-kah-kah-razy!

I suppose what I'm really getting around to is that I never dream what I want to dream. I'll enjoy my dreams, sure! Sometimes they're much more enjoyable than anything I could come up with (which is, of course, the irony of it all, seeing as how I am coming up with it). But my subconscious, unfortunately, does not work like a day on TRL. I never get to dream that I rescue a beautiful lady-love while riding bare-backed on a Tyrannosaurus Rex while brandishing a light saber. My dreams never seem to revolve around me being the captain of my clipper ship, "The Ursalina," and its rocket engines blasting across the seven seas to an island populated by well-read women who swoon at the sight of my nautical coat as Sigor Ros plays loudly in the background.

I think I'll try extra-hard tonight. I'll top it off with something spicy right before bed.

Addendum:

I had a dream the night I wrote this in which I was a member of the Law & Order SVU unit, except we caught child molesters on a Star Destroyer from Star Wars, instead of New York City. Awesome?

I'm listening

2008-09-11T14:01:00.000-07:00

What are you listening to? I need ideas.

Dry Spells

2008-09-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

"April is the cruelest month..." says T.S. Eliot at the beginning of The Waste Land. I tend to agree with everything T.S. Eliot says out of blind fanboy-dom (an odd thing for a modernist poet?) but I wish to add a footnote. "April is the cruelest month, but September can suck pretty bad too." Perhaps it lacks a certain eloquence.

What's my reasoning? Well since the start of college all those years ago, September has represented that odd purgatory in my day planner, the limbo of my calendar. For the majority of the month, while the rest of the world (okay, the states at least) is starting their routine for an exciting new year, I sit around trying to figure out what to do with myself as I wait for my quarter to start.

A lot of people go home or squeeze in one last exciting adventure. I encourage it, but never really follow suit. Not that I don't want to, I just, say, forget, can't afford to, or simply think that I have just enough things going on to keep me here and sufficiently bored out of my skull.

But no more! Yes, do you hear me internet? Not this mid-late September! I will NOT sit on my patoot and wish I was always somewhere else doing something else! I think I'll read. I think I'll finish my book and start another. I think I'll write. I think I'll expand on my story and churn out something else. I think I'll go to work when I don't really need to; but perhaps bring my book when nothing's going on. I will embrace the peace and quiet! I will nestle in the open days! Perhaps I'll learn how to make something other than (and cheaper than) cheesecake. Perhaps I'll build a robot. Perhaps I'll catch a chipmunk and teach it to paint, or at the very least how to match up to those other chipmunks.

This is not a pity party. This is a call to arms.

Bumber that shoot!

2008-09-04T00:11:00.001-07:00

Welcome to Bumbershoot, 2008! There are a lot of pictures up and about, so let's get this going and take up as little space as possible. First thing's first: Saturday, the first day, our little crew meandered threw the early afternoon crowds and plopped ourselves down in front of the main stage to await one of the biggest draws for us all. Yes, the wonderful Neko Case.

A personal show for us, to be sure. We were feet from the stage, we watched with mouths agape and souls ready for an outpouring of alternative country. She did not disappoint. I suppose I can make a little check mark on my "people to see before I die of nuclear poison or brain tumor caused by cell phone use" list. We saw a couple of other things that day, including a fiction reading and Strange Fruit, something that can't really be explained. Surreal, beautiful, please follow the link and do yourself a service. That evening we made it over to quite the performance by Band of Horses, seen in this little photo. They're the little things on the stage. Ask about the strange cooing noises that came from the show, and also how to keep musical time with your head and floppy hair. You'll probably enjoy the description that will follow. Here's the big one for me. I was excited to see M. Ward, I bought my pass to see him and Neko Case. That was the big draw for me. He came out and began to play, and I knew it would be a great show, but I had no idea how great it would be. M. Ward is known for a sort of softer, almost southern blues/alt. folk hybrid kind of sound, but here he was with several guitars and two drummers with complete kits, rocking rather hard and playing awfully kickin' solos. Every so often, very talented musicians like to come on stage and say, "Hey, this is why you're a fan, remember? Because I'm awesome." His fingers were just... possessed by talent running up and down the neck of that guitar.

Sunday I forgot to bring my camera, so I'll just tell you quick and hope I keep your attention. Nichole, my Bumbershoot Buddy, and myself wandered around and enjoyed a good deal of the art going on that night and afternoon. It took a good deal of effort to pull us out of the poster show, which was particularly awesome. Awesome. Anyway, we eventually met up with Kelly "The Kook" and sat down at the main stage to enjoy The Black Keys. For just two men, they certainly fill that space with more sound than most people would know what to do with. It was amazing. Now afterwards, a pucked Kelly understandably headed home, but Nichole and I decided to check out Final Fantasy. We knew nothing — nothing — about this performer, only that another one of our friends would probably be there, and that doesn't give much info as to musical styling. Oh, and there might be a violin involved. Imagine our gleeful surprise. It was an amazing display of talent and imagination.
Next day— the final one, a big one.
First up, Blitzen Trapper. Solid show, very enjoyable to be sure. Next was another viewing of Strange Fruit, this time with film cameras in hand. Those colors, folks... The day progressed, and we found ourselves just in time for the Pacific Northwest Ballet. I'm in great danger of rambling on and on, so I'll just say this: fantastic. Others can fill in the rest. Next? Yes, dear readers, it was Battles. Sure I had to try and push back a sea of teenagers, but you know what? They put on an amazing show.

I was inspired. Moved. Shaken. For those interested, my band, "Skirmishes", will be releasing our first EP next month. It was a fascinating thin to watch. Again, others can give better details, I'm starting to get very tired.

Finally, I was able to see a band that I've been trying to catch for years. Death Cab for Cutie ended at the main stage. Now I love Death Cab (I don't care what you say) but I quickly realized something. Are they a great band? Yes. Are they talented? Yes. Do they perform with energy? Yes. Can they fill a stadium? Well I'm looking at a full stadium right now. Are they a stadium band? No. Not at all. They're not like Journey, U2, or even Coldplay. Their sound is more personal. Look, I'll be honest, you just shouldn't crowd surf to a track like Title and Registration, but you know what? I saw kid after kid get passed over the crowd like a piece of food being passed down by centipede legs.

All in all: Top notch, folks. I don't regret a single moment. Except when I sucker-punched that one girl in the mosh pit for The Offspring. I'm kidding, that didn't happen, I didn't go to the Offspring show.

Seriously?

2008-08-28T00:16:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I've noticed a disturbing trend. It seems that gay bashing jokes are making a big run in entertainment today.

Now I'm not gay, but I can't help but be offended. Maybe it's that whole "white people getting offended for other people" thing, and true I don't know how many homosexuals respond to it, but I personally have had enough. I recently saw Tropic Thunder, perhaps against my better judgement, and was shocked at how a gay joke was a huge punch-line for one of the characters. I also saw the Comedy Central roast of Bob Sagat, again, against my better judgement, and 75% of the material was along the lines of "Dude, Bob Sagat you are so gaaaaaay." Ha ha, right? You're laughing aren't you? Oh wait, you're not because it's not funny at all.

I saw two clips of a new animated show coming out on HBO, and guess what? Gay jokes and stereotypes. Part of me wonders if the people involved in the comedy think that since gay rights are gaining that perhaps it's "edgy" or even "ironic" to do gay jokes, or maybe it's worse than that, that there's just some vague excuse for masking easy, discriminatory laughs. But I must confess, I am probably guilty of it too. I have what some people have described as a "gay voice," a little character voice, you know, but I like to think that it has evolved into just an eccentric voice, not a caricature of a people. For that, I ask forgiveness.

Now I don't get offended easily. (Sure, my feelings get hurt, but that's different from offense, you know?) Anyway, I don't get offended too easily. I try to have a sense of humor about myself and even my faith, because I believe that there's room for that and it's healthy. And of course, any community has to have a sense of humor about itself or it won't last too long. If I'm wrong, please stop me, but what I'm saying is that I think that people can hold themselves to a higher standard then a series of homophobe jokes. We can hold ourselves, and as consumers, we should hold the entertainers and comedians and producers to a higher standard as well. That's my opinion. I'm open for what you have to say.

Analyze my writing of your analysis of their writing of an analytical work...

2008-08-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

Writing is awfully complicated.

I just watched Barton Fink today, and I thought how interesting it was that I could relate to the main character, in all of his self inflated reasoning and passion to change the world. Being a "creative" writer can be difficult, as Barton expressed, because it isn't always... respected(?) I don't know where that's going, so we'll wander a different direction.

It's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. I wonder if creative writing, if fiction is somehow less valid than other forms of the written word. Have you ever met someone who has said, "I don't read fiction"? I sure have. Fiction can have a stigma of just being stories someone made up. No big deal.

Sometimes I see people so invested in other writing, non-fiction, analysis, anything of anything, and I think about how complex and wonderful it is. I find myself jealous! I suddenly want to write more essays with as many big words as I can think of! I want to just think instead of manifest characters or plots. I wonder if the analysis of a story is more important then the story itself. I believe that I am coming to a fascinating point of thought in this arena.

The creators and the analysts need each other. It's a beautiful partnership! Would we have The Waste Land if we didn't have people talking the crap out of it? Would I still be reading Frankenstein in class if people hadn't written tomes about its themes? I love it! I love being on the side that I'm on! I love analysis, I find it fulfilling, but I love creation. But perhaps even more than I love sitting at a desk and thinking up the craziest crap I can, perhaps even more than I love talking about how The Road just messed me up inside, I love the dialogue between the two. I love the ever evolving realizations.

Good works still speak. Good books last because there is so much for us to get out of them. Good stories, good analysis stay with us in our heads and our conversation because they sharpen our senses and our observations. So many books still speak because people find things that even the authors didn't notice or necessarily intend. Discussion allows works to evolve, and works are the fuel for discussion and I love it so freaking much.

Because shoehorning things into lists makes thinking so much easier...

2008-08-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

As lists go, "Top Tens" always anger someone. "How could you forget (insert whatever)?" "What on earth do you mean (blank) is better than (blank)?"

So in the spirit of easy categorization and quirky things that linger in my mind, I present for your approval and disapproval: "Kyle Reardon's Top Ten Favorite Album Openers." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I present for your discussion, my favorite "track number one's" around. So far. These things are always evolving and changing, meaning that in the end they can be viewed as little time capsules of thought, or completely and totally worthless.

Let's start at number ten (even though I don't think I'll really be counting them down in any real order aside from perhaps the number one!)

#10!

"U.R.A. Fever" from Midnight Boom — The Kills

I'm a sucker for sound effects before tracks, but let's be honest, they can get blown out of proportion, but lucky for you and me, U.R.A. Fever's dial tone is a seductive intro into the heavy bass and drawling lyrics.

#9!

"Concrete Bed" from The Weight is a Gift — Nada Surf

A single note that jumps into an energetic rhythm gifted with poignant lyrics: "To find someone you love, you got to be someone you love." Makes sense to me. "Like yourself!" they say over a rushing melody. I'll do my best, Nada Surf, I'll do my best!

#8!

"Concerning the UFO Sighting near Highland, Illinois" from Feel the Illinoise! — Sufjan Stevens

I can't get over Sufjan Stevens. This song, however, might be his best intro into any of his albums. The melancholy flavor peppered with hopeful note progressions not only makes for a beautiful track, but also gives a hint toward the fascinating concoction of tones throughout the album.

#7!

"When The Lights Go Out" from Rubber Factory — The Black Keys

No song— I repeat no song puts me in a different place as quickly and effortlessly as this one. I get flung into some kind of romanticized alternate American South, one that works hard on being dirty. Shoot, son, I love it.

#6!

"Sentimental Heart" from Volume One — She & Him

I'll admit, I was excited but nervous that one of my favorite musicians, M. Ward, had teamed up with one of my favorite actresses, Zooey Deschanel. Could it be as good as I hope and pray it to be? Thirty seconds into Sentimental Heart and I realize that it's better, better than what I had dared to hope for.

#5!

"Plead the Fifth" from Five Score and Seven Years Ago — Relient K

Say what you will about the bubble gum pop that is my favorite band from High School! But know this: a great opening track has to get you excited to listen to the rest of the album, and that first humming note joined by that thumping bass pedal... you don't want to stop listening.

#4!

"Things that Scare Me" from Blacklisted — Neko Case

This song is an attention getter. You almost have to stop and say to yourself: "What? What's that? And more importantly, what's next?"

#3!

"Gobbledigook" from It's Icelandic, I'm not even going to try. — Sigur Ros

This song feels like coming out of a dark cave, an introduction into running through whatever wonderful images play through your head for the rest of the album.

#2!

"Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car" from The Shepherd's Dog — Iron & Wine

People have a tendency to say the same thing about every Iron & Wine album. "Well It's not The Creek Drank the Cradle." You know what? Shut up. This first track seems to say, "Look how exciting this evolving sound is. Won't you stick around?" How could I not?

#1!

"Marching Bands of Manhattan" from Plans — Death Cab for Cutie

Sorry, Haters. Say what you will, Death Cab has a pretty solid run of first tracks. Plans isn't even my favorite of their albums, but I don't think any of their first tracks said what this one did. With a rather strong following after the melancholy Transatlanticism, Plans scarred a few die hards and brought in a whole new crop of radio fans. In my opinion, "Marching Bands of Manhattan" was a beautiful announcement. It begins with a touch of that familiar sound from previous albums, but builds and builds into a hopeful parade of hoping progressions and simple, clear hope.

Well, love it or hate it, this is kind of how I think this list looks for me, as of this single moment in history. I even changed it as I was writing it. I suppose it will never be finished, as long as albums keep coming out, but isn't that part of the fun in life? Evolving opinions show that we're willing to listen to new ideas, not that we're weak minded. In other words, you should change your opinions to adhere to mine.

kidding!

Of Christ and Kermit

2008-08-10T16:37:00.001-07:00

The whole DC day by day thing lost a little steam. But here's something and a little something more!

The other day the little bros. and myself were wandering from art gallery to art gallery when something caught my eye: An exhibit on Jim Henson! Someone had taken some of the most important pieces of my elementary development and put them in a museum! Such pure, untainted joy ran through my body!

We ran downstairs, and there he was, in his photograph free glass case: Kermit the Frog, sitting there, happy to see me. Around the corner sat Rolf, the piano playing dog, kiddy corner to him sat Bert and Ernie. I couldn't believe it! I was so happy to see these hollow, felt creations that just sat there, lifeless. But I knew how animated they could be. I knew how entertaining Sesame Street and The Muppet Show were to me as a kid. It meant something! I had to think, walking around with my little brothers. They had never watched Sesame Street

(WHAT?!). They had never seen The Muppet Show right before they had to go to bed, the last program before Nick at Night. In twenty years, will Hannah Montana's wig be in the Smithsonian? Will there be an exhibit on Pokemon? I hope not, but at the same time, that's selfish. Their history should be preserved to, no matter how much it might annoy me.

Then I started thinking about Jesus! (Hang tight. I don't really have a transition, but... I want to talk about it and it's my blog, so...) I had gone to my family's new church the Sunday before and had enjoyed the quaint service very much. The sermon, however, was a somewhat shallow fluff piece about giving yourself to Christ without much substance as to why outside of 'you'll be happy' (True, but it means so much more! It's so personal, so interesting, so adventurous!) It was peppered with a Southern style flair that was very enjoyable and blended with an extended sports analogy, but it got me thinking about something totally different, something I would like to call, 'The Greeting Card Jesus.'

The only Jesus that I could imagine while he was talking was the blank faced, white skinned, wavy haired, blue sashed Jesus. Is there anything wrong with this image? Not necessarily, besides the fact that Jesus was a Jewish Rabbi, and was probably rather short and definitely not white, but I'm not going to complain about aesthetics. What I realized, though, is that there is obviously a Jesus product these days. I'm not talking about "The Man" and making money, though no doubt there's that element, what I mean is that I am rather tired of my Lord being something I by at a bookstore. I wanted the real Jesus, not one that had been morphed into a comfortable image. I wanted to see the real Jesus, who has a sense of humor, who got angry, who loved with sincerity and probably gave the best hugs in the history of the world.

I wanted the substance. I wanted the cake, not just the frosting. I want the real Jesus who loves without ceasing, who always has the time to listen to anything and everything you have to say, who challenges you to love everyone, who asks you to forgive everyone because he's perfected the art. I've decided to look for Him with all I can.

On a side note, sometimes when I try to imagine a modern day Jesus, he's always wearing a leather jacket (though probably faux leather. He's not too down with the whole 'killing for fashion' thing). It's funny, and you know what? I'll put a lot of money on the table that says he thinks it's funny too.

I'm going to leave this one up for a while, so I'll see you guys later.

D.C./Virginia Day 6

2008-08-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

Arlington National Cemetery today. JFK, Jackie O, President Taft, and countless veterans. I'll admit, I think I wander of the path of legality and snuck over to a tombstone or two and stole some grave rubbings. Crayons and newsprint has never made me feel so rebellious. I hear it's a gateway crime to grave robbing. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Since it is tremendously difficult to talk in depth about a graveyard without wandering into the realms of morbidity or perhaps unwanted reverence (these past posts have been full of that anyway), I thought I'd take today to give some details on how life is lived here on the East Coast. Take for example, my family's new home.

When furnishin

g the house (that belongs to The Salvation Army) my mother asked me what kind of linens I wanted in the room that would serve as my bedroom/the guest room. I replied: "I want it to be as east coast as possible." I think that we accomplished that aesthetic. Note the navy blue trim to the bedding, complimented by the deep cherry color of the nightstand. Underneath the bed is where I keep my yacht, all of my pastel sweaters are folded neatly in the drawers there. The horse (a kentucky thoroughbred named "Ol' Blue Glory") is tied of to the lamp there, getting rested up for my next polo match. Here in this

mirror is where I make sure that my hair is perfectly parted before I jump into the golf cart to spend the day with various moguls of various trades. The closet reflected there is where I keep all the oars for our crew team at the university, next to my fencing foils. I only wear Eddie Bauer now. On a realistic note, above is a picture of a rather common-looking hose in this area. Affluent, yes, but the point that I was really trying to make is that brick is commonplace in almost every building. Every home almost has at least one brick wall, not because they are old houses, not because they are meant to be "colonial" (well maybe, I don't know) but really, it's just how it's done. Almost as if you suggesting not using brick you'd be laughed at.

And then the building crew would throw one of their bricks at you. Goodnight, I love you very much.

D.C./Virginia Day 5

2008-08-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

What do you say to that? I memorized the Preamble when I was in fifth grade. Those were really the only words that came to mind as my little brothers and I stepped from document to document, drinking in the most important pieces of parchment for our Country. HOLY CRAP, RIGHT?

I felt kind of apathetic, while I was there. I wasn't sure why. Was I just like an eight grader, dragged here out of obligation? Or did I really care? I refused to believe that it meant nothing to me. I think I figured it out. I think it was all the people around. Now I know that it belongs to all of us, that we all claim it for who we are, but I kind of wanted... like... alone time with it. Just me and the Constitution. You know, a more romantic setting for the Declaration of Independence and me. I just wanted quiet, I guess... and candles.

Next was our man Lincoln. So regal! So brilliant! It was terribly fascinating to stand there, not only for Lincoln, to reflect on what he stood for, reflect on what he had done, but also for what has happened at that spot specifically. Remember Martin Luther King Jr.? So many people stood for so much in that little area. I could only imagine what it was like! Would I be brave enough to march? Would I care enough?

Joke time! How many amendments does it take to end slavery? Thirteen! HAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, sometimes facts just aren't funny. I'll be totally honest with you, I'm just trying to fill the space to the end of this photo.

Blah blah

History is neat

Yadda yadda yadda.

I guess this is where things get heavy. I didn't have any relatives or ancestors in Vietnam, at least not to my knowledge, but this was a very important visit for me. All those names, right in your face. People with families, histories, ambitions, goals, girlfriends, sweethearts, terrible crushes that would never work out, kids, honor, self sacrifice, all of it. Try to leave all the politics out and what are you left with? Respect. Ditto for the Korean War memorial.

Let's end this one on a high note. Here is a photo of SpongeBob SquarePants. Well, okay, if he had been turned into a frozen treat of summer joy, had his eye balls removed and replaced with gum drops, and seemed to be filled with a terrible, awful, paralyzing fear of everything.

Goodnight! Arlington Cemetery tomorrow!

D.C./Virginia Day 4

2008-08-04T18:15:00.001-07:00

In Transit
Originally uploaded by kyle_reardon

Well I'm having a bit of trouble uploading photos right now, sos we're going to have to stick with just this one photo. I guarantee there will be some more photos soon! And good ones, dear reader, good ones.

Well the ghost tour was postponed until next week, but that's okay, today was a big day. I woke up early and dropped my parents off at the airport— they're in Florida right now for a big Salvation Army youth event. Then I went home, took a minute to pray, and then wandered upstairs to begin my week with the little bros (bro's?). It was awfully exciting, I couldn't wait for the nine o'clock reduced metro fare to start. (See picture)

Wes, David, and myself boarded the train and rolled down the track- past The Pentagon, through Arlington Cemetery, then finally... THE SMITHSONIAN. Today we crammed in three of the Smithsonian's.. smithians... smithikers... we went to three different museums.

Museum the first! The National Museum of Natural History. First, we wandered through the blacked bones of ancient beasts! Stood in awe of the monsters towering above us, their teeth turned to deadly stones, hungry for the flesh of innocents! Be they mere skeletons, true, but no less terrifying! Then we saw some rocks and stuff. The Hope Diamond was interesting, but I really dug the earrings worn by Marie Antoinette.

We then trudged through the heat across the Mall and peeked into "The Castle," the main information center for all the Smithsonians et. all. And guess who was there just to the left of the door to greet us! It was the remains of Smithson himself. Pretty wild, seeing his bathtub grave sitting on a pedestal right there. "Hey guys, you enjoying my museums? Yeah, it's cool, I'm just gonna chill out here. I'll see you later."

Then we blasted off to the National Air and Space Museum. Ha! Blasted off! Get it? Rocket ships and stuff! But do you know what they have there? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he original Flyer, the first successful flying machine, designed by those kooky Wright Brothers.

That's the thing about these museums. I almost don't believe any of it! I've lived so much of my life at Disneyland and Universal Studios, where everything was made to look like all the amazing things I was inches away from. Very few replicas, this is the Smithsonian, for history's sake, it's all real, all right there. Yes, that's the real Spirit of St. Louis. Yes, that's the Apollo 11 pod thing— it was in space, it burned through our atmosphere and landed in the ocean. Why would we put up a fake one?

Wild, all of it. Well tomorrow's the National Archives— expect some stuff about liberty or whatever. PS— what do you recommend, reader? Have you been to D.C. before? Is there something I absolutely should not miss? Let me know!

Whoops

2008-08-04T17:26:00.001-07:00

Hold on, I'm fixing everything for the better

D.C./Virginia Day 3

2008-08-04T17:24:00.001-07:00

Not much, ask me about it in person.

D.C./Virginia Day 2

2008-08-02T21:28:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Mount Vernon, the estate of President George Washington.

Now I'm a real sucker for history. I almost majored in it, but memorizing those dates... well I just couldn't pull it off. That hasn't deterred my passion for it, though! This is one of the reasons I was so excited to spend the afternoon with my mother here. The house is only about ten minutes down the road, so I can't really express my surprise at how such an amazing, important place could be so close. Let's get to the good stuff, eh?

The house was beautiful, through and through. I have pictures a plenty, and I'll show you all of them when I get back (ask about the turkey cloud) but these three will have to tide you over for now. We walked into the dining room where Washington was informed he was going to be the first president, passed by his bedroom, and gazed upon the very bed he died in. Morbid? Perhaps. Muting in its simple elegance and importance? Most definitely. I was speechless. The idea, the very implication of the men that stood in that house— the very fathers of our nation that walked across the same floors that I was walking across, looking into the original mirrors and knowing that some of the most amazing people in history looked back through that glass was... well, numbing in its beauty.

My mother and the Potomac. The first picture is the back of the house, where Mommy Dearest and I were standing in this picture. Apparently Ol' Man Washington loved landscapes, farming, and pictures of water. Imagine living with the Potomac at your fingertips. Below is a picture of part of the farm. The original property stretches for miles and miles, whole neighborhoods have been built on sections of it, causing residents to say that they "live on the farm." This was actually on the path to the Tomb of Washington himself. There it sits, behind steel bars, above ground. His white stone coffin, above ground with Martha (his wife) lain at a somewhat obscure angle to the left. Behind is a very small gate to the rest of the tomb which holds upwards of twenty-five family members.

I had an interesting conversation with my father on the way home from the X-Files movie about how this all made me feel. Ever since I was a little kid I thought it was kind of tacky, perhaps "old man-ish" to say that I was "patriotic". Growing into an adult at the crest of the Iraq War only made me more reluctant to adopt the term (don't take my zeal in this paragraph as my approval of everything we are and do, that's not the case I'm making). But now, after just a brief wandering through our nation's nest and with so much more to some, I settled on a term. I like to consider myself a "patriot". Not in the Mel Gibson sense, I'm not thrusting Ol' Glory through the neck of a rather malicious British officer, but there is an elegance to the term that I think is lost in the word "patriotic". Blah, blah, they're the same, but really: which would you rather have describe you? I love our country. Do we have blotches in our history? Absolutely. Are we "da best country in da WORLD!!!!111!!! LOLOMG!!!" No, I'm sure there's probably better, but you know what? I am an American, I can claim this history as mine. The flaws, sure, we're learning. But the heroes: all mine as well. Go ahead, you can have them too.

Well that does it for day two. A tour of haunted Alexandria tomorrow, and then Monday brings the start of D.C. on foot.

D.C./Virginia Day 1

2008-08-01T19:22:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my little vacation journal! So it's day one here with my family out in Virginia... but let's start from the beginning.

My flight over was especially interesting. I occupied myself for the majority of the trip, but when the flight was in its last hour or so, I cracked open the window. I looked out and felt a rather exhilarating rush of wonder. This will perhaps sound juvenile, but in all honesty, I don't think I've ever flown so high in the air. It looked as thought I was not only catching a glimpse of the horizon, but I could cup my hands around it and slide my hands over the edges of the earth.

I arrived and was picked up by my Dad, a welcomed sight to behold! I began to tour around my family's new town, Alexandria, Virginia. I was shocked to see how correct my assumptions were about what the East Coast looked liked. Trees, trees, trees, but the kind that turn a golden amber in the fall, generous space between each trunk on the ground. Black paved roads that looked as thought they had been smoothed out on the ground with a butter knife. Every building made of brick. Rows of town houses were lined up across the neighborhoods, narrow, tight homes that carried a catalogue-quality elegance to them.

I arrived home and enjoyed a wonderful lasagna (my favorite) prepared by dear old Mom, hung out with my little brothers, then fell asleep in a chair. We decided to go on a cursory tour of the nations' capitol, so we grabbed our shoes, my camera, and a sense of adventure! I'll admit, we weren't too adventurous, we have a little GPS thing in the car. But here are some of my favorite pictures of D.C. at dusk from a moving car.

Here we have the Washington Monument. Note the flashing red eyes ther

e at the top— it seems you've made it rather mad.

A side of the Lincoln Memorial. Don't worry, I'll have a much better picture of the great emancipator's mug up here soon enough!

Here's my favorite picture of the night: it's that one street you always see those caravans of secret agent jeeps or whatever drive down in all of those gripping political thrillers. Plus, this one's in focus!

Well so ends day one. Even now the cicadas are chirping their hearts out right outside the windows. True, it's only about eight o'clock back home in Seattle, but it's eleven here and I'm tired. Hopefully I'll be going on the Alexandria, VA ghost walk tomorrow, so color me excited!

You know what? I'm tired, and I'm gong to take advantage of this lack of jet lag to deal with and hit the hay. OMG I LUV U ALL PLZ COMMENT! No but seriously, stay cool, cats.

Kyle out.

Adventure!

2008-07-27T01:07:00.000-07:00

Another p(ART)y tonight. One word:

Magical!

Really, it was a hoot. It's funny how quiet conversation can be when everyone's pouring into what they're doing. That's the funny thing about community, especially an artistic one. When everyone is comfortable with each other, conversation isn't a necessity, just a great part of what's going on. And there's something inexpressible about being around a group of friends all encouraging each other and giving great input on what kind of art you're working on.

Which brings me to this: I wrote a very short story, about two and a half pages, that was a bit of an aesthetic exercise. So here's a paragraph, actually my favorite paragraph. Please, read it, and let me know what you think. I'd love to send the whole story to you if you're interested. It's very short.

"The silence in the reddening light had a weight to it; a feel of importance, a touch of necessity. The smallest of breezes touched his cheeks and the leaves of the tree above him, allowing the branches to whisper in the sunset."

So it's rough, it's out of context, but now it's out there. Let me know what you think, if you get the chance!

Care for a tour?

2008-07-23T05:02:00.000-07:00

Oh,

hello there!

It looks like you've caught me in the middle of doing absolutely nothing.

But since you're here, why don't I take you on a little tour of our lobby, and maybe take a peak at the str

eet this little hotel of ours sits on!

Sounds like a good idea to me, so let's gooooooooooooooooo!

No, really, I'm not doing anything.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Days Inn, here in picturesque North Seattle!

It does look pretty nice, I'll admit. We're standing right at the mouth of the parking lot, a place that I like to go and sit in the middle of and enjoy the quiet. Let's take a look across the street, and see our surroundings.

So here on the left is the Echo Lake Tavern. When guests ask where they can get a drink, I send them there. It's also where they tend to stumble in from

in the wee hours. That's Aurora sliding south toward Seattle, and out of the frame to the left of the bar are the tiny little one-level apartments. To the left of that is the porn shop. And yes, we get the occasional patron wa

ltz in, merchandise in hand. The question: "Do you have a DVD player?" is thankfully answered with a "No."

Dawn.

There's a filthy urban beauty to Aurora between three and five thirty AM.

Looking for a room? WELL TOO BAD.

This is truly one of my favorite things to see here at the hotel. I'll admit, it is due to a little masochistic joy I get when I see cars driv

e up, see the window, then drive off. That's right! I mutter under my breath, No more rooms!

"Baby, Imma take you to the next level!" Well that's what I'd imagine our elevator here to sound like. Interesting things happen when it's just you and your imagination to keep you company.

Well there's more to come, but it's six AM, and that means it's time for bed! Good morning, kids, and goodnight.

INTRUDER ALERT

2008-07-21T23:11:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I am currently a hotel night desk clerk. As many of you know, I really enjoy this job, the quiet nights to myself, and the KARAZZY characters that wander in that I enjoy with cautious amusement (Careful, you might get stabbed). Anyway! Like I've said a few times, I enjoy the solitude, I love it so much.

But my time here is winding down. A new chapter in life is about to begin, and between you and me, hopefully this one will have a little more action and romance (Blam, blam! Kisses!) Let's wander back to the point, shall we? Seeing as how I'm almost done with this job, another person has been hired to replace me (which on its own is an interesting thing. Of course I'm happy that they were able to find someone, but it's weird knowing this person is "my replacement").

Seeing as how there is someone new, they need to be trained. Seeing as how this woman is taking my position, she needs to be trained on my shift. Hence, my solitude has been shattered. Broken, like the camel's back, the straw of finality placed upon its burdened hump. Perhaps I'm exaggerating.

The fact is that it's an interesting feeling. You might get so used to being alone, and then suddenly, you get to hang out with a stranger for four hours. Now we're not constantly interacting, I think she's watching "Get Rich or Die Trying" staring the bard "Fittee Cent". But the double-edged sword comes into view. I'm happy to have company, but annoyed to lose my peace and quiet, as it were.

And can we talk for a moment about personal space? Now I'm not afraid of a good hug, that's for sure, in fact sometimes I like to say I have a "personal black hole" instead of a "personal bubble." But if I don't know a person, I think that coming within... say... six inches of my person is a little awkward. Would you agree?

Microwaving the Unmicrowavible

2008-07-16T04:22:00.000-07:00

I had a Tostino's pizza this evening. I didn't have an oven, so I microwaved it against dire warnings. I kind of has a pizza stew instead of a pizza pie. It did its job.

I am a pretty emotional person. At its best, I can be a good listener, a sensitive person who tries to help. At its worst, I can be "emo." It's fine, I'm growing as a person.

There is something about my emotions that I value. First, it is how God made me, and he wants me to learn how to become the best person I can be with them, embrace them, grow. The beautiful thing is this: when I feel my absolute worst, my most "emo," when I feel like I'm being filled with emptiness, I know where I can go, I know what I can do.

I need God. I need prayer. When I don't know what I need, when I don't know what comfort I want, all I have to do is pray. All I have to do is stand in the silence and feel. God knows what I'm feeling. God knows what I'm trying to say. When I've got a weight that I can't understand sitting on my heart, I can simply sit in the quiet and give it to God. I can say absolutely anything, there's nothing God gets tired of hearing. I can say nothing, and God knows exactly what I couldn't or didn't want to say.

When I am ecstatic, when everything is going my way, when my joy comes spilling out of my body, I can share it with God. I know God helped me get there. I can share it, I am thankful, I am filled.

There is one major part of prayer that I am working on: God speaks through the silence. I am trying my best to listen.

Now I love my friends. I have some of the best in the world, probably better than yours, I'm not going to lie. Here's the thing: I desperately want to invite them to Church. I love them so much, I want them to know about this comfort that I have, this joy that I have, all of it that God wants to share. I want them to know because I love them. For some reason, however, I'm terrified. I'm so scared to ask them to come, just even once. But I'm tired of compartmentalizing, I'm tired of putting people in places in my mind. I want them to know that most important part of my being, my relationship with God, and I want them to see where that all stems from.

Now I have to listen, I have to love the silence.

Addendum

2008-07-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

In reference to the previous post (read it), a friend of mine told me this morning that I shouldn't be afraid of whales, seeing as I live on land. I submit for inspection exhibit A:

Any one of us could have been that sea lion. You, me, like... puppies or babies too.

Juicy Confessions

2008-07-15T03:13:00.000-07:00

It's okay, you can laugh. To the left is one of the most frightening images I have ever seen in my life. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I am terrified of whales.

I was chastised by a friend the other day when I confessed my paralyzing fear. She told me it was foolish, that whales eat things smaller than I can see. I told her that didn't matter, I was still scare out of my scuba gear when it came to these gentle giants (OF TERROR).

I explained (or at least tried) that it's really not a question of being eaten. That wouldn't be so bad, kind of a warm, squishy jacuzzi that was eating away at my flesh— that's how I imagine a whale's stomach to act at least. It's not a rational fear of whales, not at all. I think what I'm really afraid of is just... large things in water. Oh, and coffins, but that's a different story for a different time!

What is it about water? I'm not afraid of say, a mountain, but if it was underwater... if I couldn't see all of it? Gee whiz, that's scary. Giant squids? They haunt my dreams. Submarines? They haunt my waking hours. I admit, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but really, large, dark things underwater— well I think I've made my point.

Is it a phobia? I looked it up, I think it's called: "bigwetthingaphobia" which personally, I think is terribly unoriginal.

Golly, doesn't that scare you? I'm on a roll now.

Really, I'm not sure what this is... I think it's a submarine, all I know for sure is that I am quivering.

Now you know how to scare me. Just put me in a large pool of water with... something else and presto! Terrified Kyle. Enjoy it, jerk. Then go scare some kids, since you love it so much.

Stop that, it's not funny.

2008-07-09T04:08:00.000-07:00

I had been spending a lot of time reading "internet comedy sites" at work, thinking it was a fun way to kill time. I noticed, however, that I was becoming a negative person, a judgmental and crude person, and was often scared by my own observations.

Let's take a couple of steps back. I like to think that I'm a pretty funny guy. I'd tell you a joke right now to prove it, but I'm really just not in the mood for that, but if you're reading this you probably know me, and you probably know if I'm funny or not, so I 'll leave that to you. But as I was reading these sites, I realized that their comedy just isn't funny.

I don't mean "not funny" in the way that, say, a Garfield strip isn't funny, I mean that these sites are cruel, hurtful, lazy, and just in bad form. Sites like somethingawful.com, viceland.com, thebestpageintheuniverse.com (or whatever it's called) and so on don't seem to know what comedy is.

These sites, you see, are devoted to making fun of completely helpless people. They find people online, on the street, or in the public eye — people who are perhaps socially awkward or people who honestly have done nothing wrong or strange to anyone (on top of that in fact, I have seen extensive ridicule laid upon the mentally and physically handicapped) and proceed to mock them for the world to enjoy. It's cruel, it's not funny. And you know what? When it comes to comedy, it's just plain lazy. It's easy to make fun of someone, it's easy to insult people. That's why stand-up comics tell each other to make fun of the audience when they run out of material. Quick and dirty jokes that get a laugh.

There are several types of jokes I am 100% sick of hearing. Men and women are different, we know. Sure it can be funny when used tastefully and sparingly, but women don't always love shopping 24/7 and men aren't always watching "the game." Extended comedy routines about the differences between African Americans, white people, and Latinos only encourage racism in my opinion. "Oh man, white people are like this, but black people are like this! HARHAHARHAHAHA." Thanks for belittling the thousands of people who fought for equality (this faux pas is committed by all races, I'm not singling anyone out.) Rednecks are people too, quick making fun of them.

Now one might imagine a very small amount of comedic room left once I remove these common elements and tasteless insults, but believe me— there is so much more comedy, with such higher quality. Even slapstick can be done with brilliance. All I'm saying is work hard for a laugh, or if you're not the type, encourage those who do. Support well done character comedy (i.e. Arrested Development) over the easy cash ins (i.e. Meet the Spartans, which hit #1 at the box office. God cried that day). Remember, you often choose what you laugh at.

Tales By Request

2008-07-07T22:32:00.000-07:00

I've been told a few times that the things that happen to me here at work should be written down. A lot of them are, but they're tucked away in various journals and blog pages that only real die hards could find and order them. I am not one of those people, so without further ado, I present "Hotel Hilarity: Confessions of a Night Shift Desk Clerk — Greatest Hits" (do you think publishers would dig that title?)

First thing's first. I was only about a month out on this job, still screwing up in one way or another about every shift when a gentleman walks in at around three in the morning demanding to speak to a manager. The shade of cherry filling his cheeks told me he was either drunk or worked up, so I kindly told him that I was the only one there, seeing as how it was three in the morning. He demanded that I call the manager at home. Trying to avoid having to do something that would definitely put my on the bad side of my employer, I tried the non combative route. "Is it something I can help you with? Why do you need to speak to the owner?"

"Your back door doesn't work, and it's next to the handicap spots. That's illegal, and I want to talk to your manager about it." This one could go on and on, so I'll just sum it up. Ask for the details in person, I'll gladly give them all to you. Long story short, he called two different Days Inn hotlines to speak with someone so that he could complain, and was upset to find no one was answering the phone at three in the morning. I eventually got him to go to his room, where he told me that he had called his lawyer, and he was going to take the matter up with corporate. Godspeed, sir.

Who can forget the Tupac lady? Late one night, two women walk into the lobby asking if they can get a room. I tell them the price, to which they react with an elongated "sh************t" and then ask if they can just crash on the couch. No, I said. You can sit down for a moment, but that's it. I could smell the alcohol clouding out of their mouths about nine feet away, so I just wanted them to leave peacefully. Luckily for me, they were rather friendly in that "holly crap you are so drunk" way people can be. As I kindly ushered them out of the door a moment later, one turned and asked in a rather passionate tone: "Yo, you like Tupac?" I was awfully tempted to continue that conversation, I'll admit, but my sheer terror as to what two completely drunk women might do if my partiality to west coast rap was revealed (especially in all of its superficiality. I can talk for a grand total of five minutes on the subject).

Two more.

One night, a young man kind of half-jumped, half-spilled into the doorway. Perhaps the best word to describe him (but hopefully not judge him) was "dude." He pushed his beanie back up off his brow and asked about room prices. I was answered again with something along the lines of "sh*********t." He turned to leave, but a brilliant idea struck him like beauty to a poet. He turned to me and asked: "Could you cut the price in half if I give you a bud?" Admittedly, my naivety in these topics led me to believe he was offering me beer, not drugs. "No thanks," I said. "You sure some weed won't change your mind?" I directed him to the Travelodge up the street.

One night, I saw a suspicious character walk in. He headed upstairs, without a word. I decided to go on my rounds, I didn't trust him, and we've had homeless folks sleeping in the hall before. True this guy looked a bit put-together, but something about him... well I didn't see him on my rounds, so I assumed he had a room and was sleeping peacefully. Early that morning, just as I finished putting out breakfast, he came down and used about half of our pitcher of milk, and ate a waffle and several bowels of cereal. He then laid down on one of our ultra-comfy chairs and fell asleep. I wasn't sure what to do. I found out the next day he was a "vagrant" if you will, and got in a bit of a fight with one of the other help desk employees later in the day when he refused to leave.

And many more! Ask me about the guy who comes in for only a couple of hours, or the people who get upset when they find out that their travel agency made money when they booked their room here. Drunks, kids, oh and the marshals who were looking for someone with a warrant on their behinds, checked into a room facing the parking lot for a bit of a stake-out. Hard to believe I'm only here for about another month. I'll miss the danger. Chicks dig the danger.

OMGLOL PLZ READ 2 TEH END!!!!!!11!!!1

2008-07-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

Can I share something with you? I will anyway, I trust the people who(m?) I know read this.

You could say that the New Testament breaks down into two basic categories (did I scare you away? Fear not, things get juicy), the gospels and the epistles. The gospels being different accounts of Jesus on earth (fascinating!), and the epistles being various letters from different apostles (encouraging!)

Here's where the real personal stuff comes in. Recently, I discovered that I was only reading the letters, the epistles. They are constantly reminding us to "be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves" (Romans 12:10) and how much we are loved, how all of us are loved no matter what we do, no matter who we are. That we can't lose God's love, and how we can and should become like Him, and love each other, gaining the best lives possible and sharing this joy with other people. I wasn't reading the gospels, I realized, because I was afraid.

The epistles, while true, are written by regular people who are sharing truth with other regular people. I knew that I was missing out on the words of Jesus, God himself. I was afraid of what he was going to say. With the letters, I can easily say to someone: "Look at the context. What did it mean then? What does it mean now?" Since it was coming from normal people giving God's word, it seemed, perhaps, more flexible. Perhaps there was room for human error. The words of Jesus, I felt, left little room for discussion. I was reluctant to take part. I didn't want God to have said anything I couldn't perhaps work around under the guise of human error.

I decided this was something I had to meet head on. I started from the beginning, chapter one of the first gospel (Matthew) and faced my fear. As I read, I was caught by what I seemed to be afraid of. One of the first things Jesus says is, "Repent, for the Kingdom of God is near." (This, I realized, means something far different coming from Jesus than the man on the street corner shouting at you. I can only imagine it being so full of love, Christ telling you how he wants you to be apart of what's going on) Even now I feel the ache of not being able to articulate how this is more a message of hope then condemnation. But you know what? Jesus bailed me out.

He moves on in his message, giving the "beatitudes," blessed are the meek, the persecuted, etc. Next comes love. Love, love, love, that's what it all boils down to. Love God, love others, because that's what God wants. I realized that I was afraid of the most liberating thing about my faith. God knew better than me, imagine that.

My relief continued. I thought of how silly it seemed to thing there was no room for discussion in what Jesus said. That, really, is a terrible fallacy that has crippled so many. he spoke in parables, he spoke in riddles, he often spoke in a way that he absolutely knew would cause discussion. He wants us to talk about it, to wrestle with what he says. When it comes to love, however, there's no wiggle room, but I think you're going to find it hard to find someone who doesn't like that idea.

In the end I was happy for my struggle. It allowed me to re-discover what I believe. God wants us to wrestle with it. He doesn't want us to take everything and swallow it without question. There wouldn't be much worth believing in if that was the case. There would be no interaction, no relationship, just a big thing in the sky watching us, shaking its head when we screwed up. But thankfully, that's not how it is. God wants dialogue with each other, with Him, with what we have and what we discover.

Forgive the ramblings, if you made it all the way to the end I'll buy you a treat.

Invisible Geography

2008-06-30T22:19:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the hotel lobby (which is uncommonly busy for a Monday night, much to my chagrin) wearing my bow tie (which, as it turn out, matches my work outfit perfectly, and is something I have resolved to wear for the duration of my shift) eating a pack of Peanut M&M's (which I ingest gladly, not a second thought at all) and missing a place I have never been.

Sorry, that sentence was a bit dense, with an odd curve ball at the end of it. What I mean is that for some reason, I find myself longing for a place I seem to have in my memory, but I know for a fact that it's a place I've never actually been.

It happens mostly when I listen to certain songs. Some music puts me in a place — a physical place — that seems so familiar, so tangible and comforting, that it's almost painful when the song ends. Almost, now that's important. If it was actually painful, then life might be a little too difficult at times, always grasping at a place that I am only imagining.

In the parking lot, in the middle of the night, I'm supposed to walk around throughout the night and keep an eye out for junkies. It's usually completely silent and very dark, and happens to be my favorite time and place to pray (Have you ever tried just standing in silence, not saying anything, and listening to God? It can be rather daunting. Sometimes I can feel God strongest when he speaks through silence, something that can only be experienced. I can't describe it). While I'm out there, I often take several minutes to look at the (rather ghetto) open-faced apartment building next door. It is snuggled by trees on the front and back, and sits in a gentle amber glow from the lights in the parking lot, and all I can think about is how it reminds me of a place I'd love to live, an apartment building I've never been to or even seen, just like it.

I think I know what happens. Perhaps my mind takes several pieces of different places I've liked or loved, and puts them together when some kind of commonality triggers them. A smell, a song, a color scheme, something. Granted, this has nothing to do with anything, I just thought it was a fascinating thing my brain does, and wondered if anyone else has this kind of thing happen to them.

End transmission. (This is Major Tom to ground controoooooooooooooolll!)

That Constant Nagging

2008-06-28T17:20:00.000-07:00

So I'm working hard on being a writer, but it seems that I have one major obstacle in my way. I seem to suffer from a terrible lack of productivity due to the fact that I don't live under an oppressive dictatorship desperately trying to stifle my work, doing their best to put forth the false visage of happiness and prosperity!

Okay, so I exaggerate. In truth, I'm just lazy, and I hate being lazy, and always, always there is a constant nagging when I know I'm wasting time youtube-ing Daft Punk videos (hence the image). It's true, I often have wonderful bursts of productivity and creativity, but I fear they are far too few and far between. So what's the remedy? Do you have a suggestion?

Here's a solution that I will try. I promise that for the rest of my summer I will spend at least twenty minutes a day writing something. Be it this blog, more of my terrible poems that I think are nothing short of history altering in their beauty, devotional thoughts on theology, movie reviews or— why yes! I am writing a book, thank you for asking! I should work on that shouldn't I? What? What's the title? The Misadventures of our Early Adulthood. Well, a working title at least. What's that? Why yes, it is entirely possible that a character is based off of you. You want to read it? Well I've only got about thirty pages so far, but I'll take comments wherever I can get them!

Seriously, you want to read some of it? I like it, and one of my friends does too, so there's you validity right there.

A thought on writing, tell me if you agree. I find that you cannot write well unless you are reading too. Sometimes I write things when I haven't cracked a book open for up to a week. I'm awful, I know, but what happens is my writing turns to garbage faster than your personal opinion in a film theory class. In my opinion, you must read to write, and this is a lesson I have to learn myself. I am trying very hard to keep reading, much outside class to improve my form and recognize the talent I should aspire to. My current read? In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Next? I'm thinking of diving into some Cormac McCarthy, everyone can't shut up about him. I also enjoy the occasional dip into my Virginia Woolf short stories. (Addendum: how many writers have last names with different spellings of wolf?)

2008-06-26T19:26:00.000-07:00

Now I'm not really a fan of "genre fiction" or even the standard "genre film." Anyone who has taken a "genre" class with me will probably know what I'm talking about when I say it's too unfair for so much art to be placed into one simple category. However, I have one huge exception to this rule.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am one heck of a sucker for the classic detective story. I'm talking the true, gritty kind of detective story. The kind where it's never day time, in the city where it's always foggy, the men all wear hats and have at least one gun in their coats and the women love you, then they don't, then they love, then they tell you that they never loved you, but then you find out it was all a ruse, and yes, they always did love you. But they might kill you, if any male in the area doesn't do it first.

Have you ever read anything by Dashiell Hammet? The Maltese Falcon, Red Harvest, The Thin Man, all classic books. Normally, I don't jump on board "the author train" as I like to call it, but like I said, I'm a sucker for this stuff. Radio dramas were the stuff my dreams were made of, I wished to live that life.

I'll tell you a secret. Even today, after the romanticism of this 1940's fedora-wearing, knuckle-bleeding, dive-bar bustin' was put in a safe place in the back of my mind, I still indulge in this world when the mood strikes. How, you may ask? Well I pull out my magnum, and— no, no, no... Actually, I put on my fedora and brass knuckles and slug whoever— no...

Here's the truth, moms and dads, kids and grads, I often have an interior monologue running in my head narrating things that are happening to me in the past tense. Which, you can imagine, is difficult to do while things are happening. But you know what? It's awesome. So if you ever say anything interesting to me and I respond by kind of squinting and going silent, don't interrupt! I'm narrating, and you my friend, have just become a main character.

But I do kill those who get in my way. Just a heads up.

2008-05-28T00:29:00.000-07:00

This poem is about early 20th Century Oil Drilling practices. Enjoy it, I really liked writing it.

A Rotary Tool Used for Scraping Out Obstructions from an Oil Pipeline

The Go-Devil,

A Cylinder of hooks and plates,

Is put to work

The oil pipeline lies

Like a dull grey worm who has eaten

Too many vindictive spider webs,

Begging for the little devil's medicine

Grab, tug, grind the walls clean!

Go, devil!

Endure the steady scrape.

Without necessary abrading,

The black gold won't flow

A Confession

2008-05-27T02:42:00.000-07:00

I love birds.

I think I discovered it while listening to the song "Maybe Sparrow" by Neko Case. I was enjoying every note when I realized that I was drawing a picture of a little bird. I then walked outside and caught myself staring at a raven or crow or whatever black birds we have up here.

I remembered writing a story for my short story class a couple of quarters ago, all about a young man and his battle of wills against a golden eagle that smashes into his bedroom. I have no idea why I love birds, I have no idea why I think them the coolest thing around, but I do and now you know.

Enjoy the information.

2008-05-08T23:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, kids (and I don't mean goat babies)!

I'm going out on a limb here and putting up a poem that I wrote for my class. I showed to a couple people and the response was ho-hum, but you know what? They're Philistines. No, they have valid opinions, but I like this guy, so read it and enjoy. Or hate it. Art's suppose to make you feel something so I hope some kind of emotion goes through your body.

An Almost Empty Countryside

In the beginning of late October

A thick cooling settles in the trees,

Wo shiver, still holding their leaves

Here is a Fox, a thin snout and waist

Walking about the tired grass

The darkened road kept cold with vacancy

No destination begged an urgency

The small paws step searchingly

'Round roots, from tree to field

The Fox cries a sharp, loud: "Wow-wow-wow!"

A loose arrow with no target,

it sinks its tip into the cooling dirt

having found no one to listen

the darkened road kept cold with vacancy

No destination begged an urgency

The Fox begins to wander

For food, for friends,

For anything—

And Here:

The darkened road kept cold with vacancy

No destination begged an urgency

The Fox's weak-feathered hope

Brings him on the tarred-tongue road

Well a well placed cliche

Motors its steel grille into paper mache bones

And Now:

The Fox's blood-paint crawls

Like water looking for a stream, thinking—

"It was all so one-sided!"

2008-05-05T23:45:00.000-07:00

Well I'm here again, I know you've all been clawing at your computer screens waiting for another post. I give it gladly.

So I have a question. Do you ever invent people?

Yes, I know "people" have already been invented, that's not how I mean that. And no, I'm not talking about characters for your stories or what have you. No, no, no—

What I mean is, have you ever met someone, not known much about them, and then just create this person that you kind of assume that they are, and base all of your interactions or thoughts about them around this fictional character you've created?

I know I have!

It's very dangerous, if you haven't figured that out already. You might create a person that you think is rather detestable, unwelcoming. You might avoid them and say things about or to them that they very much don't deserve. Man, you're a jerk.

Or the complete opposite might happen! You meet someone and your first impression of them is that they're the bee's knees. Then you don't get to talk to them, or you don't see them for a while, and this first impression keeps layering itself on this person that you hope they are, and before you know it, you've created this Greek god of a person that can do no wrong! How disappointed you will be. Oh, so tragic.

I don't really have a way to end this, so enjoy the original LOLCAT over there.

Stop it, that creeps me out.

2008-04-16T01:44:00.000-07:00

I should change the name of this blog, I only update it at work and more often than not I write about what it's like here. Anything to keep me sane in the quiet nights, the patient hours...

You know what bothers me more than anything here at the front desk of the hotel? It's not the drunks that wander in, it's not the strange folks asking if they can wait for a bus in the lobby and take the coffee, it's not the fear that I might go insane and kill people or the thought that the elevator might fill with blood and pour into the lobby, no - the thing that bothers me the most is when people over the phone ask me for my name.

I get shivers every time. "And your name is?" they ask while I answer questions and give estimates on room rates. At first it was a fear that any mistakes they made would then be blamed on me, they had my name and could say, "Well Kyle told me this..." but now it's just this fear of me losing my anonymity. Why are you calling for information about room rates for your business at one in the morning? And why do you need to know my name?

I really can't explain how unsettling it is. I guess the only comparison would be imagine if a stranger walked up to you and asked for directions. "Which way to the Cinnabon?" they ask. You look like someone who enjoys a good Cinnabon after all. You glance around, get the general idea and say: "Just head past the Urban Outfitters and hang a right at the Orange Julius." they look at you kind of skeptically and say, "Hmmmmm.... okaaaaaayy....." after an uncomfortable moment, they look you in the eye and say: "And your name is????"

Are you uncomfortable yet? Now imagine they grab your butt and then head off to the food court.

Spiritual Implications

2008-04-10T00:03:00.000-07:00

shoot.

Give me some time to figure this out, I'll have a post about 'There Will Be Blood' soon.

You tell me.

2008-04-06T00:56:00.000-07:00

Last night was our dessert party. If you ask me, it was amazing. Then tonight, I went to a friend's graduation party. It was my first House Party, College style, and I was afraid a sober-head like me might not have much fun. But once again, it was amazing. If you crack a couple of jokes, you might get some laughs. If some of the people around you have had a couple of drinks, you get a little funnier, and the best part is that you know those jokes weren't that funny. Italics are my favorite thing.

Here's something I want your opinion on. I have a friend Justin. Now Justin is the Thor of friends. I attribute all of my friends to the Norse god that matches them the best. Unfortunately for the rest of my friends, and fortunately for Justin, I am only familiar with Thor. Now Justin told me this: "When I was a kid, I was attacked by a horse."

What images run through your mind?

Here's what ran through mine. I saw a young boy, crawling into his bed at the end of a busy day. It has begun to rain, and he is very tired. Suddenly, lightning snaps across the sky. The light from the bolt illuminates the area, revealing in the window the long nose, rain-soaked main, and cold eyes of a steed. Yes, the hateful gaze of a horse burns the air.

As the thunder trudges through the air, the horse reels back, letting out a powerful whinny, crashing his hooves through the window. It leaps through the broken glass, as the young boy pulls the comforter up to his neck!

so yeah, what about you?

Here's Hoping

2008-04-02T01:40:00.000-07:00

So I was in my "Reading Major Texts" class, and discovered that basically the entirety of our study will be focused on Walt Whitman. A great American, they say. Hey laid the foundations for American poetry, the father of our nation's verse.

These things I don't doubt.

It did, however, depress me terribly. This man, this great man whom entire classes are devoted to, died very poor and felt himself to be a literary failure. What fate, then, awaits me, the poor aspiring writer? One of the main (admittedly selfish) reasons I want to be a writer is to leave some kind of impact behind me, but is it worth the predicted life of a starving artist?

I quickly decided the best thing to do was to work towards becoming the next Danielle Steel. I mean come on, we can't all be Steven Kings after all.

Some times I think about supporting myself on Ghostwriting and the like. I thought more and more about different ways to support myself, and eventually my wandering train of literary thought drifted across the prairies and plains of ambition, and eventually made a stop at the station of Criminal Dramas.

Forgive me for the awful metaphor.

What I'm trying to say is that I thought about what it would be like to write for "CSI" or "Law & Order" or the like. I thought about how much it would suck, sitting in a room with other writers, trying to come up with the most terrible people doing the most terrible things to other people. Imagine sitting around and thinking up murders and rapes and all kinds of terrible things and then writing it all down for prime time television.

If I had that job, I would definitely need a puppy.

Just the facts, Ma'am.

2008-03-30T18:25:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been surprised at how someone famous looks in real life? Now I haven't seen too many celebrities, and I'll be honest... sometimes I'm happy about that - but the people that I know that have seen movie stars say they're a lot shorter than they think. Skinnier too.

I have seen my fair share of musicians live, though, and I'll tell you something - I find them much taller than I assumed they would be. Ben Gibbard (puts on a great show) is a very tall man. I was impressed! I saw Harvey Danger last month (another amazing show) and found the lead singer, Sean Nelson, to be a Goliath of a man.

It's funny how the movies blow up tiny people to larger-than-life silver screen and music takes these large people and big sounds and squeezes them into a CD or even a sound file.

On another note, of all the "You suck and need to change" reality shows out there, I feel that "Nanny 911" is the best. Other shows are about outward style or appearance, but this show says "seriously, things need to change or your life is going to suck for... you know... ever."

The Future Sucks.

2008-03-26T02:13:00.000-07:00

So I had an interesting conversation with my mother the other day and I decided to take all of the points and talk about them here and treat them as my own. Don't worry, I'll expand on them, so there's some justifiable ownership.

Technology, these days, seems to be a terrible two edged sword with very little middle ground to stand on without the proper attitude. But then again, who's to say there is a right attitude toward this kind of thing? Perhaps only Gringox, the Norse god of Technology, but since he doesn't exist outside the furthest reaches of my imagination, we really don't have an appropriate judge for this kind of thing. But what kind of thing am I talking about?

Well it's the basic idea that so much technology allows for all kinds of communication with people that you might never have the chance to talk to, or at least not as often. If it weren't for things like facebook, there would be no way for me to leave messages for my friends in Southern California, Boulder, Colorado, and London, England in one night. There would me no way for me to call a friend on a whim and ask if they want to go see a movie right then and there if we both happen to not be at home near a land-line telephone. I wouldn't be able to send all kinds of messages to all kinds of people getting all kinds of results through that giant beast known simply as 'the e-mails', which, as legend has it, is the love child of Gringox, the Norse god of Technology and Sheeloth, the Greek god of Postal Delivery. We try to forget about their other, more ugly child 'the faxes'

With all of these amazing benefits comes perhaps an even more devastating list of crappy attributes (*Credit here to my mom). Facebook, e-mail, myspace (who still uses that besides out-of-date high schoolers?), whatever pick of the techno poisons you please allow for a terrible feeling of neglect from the world. I know I feel pretty crappy when no one comments on my wall, no one calls my cell phone, and I don't even get a spam e-mail from Netflix. Back in the olden days, between building cars with crowbars and pieces of coal and growing crops out of nothing but dust and snow, no one was whining like me that they didn't get a text message. Life went on, people found each other when they wanted to find each other.

Text messaging alone is the bane of my existence. Have you ever tried to flirt via text message? It's hard. There's no tone to what you say. I can't even fit in more than 120 characters in a message, forcing me to send awkward half-thoughts or reduce wrds 2 dub lil things lik dis ;). No thanks. I didn't spend years watching Sesame Street to throw out everything I learned about spelling and language to cram garbage into my phone.

And how do you end a text conversation? If they don't text back, I'm left in this dizzying spiral of thoughts like: "Was I too much? Is she mad? Is she ignoring me? Was she trying to read what I was saying while driving a car and now she had collided with the eternal after colliding with a truck and I AM RESPONSIBLE??!?!" Then she texts later, am I'm like, "Well she made me wait, so I'll text back when I want to." I hate it.

So I guess you should call or text me so I don't feel so pitiful whenever I look at my cell phone.

I'm kidding, I don't feel pitiful, I just needed a clever ending line. So, uh... keep reading, dear readers.

The Beauty of it All!

2008-03-23T22:54:00.001-07:00

Imagine, if you will, sitting in a room.

Suddenly, you feel as if your soul is filling up. It seems that while sitting in this room, you soul has begun to take on more than its fair share of beauty. It builds and grows, the rounded corners of your soul filling up and starting to stretch past their capacity, then suddenly, in a magnificent cataclysmic explosion, your soul is blown apart in glory. The pieces are then picked up and sown back to perfection by the loving hand of God himself.

That was my Easter Morning.

Then I went to work, and work was okay.

moving on

2008-03-19T01:32:00.000-07:00

So the worst part about the loneliness of the night shift here at the hotel are the strangers that interrupt it.

Right now I'm watching 'Paprika' while I sit here. I really like this movie.

This post is completely random and badly written, but it doesn't matter, I'm the only one who will see it.

My eyes are tired. Enjoy your day.

Tonight in the Hotel

2008-03-18T04:50:00.000-07:00

There was a large and loud group of men who smelled pretty bad heating up large amounts of food and drinking soda and barking at each other between guffaws at a crude late night comedy show in the lobby. It was two-thirty in the morning.

A woman asked me to call her a cab, and when it arrived, she was no where to be found. I suspect abduction. From the government. Of aliens.

Someone propped open the first-floor side door. For all I know, they snuck in a very quiet dragon.

A young man, very drunk off of the St. Patrick's Day revelry, wanted a room to "pass out in" at four thirty in the morning, and was frustrated when I told him the cheapest we had was around $120.00, and paying cash he would have to add a $100.00 deposit, and he would have to leave by 11.00 a.m. I almost shouted: "Top 'o the mornin' to you, ya drunk Nancy boy!" at the top of my lungs as he left. But I didn't.

The folks in room 111 complained about the folks in room 211 about being loud at four-thirty in the morning. I sympathized, they have little kids in there. I called 211 and told them to be quiet, and they defended saying that they were just making normal "getting ready" noises. I told them I didn't give a crap, it was four-thirty in the morning, and the rest of the world doesn't get ready at four-thirty in the morning, so they needed to shut up. I was much more polite, of course, and never lost my temper.

And that was the eight hours you were asleep.

I like this poem of mine

2008-03-17T22:16:00.000-07:00

So this is my latest poem. Special writing assistance props to my friends Kelly, Richard, and Nichole. They were sitting at the table helping me list intimacies. And that's the name of the poem - 'Intimacies'.

'Intimacies'

by Kyle Reardon

Breath

/Holding someone's toothbrush/when she borrows your scarf and wraps it around and around on bare skin/sitting down on their floor/knowing his grandmother just died/

In the darkness under your skin the pink balloons in your chest slowly fill and empty

/Picking up their dog's poop/comfortable silence/comfortable sounds/laughing at an inside joke/close cushion room/plate sharing/shopping opinions/

Inside the tiny tubes wrapped around your bones warm blood slides down and up

/Knowing about moles you've never seen/teasing/making food/conversations on awkward topics/finding a hair and knowing who's it is/satisfactory anger/

Tendons curl their vines around your reddish parts

/Hair adjustments/honesty/sharing fears/knowing your middle name/

Breathing

/And socks/

Submarines that have nothing to do with Sandwiches

2008-03-12T23:15:00.000-07:00

I would like to begin with an apology for my last post, in which I used "it's" when it clearly should have been "its". Please forgive me.

So I'm sitting here watching "U-571" with my dad, and I'm thinking back. I once went through a brief yet passionate love affair with submarine movies. "U-571", "The Hunt for Red October", and my favorite of all, "Das Boot". Yup, there's something about submarines that really gets to me. It's probably the fact that I can't think of anything more frightening than being on a submarine that is getting the poop depth-charged out of them. And don't forget, who doesn't love to hear people yelling things like, "Dive! Dive! Dive!" and "200 meters?! Captain, that's suicide!" I love it anyway.

I once did a report on submarines in I think seventh grade. If I remember correctly, they were first put into place back during the U.S. Civil War. But this isn't a history lesson, oh no!

Try and imagine yourself as the first financier of this crazy contraption, the inventor nervously pitching you the plan.

"I've got this idea," he says to you, an eager look in his eyes. He claps his and rubs them together. "Get this. We take a bunch of metal, stick some people in it, and drop it underwater, and then they can shoot stuff at boats or whatever. Whadaya say?"

Be you male or female, you stroke your well groomed mutton chops deep in thought, and ask: "So, like a boat that floats right under the water?"

"No, no," he replies, "More like a metal sausage filled with explosives that you fill parts with water and let it sink to about one hundred feet!"

"Ah, I see! Well, by all means, go to it!"

And that, I assume, is how the first submarine was created.

Decades later, of course, someone else came around with the idea of filling them with nukes. So next time you eat a metal hot dog, think back to that first submarine.

The Beginning

2008-03-12T03:51:00.000-07:00

I started a livejournal, but as I looked at it, I realized that this blogger-thing had a bit more legitimacy in its air. Let's be honest, livejournal is so high school.

I'm not too sure why I'm writing in this space, perhaps simply to get into the practice of actually writing things for people to read. Also, forgive me, but I never - never read peoples' blogs, so I might be very bad at this. I have no experience.

Sure, sure... we'll go with that and keep rolling anyway.

Have you ever watched television past three a.m. voluntarily? I have and boy is it a time! A good time at that! Even, dare I say it? A great time. Where else can you see the entirety of your civilization dump all of it's most shameful acts, from the worship of faded celebrities to enthralling tales of murder and murder and some more murder to reality competitions containing people who are very talented but completely un-famous due to their uncanny ability to wear out the human soul with their personalities?

Look no further that late night/early morning TV, my friends. normally these kinds of shows are always on, but it seems like either one or the other is on, with decent programming mixed in with the rest, but once three a.m. rolls around, pull out the urine-stained red carpet.

So I was praying tonight, and I prayed for my future, and I said, "God, I hope that the future works out..." or other things that are much too personal for this space and not personal enough for prayer, and I got to thinking. What does the future hold for me? If I adhere to the Openness Model of God, then even He is not positive about it (the future), and that is a choice that He has made, to work in partnership with me to create and live the best life possible that he would want for me. It was a liberating and frightening collision of thought. If God is as open as I believe He is, then the future is not written, He only has some ideas of what should be done with my life to make the biggest impact for Him.

Suddenly I was terrified, if this kind of thinking was correct, than my prayers actually meant something. They weren't just ramblings to a being who had decided what's going to happen no matter what I shout His way, but they become an instrumental tool in steering what's next for my life, where things actually go. It's a scary thought, that your prayers might have much more power than you ever anticipated.

Phrases that I had heard for so long suddenly lost much of their meaning: "There's a girl out there for you, Kyle, God's already picked her out!" Something I have heard so many times after a rather Emo venting or two - I suddenly saw so many problems with it. (This is of course, just an example.) The misogynistic idea that a woman has been "picked for me" aside, I started to think that if God had chosen a woman for me to marry and vise-versa, wouldn't she have a choice? What if one of us just decided not to marry the other? Does that mean God would sit around in Heaven saying, "Puppy barf and moldy sandwiches! Come on, guys, this has already been decided!"

Or - with this idea of effective prayer - will the interaction between me and God on a subject like this be more along the lines of: "God, I would love to find someone to spend some time with and then maybe marry eventually when we have both matured and aren't just horny young people looking for some guilt-free nooky" [that's not how I pray, I just wanted to elaborate the idea that I'm not praying for a Mrs. just yet] to which God would reply, "Hey, that sounds pretty good. I have some ideas, but let's go at this together and see how things develop." Personally, I like the sound of this plan better.

Well enough rambling!

On a side note, sometimes I want to fly to Europe, give someone a thousand dollars, and say: "I'll give you another five-thousand if you can catch me" and then just book it across the continent. Too many Jason Bourne movies, I guess.