I'm back?

I'm back. For now.

The thing about me and writing is that, being an untrained professional, I don't have the discipline required to write on a regular basis. Instead, I rely on a thing I like to call Inspiration. My assumption is that professional writers have somehow come up with a way to lure Inspiration into an elaborate snare (probably involving bent saplings and bear traps), corralled it into a cage, domesticated it, and then go out and milk it once a week for their column in the newspaper. 

My Inspiration has so far been elusive. And that's fine with me - I'm content to hunt Inspiration on its own terms. I stalk it, corner it in the woods, pin it down and milk it 'til it's dry. Meanwhile, it flails around clawing and scratching me with its talons and chomping me with its 37 rows of teeth, inflicting some heavy casualties of its own. 

That's pretty much where the metaphor breaks down, but the point is that I'm anything but regularly inspired. It's been over six months since I wrote here. It's not that I get bored of it, it's more that I'm selective of what I do with my time, and unless I've got a good head of steam from Inspiration I won't really write anything.

However, the facts are these: I've lately been more contemplative, and I'm redistributing my time accordingly. I've also had a number of great conversations with people lately, which has given me a lot to think about. (Number One among those things is that I am, apparently, and horrifyingly, becoming a verbal processor).

I guess it's only a matter of time before Inspiration makes a run for another part of the woods, but until then - I Write!

Be Nice to your Gas Station Attendant

One time I had a conversation with Gregory about how to be a good customer at Starbucks. I expected him to say something like, "Tip lots" or "buy expensive drinks so I get paid more", or even "Don't make a mess". What he actually said was "Answer me when I ask you how you're doing."

It makes a lot of sense. Think about it - it has to be demeaning when customer after customer responds to your optimistic greeting of "Hi! How are you today?" with no eye contact as they shovel through their purse for spare change and a mumbled "doubletallicemochalattewithhalfandhalfsugarnowhipcreamerandsoymilkonthesideandextracoffeegrounds."* That is not, in fact, a legitimate answer to the question, "how are you doing today?". And it's pretty damn rude.

So I took that conversation with Gregory and tried to apply it to other people in service occupations. The next day I had to go to the DMV to get my license replaced (I think it went overboard on a kayak excursion, but if you see someone who is not me trying to use my Costco card, stop them). Everybody knows about DMV people. It went well though. I'm not going to say that being cheerful will change the very cold heart of a DMV worker, but I did get a friendly conversation and she let me take the test after the advertised closing time. It was pretty great.

Then I stopped to get gas a couple days later, and instead of my usual "fill 'er up", I asked him how he was. He was surprisingly talkative. Turns out he just moved up from So-cal, and his friends had told him that people would be more polite here. His experience had been the opposite and he hated it. I hope I was able to restore some faith in the people of the northwest.

Since then, I've become really sensitive to the plight of the gas station attendant. They sit around all day long in the heat, cold, wind and rain, waiting for someone to drive up and demand to have their cars filled. They are surrounded by exhaust fumes and impatient people all day long. I can't imagine eight hours of that. I did a couple four hour shifts of pushing carts at Costco, and by the time I was done I was ready to key the cars of people who refused to return their carts to the corrals. Gas station attendants must have way more patience than me.

Today, I backed into the last remaining spot at a gas station. The person in the truck behind me had just finished and really wanted me to know that he was leaving right then. He didn't want to have to go around me, so he honked his horn at me a couple times before proceeding on. The attendant came up to me and apologized for the guy. 

You're a selfless hero, Mr. gas station attendant.

*This is what I hear when I hear people ordering at starbucks. I'm sure those of you who work there can translate it. As for me, when I order something it usually goes something like this: 

"Hey, can I have tea?" 

"Yeah, what size", 

"Uh...like a medium amount?" 

"So, grande?", 

"Maybe. That sounds kind of big though..." 

"Well, it's our medium size." 

"Oh, okay. Yeah a grande tea. Earl Grey please." 

"Grande Earl Grey. Do you want any sugar, honey or creamer?" 

"In my tea?!"

"Yeah."

"No. Just regular style please."

The Hipsters are Doing it Wrong

I think it's safe to say that most people like to be included. Being left out sucks, feeling left out might be even worse.

I first came to the harsh realization of this when I was somewhere around six or seven. I was (and still am) a classic tag along to my older brother Gregory. Now he had a certain character flaw which caused him to choose friends from families which didn't have kids my age. Consequently I was left with no choice but to strive to enter the world of the older kids. They played some pretty awesome games, for example:

Game #1

1. Convince Bryce that a mysterious concept known as "immaturity" is really what you want to be, and that to be called "mature" is the worst insult known to mankind.

2. Spend most of the day reinforcing the behavior. "Bryce, you're being so mature right now, stop it.", "Dude, that car is so immature looking!"

3. Let Bryce go home and tell everyone about his day.

4. Watch the fireworks.

Game #2

1. Do fun things in the name of an exclusive club, hinting that Bryce could possibly join the club someday.

2. Lay down the conditions for entering the club - a series of tasks (surprisingly not including doing anyone's chores), usually including jumping off of tall things.

3. Have Bryce attempt the final and greatest task - procuring the "bubble gum" from the secret cache.

4. Laugh and run away when Bryce realizes that the cache is actually a hole in the ground containing about 20 snakes.

and then of course there is the legendary "Five minutes peace", which works like this:

1. Tell Bryce he can play with you all day, but you just need "five minutes peace" first, during which you'll leave for five minutes and then come back.

2. Never come back.

I'm not bitter, I promise. Just know, Luke and Gregory, that someday you'll want to be in my club and then it will be my turn for five minutes peace.

As it turns out I haven't changed a whole lot. I still spend a lot of time thinking about how I can get in on the new fun thing. That's pretty normal, right? Now here's the revolutionary part: What if whenever I was doing the fun thing, I invited other people to do it with me? Some people are masters of the invitation, but I am not. Think about it though, what does an invitation say? It says "I'm doing something that I think would be valuable to you. And I value you enough that I want you to have this experience." It affirms both that you desire value and that you ARE valuable.

Hipsters aren't good at this. They'll tell you all the cool things they're doing, but they won't invite you because if too many people know about it, it gets ruined. What a weird idea! In general, even an introvert like me can admit that most things are fun with more people. I'm thinking about Canby house dinners. Or maybe ice skating. Playing baseball. Watching a movie. Pretty much the only time that lots of people isn't cool is when the whole point is to hang out with just one person. Mr or Mrs. Hipster, I promise not to ruin your new favorite band that no one has heard about. I promise. Also may I point out that I like your mustache?

Now if only I could think of more things to do that would be worth inviting people to. Anyone wanna play wiffle ball? 

I'm not joking.

Although I suspect that inviting people to do things that you do regularly, (i.e. feeding the chickens, taking a walk in the park, reading a book) can be just as good as great things like wiffle ball.

On Thinking

There are good times for thinking and bad times for thinking.

One good time for thinking is while you are walking in Gabriel Park in the morning. People walk by you and they smile at you, and you think about how great it is that people smile at you, even if it is just a social expectation. I try to walk in Gabriel Park in the mornings a lot these days. The other day I got passed by a swarm of mid-30's stroller moms, all smiling madly and showing me that their lives are great with these babies. I'm tempted not to believe them because Portland is all about cynicism sometimes. But then I choose not to, because, think about it, they're in their mid-30's and they've got babies. They're probably happy. I can respect that.

One bad time for thinking is late at night, when you're in your room and you're a little bit disappointed by how badly you cover Paul McCartney's "Let it Be" on your piano. Thinking late at night doesn't do much except make you feel depressed about how you're not good enough, or how you're not the person you wanted to be. There are no confident, smiling stroller moms in your room to make you smile. Not helpful.

Instead of thinking in your room late at night, you ought to listen to Mr. McCartney's "Let it Be" very loudly (on your headphones, so you don't wake people up). It will be therapeutic. Then you should go to bed and talk to Jesus a little. That would be a good decision. Then you can wake up in the morning and take a walk in the park.

It's not ignoring those thoughts about self-worth (because they're very important to deal with), it's waiting until you're in a good place to deal with them. Get a little perspective that only some natural lighting and good sleep can give you. Stroller moms help too.

Goodnight. I'll see you in the park.

Coming soon, to a park near you... STROLLER MOMS!

Topmost Marchy Moments

About a month ago I challenged Jessica to come up with a top things in March post for our blog war. About a week and a half ago, I remembered and decided to do it too. Then I got sick and had an intense week at work so it didn't happen. But all excuses aside, here is my version finally.

1. Every year around march there is a week of great sun and warm weather. I'm pretty sure it's sent by God to keep us alive up here in the northwest. Without that week, everyone would move, having given up hope of the sun returning. It happened this month, and it did exactly what it was supposed to. Now we just have to hang in there until May...

2. March Madness - the time of year when I, with no real knowledge of anything basketball related, create a fun bracket, mostly just because brackets are fun to watch. My two final teams were out by the second round....but brackets are fun! I'm pretty sure that at the Canby house, Erin (possibly the only person to know less about NCAA basketball than me) was the eventual winner. Which gives me hope for next year.

3. Speaking of sports, in March baseball's spring training begins. While I barely follow basketball now, it reminds me of my middle school/home school years when I religiously followed the Seattle Mariners via radio. Dave Niehaus's voice holds magical power over me. I gave up when Edgar Martinez retired and Jamie Moyer left. I'll come back when they again have a power hitter too slow to make it to third and a changeup pitcher who throws slower than the cars on I-5 during rush hour.

4. March is, with all of the gloomy weather, one of the few months where it is socially permissable to watch upwards of 4 movies a week.

5. While Easter was in April, most of Holy Week was in March. Holy Week is really mysterious and personal to me, and it also means I get to play the Holy Week songs from the Covenant Hymnbook, including the awesome "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded". You ought to read the text sometime.

6. Ping Pong is having a revival at John, Robert, and Paul's house. I am currently ranked #4 (sadly of 4), but I'm threatening Robert's #3 position.

7. I had a couple of miraculous interventions at work. One kid, who I had previously been playing Star Trek with (despite having almost no knowledge of the subject) was going crazy, being loud, making other kids mad and absolutely refusing to go to bed. After about 5 minutes of trying to talk him through it with no luck, I uttered the magic words "Captain Kirk, you're not acting like yourself. What's wrong?" To this he stood up straight, saluted, replied "I'm sorry Spock, I don't know what came over me." Then then turned off the light and went to bed without a sound. I didn't hear a peep from him for the rest of the night.

8. March is the perfect time for taking walks through Gabriel Park. It's warm enough to not have to wear a full coat at least. I can take a lap around the park in about 40 minutes, which is the perfect amount of time to pray, process, talk to strangers, wish I was better at tennis, and get the blood moving. Taking walks is one of those things that every time I do it, I wish I did it more often. Apparently my grandfather took a walk every day, and he was pretty great.

9. I've been working out with anyone and everyone I can. If you want to go on a run, I'll go with you. If you want to do abs, I'll do them with you. If you want to do Wii fit, I'll do that too. It's strange to me that only after 6 years of cross country and 13 years of soccer have I become aware of the post-workout endorphin rush.

10. March is a month of buckling down and powering through. I love that I finally have some semblance of a routine in my life, and although I hate it too, it's nice to have something under a little control. Come May I'm sure I'll be re-evaluating everything again. That's the season that May brings for me, but for now...I'm going steady.

An Open Letter to Classical Music

Dear Classical Music,
We have had an interesting friendship, you and I, over the course of the last few years. I first met you long ago. We would meet late late at night, with you under my pillow to keep my brother in the top bunk from hearing and waking. I was charmed by your mystique, your flowing majesty, and your uncanny ability to lull me to sleep. Even though we were just friends, you were by my side through many a cold night. It was an off and on friendship. Sometimes I would kick it at Country's house, where I could wear a t-shirt and jeans and just be myself. And there were many hot summer evenings we missed because Classic Rock was having a party at 97.7. You didn't ever really have to worry about Smooth Jazz, she was never even in the picture, but I know you were jealous of Oldies.

But I chose you when I went to college. We began a serious relationship. I chose you over friends, over sleep, over the math, psychology, and ed departments. It was just you and me, and we were going to take on the world.

We had our tough times. Ear training was an exercise in frustration, and Theory I straight up tried to break us up! Piano proficiency even took a whack at us, while Performance Anxiety clung to our backs like leeches. But we powered through! We put in the time and effort. Don't you remember those long nights, all alone in the practice room working out our issues? Sometimes we despaired to ever find joy in our relationship. You were dissatisfied with my lack of commitment, and I just thought you didn't have that much to offer. We were one big dysfunctional relationship.

We ended it gracefully. We had a couple recitals and everyone came, but the fire just wasn't there. When graduation came I told you I needed some time off. Time to go back to comfortable Country for a while. And I had met someone new: Top 40. Yes, I made some token gestures. I bought a piano and I started playing guitar, but I still needed a lot more space. And Top 40 was just so exciting!

We've been a long time apart now. We hang out at the piano occasionally, or the clarinet or guitar, but largely, you've been gone, just like I asked you to be. I would be lying if I said there was an empty space where you used to be, although there might be just a crack.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day, about what makes music really music, and I confess I said some terrible things about you, things that I now regret. When I revisited that conversation I realized how much I've turned my back on you, and I didn't like that.

I miss you. You know me well, and I know you, although you will always be a mystery to me. We've been through far more than Country, Top 40, Classic Rock, and even Oldies. So let's hang out a little okay? I found your address at 89.9 here the other day. We've been good friends, let's not let that go okay? Hey, how about you, me and Philip Glass sometime this weekend?

Sincerely,
Bryce

PS: I was hanging out with Classic Rock most of this winter. She's so into partying that she just gets annoying after about 5 minutes. And as for Top 40? Can you say shallow?

March is book reading month!

That's right, I'm unofficially declaring March to be book reading month, despite the fact that it is already American Red Cross month, Colorectal Cancer Awareness month, Women's history month, and (only in the Philippines) Fire Prevention month. Thank you Wikipedia.

The fact is, I really like reading books. This morning I didn't get out of bed before I finished Malcolm Gladwell's What the Dog Saw. Today I'm going to restart Leon Uris's Trinity. I have The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman and The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells. And those are just the books that are sitting within 3 feet of me right now. I'm going to the library in a couple of hours to drop off Mr. Gladwell, and I'll have to walk out without looking too hard, for fear of finding something to check out.

I just like books a lot. Sometimes I wonder if reading books all day is really that much better than watching a show on TV (maybe not...I just read that Tom Hanks has a new HBO show about WWII in the Pacific, a la Band of Brothers...it ought to be really good!), or even sitting around playing games on my computer.

Actually, if I get too far into this argument I start thinking about the value of ALL the things I'm doing on a daily basis. I'd rather not delve too deeply into that existential-crisis-waiting-to-happen right now, though it is a good thing to think about.

I'd like to think that reading books forces me to think, but they don't always. Books give me all kinds of new ideas, but so do TV shows. You can learn new vocabulary from books and TV alike. Come to think of it, after hours of reading, my eyes are just as buggy as after hours of watching TV, so what's the real difference? I suppose it's in the purpose. TV is all about attracting the most viewers, no matter how they do it. There are a limited number of time slots on TV, so TV producers always go with the show that garners the most attention. Anybody who has something to say can figure out how to get a book published, and once it's published it's put up to public scrutiny and its fate is decided by the New York Times book reviewers.

You hear about books. You are told about shows. People write articles about books. People write advertisements about shows. Maybe that's it. The people who want you to read a book often have very different motivations than those who want you to watch a show.

So read books, I guess. But don't hate on TV. Contrary to what some people will say, it isn't the great Satan of our time. It probably isn't even in the top 10.

Lessons from Work -- Including how to make a mayo sandwich!

I've learned a lot of things from my new job at SubAcute; things that I would call really useful skills. For example, convincing kids to go to bed when it's only 9pm, or seeing and stopping conflicts almost precognitively. This stuff will be REALLY useful if I'm ever a parent. Or a teacher.

Other things are only useful for the immediate situation I'm in. There is a child we have who refuses to eat most food and gets amazingly cranky as a result. I've found that by honoring this client's request to make a mayonnaise sandwich the correct way I can save myself a lot of grief in the coming hours. Will this ever work for any other person in the world? Probably not. But it does here, for this one child.

By the way, if you're wondering how to make a mayonnaise sandwich the correct way, here it is: onto both slices of bread, painstakingly tease the last semi-congealed ounces of mayo out of the squeeze bottle (or, if you've already run out, a mayo packet for each side will do). CAREFUL: not too much! This is the first mistake you can make. But there definitely needs to be mayo on both sides. Then find some cheese in the fridge. Not the pre-sliced american cheese - that stuff is gross, and it would be far too easy, which would lead you to possible mistake #2. Nope, I'm going to need you to reach into the bottom shelf of the fridge and pull out three (3) individually wrapped 1" x 2" x 1/2" packets of tillamook medium cheddar. Now, you can't just lay those on the mayo, because the cheese is too thick. That would be mistake #3. No, you need to slice it in half, so it's only 1/4" thick. Quick, look around the kitchen for knives...oh wait, we don't have any here. Not in this facility full of self-harmers. So grab a pizza cutter from the utensil drawer and very carefully slice the cheese. Only then can you lay the cheese on the sandwich. Is that too much cheese? Of course it is! Because the third packet is just for you. It's your reward for sucessfully completing the mayonnaise sandwich. Now you'd better make another for later when our hungry friend gets upset after a bad phone call tonight...

Nothing in the previous paragraph was even the slightest bit exaggerated.

But I really do love my job. It's a good job, and while it isn't particularly fun to hang out with whiny, entitled, adolescents who are dependant on you for meeting their entire Maslow's pyramid of needs, this is where I should be. The kids don't often show a whole lot of positive change, which is frustrating, but at least I can act in hopes that they will. So much of this job depends of hoping. If you lose hope in some sort of transformative power, then there really is no reason for this facility to exist. More on why I love my job some other time.

I had a moment of realization the other day though. When I'm working with these kids, I get a closer glimpse of unconditional love than I have ever seen before. These kids give almost nothing back. No appreciation, little respect...just more demands. And I've discovered that what they need is unconditional love. Not that I can give it to them. When the demands and lack of appreciation mount up, I eventually give up. I act out of frustration. And I may still get them their 482nd cup of water, but I will not be loving them when I do it. But to know that it is possible to get them that cup of water, even after 481 others, and still love them...that means I have more to learn about love.

I could be loving them better! That's a hard thing to think at cup 482. This job is hard.

One of my brightest consolations of working at SubAcute is that these children are Jesus, perhaps even more so than the homeless people on the streets and the wandering strangers. And that makes getting that cup of water and making that mayo sandwich quite a bit easier.

Mandeville for Man of the Year

I don't have any other colleges to compare it to, but it seems to me that most Whitworth students really like their faculty. However, there are a few faculty members that for some reason inspire fanatic followings. These are the professors that you can't mention in a conversation without hearing someone tell you how much they love them, or how they've changed their lives. One of the reasons I know this so well is that I am one. Really, you can just call me a Marc Hafso fanboy. But the purpose of this post is to talk about someone who you wouldn't necessarily link with fanatic followings and huge class waitlists. Everyone likes Marc Hafso. And Dale Soden. And Rick Horner. And Bill Robinson. And the whole Theology department. They've done great things and have been amazing role models for students, but I want to talk about someone else - the associate dean of students.

You'll only really have reason to hang out with Dick Mandeville for two reasons; either you're an RA, or you are in some serious trouble. I never got to experience the latter first-hand, but the one time I wrote up some students as an RA I got a pretty good insight into his process. While I've never sat down to coffee with him, or shared a particularly personal conversation, he has made a huge impression on me.

I don't know this for a fact, but I'm pretty certain that he's the supreme law at Whitworth when it comes to student discipline. That can't be a fun job. In fact, this is just about the only position in higher education where the students will hate you for doing your job well. But here's a strange thing - they don't. I haven't had a lot of conversations about Dr. Mandeville, but I can't recall even one where a (rationally thinking) student who had gotten into trouble was angry at him. And here's why: the man has a great sense of justice. His punishments fit the crime. He has the ability to understand all facets of a wrongdoing, and then craft a punishment that restitutes and redeems. How amazing would it be to be known as a person with a great sense of justice?

Not only that, but he communicates well. Let's be honest, no matter how good a punishment is, the offending party will never appreciate it or understand it unless you can communicate the reasoning for it. The two boys that I wrote up came back to me after their punishment and told me they thought they had been treated very fairly. What college males say that after they've had their booze taken away? Can you imagine how much more effective we would be if we communicated that well?

One of the more creative Mandeville punishments? Cleaning every seat in this building.

Let's move on to the more positive side of Dr. Mandeville's work. When I was an RA, he was the point person for all the RA's on campus. That's a big job, and I didn't have a lot of issues so I didn't see him much, but I spent a week during training hanging on his every word. He's lived through a lot of life, and he told us a lot of stories. While I don't remember most of them, I do remember that they were amazing. He lives his life as a storyteller. I might even say it's his profession. From his stories I remember getting a better picture of what it means to be a man, what it means to love your wife, and what it means to care about the students. The fact that he communicates these amazing truths through storytelling is really something.

The man is wise. When people asked me advice about Whitworth I usually gave them one of two answers: Take Ron Pyle's Interpersonal Communication, and Listen to Every Word That Comes Out of Dick Mandeville's Mouth. He doesn't waste words, he just speaks truth.

I also love that he works small scale. He's not trying to shout his message to the entire Whitworth community, he's just sharing it with the people who care to listen. He doesn't max himself out with one-on-one meetings with students (this I infer from the fact that I rarely saw him eating meals with students - a fairly reliable predictor at Whitworth), but he'll talk to you if you track him down.

There's only so much you can say about a person you've had limited contact with, so I won't say much more. I already hope I'm not projecting attributes on to him that aren't really there. The man is amazing, but he's nowhere near perfect. He's just the kind of man I want to be.

On The Greatness of Being a Man

There are a lot of great things about being a man. A lot. And if I talked about all of them, this would go on for pages. So I'm just going to pick a few. But before I do, a short list of the things that didn't make the cut:

1. Being under no social obligation to shave. Why is shaving so annoying? Who knows. It just really is.

2. Being able to walk outside in the dark, by yourself. Every time a girl says something about not being out at night alone I think "gosh that's got to be terrible."

3. Having an innate working knowledge of physics. Sure, I can fix your toilet, because by looking at it I can figure out how it works.

4. Being attracted to Felicia Day. And women in general.

Before I begin though, I want to put in a little disclaimer. As Jessica pointed out, we can only write from our own perspectives. The things we share are simply things we've noticed that seem to be common experiences. But I don't think a group's experiences will ever be fully common. My experiences, thoughts, and feelings will always be my own -- having passed through the unique filter of my senses. So please keep that in mind, and when you see something different, let me know. I'm always looking for a more accurate idea of what the common experience might be. In addition, I'm going to talk about some of the better traits of men, which is not to claim them for men alone, but to show that men exemplify them. Many women also have these amazing qualities, and that's a great thing.

Here we go.

I've been reading through the book of Genesis in the last couple days. Now, whether you take this story to be literal truth, metaphorical truth, or just a story, I think it says some interesting things. For example, in the garden of Eden, God gives Adam some very clear directives. He asks him to name the animals. He asks him to cultivate the garden. He asks him to increase and multiply. As I read this, I see that a role of men is to Do Big Things. And it's not just a role, it's a gift, maybe even a privilege. There is something about us that makes us horribly unsatisfied with doing little things like the dishes or mowing the lawn. We'd much rather sail a boat to Antarctica or make a living stealing from the rich to give to the poor. This is really clear when you watch little boys play outside. If you give a little boy a big stick he's much more likely to pretend he's got a spear to fight off bad guys than he is to pretend it's a shepherd's crook for watching sheep. This stays with us as we get older too. When I worked at Costco my job consisted of stacking products on top of each other, or moving pallets of product around. While that's an easy way to get paid, it's so pointless to do day after day. You arrive the next day to see that people have bought three vacuums. So you add three more to the pile. I don't want to do little things. It makes me feel useless. I want to Do Big Things.

Shackleton decided to go to the south pole. In a wooden boat. That's a Big Thing. 

Then they all came back alive. Without their boat. That's a Bigger Thing.

Because we men like to Do Big Things, we are also very task oriented. We get things done, and most times that's really helpful. Every woman probably knows what it's like to have a man trying to fix their emotional problems. It's terrible, but I promise that urge does have a good use. If you can convince me to get behind something, I will burn through problems with hurricane force. The force of men who believe in something is not a thing you want to stand in the way of. It's men like this who win wars, eradicate diseases, and stand against oppression. I think every man has a little bit of MacGuyver in him.

I love the adventurous spirit of men. It was men who climbed aboard ships going west in hopes of getting to the East Indies. It was men who crossed the rocky mountains to explore the west. It was men who drove thousands of cattle through Colorado, living on biscuits and coffee. It was men who thought it would be a good idea to go to the moon, and did it. Deep down, we still know we'd give up comfort for the wild unknown.

I love the strength of men. We have been endowed with muscles that lift and strain and we've been given minds that tend toward conviction. We carry with us the knowledge that were disaster ever to strike, we would be on the scene tearing away the rubble, lifting beams and cutting through rebar because we have the strength for it. We know that were an injustice ever done to those we love, we would be there to stand and fight against it, and if we couldn't fight, to simply stand in the way.

I love the fierce, sacrificial love of men. What drives us to go back across no man's land to rescue a fallen comrade? Or to run into a burning building to save a stranger? What prompts Sidney Carton to take another man's place on the tumbril? Or Horatius to stand fast against an army while his countrymen destroy the bridge behind him? It's something very mysterious, and I don't think anyone really knows why we are this way, but it is very much a part of who we are.

It would be ignorant to not take a moment to look at reality, though. To be truthful, we men are pretty messed up. It is sadly uncommon to see a man who is Doing Big Things; a man who is adventurous, strong, and sacrificial. No one ever said it would be easy to be a man, but I see these qualities inside of myself and others. If the qualities are there, then the potential is there. Let's do what we can to work toward that potential.

Blog dueling tips

The first tactic of blog dueling is to throw your off your opponent. You'll want to do this by being unpredictable. One way to do this is by missing a deadline that they would have otherwise expected you to meet.

Another thing you'll be wanting to do is to demonstrate your dominance by showing that they can't tell you what to do. Interestingly, you can also do this by missing a deadline.

With these strategies in play, you can gain the upper hand in any blog duel, even before the first post has been written!

My apologies. First post soon to follow.

An Open Letter to Jessica

Dear Blogger of Cheese Luminous, AKA Jessica,

As your blogatory antithesis, I hereby challenge you to a blog duel. A battle of cultural relevance, a war of independent thought, a minor skirmish of spelling, syntax, and proper use of a semi-colon.

Points will be awarded for the following, pending your approval:
1. Jokes about hipsters
2. Vague literary references (for you)
3. Obscure musical references (for me)
4. Criticisms/Praises of Portland
5. Rants about being unemployed
6. Rants about being employed
7. Raw and introspective thoughts.
8. Wonderings, musings, observations, etc.
9. Funny stories!
10. Number of latin idioms used.
11. Non sequiturs
12. Comments by people other than Lisa. (Sorry, we already know you love us.)

The winner will be decided subjectively, inevitably ending with both of us declaring utter victory, and attempting to debase and slander the other.

Sound like fun? I think so.
b

L'chaim to writing!

I almost wrote a new post today. I had it all written out, then I realized that it wandered from one major topic to another. Can't have that.

I take a lot of pride in writing, and if I can't do it well, I start over. It's kind of bad really, I ought to put out my thoughts, abstract and partially formulated, and just see what happens. But I don't do that for two reasons:

1. This is supposed to be the antithesis to Jessica's blog, at least in writing style. Her writing style is almost stream of conscious, so I try to make mine more formal. Don't ask my why my blog is the stylistic antithesis to Jessica's. It's just an idea I had and decided to stick with.

2. I don't know you people. And while I'm sure I have a following of something like me, my mom, and Lisa, I'm not quite comfortable with putting being abstract and partially formulated in front of potential strangers. It's a scary internet you know.

Maybe I should have been an English major. I write just about as much as I play music, and that's often just because I feel guilty about playing music enough.

If I were an English major I would end writing because I felt guilty about not writing enough. Can't have that.

Maybe one's correct vocational path is one in which your passion overcomes your guilt. Or maybe I just gots issues.

(Okay, that's enough abstract partially formulated talk for today).

Overcoming Darkness

It's winter and it's dark. This is by far the hardest time of year for me. When it gets dark things become more intense. The loneliness seems more potent. My work becomes less fulfilling. The sun barely rises behind the heavy shroud of clouds. Even our chickens are laying tiny depressing eggs. Up until a couple days ago, I was working at Costco, and got up at 3am. Nothing is as dark and as lonely as a cold house at 3am. And nothing is as unfulfilling as stacking vacuum cleaners on top of each other at Costco.

But I was walking with Jordan outside in the sun today. It is astounding how the utter darkness of winter flees in the face of some natural sunlight and a listening ear. How fast the problems of the night that seemed so real and debilitating become meaningless. Jordan mentioned that one of the powerful things about living in the Northwest is that although the winter is long and dark and cold, it makes the spring so much better. It's really true: the contrast of a crisp sunlit spring morning redeems all.

Light is such a powerful symbol. I listened to the Sussex Carol this morning, which proclaims, "From out of darkness, we have light...". Or think of the most poetic words in the whole Bible,

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overpower it." - John 1:1-5

My college president used to talk about how much he used to like Rembrandt paintings. Have you ever seen one? They're usually really dark and shadowy around the edges, with a brilliant light focusing on what is important in the painting. It is the darkness the shows the truth of the light.

As I finish this, the sun has passed behind the clouds, and the clouds grow darker and darker. I know that soon I will be surrounded by the cold darkness again. I don't like the idea, but maybe, like the painting, I need the darkness to show me the power of the day. We need the darkness of the Winter to show us the power of the Spring. We need the darkness of the crucifixion to show us the power of the resurrection.

Please remember: The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overpower it.

New Year's Resolutions

I really like lists. Which could be why I like New Year's (no wait, there are a lot of other, much better reasons), because everyone is supposed to make a big list of hopeful things. Really, we ought to make hopeful lists more often. I think it's probably good for us. Anyway, I've been thinking about some ideas for my list. I might add more to it later, but here's a start.

1. Think more of others and less about myself. Wouldn't it be miraculous if we were able to stop being so self-obsessed and pay attention to other peoples' needs? I would listen better, be more sensitive, and know better how to help people. Ironically, when I mentioned this thought to the people at my house on New Year's, I accidentally cut off what Dan was going to say. Well, we've got to start somewhere.

2. More books, less TV. Don't get me wrong, I don't have any kind of vendetta against TV, it's just that I really like reading books. They make me more aware, more creative, and more inspired. I also like watching TV/movies, but it doesn't make me feel the same way afterward.

3. Know when to be upset, and when not to. Getting upset when you shouldn't makes you oversensitive, and people feel like they have to tiptoe around you. Not getting upset when you should allows people to walk all over you. Finding the middle ground is hard. I want to do that.

"Anyone can become angry, that is easy... but to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way...this is not easy." - Aristotle

4. Cook more often. Seriously, I worked in the Cascades Kitchen. I spent a summer learning how to make food well. I really enjoy making food. It's just one of those "get off your butt and do it" situations.

5. Go on some dates. For reals people, I need to start dating. Even my dad is telling me to.

6. Dress better. I realized not too long ago that 1.) I don't dress nicely. Way too many t-shirts and nasty pants, not enough collared shirts, and 2.) It's pretty easy to make a little effort and look a lot better. Plus, here's some bonus math: I'd like to meet a nice woman who is absolutely beautiful, and I am attracted to well-dressed women. It stands to reason that one such beautiful woman might be similarly attracted to a nicely dressed man. QED.

7. Play more music. I really like music, and I really like playing music too. But I'm freakishly slef-conscious about it. Strange, you would think, for me to be a musician and to be skittish about performing, but I am. So I want to get better at that.

More about the title

There already was a blog called "Practicing Resurrection", hence my addition of the dash in the URL. However, I decided to go with it anyway, for several reasons:

1. It looks like Brett, who does the other one hasn't updated in a while. So it's not like I'll be competing. We'll have to keep an eye on him though.

2. "Practice resurrection." It's a pretty amazing concept. Doesn't the phrase conjure up some intangible strength? Some mystery? How could something so supernatural as resurrection be practiced? And yet it implies that we have something that powerful at our disposal, and should we choose, we can practice it. Resurrection: to bring back to life. Isn't that what we all want? To be brought to life? Perhaps to be fulfilled? And Practice: to put in the hours in order to become better. It only seems fair that resurrection would require some work. Now if only we could figure out how to go about practicing resurrection...perhaps that is the purpose of this blog...

3. I need practice spelling "resurrection". It's one of those words, along with "chief" and "calendar" and "commitment" that I can never spell. And for those of you keeping track at home, I only had to respell "commitment" as I typed this.

4. Thus, I've made some sort of commitment to this blog, albeit small. I won't be putting posting dates in my calendar or anything, but I'll try to be somewhat regular. And I hope it will be always to some degree, if not chiefly, concerned with the idea of "Practicing Resurrection".

b

The reason for the title

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

-Wendell Berry Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front