Help! I've been flabbergasted!

I am apparently unable to talk about anything other than dirt.

2010-05-01T15:05:00.000-07:00

So. I've been out a while. School and all that. But I'm still thinking about dirt, which I'm sure is exciting to a total of one person in this world. Namely me.

Dirt is life and death: death out of life, life out of death. When things die they hit ground. Bunches of little beasts eat them, die, and fall apart into dust. One of Danny Boyle’s movies told me that 80% of dust is human skin. Everything dies into dirt. Dirt is death. Every living thing pulls its life from the ground. Dead dogs are eaten by worms and flies and members of phylum Zygomycota. They die, and crumble into dust. A man comes, and dead pieces of him fall off in invisible flakes of skin while he cuts the dirt in two with an iron sword. The man drops in round balls that look dead. Water drops fall from clouds and shatter on the dirt. Seeds take nutrients from the dirt and live – they pull death from the soil and make it green life. Months later, this plant too will die, its hard labor ripped away and the stalk cut down. And the man’s wife will grind and knead and feed her family with bread, bread grown from death, life out of the dust.

We become dirt. Dirt looks better when we adorn it, like a beautiful woman wearing diamonds. It’s a mutually beneficial existence. Dirt in the wild is great, but not like earth that is cared for, tilled, and cultivated. It’s not the same. At the same time, the soil of overworked, overfarmed land is one of the saddest sights in the world. Drained of all life, it holds no promise, only sorrow. It’s true, though, that the untouched dirt of a national park is good like the Sabbath is good, that the pristine white sand of Pensacola is beautiful, but we need six times more earth to balance it out. Good earth. Dark earth. Black with minerals and nutrients and promise and growth and rot and hard work and death and life. We are becoming to dirt.

Dirt becomes us. A man is at home with his fingers in the dirt. Perhaps it’s my Southern roots, but I think there’s universal respect for a farmer, for a man who plunges his hands in the soil. Those who don’t like getting their hands dirty aren’t people I want to be around, speaking in the most general way possible. We need to be touching dirt. There’s a labor of Hercules in which he tries to defeat Antaeus, the giant who is immortal while touching earth, that should ring true for us (perhaps far truer than the Enlightenment would have us think – are we not just that way?). After all, “cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree.” Why is it that the most disturbing shot in every Western the toes of the cowboy’s boots dangling three inches off the ground beneath the lynching tree? Why does it always work? Why do people in space begin to deteriorate from the inside out? We need dirt to survive. If we leave it for long it leaks out our bones and muscles and we die. There’s a reason being hanged is the most disgraceful possible death in almost every ancient culture. Go, says the judge, go be pulled away from what makes you human, what you are most like in the universe, and be held there until you can’t breathe anymore while everyone watches you. Dirt is becoming to us.

God became dirt. Infinite beauty and power and love was bound and wrapped and pressed into clay that walked around on the earth and was hungry and hurt and cried and grew angry. Matter has never been created or destroyed, the great lords of science tell us. But the apostles chuckle and say that they’re wrong. A few trillion molecules are missing from this universe. Because Christ rolled away the stone from His resting place in the earth, and stepped forth in a body of dirt made new. And it’s not here any more. And so I must believe that there is dirt missing from this earth. It’s remade, renewed, purified of all remnants and scars of death, and sits at the right hand of the Father.

Dirt becomes us. Dirt was what God took and breathed life into. Dirt is what makes up our skin, our bones, and that little thing next to your small intestine called appendix. Dirt is made up of molecules, and some of those molecules are sucked up by roots into most everything. Grass. Wheat. Grapes. Some of those molecules go into cows after being grass. Wheat molecules become flour, then bread, and the grape similarly becomes wine. All of our food, at some point, came from dirt, and so all that we physically are came, sooner or later, from dirt. Dirt makes us better – Christ healed the blind man with mud. He called Zacchaeus out of sin into life: out of a tree and onto the dirt.

We become dirt. When we are done fighting with air, pulling it down and letting it out of ourselves, we are laid to rest. We sleep in the dirt, surrounded by the dust that we were. There we give up trying to hold the dirt we have. We give it back. And that’s the economy of the Gospel. Give up what you have. Give everything you have to others, and it will come back to you. Give up your pride to Christ and He will give you a real reason to be proud. Give up your strength to the dirt, from whence it came, give your bones back to the ground. And, one day – even so, come quickly Lord Jesus! – dirt will be raised up and pressed into a true body, one without decay or sin or death, and the breath of the Spirit will fill it with flame and purified, clean, unshatterably beautiful, you will stand made new in the World made new. An Earth made without sin, made with no thought of death, on dirt washed pure by the blood of Christ.

Best Video Ever

2010-04-11T17:06:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so this is my new favorite youtube video. Done by my friends Christian and Sheffield Leithart, starring Stephen Sampson. All filmed In Bucer's Coffeehouse Pub in Moscow, ID. I'm using a link rather than an embed, just because.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoE9Zm7NtWo

Wrong

2010-03-24T21:58:00.000-07:00

There are some people who seem to be always right. I used to look up to these sorts of people, and want to be like them. That was before I realized that they aren't always right. They are all phonies. So what happens when they are wrong? Well, either they deflate gracefully or they end up worse than anything Roald Dahl could of dreamed up. Admitting wrong means stepping out of yourself and viewing yourself from another viewpoint. Being wrong is like little worldview aftershocks; some peoples' worldviews just can't take it.

Take fatherhood. The father-young children relationship fascinates me. When the father is taking his proper role (and even when he is not) he is creating a model of the Father to his children. When they are young, he can do no wrong. Gradually, as his children get older they come to realize that their father is human and he makes mistakes. He is an imperfect model of God, but a model nonetheless. Incidentally, what happens when no father is in the home? Statistics.

The people I can truly admire are the ones who can be wrong. I want to be like them. I want to be like my father.

It's not enough to be mistaken, mislead, or whatever. No excuses. Just be wrong and expect it to hurt. This will be my easter resolution: BE WRONG. I'm sure I won't be lacking in opportunities.

Joy in the parentheses

2010-03-05T20:47:00.001-08:00

People say that the past gets in the way of the present too much. That's probably true, but the future matters to me more. Perhaps this is because I'm young (a mere 21 years old; God willing I have more future ahead of me than past behind me). Right now the future is distracting me. I pray God for patience but I want joy now; without all the pain, anxiety, and heartache that comes with it. (My whole life up to now has been a parentheses; let's get to the good stuff already).

I've always been that way (is this a basic human trait, or am I special?). I'd love to learn piano without practicing or recitals; boy I hated those (If I had learned I would have been much better than you, by the way). I'm a lazy neat freak and an apathetic radical (my room's a mess and I haven't done a darn thing about the issues I care about). Wouldn't it be great if things just worked themselves out with no effort?

I think a lot of people have this "parentheses" view. It couldn't be more wrong. My life is a book and this is the good stuff. What's keeping me from having joy now? What, my singleness? My dependence on my parents for money? The pain in my back? Pain is transient (seriously, it's getting better), singleness is where God wants me right now, and God bless my parents. In the words of my little brother, life is glorious. Rejoice!

Same moon

2010-03-03T19:20:00.001-08:00

DSC_7484
Originally uploaded by robnoland

Ain't it gorgeous? I didn't have the aid of a 400 mm lens this time, so it was just 200 and the texture of the moon didn't come out quite the way I would have liked. But I still like it.

In defense of Drunkenness (and hypocrites)

2010-02-21T18:23:00.000-08:00

It's supposedly common knowledge that the world is full of hypocrites. Very few people actually "practice what they preach." Incidentally, it's thought that the church has an inordinate number of hypocrites. When in fact, what the Church has is an inordinate number of people who have something to preach.

Now would be a good time to explain that I mainly chose this title for the sake of sensationalism. You can relax, I'm not really going to defend drunkenness. In fact, no one is. Out of all the inebriates this stressful world has produced, I have never heard of one of them defending their drunkenness. And this brings me to my real point. For those outside of the church, if they can't preach what they practice then they have nothing to preach. There's no standard beyond their own lifestyle. Hypocrites don't even make sense in this context.

So, let's hear no more of this nonsense that the Church is full of hypocrites. The Church is full of saints, and the hypocrites are there because they want to look like them.

2010-02-20T11:24:00.001-08:00

"Empty spaces fill me up with holes" - stupidest beginning line ever (courtesy of the Backstreet Boys)

2010-02-18T14:55:00.001-08:00

I sent some e-mails to myself and they ended up in my junk mail. What up with that, huh?

What I think. . .

2010-02-18T10:34:00.001-08:00

Say all the bad things you want about McCarthy, but he's got his own "ism" and his own "ites."

(By the way, this is the sort of thing that would usually go onto facebook as a status message, but I recently deactivated my account. So there might be some "status-ish" posts. I hope you don't mind).

Language in Heaven

2010-02-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

I remember someone in my class asking Magister Griffith, my NSA latin teacher, what he thought the best language was (and it was assumed this ultra-language would be the primary language of heaven). Instead of saying latin, as we halfway expected him to, he said that no single language can be called "the best". Therefore, we'll just have to learn all earthly languages in heaven.

Sounds like fun; I'm going to learn Icelandic first. You see, there are so many things I would like to do but for which have neither the time nor the energy. One such thing is to learn an absolutely useless language, such as Icelandic. I will probably never run into an Icelandic person. There are no scholarly writings in Icelandic (that I know of, who knows?). Oh, but it's such a beautiful language. Just listen to some Sigur Ros and you'll know what I mean.

Next I would probably learn all the languages of Africa. After that, probably all the native American tongues. Then I would move on to the remaining dead languages that NSA couldn't cover.

So there you have it. That's what I would do in my spare time, in those first couple days in heaven.

The mole named Clarence

2010-02-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

If I hadn't been sick I would have given this declamation yesterday. The assignment was to write a fable. Here 'tis:

There was once a mole named Clarence. He was a fat, nearsighted (but not quite blind), ugly mole. And when he talked (as he was wont to do) he whistled. In all of these respects, he was quite like his other mole friends. None of them were particularly good looking, but that didn’t tend to matter. The only peculiar thing about him was that he was afraid of being underground. Human psychologists would say that he was claustrophobic, but the moles, who had never encountered such an illness, just thought that he was odd. One day Clarence had enough of being afraid, and he started to dig up rather than down. He did not spend long in this endeavour before he found himself, for the first time, above ground. It was ecstasy finally being in the fresh air, and for a few moments he was truly happy. Unfortunately, being so nearsighted he inadvertently wandered into the busy highway next to his hole. I’m sorry to announce that Clarence died. The moral of this story is that there are usually far worse things to be afraid of, so mole up.

I am continually amazed

2010-01-15T07:26:00.000-08:00

okgo has cranked out consistently awesome music videos. There's the immortal treadmill video for here it goes again, one of the first great youtube videos and the epic fight montage of million ways to be cruel. I'm not sure if they stopped making videos at that point or if I just stopped watching them. In any case, their new one is on the tube right now, and it's awesome. The song is called this too shall pass.

I can't embed it so go here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY

Still not convinced? Picture this: Notre Dame Fighting Irish marching band. An accordion. In a field. In Gilley suits. Oh yeah.

I am dirt

2010-01-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

Consider this my apology. I've been gone a while. Sorry. This is the fruit of my spare time (and lack thereof), my thoughts these last two terms, my reading over summer break, and several lectures I've heard recently, most importantly a talk on Genesis 1 by Pastor James Jordan.

just so ya know: this post is long, ill-informed, and, like this note itself, startlingly self-important. welcome to blogging.

So I found this quote recently on the IMDB about the upcoming film The Hobbit, directed by Guilermo del Toro, everybody’s favorite Spanish director with a name that means “bull.” In said film, Ian McKellen will be starring as Gandalf the Grey. So, further ado aside, here ‘tis.

Not only will The Hobbit afford McKellen another chance to find his feet with one of literature’s greatest wizards, but the film will also allow him to return to the earlier incarnation of the character, Gandalf the Grey, who only appeared in the first of the trilogy, Fellowship of the Ring.

“Grey Gandalf is my favourite,” he told us. “Peter Jackson’s too, we always preferred Gandalf the Grey. Peter liked him because he got down and dirty. He slept in the hedgerows; he was closer to the earth and not quite so spiritual. He’s also funnier -- he’s got more variety to him. We thought there was more scope in that Gandalf.”

It struck me. I looked at it harder, and got struck a second time. Something didn’t seem right. Gandalf the White is without a doubt the greater, more powerful, and all in all stranger character in the Trilogy than Gandalf the Grey. Why is that?

I can’t accept the idea that it’s because he’s more other-worldly. That’s what McKellen is getting at here. Mostly we read Tolkien like the good gnostics the Enlightenment wanted us to be. We see Gandalf the Grey with stains in his beard and Gandalf the White as floating on a cloud. What we don’t realize is that Gandalf the White laughs more often, rides a better horse, and actually seems to use less magic than the old one. What gives?

I wonder if we can’t look at The Lord of the Rings as a struggle of elements. I mean, we can look at it as many, many things but I feel this is crucial. If we listen to Aristotle, the first are earth, air, fire, and water. The Nazgul ride dragons; they control the air. They themselves are vaporous spirits, and the evils of Mordor are described as “stenches” and “foul winds” coming from the place. What defeats the Nazgul? Water at the Ford of Bruinen, summoned by Elrond; fire, wielded by Aragorn at Weathertop and later at Bruinen by Glorfindel; and dirt. Aren’t the hobbits the people of the earth? And a hobbit (Merry) is the only creature who can break the spells holding the spirit of the Witch-King together.

Gandalf the White is no air-rider. He rides a horse, and the king of horses at that. He needs no spells to hold himself together (unlike his rival the Witch King); he is an actual living person with an actual body. He doesn’t really have epiphanies on the battlefield in which he hears angelic choirs going at it whilst he cavalierly looks at a moth (really, Jackson, really?). He fights and gets bloody and becomes tired and eventually gets in a boat to go off to the Western Lands, rather than floating out on a broomstick or some other such nonsense. In short, he is a very real, very earth-bound being.

What is it about dirt? I mean, what gives? We’re made out of dirt, right? And that has to have some significance. Wendell Berry discusses this a bit throughout the vast body of his writings, and in some poems especially. He talks about how it means that we are forever linked to this world, to the dirt under our feet; that it is like us because we are made out of it. This is good.

But as I read N.D. Wilson’s Dandelion Fire this summer, I started wondering if there was something more. In the world Wilson creates in the trilogy, those born with the second-sight, the seventh sons, all hold the power of some living thing (plants, as far as the series has gone). The protagonist Henry, for instance, has the power of the dandelion in his veins. And with that power comes the weaknesses and strengths of the plant. Just as the dandelion is easily broken, Henry gets knocked over again and again. But, like the weed, he gets right back up every time.

If you drop something onto dirt, granules of it go hither and yon. But it holds. Nothing goes right through dirt. It holds a 10 ton truck as well as it holds a feather. Even better, actually, cause most of the time you can’t get trucks out of pure dirt as easily as a feather. Dirt isn’t American. It doesn’t understand rugged individualism. A single grain of sand gets you nowhere. I can split it with a long fingernail. But get a few trillion or so of the whitest grains will hold half of Florida (and most of New York) on a hot summer day without breaking a sweat.

What happens when you burn dirt? Silicon, first. A weirdly silver sort of hard tinfoil that happens to conduct lightning really really well. We’re not too bad at attracting lightning ourselves. Except we don’t turn silver (what could have been, eh?). Keep heating that puddle of silvery goo in your crucible. Get it hot. Really hot. 2000 degrees is a good start. 4000 would be even better. Pour it on the end of a hollow stick. Breathe into it. You’ve made glass.

God calls us to remember that we are sons of Adam. Or, as we would say in English, Dirt-bag. God took the ground and shaped something in His image. He breathed into it. We are dirt. We have dirt’s weaknesses. Dirt gives way to everything. We have dirt’s strength. Dirt gives way to nothing. We have dirt’s ugliness. Regular old dirt ain’t much to look at. We have dirt’s beauty. Burn dirt and you get glass.

The world thinks dualistically. But be of good cheer. He has overcome the world.

“Did you mark how naturally – as if he’d been born for it – the earth-born vermin entered the new life? How all his doubts became, in the twinkling of an eye, ridiculous? … As he saw you, he also saw Them. I know how it was. You reeled back dizzy and blinded, more hurt by them than he had ever been by bombs. The degredation of it! – that this thing of earth and slime could stand upright and converse with spirits before whom you, a spirit, could only cower. Perhaps you had hoped that the awe and strangeness of it would dash his joy. But that is the cursed thing; the gods are strange to mortal eyes, and yet they are not strange.… He saw not only Them; he saw Him. This animal, this thing begotten in a bed, could look on Him. What is blinding, suffocating fire to you, is now cool light to him, is clarity itself, and wears the form of a Man.” C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

The princes of the power of the air look at us and sneer: “dirt-bag.” We laugh and say “sure.” We know the end of the story. Jesus already showed us. Life is full of torment and pain, but it ends with an emptied tomb. The water from His side keeps us from burning up in the crucible of life. He rose with a body that walked through walls but still knew good fish and good wine, and still wanted a good fire to keep warm by.

Out in the desert of the world, outside the gardens of Eden and Gethsemane, we get fires and knives. Trials and tribulations are as common as cole slaw at a Baptist church picnic. We’re burned by the fire, and shaped by the knife. We’re born dirt and sprinkled with water to keep us from becoming charcoal in the middle of it all. Then, like the apostles before us, we are showered in fire. Cover us in the Spirit. Call on God to wrap wet earth in tongues of flame like Elijah did on Carmel. Take even a child, cover it in water, and let the Spirit do His work, God says. And watch that child take on the world. Watch it all go topsy turvy.

Quirky lights

2010-01-04T17:11:00.001-08:00

DSC_0608
Originally uploaded by robnoland

I used some long exposure to get this effect on the street lights at the beach.

Blue Heron

2010-01-04T17:09:00.001-08:00

DSC_0792
Originally uploaded by robnoland

Here is a Blue Heron I "shot" at Bellingrath gardens near Mobile, Alabama. I had to throw a stick near him to get him to fly away, and then scramble to get the picture.

Holiday Rain

2009-12-31T15:35:00.000-08:00

This is a photo from a potted plant on our our front steps. I took it while it was raining. I like the way it makes the leaves glisten in the light.

Relics

2009-12-17T13:49:00.000-08:00

I came to a sudden realization as I was reading the Gospel of Luke the other day. Christ really lived and walked on this earth two thousand years ago. Now, I did not suddenly become a christian several days ago. I truly believed before this time that the Deus homo lived and walked on the earth, was crucified and resurrected on the third day. I simply had not thought of it in quantifiable terms. After reading nearly exclusively ancient history for a term, two thousand years does not seem so long.

The thought just struck me-

Christ did not burst into an alternate reality. He did not descend on a distant planet which was purer than our own. He walked on the good firma terra, and died on the cursed tree.

Relics begin to make sense to me. I can understand how, if someone believed that he is in the presence of a cloth that touched God he might get just a bit excited.

But why isn't every rock a relic; every grain of sand, and every leaf revered because it is God's handiwork? Why not frame every rainbow, or write poems praising every sunset? Such would be the response of a consistent relicist. But thankfully we are incapable of being consistent relicists, and this for the same reason we are incapable of being consistent God worshippers. But we are not called to praise every sunset. We are called to let every breath praise the LORD. So let's get started.

Praise the LORD!

When (God willing) I have a daughter . . .

2009-12-15T21:41:00.000-08:00

I will do my best to sing this to her; because it kicks "Butterfly Kisses" in its proverbially cliched hindquarters. It is "Father and Daughter" by Paul Simon.

I believe the light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee
There's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I’m gonna stand guard
Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your head

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Go out and listen to "Father and Daughter". Or anything else by him (you have my permission). This blog is not sponsored by Paul Simon (or U2).

Finals

2009-12-13T08:59:00.000-08:00

Finals. . . aren't. If NSA has taught me one thing, it is that work is never done. Work is cyclical. I'm finished with that history paper, but I will be writing another history paper shortly. Then, I might be done with writing history papers (hopefully this sad state will never happen), but I will be writing more papers and taking more tests. Also, let it be known, I plan to teach a bit after college. What does this mean? I'll be assigning and grading papers. Where does it end? Not in academia.

The lawn does not stay mowed, the leaves don't stay off the lawn, and the dishes certainly don't stay clean. C.S. Lewis aptly described the sequence of life (in I think "Surprised by Joy"). Term, holidays, term, holidays, till we leave school, and then work, work, work till we die.

I can only think of two times in all of history when an act was justly declared completed; unique and never to be repeated. One was at the very beginning of history, one was right in the middle.

"And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made" Genesis 2:2 (KJV)

"When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost." John 19:30 (KJV)

There it is. That is finality.

Practical Jokes

2009-12-05T16:01:00.000-08:00

I have made a rather stunning discovery, which I would like to share. Someone showed me how holding down the shift key on a mac will make everything slow down. So what you can do is hold down the shift key and hit an expose button over and over. Then close down the computer and later you'll have to wait until the windows stop bouncing at their extra slow pace. He said you can do that to other people and it's a lot of fun. I am too lazy to attempt it on other people, I did it to myself. Then I had to e-mail something and was really mad at myself for doing that earlier.

As I was watching the windows bob up and down rhythmically I thought to myself: self, I was just the victim of a retroactive auto-practical joke. I could do this sort of thing all the time. Right before I drift off to sleep I could tie my legs together. If all goes according to plan (fall asleep within five minutes of the event), the memory of tying my legs would never make it past the very-very short-term memory phase. I would wake up the next morning with no idea of what I'd done the night before. What a pleasant way to start the day.

When you think about it, it isn't fair at all. You see, what makes a practical joke sort of alright is its tit-for-tat nature. If you play one, then you are asking for it. Not so if you play one on yourself. A self inflicted practical joke will always be past-self playing a trick on future-self. The future never gets its own back.

And this is the case with everything, not just practical jokes. Take politics. Clinton left behind a load of troubles for Bush, who left an even bigger mess for Obama to make worse. Leaving politics (I hate politics), just look at life in general. We are always doing things to ourselves now which we will regret later. What's a tattoo but a nasty trick a twenty year old is playing on a fifty year old? You can laugh at your past self but you can never give it a good talking to. Hm, I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere.

2009-12-01T20:08:00.001-08:00

Our "Where you people at"-map no longer looks like it has a nasty case of the chicken pox. Although I am happy that it's feeling better, I am a little sad that you can no longer see the various locations of our visitors on its diseased skin. It just shows a measly eight visits in the United States. Oh well. At least now we can see better where new blotches are going.

Also, you may have noticed that our hit counter is down. I know many of you are distraught right now with thoughts of all the hypothetical donuts you will miss out on (we were getting close to 7000 hits). It was about this time last year that Kaleb decided to not give out Krispy Kreme donuts on a monumentous hit count landmark. Alas, we are going to have to cancel that tradition.

The Romance of Language

2009-11-17T11:33:00.000-08:00

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that rail along the floor -
And this, and so much more? -
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.'

- T.S. Elliot excerpt from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

"It is impossible to say just what I mean. . ." Ironically, I know just what J. Alfred Prufrock means. Speech is a burden to my soul. I believe I accomplish it as well as the next man, and perhaps better on paper but it frustrates me just the same. I do not wish I were better at speaking or writing; I wish it were not necessary. And it is not the action of speech itself that galls me. I am not a lazy communicator. If anything, I am too much of a perfectionist. So what, then, do I mean? That if I had my way in the world (thank goodness I do not) you would never have to ask this question of anyone. Minds would meet in the absence of all things besides perfect being and its expression in perfect thought.

If you are reading this, then my wish has not been fulfilled. You still have the wonderful freedom to misinterpret me, and I have the privilege of writing ambiguous sentences. Praise be to God, for leaving the romance in our language.

Yes, there is romance in our language, and it is the romance that flusters. Every sentence flirts with a host of different meanings. Some words are associated with one another so that they can best be called friends. Others will court one another until they become synonymous, and then finally philander into entirely different meanings. This is the way of words and who am I to stop them?

I, like Big T, have a wise younger sister.

2009-11-09T22:57:00.000-08:00

As has already been said by better men than I, my sister is smarter than me. And sweeter. Which, if you know me, you know isn't that hard, and if you know my sister, you know how much of an understatement that is.

Don't forget that sleep is not a sin. Please get some rest.

(from an email)

Purification in Delos

2009-11-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

I was just reading in "T-Diddy" (our good friend Thucydides, Book 3.104 if you want to know) how the Athenians purified Delos.

"All the remains of those that died in Delos were removed, and for the future it was commanded that no one should be allowed either to die or to give birth to a child in the island; but that they should be carried over to Rhenea" which is near to Delos.

What I'm really concerned about is that part about people not being allowed to die or give birth on the island. This raises a few questions in my mind, and I'm sure it does the same in yours. The birthing part is pretty simple, it's weird but it's simple. They just put all their maternity wards on this island of Rhenea, problem solved. Also, people generally know when they're going to have a baby. There's a few signs to look out for (but keep your guesses to yourself). So, when those signs present themselves they send them over to that other island. But what if the signs were just missed? This happens you know.

Delos Purification Authority: Excuse me maam, you aren't about to have a baby here are you?

Woman in labor: I know, I know I saw the leaflets; I'm not supposed to give birth here. But I didn't know I was, and now I am.

DPA: I'm sorry maa'm but you are going to have to go to Rhenea for that. I can't allow you to have a baby here.

Dang, shucks for her. What a hassle.

And what about people dying? There had to have been more cases of ambiguity then. I mean, after a certain age I guess they just ferried the old people to Rhenea, and the same with the sick. I'm guessing there were no beds designated as "death beds" in Delos. But what about the odd person who started dying unexpectedly.

DPA: Um. . . Sir, you look like you could die any minute now. When did this start?

Dying man: About. . . ten minutes ago. . . I can hardly breathe.

DPA: Well dying's not allowed here, you're going to have to go to Rhenea. I shouldn't have to tell you this.

DM: Rhenea? I heard it's terrible, I want to die here.

DPA: Too bad, that's the law.

I make irrelevant comments because it's late.

2009-11-01T23:55:00.000-08:00

Read somewhere between tonight and tomorrow morning:

The remaining cells die via apoptosis (programmed cell death).

Yeah, biology textbook. Point is this:

wouldn't Programmed Cell Death be the greatest name ever for a Techno Punk Rock Band?!

I know, right? Now you can return to what actually matters in your life.

A return to definition guessing

2009-10-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a pretty long time since I've contributed anything either. You could almost say I'm in danger of becoming a non-contributor. But that would be weird wouldn't it? Who would run this sanctuary for absurdity if Kaleb and I both left? I have another post running through my head but for now I have a weird word from Mrs. Byrnes. Try to figure out what it means but don't look it up. If you figure it out you earn some flabbergasted respect.

hereism

If that's too easy and you want another one here is: lethonomia.

I need to work up to this ...

2009-10-19T12:10:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted on Flabbergasted in so long I can hardly even be called a contributor. Yes, you say, I know, what gives? To which I would hem, haw, and give you much of what elsewhere is called nugarum about time and my lack thereof. In any case, I figured the best thing to give you in the short time I have until Natural History would be an obituary I wrote recently. For myself. For declamations. Things you should know about this particular item: it's not serious. Not even hardly. Also, look on YouTube for "Most Interesting Man in the World." These are some of the greatest commercials of all time. Period.

Kaleb A. Trotter: Jan 2 1990 – Sep. 25, 2080.

Kaleb Trotter, explorer, art critic, Presidential candidate, and wealthy eccentric, was found on his private yacht today off the coast of Tasmania, south of Australia. His wife found him lying in bed, his favorite Irish wolfhound lying at his feet. Doctors have been unable to determine the cause of death, and when his widow was asked if she believed it was a heart attack, she replied, “his heart wouldn’t nearly be foolish enough to attack him.”

It is unknown where Trotter acquired his fortune, but black market deals in ancient artifacts were suspected ever since his expedition into Ethiopia in the early 2040’s. Before 2020, Trotter was unheard of, growing up in relative obscurity in the southern part of the United States. He became a household name almost overnight after discovering the Maasacani, a primitive tribe living near the mouth of the Congo River in West Africa. Out of supplies and having lost his entire safari due to malaria, quicksand, and the previously unknown ratus africanus, the African Swamp Rat (a rodent of rather unusual size), Trotter reportedly happened upon a tyrannosaurus rex, most likely the last of its species, which he famously claimed to have killed, “with one disarming look and a broken pocket-knife.”

After returning to America, Trotter ran for President on the Independent ticket in 2036. Though caucuses were promising, he withdrew in September of 2035, allegedly because he couldn’t stand a third interview with the aging Bill O’Reilly. Said Trotter, “you’d think the man would realize that sometimes all it takes are roguish good looks.” When asked about what an Independent candidate thought of the two party system, Trotter immediately replied, “the after-party is the one you want to attend.”

Trotter turned his attention to art next, acquiring and donating hundreds of pieces of Ancient and Neoclassical art to museums in America. Most famously, he convinced the President of Greece, Alina Nicasopolis, to allow him to break the Acropolis down and send it to the British Museum, so that he “could see the completed artwork without having to go to Greece. I don’t prefer long plane rides.” When asked how he could possibly have effected this astounding event, Trotter said, “well, I didn’t the pocket-knife. Just the look.”

Trotter faded into relative obscurity afterwards, purchasing an island in the Caribbean, formerly one of the Bahamas. Once a year he hosted the world’s elite at a legendary private New Years Eve party. Said one attendee, “things got fuzzy after I jumped into the Jack Daniels fountain, but I distinctly remember Trotter commenting on how drunk I was. Things got very quiet, and then he laughed loudly and said, ‘so that’s how an awkward moment feels. I’ve always wondered.’”

Trotter’s family could not be reached for comment, although a nephew said that the millionaire was circumnavigating the globe to make sure he hadn’t missed anything of importance.  

Absolute nonsense- nugarum

2009-09-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

In sophomore declamations now we are given different themes to write about and we declaim in groups of 15 or 16. My last declamation I had to imitate Dr. Seuss. Here's what I came up with:

One fine sunny day I asked a guy from the tram, how many flimples will it take to feed a grown man. I’m not quite sure said the man to me, but come to my flat and we shall see. But what is a flimple? So glad you asked. It’s hard to say, but mostly they’re fast. They run hither, oh yes they run thither, they get pursuers into such a ridiculous dither. So how do you catch them? Well you have to be cautious, because if you find them asleep they’re really quite nauseous. But plug up your nose and give them a rub, they’ll drop in your hand, then give them a scrub. They’re tiny brown lice that cook ever so nice, teach them to stir, they take advice. They do everything fast, just leave them alone, they’ll sweep up your floor they’ll clean up your home.
So I open the door according to plan, and what do I find but five thousand flimples, a whole flimple clan. So I said to myself “Now I can know how many flimples it takes to feed a man full grown.” So I asked them quite nicely “could you try a meal out? I’m famished tonight, I could eat a whole trout.” Well, funny the way it all just worked out, trout’s what precisely they planned to try out. The meal that night was such a treat, it was quite a to-do, a fantastic feat. The flimples stood up on shoulders, they worked flimp-on-flimp, they cooked the fish, they constructed a blimp. Just kidding, no blimp was involved, but by working together the problem was solved. So many a flimple, six hundred flimps bold, fed one single man, and this story is told.

6000 hits

2009-09-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

Be one of the next two people to look at this blog. Get us up to 6000 hits. Get a hypothetical donut. That's it.

Good luck!

Why I don't listen to Green Day

2009-09-03T12:26:00.001-07:00

Yes, you read the title right. The time for hypocrisy and rebellion is at an end. I've ignored God on the issue of my music for too long. I can't fool myself anymore that Green Day's rebellion is only against what's wrong with America, the fundamentalists, and the socially dead Christians. No, theirs is the original rebellion. They have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. They have thrown out Jesus Christ.

I do not mean to say that there is no legitimate reason for anyone to listen to Green Day. There may be, I just haven't found it yet. And I don't know what others do when they are listening to Green Day, but I was rebelling against the light. I was loving darkness.

So now I repent of recommending Green Day, approving what they are doing. I still believe that God has a purpose for bands like them, but this doesn't give me a reason for listening to them.

Thank the Lord for all his tender mercies. Amen.

My condition

2009-08-24T18:53:00.000-07:00

I feel the need to explain some things about myself. Why, for example, I am not in choir (this should become plain). This is mainly for my friends here in Idaho, since most people who know me from back home know of my diagnosis. I'm not writing about it now because it's gotten worse, but only because I was reminded recently of how good God has been to me through it.

I have had a fair number of health problems. I started having migraines and chronic dizziness (all the time) when I was about 13. Before that, I had stomach trouble and had passed out a few times when I was forced to stand for a long time. I went to very many doctors and had myself tested for all sorts of diseases and abnormalities, etc. but they couldn't find anything wrong with me. Then, I found out that I had severe allergies and started to have allergy shots. These helped, but not as much as we would expect if all my problems were due to allergies. Then my allergist told me that he think I might have dysautonomia. He referred me to a doctor named Randy Thompson, who has dysautonomia himself. After looking at the list of symptoms for dysautonomia (specifically POTS) I was pretty sure before I even saw him that I had dysautonomia. The first thing he had me do was take a tilt table test. In a tilt table you get strapped to a bed that moves from supine to upright. They tested all sorts of things on me, but the whole time they took note of my blood pressure and my heart rate. When the bed went upright my heart rate went up, my blood pressure went way down (60/40), and I only stayed conscious for about 5 minutes. So, I tested positive.

Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS) is defined by an increase of over 30 bpm from a supine to an upright position. It's basically a battle between the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems. When I stand up, the sympathetic nervous system raises my heart rate, and the parasympathetic lowers my blood pressure to counteract this. Since the two systems are at odds, my body isn't always able to attain homeostasis. The imbalance causes way more problems than you might think - headaches, dizziness, visual disturbances, anxiety, depression, syncope (fainting), and many more I don't care to mention. Some people can't even stand without fainting, they are often confined to wheelchairs. There is no cure for POTS.

Thankfully, my condition is mainly under control with medication and exercise. It used to be a lot worse, but through the grace of God I now know much of what I need to do (and not do) to make it better. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do when I'll have to be in the NSA choir. I know that I am not able to stand up for as long as I would have to. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I would like more people to be aware of this disorder. It's often called an "invisible" ailment. Many people who have it are labeled hypochondriacs, lazy, or otherwise unstable because doctors aren't able to find what's wrong with them. Is it any wonder that so many are depressed? There are so many diseases, disorders, syndromes, etc. but I would appreciate prayer for those who are stricken with dysautonomia. Pray not necessarily for healing, but comfort. I was blessed with parents (and doctors to a large extent) who believed that I was telling the truth about what I was experiencing and were dedicated to finding the source. I wish that everyone had the same.

What is happening to the church? U2charist?

2009-08-22T15:44:00.001-07:00

I sometimes joke around that I have to be careful about leaving places, because bad things (or just things) happen while I'm gone. For example, I leave home for one week in the summer and my parents sell our car. I leave home for 3 months at college (up until fall break) and they change the wallpaper on the first set of stairs. I leave Moscow for the summer and the Bucer's "smoking room" is no longer a smoking room! You get the idea.

Now, I've only been gone two weeks and the First United Methodist Church of Pensacola does something crazy. And apparently they are not the first.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a huge U2 fan. It's almost ridiculous how much I like them. But the reason that I like their music is exactly because their music does not sound right as a praise chorus. The music was not designed for any kind of corporate worship - except if you can call a concert that (which you can't by the way, not even at a "Third Day" concert).

It's quite ironic that U2 songs are going to be sung in a church service. U2 is a very individualistic band when it comes to church affiliation. They intentionally separated themselves from the contemporary Christian scene, at a time when they would have gained lots of fans quickly from that medium. That's a very good thing, because that would have killed their music.

The PNJ says that the church will be singing "Beautiful day", "Where the Streets have no Name", "One", "With or Without You", and "Still haven't found what I'm looking for." One? That's a great song, but it's about breaking up (just ask Bono). If you are going to sing U2 songs in church, why not sing "40" or "Yahweh"?

And it's called a U2charist. That's catchy, but I don't approve of turning the Lord's Communion into a pun.

It's an interesting idea, but I get nervous anytime I hear of a novel idea for a worship service. And when I hear the idea I almost always think "what the heck are they thinking?" Here we go again.

Why am I here?

2009-08-19T18:38:00.000-07:00

Last night I visited Aspen Medical Center with Ty, Kaleb, and Robert (Bobby Lee). Every Tuesday a few students try to get together to talk/sing to the residents of this nursing home and play Bingo with them. Last year (for various reasons) I was fairly sporadic about going to these. I'm going to try to be better this year about going to things like this because every time I do I am simultaneously sobered and blessed.

I walked around trying to engage in conversation with different residents. I found I struggled talking to them by myself (if you know me, you might be aware that I am not the greatest conversationalist; especially with people who have no interest in conversation). I saw my classmate Robin Bowe talking to a lady named Dorothy at the Bingo table, so I walked over and tried to see if I could add anything to the conversation. Dorothy was more sharp than many of the other residents. After a while though I could tell that something was wrong. After talking to us for a while she said "I don't know how I got here. I don't know how I ended up here." Robin tried to distract her by pretending to misunderstand her and said that, personally, she got there by car. I got there by bike, so I added this. The distraction worked for a while, we moved to another topic.

Then she asked "why am I here?" I couldn't answer her, not what she's really asking. I am just 2o years old. So I said that we wonder the same thing about college. What did we get ourselves into? How did we end up so far from home? So that's what we talked about. It at least distracted her. If I were more on my feet, I could have given her a biblical exhortation and perhaps some comfort. Next time perhaps.

Please pray for Dorothy and all nursing home residents. In the same way she does not understand why she is in a nursing home, pray that she has a peace that she does not understand.

Ocean's refrain

2009-07-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

I was recently commissioned by a friend to write a new stanza to the old hymn "How Great Thou Art." She loves the hymn, but wished that there were a stanza about the ocean. Here's what I came up with:

When I look out and see the ocean’s rolling,
Over the sand, O Lord it’s you I see;
You wave your hands, the waves are gently flowing
Pushing the shells onto the sandy beach

"Then Sings my Soul. . ."

I had to hum the song to myself to make sure the words fit the melody. I doubt if it will ever be added to the hymnal, but I like it nonetheless.

Hannah Montana in New Orleans

2009-07-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday I was in a small cajun cafe in N'awlins (New Orleans for the unititiated). Kaleb, Ty, and I decided to go there for the day and explore the place. This particular cafe we were in did not look too wholesome from the outside. The place itself was very seedy looking and its neighbor establishments did not help it much (a gentleman's club, a gay bar, etc.). Kaleb was against going in but Ty and I wanted the experience.

When we walk in I am instantly reminded of "DJ's" (where I worked, until this morning around approximately 10:03 - but that's another story). There's a bar where a couple of old guys are planted. And what could they be watching on TV but "Hannah Montana"? It's terrible, we started watching it too. It was completely involuntary. I kept looking away but I could still hear it, so it would bug me until I looked back.

And Kaleb did not want to go in! Just think about what we would have missed.

Action Figures

2009-06-22T13:14:00.000-07:00

I have a wad of 2o dollar bills on my dresser. It staggers the mind how many action figures I could buy with that money, if only I were eight again. When I was eight, every time I got a bit of money I would go to Target and buy an action figure. Usually it was "Star Wars", occasionally it was some other random thing that looked cool at the time.

I was just thinking about why I don't get action figures any more. Their are a couple reasons I can think of:

1) I'm saving up my money for something big (like a wife)

2) I just don't have the imagination

That second reason is the one that really intrigues me. Why can't the proverbial grown ups, twenty-somethings, and teenagers play with action figures? I'll tell you - it's not because we are too old, it is because we are not young enough. We've been thrust out of the land of Narnia and black suits guard the entrance.

You can actually see it happening slowly. When kids are really young, all they need is one action figure for a good dialogue, and two for a war. Then they need the bigger sets with the plastic bushes and whatever else helps out the scenery. Finally, they need something that moves. Oh, I don't know. . . robots (Lego makes "robots" now you know).

I really wish I could go back to the point where I can play with Playmobil the way that Ben does. He goes up there and he fights wars. He actually fights along with his men. He has a whole army of Playmobil guys, but only one of them represents him. This guy is the leader, and his name is Nadar (for whatever reason Ben really likes this name). I think most kids set up their guys and make them kill each other (that's how I did it anyway; I was ruthless). But for Ben, it's like he's one of them. Of course, this is the one character that never dies. All the projectiles just seem to miss him.

Another update on my movements

2009-05-27T18:09:00.001-07:00

Hello people,

If you are from Moscow, ID please know that I'm already missing you people. If you are from Pensacola, Fl I hope that we can hang on the beach. And if you aren't from either of those places move as soon as possible, because those places are the bomb-diggity.

Guess what? I now have a job on the beach. Faced with an option of being:

1. Unemployed in Greenland

2. Got a job on the friggin' beach

. . . I choose the latter option. You can drool if you want but it's not really as good as it sounds. It isn't that great being on the beach if you are stuck in a hot kitchen. It's a job, is what it is. A job is a job (even if it's on the beach). Anyway, it's a lovely place called "DJ's Beach Cafe." If you are ever there stop by and give me a shout.

Another hypothetical Donut

2009-05-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

Yeah, if you are the 5000th visitor you will be rewarded with a hypothetical donut. It is an award that most people only dream about.

Israel's plight- My plight

2009-05-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

Deuteronomy 30:1-4 (ESV): "And when all these things come upon you, the blessing and the the curse, which I have set before you, and you call them to mind among all the nations where the Lord you God has driven you, and return to the Lord your God, you and your children, and obey his voice in all that I command you today, with all your heart and with all your soul, then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you, and he will gather you again from all the peoples where the Lord your God has scatterd you. If your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there the Lord your God will gather you, and from there he will take you."

I was reading over this passage for my Lordship class, and the grace of God struck me full in the face. Here is something Mr. Appel pointed out to me in class, God said
"When all these things come upon you. . ." God knew that Israel could not keep the terms of the covenant. Again and again Israel wandered far from the Lord. And again and again the Lord restored them.

This is me I tell you. I am Israel. I am the prodigal son.

This is bad, certainly. But I'll tell you what's worse. When I am not being the prodigal son, I am being the elder brother. I forget that, just a few days ago, I was wallowing with the pigs.

But God is gracious. He convincts me. And He forgives me even for this.

Praise Him!

If I didn't share this. . .

2009-05-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

I would be quite heartless. I want you to prepare yourselves, because (obviously I have no idea, but) I think this is how music in heaven will be.

This is Hoppipolla and með blóðnadir by Sigur Ros.

In a doctor's office for 2.50 hours

2009-04-27T22:29:00.000-07:00

I have little to do but observe people. There's a woman sitting a couple seats down from me. She looks like she could be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties. She has three children with her. A baby girl stays perched in her arms, probably about 5 weeks old (I don't really know). She keeps pulling off the bracelets on her mother's wrist and throwing them to the floor. I never found out her name. "Seth, share the blocks with Eden." Seth is about five I think, Eden about three. She reads to them "Green Eggs and Ham." I remember this one. And then "The Cat and the Hat." I remember that one too. The mother is tired of reading stories to them. So they read to each other.

Seth and Eden are looking at a book full of animals. Seth is naming the animals for his little sister. This animal to the left is an. . .

eel.

And this:

Is an even bigger eel.

I love it. I can imagine myself reading to my little sister. I am six and she is three. I cannot read, but that really does not matter at all. Like Seth, I am an excellent interpreter of pictures. And I am quite confident in my assertions.

Or, the more likely scenario is that my sister is reading to me. Even as a three year-old my sister is quite brilliant. She says "And all these words are what they say" as she turns each page. There is no arguing with her logic. She does not like it when I say "uh huh." I must say, my sister's whims are really quite arbitrary. She would rather I just say "yeah." So I say "uh huh" a lot, just to get on her nerves (I really haven't changed much since then). And I pretend to not listen. So she says "Robbie, if you keep doing that then I'm not reading."

Ah, timeless.

I am continually amazed by Easter

2009-04-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

So I learned a verb for Latin today. Shocking, I know. Anyhow, this verb is "pasc," and it means basically to bring livestock to food. Being the diligent (albeit ignorant) Lordship student that I am, I wondered if this was where we got "Pascha" from. Pascha, in case you don't know, is another name for Easter, used frequently in the Orthodox church. So I jumped to Google and typed in Pascha. According to OrthodoxWiki (which any Greek person can edit, so you know it's right), it's a transliteration from the Greek, which is transliterated from the Hebrew for Passover. Cool. Yet still I wonder. So I break out ye olde Whitaker's Words (a free Latin translator) and typed in Pascha. It popped up with "Easter, Passover." Yea, verily, this I knew. So I typed in "pasca" on a whim. Pasca means water mixed with vinegar, a traditional drink of Roman soldiers in the field and the drink of slaves.

If your reaction at learning this is at all similar to mine, you're clapping hands over mouth in wonder. Because Easter is all of these. Easter is the new Pascha, the true Passover, when the blood of Christ, the Lamb of God, is poured out on us and protects us from judgment. It is the time of pascamur, when we are led like sheep to the manger, to eat of the Body that was placed there for us. It is when we remember that Christ drank pasca for us on the cross, when He took our place, the place of a slave, and drained the bitterness from our cup. Yet we also remember that He drank the pasca because He was the conquering Warrior, who was in the field because His work was not yet finished.

Anyhow. Our God has an incredible way of tying things together. He is the Master Storyteller.

Beach Walking- My newest assigned poem

2009-04-23T17:11:00.001-07:00

I would have presented this poem at rhetoric declamations today, but I was sick (am sick). Therefore, I shall present it to you.

"Beach Walking"

I am walking across the Ft. Pickens buried road
With a kayak slung . . . DANG! on my shoulders
And a crab just took claw and it grabbed
My big foot so you must please forgive me.
I am lucky that no cars are going by me,
cause I dropped that big bulky friggin’ bark
And it landed right CRAP! on my other foot.
So I hobble fast across this barren beach.

It's obviously not a great poem or anything, but I am rather proud of the meter. It is anapestic, which means that it has three beats per foot going "unstressed, unstressed, stressed." The meter itself is almost like taking two steps and encountering something painful. I wouldn't want to use it in a relaxed poem, but it works well in this situation.

An update on my movements

2009-04-20T15:44:00.001-07:00

So, I'm back into biking (as in bicycle, not motorcyle) now that it's spring. I've biked some 70-0dd miles over the last three days. I've found out some things. First, that the old man in the kilt also walks down the trail to Troy. This guy gets around. Second, Pit bulls like to hang out on the sides of the trail and scare its users. This is the second time I've been unnerved by the sight of a pit bull wandering free. The first time it was on the Chipman trail and I was even more afraid, because it looked like a mountain lion. Third, a gas station at the end of an eleven mile trail is a beautiful thing. Fourth(ly?), I shouldn't keep my phone in my pocket while I'm riding. It fell out and I thought I lost it for good, but someone picked it up and called the number my dad texted to it. It was quite providential. Finally, the Palouse is so beautiful. The hills just seem to roll on forever. It's quite a sight for a guy who is used to oceans and flatlands.

Well, that pretty much sums up my weekend. I hope yours was good too.

Chaining down the muse

2009-04-07T19:29:00.000-07:00

I still haven't mastered the art of producing poetry on demand. Yeah, go ahead and tell me to produce a couplet. No problem. I'll produce something that is totally stupid, but is still totally a couplet. To the skeptics "You see this? Is anyone here prepared to argue that this is not in fact two lines that rhyme? I rest my case."

Couplets aren't that hard. You can mass-produce those little buggers. But you definitely can't tell me to produce a sonnet. Of course, sonnets don't come about naturally anyway. I've never been just sitting on my bed (my preferred poetry workstation) casually writing a poem and suddenly realize that, lo and behold, I've been writing a sonnet. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. Hey check this out - it's a sonnet! What should I call it?"

I am a self-motivated person. Which basically means that when I don't want to do something, I don't do it. What I need to do is realize that I really, deep down want to write a sonnet. There is nothing in the world I wish for more, than to write 14 lines -three quatrains and a couplet - in iambic pentameter using the rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg.

Oh well, the couplet will be easy.

P.S. Couplets can be hard if you do them right

What hurts the most

2009-04-06T21:10:00.001-07:00

So, I made a rather bold resolution the other day. In a bizarre sort of reverse, mid-lent declaration the other day I have resolved to try to listen to more country music.

Now, those who know me well will know how much of a stretch this is. To my ears, the twangy whining/wheezing/wailing of a country singer is no more musical than nails on a chalkboard. I'm doing my best to fix this though. I recognize it as a gap in my musical palate. To this end, "Project Densensitisation" is underway.

The smart thing to do would to start with some "Southern rock." After all, rock is what I would consider to be my native genre. So, the natural transition would be to move into something that's a bit more southern but is still rock. It's sort of like easing your way into a freezing cold bit of water.

But that's not how I roll. I jump (headfirst when I know it won't kill me). Right now George Strait is singing something about Cowboys. Just a minute ago Kenny Chesney was saying something about how his wife (at any rate, the woman who hands him the jug of sweet tea) thinks his tractor is like, attractive(?). Right before that Rascall Flatts* was whining about something hurting really, really bad (the most in fact).

So I'm thinking. . .
- Yeah I guess cowboys have fun. Chasing the wind and all that jazz.
- Sure, I bet some women are attracted to tractors.
- What's that Rascall Flatts? Oh PLEASE. Stop the whining, will you? I really don't care how bad it hurts. The most, eh? OOOOO It can't be worse than what I'm suffering right now, listening to your whining. Like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer. . .

You know, I think I'm beginning to get acclamated. I can't say I like country music, but I have made progress. Now, instead of running away screaming, I just laugh at it. Seriously, this stuff is hilarious. What's even funnier than the actual music is the fact that I am listening to it. Me. I keep looking around to make sure I'm not actually sitting in Lone Star Steakhouse with waiters dancing around and tripping on the peanuts.

P.S. My apologies to any "Rascall" fans. *Cough* Bobby Lee.

*Incidentally, I have found this equation to be quite helpful in understanding this band:
Boy Band + Country= Rascall Flatts

I am back, like a famine.

2009-04-05T22:32:00.000-07:00

Wow guys. I am sorry. I think it's been nearly a month since I posted anything. Yikes. And I dare to call myself a contributor to this blog! Anyhow, here I contribute.

1. I do have something of an excuse, as this is the first weekend in the last three or four weeks that I've had a functioning power cord for my laptop, so I've been bumming off of other people and therefore trying to cut things as short as possible.

2. Today was the first day Moscow broke 60 degrees!! Truly a red letter day, since it also marked the first day we've had a full day of sunlight! It was glorious. Two and a half hours of soccer make any day better, even, nay especially a day like this.

3. Want to read something that will blow your mind, change your life, and make you wonder where in the world you have been all these years? Try Surprised by Hope, by Bishop Tom Wright, or Heaven Misplaced, by Pastor Doug Wilson. We've got some work to do, people.

4. On a note that is not totally different, you can go here and see some other stuff by me. I'll be posting poetry, art, commonplaces, and some random ideas. Don't be fooled, though. It is but a sideshow, a halftime performance when compared to the Flabbergaster.

5. [a preview for #4...] A short poem I wrote recently. It's called the ocean. It's got some things going on with the rhythm and meter, so watch for that. It's also not just about water. In case you were wondering.

you know i always miss the ocean

on stormy days i miss its waves

and on the clear days too

cause three thousand miles are just

too many for my toes to trip

when we've just got a weekend.

i know the gut-punching sickness

that comes on darker nights

when i wake up and there you

aren't.

and how i've wished to weep

for now i know how it is to be alone

the slap of water in the sink,

any mirrored flash of light,

the frozen fountain in

the frozen square below

they all remind me of the ocean

and of the suns embrace

and loneliness loves to gnaw at my guts

its chewed all through my

heart

for you are gone so i'm not here;

pray God someday

that all of that will change

is this what earth feels like to heav'n

(now am i not absurd?)

but i say sometime in the sunlight

when on the highest crest of hills

when dancing with our life's true love

we long for what we do not know.

6. I have a fruit that I like now (don't read a lot into that statement; it's kind of a long and

somewhat embarrassing story that involves me not liking most fruits): the orange. It kind of makes my day.

7. What is it about the song Drift Away that makes anyone in the room sing along? I think it's kind of amazing how music does that to people.

8. One wonders if "sheds crystal shells" is not one of the best phrases in the English language. Props to Robert Frost.

9. People, this kind of makes my day. If you don't know where it's from, click here, and laugh.

10. Although it's not because of any of the typical pop culture reasons, College Spring Break is amazing. So are my grandmother's mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and biscuits and gravy. There is quite possibly a causal relationship there.

11. I broke the 10 item barrier. Rad. Now I look ridiculous and long-winded, instead of the usual, which would be just ridiculous. Oh well.

Let's pretend this is a diary. . .

2009-04-05T09:44:00.003-07:00

. . . and that I am eight once again.

Yesterday I went on a bike ride. It was fun. I saw an old man in a kilt walking down the bike path. That was weird. I ate at Arby's because I was super hungry and it sounded good. I was right, it was really good. Then I went home and did nothing. Then I went to Ty's house and we cooked burgers. I ate a burger [yes, I did actually eat a burger] because they forced me to. Later, I felt a little sick because I haven't had red meat in a long time because it upsets my stomach.

[end diary]

The interesting thing about reading old diary entries is the perspective I get. In one sense a diary is good to help you remember something. Its mainly good, however, as a help to remember things in a certain way. For example, I remember when I was about eight (whenever I imagine myself really young I am always about eight) seeing a water moccasin in Georgia. It was somewhat sensational. So it made it into my diary with just the bare facts and the customary summary, "it was cool." Even more sensational I remember learning, approximately 11 years and 9 months ago, that my mom was going to have a baby. I just wrote something about how I hoped for a boy and Hannah hoped for a girl. Of course, it was a boy. Benjamin Edward Noland. Ben. His birthday is tomorrow, 11.

I was a different person then, and the world was a different place. I can never return to the time of 1997, or '98 or even fifteen minutes ago. When I remember things now, I can't help but remember as a 20 year old in college. Unless. . . I read it in that old diary. Then my mind is thrust into the unsteady pen of a freckly too-tall eight year old who hoped for a little brother. For a moment, I remember myself as the boy who wrote down those things.

Retroactive "hypothetical donut" award

2009-03-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

That's right folks. We've let the great 4000 pass us by. Even though we haven't posted in a fortnight, somehow you are still visiting us.

However, all is not lost. If you were paying really close attention (and were familiar with the rules of "Hypothetical Donut") then maybe you took a picture of it.

That would be awesome. If you did, then you get like two hypothetical donuts (because you've gone above and beyond the call of flabbergastetry).

Smacking (Why I hate it)

2009-03-11T12:06:00.000-07:00

In the Oresteia when Clytemnestra binds her husband in his bathrobe and murders him, we hear Agamemnon say with great feeling (and pain): I am stabbed. I am stabbed again.” This signifies to the highly intelligent audience that Agamemnon has been murdered. Presumably, the audience knows, and can imagine for themselves what this looks like. It might have ruined their enjoyment of the play had they seen the actual pool of blood accumulate around his lifeless body, his bathrobe stained in his life’s juices, his faithless wife holding the knife that took his life. Such a spectacle is said to be “obscene”, or literally off-stage. It is off-stage because it is unseemly.
In the same way, when someone is chewing his food we know that the digestive juices are flowing. We realize that food is actually getting mixed with spit as it swishes around his mouth. However, we are not supposed to hear it. The smack as the wet food sloshes around the mouth is not a pleasant sound. Nor is it at all, appetizing to see the extremely unaesthetic state of his partially undigested food. Food in the mouth is always disgusting. It does not matter if it is the most exquisite entrée on the menu of West of Paris. And look, how beautiful it looks on the plate when it is served. In the mouth it will look like the same kind of mush that saltine crackers becomes, and I can guarantee it will make a similar noise.

Scariest word in the English language. . .

2009-03-10T10:21:00.000-07:00

Oops [!]

Usually accompanied with an exclamation point when it is written,* "oops" has long been considered the scariest word in the English language. At just four letters it packs a mighty punch. Although, its true strength can only be measured by the context in which it is uttered, "oops" is never a good thing to hear.

Close cousins to oops [excluding vulgarities]:
Whoops
Whoopsies
Whoopsiedaisies
Crud bucket
Shucks
We're in a tight spot
Did I do that?

*Depending on the enormity of the disaster. If it's a fairly harmless mistake, such as when a few innocent hairs are plucked out of existence, then only one is necessary. However, if it is a disaster of nuclear proportions, two or even three exclamation points may be necessary to convey the utter badness of the situation.

What I don't understand (greatly abridged)

2009-03-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

I don't understand:

1. Why it is suddenly snowing in Moscow. It's not strange for it to snow up here; it's just that it was showing signs of being a bit like Spring. Oh well, I've heard that the winter plays tricks on people.

2. Why I limp, and must now walk with a cane.

I'm a little more prone to complain (to God, not to you) about the second on this list, because it was completely unexpected and makes no sense to me at all. I want to ask, like Tevye in Fiddler On the Roof - "Dear God. Was that necessary?" It seems like a just question. I already went through this three years ago; during my junior year in high school I needed a cane to walk. I went through months of physical therapy to walk without it. Why, dear God, again?

But I already know the answer. I have it in 2 Corinthians. Paul asked the Lord to remove the thorn in his flesh, and He answered "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9 ESV).

So far from understanding why I have some malady that causes the limp, I don't even know what malady it is. Three years ago I went to every doctor that could possibly give an answer. I took tests confirming that I do not have Multiple Sclerosis, or Early Onset Parkinson's disease, or any of the other diseases that plagued those around me with worry. Thank God, I have none of those.

Here's what I do have:

1. A Loving family
2. A good church
3. A gracious God

Of course, I already knew this. There is no kind of confirmation though, like hardship. And it's enough to turn my complaining into sincere gratitude. Indeed, His grace is sufficient for me. Praise the Lord!

Favorite lyrics from U2's "No Line On the Horizon"

2009-03-05T20:36:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know I just posted on U2's new album but I've got to share some more of my favorite snippets of lyrics.

"Moment of Surrender": At the moment of surrender / Of vision over visibility / I did not notice the passers-by / And they did not notice me / I was speeding on the subway / Through the stations of the cross / Every eye looking every other way / Counted down ‘til the Pentecost /

"I'll Go Crazy if I don't Go Crazy Tonight": The right to appear ridiculous is something
I hold dear / Oh, but a change of heart comes slow / It’s not a hill, it’s a mountain / As you start out the climb / Listen for me, I’ll be shouting / We’re gonna make it all the way to the light

"Stand Up Comedy": The DNA lottery may have left you smart / But can you stand up to beauty, dictator of the heart / I can stand up for hope, faith, love / But while I’m getting over certainty / Stop helping God across the road like a little old lady / Out from under your beds / C’mon ye people / Stand up for your love / Love love love love love… / I gotta stand up to ego but my ego’s not really the enemy / It’s like a small child crossing an eight lane highway / On a voyage of discovery / Stand up to rock stars, Napolean is in high heels / Josephine, be careful of small men with big ideas

"White As Snow": Once I knew there was a love divine / Then came a time I thought it knew me not / Who can forgive forgiveness where forgiveness is not / Only the lamb as white as snow [. . .] As boys we would go hunting in the woods / To sleep the night shooting out the stars / Now the wolves are every passing stranger / Every face we cannot know / If only a heart could be as white as snow / If only a heart could be as white as snow

"Breathe": I’ve found grace inside a sound / I found grace, it’s all that I found / And I can breathe / Breathe now

"Cedars of Lebanon": The worst of us are a long drawn out confession / The best of us are geniuses of compression

You've got to hear this

2009-03-05T19:53:00.000-08:00

Because this is "Magnificent": I was born to sing for you / I didn’t have a choice but to lift you up / And sing whatever song you wanted me to / I give you back my voice / From the womb my first cry, it was a joyful noise… Only love, only love can leave such a mark / But only love, only love can heal such a scar / Justified till we die, you and I will magnify / The Magnificent

Only U2 can pull off this kind of cultural subversion. At the end of this month they will go on tour, and they will sing this song. And tens of thousands of people will be singing these verses. And they will return to their cars, still singing the refrain. I think it will be glorious.

Perhaps the fools among them will think that this is just a normal love song. About just a normal, perishable lover who causes Bono to sing these words. It does work on this level.

Maybe they know that U2 is a christian band, but love the songs and are prepared to ignore the "religion." This is good music.

It really doesn't matter. The very stones themselves are crying out. Don't let them outdo us. Praise the LORD!

I wish you a happy holiday

2009-03-02T12:21:00.000-08:00

Happy Casimir Pulaski Day.

In other news, this should surprise anyone who has spent their entire lives locked in the storm cellar. As a side note, I just love it when the BBC gets all self-righteous on American news. It is really, truly amusing.

And the other breaking story in "New News," da Dow is doing not so good. 7000 is, apparently, the bottom of the bucket for stock markets. And Washington is giving another $30 billion imaginary dollars to AIG! Which also makes me laugh.

By the by, Slumdog Millionaire is incredible. Danny Boyle is among the greatest directors of all time. His ability to tell a story is simply unfathomable. I'll be posting a more substantive review soon.

You can hear the difference. . .

2009-02-28T15:18:00.000-08:00

So, I am a big fan of Elton John. Here's a picture of him, to make sure that we are thinking of the same person:

Incidentally, I could have gone my whole life without seeing Elton John in a Donald Duck costume (and you could have too, had you not read this post). However, there is no going back; that time has past. We all have seen it, and it is time for us to just move on.

[The article I ripped this picture out of made me laugh. It's just talking about Elton John's latest trouble related to perversion, and then it includes that picture right in the middle like an illustration. There was no warning, nothing like "Speaking of Elton John, here he is playing the piano dressed as Donald Duck." It just pops it in and carries on as if nothing had happened. "Boom! Here he is!"]

Right, moving on. . . I was just comparing Elton John's song "Believe" with U2's "God Part 2." It's amazing to me that they can say essentially the same words "I believe in Love" and yet mean something completely different.

Elton John is essentially despairing with a smile on his face. Bernie Taupin writes "I believe in love/it's all we've got" and Elton John sees the tragedy. He puts it into a minor key. The kind of love that Elton John wants "don't mean a thing" (cf. "I want Love). This love can't be a reason for joy. It can't really be a reason for anything, if you aren't willing to give anything up for it.

U2 sings about a love that means everything. It's a powerful antidote to all the poisons of the world, and it is a perfect preamble to "Bullet the Blue Sky."

I got crucified in ashes.

2009-02-25T23:02:00.000-08:00

So tonight I went to my first Ash Wednesday service ever. Some people may wonder how this could possibly be the case. To them I say, visit a Southern Baptist church and you will begin to realize. We are really good at emptying bathwater, and especially good at the accompanying activity of baby-chucking.

Anyhow, for you all tonight on this Ash Wednesday, I present a multivarious fare of life lessons and observations from the past weeks.

1. I miss seeing news footage of Mardi Gras in Mobile, especially the mug shots.

2. This shouldn't make me laugh, but oh how it does!

3. Sir Joshua Reynolds, master British painter and President of the Royal Academy, writes the following: One advantage, I will venture to affirm, we shall have in our Academy, which no other nation can boast. We shall have nothing to unlearn. (Discourses on Art, Discourse 1) And that makes me smirk the wise, knowing smirk of one who knows something the speaker doesn't.

4. My favorite two commonplaces from week-before-last:

Swede: The [Lordship] quiz is so simple and my mind is just so complex!

Swede: The lordship quiz is like coming in here with all your armor on and ... well ...

Claire: You realize it's a sumo wrestling match.

5. Well, now, who'd have thought? The funniest thing is that you can hear the indignation in the cracking of their voice.

6. This may become the goriest action movie ever made.

7. I don't even believe this mess. For crying out loud.

8. You know you've been doing too much school work and too little sleeping when you start responding to people in Latin, only stopping when you realize that you don't know the word for narrative. This is, of course, a purely hypothetical situation.

9. I found this very interesting.

Gen. 3:7 (ESV) Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.

Matt. 21:18-22 (ESV) In the morning, as he was returning to the city, he became hungry. And seeing a fig tree by the wayside, he went to it and found nothing on it but only leaves. And he said to it, "May no fruit ever come from you again!" And the fig tree withered at once.

Matt. 25:41-46 (ESV) Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food ... and these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."

10. I'm just glad that the little sidebar of followers now calls itself Google Friend Connect. Otherwise, who knows how I might try to connect with them.

11. Ladies and Gentlemen, I announce, with great trepidity and hopeful expectation, the appearance of an incredible blog. Behold the Jons.

12. A quick little free-verse I jotted down at some point during week-before-last's Disputatio. Not good but begins to get my point across:

sprinting with a leather bag

slosh-burned

two til and sprinting past waiting hatchbacks

a dollar lighter

but it's this heavy water

gives me wings.

Thank God for Americano Fridays.

You might say I'm convinced. . .

2009-02-19T22:42:00.001-08:00

About his posting. He hasn't convinced me that I should post that way, but he certainly can if he wants. That way, if he does talk about the death penalty he doesn't lump me in with him. Like he said, I am a little iffy about the death penalty (and he certainly isn't).

I've pretty much gone in a complete circle over the issue of capital punishment. Four years ago I probably would have been in favor of capital punishment for murder and treason. I was 16 and probably was just going along with conservative Christian bandwagon without giving it much thought.

Last year I would have been unequivocally against capital punishment. It is a merciless system, and to me it needs to be absolutely foolproof. We should never hear about someone convicted of a capital crime being acquitted on the basis of DNA evidence. That should not happen. It means we could have wrongfully put other people to death. Yes, the Old Testament mosaic law required capital punishment for a myriad of crimes. But that was a theocracy; and even then charges could only be upheld on the basis of two or three witnesses. I would have definitely told you that in our present situation, capital punishment just isn't justified.

Now, I don't know. I hear the arguments; theological, pragmatical, and otherwise. It is clearly mandated in mosaic law (and Kaleb could tell you a lot about that); penologists will tell you about the problems of recidivism; forensic psychologists will tell you that most murderers and rapists are psychopaths who are incurable and unable to re-enter society; etc. etc. And yet, I must say that it would take more than arguments alone to convince me. It isn't a logical problem I have with it. It is more like an emotional barrier.

I don't want to agree with implementing capital punishment. But I am starting to see the merit of capital punishment in clear cases of 1st degree murder. It would be stubborn for me to continue to insist that it isn't justice. And as much as I dislike America (and I do, I really do; it's an abomination), I will concede that treason is a legitimate capital crime.

I don't have the time (and you don't have the patience, I am sure) to go through all my problems with theonomy. I'll just say one thing. Theonomy sounds great at first - the Word of God is authoritative and should be carried out in all areas of both private and civil life. That isn't too hard to swallow, until you think about all the people we would have to put to death (the list is substantial).

I am just me

2009-02-18T20:07:00.000-08:00

So. I start every post I write with "I . . . " followed by some action verb. Rob has indicated that this at times grates on his nerves, and asks me why I do it. Now I think this question answers itself, but I wanted to give a public defense of my habit because it says something about me and about how I blog. Here goes.

Josh Gibbs' The Cedar Room influenced how I think about blogging more than I can really say (thus Rob's jab about copycat-etry). It was the first real blog I ever read, and I read it for nearly three years. It was cool, smart, well-written, and only rarely got above itself. Yet Josh always started his posts with the phrase "We are." At least, after he was married. Before that it was "I am." In a post I've long since lost track of, Josh talked about why he did this, and said that it reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing while typing away on the internets.

I think this is very wise, and so I copied him. See, when I say "I ..." what I'm trying to do is make the reader realize that this is not some sort of encyclopedia, some vault of knowledge, some authority sitting in cyberspace. It's not even as trustworthy as Wikipedia isn't. It's just me, a very, very white freshman in college sitting in a two-bedroom apartment typing away just for the heck of it. My words are more often than not rash, foolish, and startlingly ill-informed. They're just that: my words.

Why is it "I" and not "We?" Well, like I said, when Josh used it it was because he got hitched, so I just avoided it cause that's not me. A friend of ours already introduces us as "Rob and his partner Kaleb," so I get skittish around these sorts of things. And besides, if I make some absurd claim that Rob doesn't agree with, you can't expect him to go to the stake defending it. I've probably said or will say at some point that I believe that the death penalty should be used in America pretty much exactly like the Old Testament says it should be in Israel (yes, rebellious kids, witches, adulterers, and homosexuals all come under that). Rob doesn't agree with this, so I'd title the post "I call for blood" or something, because it's not "We call for blood." It's just little old me. But if this habit is indeed bugging everyone, I'll shut-up already and move on. What thinkest thee?

You might have heard from me earlier. . .

2009-02-16T20:41:00.000-08:00

. . . If Kaleb hadn't objected to that particular post. Of course, I say that Kaleb objected but the reason I didn't post it immediately was because I was nervous that it could be misconstrued. He merely concurred. It was a bit of satire about obscenity (in which I make up my own absurd non-obscenities and suggest uses for them). If you want to see that post (which was really quite excellent and original) send me an e-mail at rob.noland@gmail.com and I'll send it your way.

Alright, on to the second order of business. You may have noticed that I purposefully avoided starting the post with "I." Then again, you might not have noticed. Well, this is your chance to notice. This is a protest against Kaleb's titling method. I have taken digs at it before. I think it is sort of egotistical (and bordering on the annoying) to start every post that way. After all, it isn't all about me is it? It's about YOU, my readers. Therefore, until Kaleb offers a good explanation for his titling (that involves more than just wanton copycatting of another esteemed blogger) I will start every post with either "you" "he" "she" or "they". If he isn't very persuasive then I will keep my titling.

NB: I don't really think Kaleb is being egotistical; I just want to see his reason for starting every post on a two-author blog with the pronoun "I".

I know what is.

2009-02-16T19:02:00.000-08:00

Mongol General: Hao! Dai ye! We won again! This is good, but what is best in life?

Mongol: The open steppe, fleet horse, falcons at your wrist, and the wind in your hair.

Mongol General: Wrong! Conan! What is best in life?

Conan: To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women.

Mongol General: That is good! That is good.

This makes me laugh to nearly no end.

I know it's been a while

2009-02-05T13:26:00.000-08:00

...since we've been regularly posting. It's been a crazy week and there looms another on the horizon. Just hang on. We'll make it through somehow, I promise. In the meantime, a rundown on the importances and random things of life as I have seen them, in no particular order.

1. This is incredibly creative. To think I just used legos to build massive castles full of fighting midgets.

2. From Florida this week. A woman gave birth to the baby she was trying to kill while in the abortion clinic, and the nurse threw it away. In the garbage. The most frightening line of the article is this, regarding what is basically described as a surgical version of a spear: "We don't use these in terminations [anymore]."

3. Quote of the day, from Oscar Wilde. "One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar." Poor little gnostic.

4. I can't wait to see these at Walmart, piloted by obese men buying Diet Coke.

5. Speaking of the WalBeast, who in the world thought it would be a good idea for them to sell roses?! Seriously. What kind of man buys his wife roses from Walmart? I mean, I know what kind of man buys his wife roses from Walmart, the same kind of man that stuffs her stocking with Skoal and Moon Pies for Christmas. But I mean, just come on.

6. This is pretty epic. Careful cause there's a few very violent/bloody/disturbing images on there, so don't go clicking on the "objectionable content" labels.

7. One of the coolest misspellings ever: "90 minuets in heaven"* Also an awesome name for an album.

8. I just started listening to All These Things That I Have Done by The Killers. One wonders how men responsible for such lyrical drivel as Somebody Told Me could come up with "I've got soul but I'm not a soldier."

9. And this makes me abundantly happy. They should have bulletproof pocket protectors and short ties.

*this was referring to the book 90 Minutes In Heaven

I am not as smiley as Rob

2009-02-04T19:37:00.001-08:00

I'm not Kaleb, but if I were him that is what I'd have to write.

You see, my roommate (who titles posts in the manner I just imitated) and I got our checks from Moscow Hotel today for shoveling snow. I got two smiley faces on my envelope. Kaleb only got one. I think she's saying that I am twice as smiley as him. I must say, I am deeply flattered.

On the other hand, the smiley is a semicircle with two dashes. If you turn it over it makes the universal symbol for a mushroom. Perhaps she is saying that I am more "upside-down mushroom" than my otherwise highly esteemed roommate. In fact, I am twice the upside-down mushroom that he'll ever be. That really boosts my self-esteem.

On yet another hand, (like from a three-handed alien or something) there could be some metaphorical meaning here.

Consider this:

1. A mushroom stinks sometimes if you kick it over (she could be telling us that our apartment stinks).

2. If you eat the wrong kind of mushroom you will die. But, if you eat the right kind of mushroom you will live (even though you just ate the wrong kind of mushroom; and that was almost fatally stupid) because it's an anecdote (hahaha). I think Kaleb is the wrong kind of mushroom.

3. Mushrooms are the favorite food of hobbits. Hobbits are half the size of humans (thus, called halflings). She could be saying that Kaleb is short (the size of a hobbit) but I am the size of two hobbits (like a normal human). The only thing I have to say is that she is a good two or three years late.

If I find out anything more about this highly puzzling situation I shall let you know.

I give some props

2009-01-26T10:19:00.000-08:00

The esteemed Tyler Antkowiak has written a short story. There's two or three instances of mild profanity, so if you feel up to it, read it here.

Did I mention that it was incredible? Oh yeah . . . so, it's incredible. Wonderful storytelling, and an awesome idea for a story (props for that to Ty's little sister). The way he tells the story, especially at the beginning, makes you identify with the narrator and makes the story much more intense and effective. Enjoy.

I say it's cold outside, so grab a raincoat

2009-01-26T10:04:00.000-08:00

Woke up to this little doozie of a surprise.

It's weird how you feel fine for a few minutes, just like it's 25 degrees or so, but after that it takes very little time for the cold to seep through and just cut to your bones. By the by, if you can catch the reference in the title, I will be quite impressed.

Another hypothetical fattening prize

2009-01-25T12:55:00.000-08:00

That's right, you could be the next recipient of a famous (though as yet, hypothetical) "flabbergasted" doughnut or cup of coffee. Just present incontrovertible proof that you were the 3,000 visitor (or the closest one to that beautiful number) to our blog.

President Obama's first executive order

2009-01-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

I would like to begin with a caveat. I did not vote for Obama (I didn't vote at all, as you may remember). Nor do I wish I voted for Obama (or for McCain). I am deeply upset with our new President's Pro-death voting record in the Senate. In short, I wish we had a President who supported unborn human rights. However, I have great hopes for the other human rights during his administration:

-He promises more humanitarian aid to those suffering in Darfur, and his Senate voting record supports this.

-His first executive order was to shut down Gitmo within a year.

-He signed a bill today abolishing America's use of torture.

-Basically, he just eliminated all the problems I had with the Bush administration.

None of this changes the fact that Obama supports the murder of babies. We can't just look past this. But neither can we look at this alone, and look past the good that Obama is already doing. That would be ingratitude. God has a purpose for Obama, and I do not think it's just judgment.

We who are Christians should not be humanists (in the ideological sense). But that in no way means that we can't be humanitarians.

Peace

Get on your boots

2009-01-19T17:32:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you what just made my day, if you haven't guessed already. U2 JUST DID!!! That is right. The first single released from U2's album No Line On the Horizon, "Get on Your Boots" is seriously blowing me away. I've already listened to it 3 times in a row. I'm going to write a full scale review once the album comes out. Right now, I just want to share my jubilation and maybe some of you shall share it with me.

Peace

My very clear advice

2009-01-19T11:30:00.001-08:00

This is a little something I picked up from Cicero and put into my own words:

"Always never fail to remember to not fail to not forget to do whatever is always not in your un-best interest."

I don't have anything else to say really. That about sums it up.

When exiting a restaurant

2009-01-18T20:36:00.000-08:00

Let us suppose (for the sake of argument) that you have just had a nice supper at a sit-down restaurant. You are just leaving and one of their helpers holds the door open and says:
"Thank you for coming. Have a nice night."
The usual response is something like "Thanks, you too."
Oh, that's sweet. But it's really boring.

Here is just one way to spice it up- respond with "Thank you. Uh, Sorry about the mess." The poor man will be flabbergasted. When he asks, "what mess?" just answer "You'll see."

The trick is to be very vague. Don't give any details like in the bathroom, underneath my table, in my napkin, on the floor etc. Leave it completely open to his imagination. He may even abandon his post at the door and go looking for this elusive mess. It's pretty ironical, because he's the only mess you've left.

Try it. They love it.

I just don't think people understand

2009-01-14T13:52:00.000-08:00

So here's the headline I saw a few days ago:
U.N. alarmed by Lebanon rocket attacks on Israel
I am intrigued by this. Because, you see, it's so ridiculously obvious. Are there rocket attacks that don't alarm people? I would hate to see them. I mean really, how boring would that attack be?

We continue reading, though

U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon

You've got to be kidding me. Just when Kofi Annan steps down, we get a man named
Ban Ki-moon? We serve a marvelously funny God, my friends

expressed alarm on Wednesday over reports of Lebanese rocket attacks against Israel and urged all parties in the region to avoid actions that could make a bad situation worse. "That is ... a very alarming, very disturbing and troubling situation," Ban told reporters

Again with the alarm. Apparently General Ban hasn't been told that this sort of thing has been happening since the Muslims invaded like 1,000 years ago. And now he's asking Israel not to retaliate. Someone needs to give the poor man a briefing. Retaliation is my Israeli neighbor's middle name. Not really, but you see my point. Revenge is something they are good at. Their ancestors avenged the rape of their sister by convincing an entire city of men to circumcise themselves, and then came in on the third day "when they were sore" and butchered the lot of them.

Ban said that U.N. peacekeepers in Lebanon, known as UNIFIL, were investigating the rocket attacks launched from inside Lebanon. The incident took place on the 19th day of Israel's offensive against Hamas militants in the Gaza strip.

Tough, that one. Israel fights Hamas militants. All of a sudden, rockets start
appearing out of Lebanon, a known supporter and harbor for Hamas militants.
Careful now, don't think about this too hard or you might get a headache.

Security sources in Lebanon said five rockets were fired, though two fell in Lebanon.

So these guys aren't just idiots because they're fighting against one of the most militant nations on the planet, they're also idiots in the traditional sense of the word. They can't even point and shoot.

"Hamas rocket attacks must stop and at the same time I have been condemning
the excessive military operation by the Israelis," he told an earlier news
conference in Cairo . . .

Apparently we're going to be forgetting that whole part where Hamas stole the land from Israel. Just like we forgot about Hitler annexing Austria. Because that worked so well.

The Hamas-run Health Ministry in Gaza said 1,010 Palestinians had been killed
and 4,700 wounded by Israel so far. The Israelis say on their side 10 soldiers,
and three civilians hit by cross-border Hamas rockets, have been killed.

The moral of this story, kids, is: don't mess with Israel. 13 deaths compared to 1,010?! That's absolutely incredible.

Here's what I don't think people get. People don't understand that God's promises to Israel aren't finished. If God is going to redeem the nation of Israel as He has promised, He's got to have something to redeem.* In the Six Day War in 1967, Israel was attacked by Syria, Jordan, Iraq, and Egypt. They were outnumbered almost 2 to 1 in infantry, 3 to 1 in the air, and 3 to 1 in tanks. By the end of those six days, Israel had had 800 men killed, 2500 wounded, and 15 captured. The four Arabic nations had lost 13,000 men, 8,000 wounded, and 6,000 prisoners. Israel lost 46 aircraft as compared to more than 400 aircraft. Don't mess with the Lord's chosen. David didn't kill Saul even though he was unfaithful, because Saul was God's chosen one. I can think of no other nation on earth that is that small, surrounded by that many enemies, and that has lasted for that long. So, as the eloquent Pastor Hadding has said on many an occasion, I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

*This does, in fact and in most every way, represent what I believe. It may or may not represent what Rob believes, we haven't discussed it yet. Something tells me we will shortly.

Rides n' such

2009-01-09T13:31:00.001-08:00

At NSA, there comes a time in the waiting period before the beginning of a break or the end of it, when everyone needs rides to and from Spokane. Some people just happen to live in that city, and some people (like me) go there because it is the home of the closest airport (if we don't count Pullman).

This is one of those times. Well, I'm getting a little tired of all the politeness. These people always say that they would be willing to pay for the gas. Which is, of course, very reasonable. But I'm holding out for somebody to break the mold. Go ahead, be completely unreasonable. It's fun. Here are some ways:

"Of course, I would not be willing to pay for gas."
"Don't even think about asking me for gas money."
"You're going there anyway, all I'm asking is that you take me with you. It's your gas. Sheesh"
"As we all know, I'm a jerk. As such, it goes against my principles to help pay for gas."
"I don't believe in gas. Therefore, I won't pay for you to keep ruining our environment. But, as long as you're ruining it you might as well take me with you."

Now that would be in true flabbergasted style. You see, everyone's got a little "jerk" written in the small-print of their hearts, you just have to look for it.

I want to write a book: "Rob's Unreasonably Priced Book on How to be Unreasonable." I think it would be a huge hit.

N.B.: This is me being facetious. As far as I know, most of the time I'm not a jerk.

I answer my own question

2009-01-04T14:28:00.000-08:00

So here's my answer. Why are there poor? Well, it's my fault. And it's yours. I hope it's the fault of every single one of you. It's President Bush's fault, it seems to be Obama's fault, Clinton claims it's his fault, but I'm not so sure that we can blame it directly on bin Laden, Hussein, or even the serpent.

The poor are the Church's fault. I come very close to believing that when I stand before the Judgment Seat, God will ask me "And how about that guy you saw under the bridge and didn't stop for on January 6, 2009? What did you do about that? Hmm. Well, what about . . . "

Most of us have heard Mr. Doug Jones's take on the gravity of economic sins. I'd agree with that. Too many preachers use the divorce rating among Christians as a barometer for the Church (this is not at all to justify or reduce the importance of marriage as holy and sacred; divorce is horrible, but we fail to realize that poverty and hunger are equally horrible tragedies). What about the number of people below the poverty line? What about the number of deaths by starvation in the US? What about the number of thefts carried out by desperate parents? I'm not even touching Africa yet. I'm just asking you to look at what is happening in our own backyard.

Christ said that it wasn't the healthy but the sick who need the doctor. The gospel dies in upper middle class Suburbia. It explodes in the projects. While popular European Christianity (and, some argue, even American Christianity) begins to die, the faith is growing by leaps and bounds in China, Pakistan, India, Africa, and the Middle East. Could it be because the Catholic church did so little to relieve the abject poverty of the natives that South America has never been stable and prosperous?

What I'm saying is this: the Church is to disciple all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Trinity. We preach the Gospel and disciple the nations by living out the faith. We start living like Christians, and people will start noticing. Spurgeon once said, joy is our missionary. As Pastor Wilson said, you don't reach atheists by debating them; you get to them by having them over for dinner. Theology doesn't save people; the Gospel does. St. James applies this to giving when he says "If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and filled,' without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?" Too often Christians talk about God's love to an atheist as if it's this ethereal emotional thing that couldn't help anyone even though, deep down, it really wanted to. God's love is not a pretty, teardrop-eyed, softly-glowing-in-the-snowy-moonlight sort of thing. It's visceral, physical, and sometimes it looks like a toothless, legless, drugged up old man in a wheelchair who hasn't had a bath in a month. If an atheist looks over and sees a Christian volunteering at a soup kitchen every Thursday, when you start picking up homeless guys and buying them dinner, when he sees you sacrifice for those less fortunate, he'll be ready to hear about that love. That Love that will turn the world upside down.

Giving to the poor is the Church's responsibility, its duty. We can't expect the government or other agencies to do it, however willing President Obama may be to do so. The poor are out there because we Christians are letting them be out there. Every family that starves to death is an indictment on Christianity; every homeless drug addict is condemnation. And who knows, perhaps the day the Church ends poverty will be last day of all?

I ask a very leading question

2009-01-03T13:20:00.000-08:00

This has been on my mind recently.

Why are there poor?

And answers like "sin" or "Adam in the Garden" are copouts. I mean, here and now, in 2009, why are there still people who cannot buy food?

P.S. Sorry we've been so out of touch recently. Family has taken priority. Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, and that you all watched that guy Robbie Maddison almost kill himself in 14 different ways, and then drop the mighty-mighty-f-bomb on live ESPN TV. American entertainment at its best, folks.

Homonymity is not a choice: A response to Kaleb's response to my. . . whatever he called it

2008-12-27T07:45:00.000-08:00

'Sup peoples?

Hear's what I think:

Some words are just dyeing to be misused. I think "their" has always wished that it could be demonstrative, and "there" can't shake the desire to be possessive. These words don't have a choice. After all, who would choose to have to endure all the stigma of being wrong all the time? And they have an excuse - if anybody asks, they were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I give these words a place to roam free, and be what they want to be. They need not be confined under the weight of "correct" English grammar. After all, what is correct grammar and word usage anyway? Just the arbitrary whims of thinking people who have the time to write dictionaries and style books. Forget what they say.

Whose with me?

I respond.

2008-12-26T19:34:00.000-08:00

Friends, Americans, Countrymen (and all you international types too), a gauntlet has been thrown down.

I am referring, of course, to the last post, which features a stunning portrait of myself, along with sundry gibberish. The only proper response to such behavior is to post another cooler, more generally awesome, and somehow better-looking picture of myself to top Rob's.

I leave you to judge how well I succeeded.

But I jest. Nay, the real response must be to Rob's incredible claim to harbor abused words. As indeed he does. If by harbor you mean beat, bend, and violate. Rob claims to shelter misused words, and does so by further misusing and abusing them. One imagines his similar shelter for abused dogs including such friendly items as whips, over-tight muzzles, and cattle prods (I jest, of course, Rob loves dogs - medium rare). Despite my redneck upbringing, my Southern heritage, and years of bad influence, I refuze too right sentence's "like" this won hear. It gives me a headache.

Also, and on a separate note, as Josiah deftly pointed out below, and as Theresa predicted, I missed two of my calls on films if we're going by Rotten Tomatoes. As I went with the RT the first time, I'll stick by them now, although I note in passing that they've been wrong before. Looks like Valkyrie passed and Bedtime Stories washed. I had such hopes, but I should have known the minute I saw Courtney Cox was involved.

Well, all, the world is made new. The world of orphans, divorce, rape, murder, oppression, cancer, and the stomach flu has already been reborn, renewed, and remade, just not yet. Praise to our Christ, the God-man. Merry Christmas, even if it's late.

P.S. Rob is really an animal lover. He has more love for dogs than almost anybody I know. Which makes it all the more rad and hysterical that I make him out as a dog hater. And yes, I totally said "rad" so I could use the label "I said rad." While we're at it, sigma. Got another one.

We at Flabbergasted wish you a marry Christmas

2008-12-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas! Please remember that Christmas doesn't end on the 25th of December. Traditionally, there are supposed to be twelve days of Christmas and the 25th is the first day. So, have a happy second day of Christmas.

The Rob Noland Center for Misplaced and Abused Words

2008-12-19T17:25:00.001-08:00

Well, I found out something truly amazing a couple days ago. Kaleb hates homonyms! He's what we would call a dehomonyzer, a mahomynist, an anti-homonitic, take your pick. I would say he's a homophobe, but that means something very different (which is rather ironic, isn't it?). In short, he's very intolerant of homonyms.

I however, have much sympathy with homonyms. I have often had the feeling that I'm not where I belong. For example, sometimes I get the idea that I've wandered into the wrong apartment; strengthened by the terrified screams and painful anti-intruder mechanisms (baseball bats) they tend to use. Personally, I don't see what the big deal is. Same building, right? What's the difference? Sheesh. Get a grip people.

Anyway. . .

Inasmuch as I believe that their aren't enough homonyms in Kaleb's posts; I'm going to let homonyms in to mine. I want my posts to be a haven for abused words. I want them to feel that they are always welcome to come into my posts, and be just as wrong as they want to be. After all, they can't help what they are - that is how Webster made them. So, Whose with me?

The only hitch is, I can't have to many, or the post would get overcrowded. Therefore, I will try to have at least one, and not more than 10 in each post. (I might even try to smuggle some into Kaleb's posts. Who knows?)

N.B. I am not actually in favor of unlawful entry into other people's rented rooms. I pretty much stick to my own quarter's in this venerable establishment. And alas, I haven't actually been attacked with a baseball bat during my stay at the "Moscow Hotel".

Green Day- American Idiot

2008-12-19T17:06:00.001-08:00

Peoples! Christmas comes early this year (Not particularly early. It should have come in about a month ago. But who cares? It's here!). That's right. . . on vinyl. . . "AMERICAN IDIOT."

Wright now, Jesus of Suburbia is blaring on the record player. This is the way punk was meant to be listened.

(Skip a bit)

Wait for it. . . Wait for it. . . OH YES, Boulevard of Broken Dreams is gracing itself across the needle. Oh, this is so totally rad.

I wish you were here.

The 100th issueversary- The Anemic Muskrat

2008-12-17T14:59:00.000-08:00

Here we are ladies and gentlemen. This is, indeed, a momentous occasion. I have a few words to say (in the form of a fable) in commemoration of our hundredth post. Here goes:

There was once a very scared muskrat. He didn't have any particular reason to be scared, except that a voracious dog was chasing him. The poor anemic thing. That's right, the muskrat is anemic. Is there no justice in the world? Not that we should blame the dog either; he was hungry (and anorexic). When seeing the muskrat the dog couldn't help but defecate. . . uh, I mean salivate. So, the dog was chasing the poor muskrat all around in circles and the muskrat became all lightheaded (because he's anemic) and fainted. Well, this didn't please the dog. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to eat something that had fainted. You see, the dog always did this. He was always making excuses for not eating something. So, he just returned to his own vomit, I mean kennel. The muskrat lived to bleed another day.

Moral: Better look before you read next time. Ha Ha Ha!

One away from the hundredth post. . .

2008-12-17T14:57:00.000-08:00

And I'm not letting Kaleb have the big one. Which is the main point of this beauty of a post. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to say hello to everyone. Hello everyone. Okay, on to the next post.

I am 80 hours and 41 minutes from home

2008-12-17T10:18:00.000-08:00

So I wanted to post again, mainly so I had something to do besides homework. And I have the attention span of a drunk 2 year old right now, so we'll be doing another several random points of information that hopefully inform and start to entertain.

1. Over the last two nights, I have got 7 hours of sleep. There have been more than 120 ounces of soda involved, which doesn't sound like much until you realize that that translates to more than 600 milligrams of caffeine. Now I don't know much, but since I can't hold my hands steady right now, I'm gonna say that it's a little imbalanced. As I slurp away on my Wheatberries fountain drink.

2. This makes me laugh.

3. I have "errands" to "run" for the first time in my life. I mean, of course I've made a grocery run for my mom, I've picked up drinks for parties, I've even made trips for the sole purpose of banking. But I have a to do list which involves cleaning out fridges, buying Christmas gifts, discussing thermostats with building supers, etc.

4. I'm not sure what to make of this. Apocalypse: yeah. Nic Cage: heck no. I do, however, know what to make of this. And that is: frippin amazing.

5. Thom Yorke has the voice of an angel.

6. Jon Tollefson's poetry does, indeed, make the English language look like a cat. One whose fur he strokes the wrong way, just to watch the fireworks. And those fireworks make me laugh great peals of laughter.

7. You know you've been up north for too long when 17 seems balmy.

8. Last night I think I caught 30 minutes of sleep doing Latin flashcards; like thirty seconds each time I changed slides. I learned so very much.

9. Two days left, people (sorry, Jeremy). Let's Stoke these bad boys.

I catch the general public up

2008-12-16T01:47:00.000-08:00

So it's finals week for most of the collegiate world, and we are no exception. While I have plenty of work left to do and it's pretty early, I thought I'd take a sec and update everybody on what's been going on.

1) Not to toot my own horn, but so far I'm batting 1000 on my movie predictions. The Day The Earth Stood Still got panned so badly it made Twilight look good.

2) I think if I nail every one of my prophecies regarding upcoming film, somebody should buy me lunch.

3) So it was a little chilly tonight:

4) This excites me to just short of no end.

X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE HD

5) The word "epic" hasn't really been creeping into the general vocabulary of our class so much as violently hurling itself, leaving behind it a trail of devastation and laughter.

6) Rob and I will be running like madmen (at least, I will be) down the concourse of the New Orleans Airport towards nine or so frantically waving people in approximately 114 hours and 48 minutes. Not that I'm counting.

7) I am very much looking forward to Tim Tebow running all over the OU defense and destroying that poor sap that got the Heisman.

8) Blackberry waffles hot off the iron, topped with cold syrup, and flanked by pepper bacon and cheese scrambled eggs, is pretty much the ultimate brinner.

Sigur Ros- Staralfur

2008-12-14T23:45:00.000-08:00

I do say, there is a lot of common grace going on with this band. This music is heavenly. I hope this song affects you as much as it did me!

The 2000th customer. . . I mean visitor

2008-12-13T15:37:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, Tyler Antkowiak (madmancorner.blogspot.com) is our 2000th visitor. He shall receive something from "Bucer's" at the time of his choosing. Congratulations Tyler!

Sigur Ros- Njosnavelin (the nothing song)/Untitled #4

2008-12-12T19:28:00.000-08:00

Listen to this song, and tell me it isn't beautiful. It's repetitive, but it still has just enough variation to sustain the beauty. Words are useless, just listen to it.

Sigur Ros is amazing. I recommend heartily.

I get excited

2008-12-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

Okay guys, so here's the deal. I'm ridiculously excited about Christmas break, so I've been trying to line up the movies I want to see with family and friends. Anyhow, I've stumbled across a few soon-to-be-released films that look good, bad, and downright ugly. So I'll post a preview, draw conclusions about a book from merely perusing the cover, and you get to critique me. Here goes.

The Day the Earth Stood Still, directed by Scott Derrickson

Release Date: December 19, 2008

Verdict: Bad. Although I'm excited they're doing a remake of a classic, I refuse to be a part of something that pays Keanu Reeves more than 10 million dollars to act like an alien. Seriously, I can think of at least a million better ways to throw away money than to pay Keanu Reeves to be himself.

Terminator: Salvation, directed by McG

Release Date: May 22, 2009

Verdict: Good. T4 stars Christian Bale as John Connor? Okay, why in the world did it take them that long to figure this out? Throw in Helena Bonham Carter and Bryce Dallas Howard, without a doubt two of the most talented actresses right now, and I'm yours. Did I mention it's written by James Cameron, who wrote T2 and T3, directed T2 (arguably the best) and also directed Aliens? Yeah. That's right. By the by, a much better quality video is here.

Avatar, directed by James Cameron

Release Date: December 18, 2009

Verdict: Good. It's James Cameron, it's apparently got the second biggest budget in film history (a quarter of a billion. That's right, with a b), and it's about Earth trying to take over another planet. It's either gonna be great or terrible. We'll give Cameron the benefit of the doubt, for right now.

Bedtime Stories by Adam Shankman

Release Date: December 25, 2008

Verdict: Good. Adam Shankman, if you look him up on the IMDB, hasn't had a real miss as a director. Apparently Sandler took a cue from fellow adult comic Stiller and decided to do something kid friendly. We'll see if Courtney Cox can also drop the whole skank thing for a few minutes. It'll definitely be a stretch.

Defiance, directed by Edward Zwick

Release Date: January 16, 2009

Verdict: Good. Daniel Craig is a great actor, and Zwick's credits include Glory, Blood Diamond, The Siege, and The Last Samurai. Looks like a winner to me.

The International by Tom Twyker

Release Date: February 13, 2009

Verdict: Good. Yeah, Clive Owen is one of my favorite actors ever. This could go south and just be about vigilante justice, or it could actually be a great movie. But it's got Clive Owen, ya'll. And also, in a weird twist, Twyker recently broke up with his long-time girlfriend, who happens to be Marie from the Bourne movies. Has nothing to do with the movie, just a weird little fact.

Valkyrie directed by Bryan Singer

Release Date: December 25, 2008

Verdict: Ugly. Guys, I'm sorry. It's always worse when great movies fail over a single, glaring oversight. Tom Cruise should not have been within a hundred miles of this film. It's directed by Bryan Singer (X-men, X2, The Usual Suspects, Superman Returns, and producer of House, M.D.), it's got Kenneth Branagh, Bill Nighy, Tom Wilkinson, and even Eddie Izzard. Why, in the world, would anybody let this talent go to waste on a Tom Cruise movie!?! I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong, that this turns out to be amazing and Cruise pulls off the performance of a lifetime. But I don't think that's likely.

Up, directed by Pete Doctor and Bob Peterson

Release Date: May 29, 2009

Verdict: Good. Um, so can anyone actually think of anything they wanted to do as a childmore than this?! I mean seriously, this is a genius idea for a film. Pure genius.

90 hits from the mark

2008-12-07T16:08:00.000-08:00

Only 90 hits away, keep your eyes on the prize loyal readership.

What's wrong with this picture?

2008-12-05T17:36:00.000-08:00

It's a little hard to make out, but that's Starbursts sitting on Kaleb's plate. He left them sitting there like he was just peeling off shrimp tails.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how short on food we are. Instead of chips (like normal people) we are eating Starbursts with our grilled turkey sandwiches (or veggie burgers, if you have the enormously good luck of being me).

Tear the world together

2008-12-01T18:38:00.001-08:00

Have you heard that "Hootie & The Blowfish" song Take My hand? I was listening to that this evening, and I've always thought he was saying "tear the world together" and I looked up the lyrics to see if I was right. But I was not right. I was wrong. Shock and awe and pandelirium! He was saying "Take the world together."

Anyway, I think the song would be better if he said "tear the world together" (the upside of course is that I get to use this term like I coined it myself). Because that's really the task of reconciliation - there is nothing peaceful about it. In fact, there is nothing peaceful about "peace" at all.

To many people, peace implies passivity. However, NOTHING could be further from the truth (well, I suppose something could be; don't press me on it). There is nothing so violent to the present human condition as peace. If you want people to be at peace, for God's sake pull the Ak's out of their hands. Guess what? You might have to make them play nice, and it might be violent. Then you can go about the long and arduous task of teaching them to like it (don't leave that out or you'll just have gun control).

The problem with pacifism is that it so often becomes "passivism." For instance, let us take that old hypothetical situation- a robber has a gun and he wants to harm your family, you have a gun what do you do (or more towards the spirit of the question: what would Jesus do?) My answer is that there is nothing noble about refusing to protect your family when a robber comes around because you "don't want to hurt him." In fact, I would say that inaction in this circumstance is a form of violence. By refusing to take action you would not be doing anyone a favor. You are allowing someone to complete a sinful and violent act, and also neglecting your God-given duty as protector of the family.

N.B. - When I say "For God's sake" I'm not taking God's name in vain. I really mean it literally. That is literally the reason you should take people's guns away from them if they're not playing nice. Also, I say "them" as a sort of nebulous "whoever is at war with each other" sort of thing.

Two THOUSAND hittarinis

2008-11-29T10:40:00.000-08:00

At this time, we are approximately 300 hits away from being at the wonderful round number of 2000. I would like to announce that the same contest applies for this, our second, milestone. If you are an Idahoan Muscovite personage and you have the extreme fortune of being the two-thousandth hitter I will do one of several things:

If you are a dude I will give you some of my excellent advice about how to become a prodigious pogo stick jumper. For your information, this type of skill is highly attractive to the ladyfolk. Or, I'll get you something from "Wheatberries."

If you are a lady I will ask you to stop hitting on us, because that's too funny to pass up. Then, I will buy you whichever coffee you want at "Sister's Brewery." Or, you also still have the "Wheatberries" option.

If you are from and live in my hometown, then I will get you something good from either Jay's Bakery or the Milton Bakery. You choose, and your coolness will be determined by which you choose.

If you don't live in either of these great places, then I will do a post on a topic of your choice (within reason) and make it as ridiculous as I possibly can.

Why Dane is no longer an author on "Help! I've been Flabbergasted!"

2008-11-28T00:39:00.000-08:00

It's not because we don't love Dane (Swede) anymore. On the contrary, we love Dane just as much as ever and we would like to wish him a happy birthday (40 min. late, sorry).

It's just that Dane has his own blog that he posts to, and I felt that we shouldn't pressure him anymore to post on this blog.

That, and I like the original picture of Kaleb and me much better. Brings back memories of us being seniors at Trinitas. So there you go.

Sloth strikes back

2008-11-26T12:32:00.000-08:00

You remember when I did a post about "Se7en"? And I believe Kaleb told you about the "Sloth" doors. Perhaps you have forgotten. Anyway, there are two doors on my floor, right next to each other, with no labeling whatsoever. I pointed out the general freakiness about a week into the term and Kaleb suggested that it might be the residence of "sloth", strapped to the bed in unspeakable agony and awful freaketry.

Well, we've never seen anyone go in or out of those doors . . . until last night. J-Saud and I were doing the ol' "knock on the door and run like crazy people down the stairs or into the flat because we are scared out of our wits about what may come out of those doors" routine. We do this a lot; pretty regularly over 3 months. Anyway, I was running ahead of Jeremy and fumbling to open the door. When we got in, he told me in a hushed whisper that he saw the door open and light pour forth. You could have heard a child scream, the silence was so complete. Sure enough, there was knocking on our door. We wait a terrified fifteen seconds. I look through the peep hole and it was something so hideous and hairless. . . that it didn't have any hair. In other words, the dude was bald. And then, he laid down his fearful ultimatum - "Could you guys stop knocking on other people's doors." So I just answered, "sure we'll stop."

I did not really have my wits together. I should have maintained deniability. "Uh, I don't know what you are talking about dude." Or, I could at least have told him that his is the only door we knock on. That would have made him feel special. Or especially mad. Anyway, I decided to appease the beast with an easy, albeit boring, answer.

The End

Something very profound - Wait for it, Wait for it

2008-11-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

I would like to say something very profound to you today. I had something prepared for this occasion but it was lost. Alas, I am absent-minded.

Instead I'm going to tell you about how Mr. Monty Python made his own special channel on youtube. So I will. Did you know that there is now a Monty Python channel on the UK YouTube? Well, now you do.

Check this out:

I Take an Open Poll

2008-11-25T12:29:00.001-08:00

Go to the comments, and tell us your favorite movie of all time. If you can't pick one, pick three. That's all. In 48 hours or so, the three of us (right Swede?) will post our top one or three. The 6 or 7 most common movies will get put in that snazzy little sidebar poll thing, and so we will determine the movie most loved by the readership, so then we can bash it more than the rest, and so further alienate the people we enjoy. Sounds like fun, eh?

No but seriously, I think I'll do this once a year or so and then we can see if our overall tastes change. Also, we get to make fun of each other for our favorite movies. It will be amazing!

I name the Top 10 Weapons in Movies

2008-11-25T01:25:00.001-08:00

Alright, time for another top something list of somethings. This round, it's the top 10 list of weapons in film. That's right, the 10 most famous and infamous instruments of destruction in cinema. Now, this list is open to critique and change, even addition should the need be there, because I don't pretend to have extensive movie experience. Just enough to make me dangerous - or at least annoying. Anyhow, here goes.

Top 10 Most Famous Weapons in Cinema

10. John McClane's Beretta 9mil + 7 Inches Duct Tape

Bruce Willis' performance in Die Hard revolutionized the action movie genre. That last scene -every guy wants that. Save your girl with a pistol that's duct-taped to your back? That's the definition of manliness.

9. The Italian Stallion's Fists

Rocky wasn't just a great boxing movie. It is the boxing movie. Rocky took over boxing films like Kleenax took over tissues. It defined an era and started a genre.

8. Bond's Walther PPK

This weapon had to make the list. James' favorite field piece, outdated and painful to use though it is, is an indispensable part of the 007 persona. Besides, this weapon has saved the world so many times it's ridiculous.

7. Rambo's M60

The quintessential man's philosophy: little bit good, lotta bit better. Especially when it comes to guns. If a sword is decent, a pistol good, and an assault rifle better, let's give a ticked off Nam veteran the biggest machine gun we can find, and have him dismantle a town with it. Sheer genius.

6. King Arthur's Sword Excalibur

I know what you're thinking - surely, Clive Owen fan though he may be, Trotter hasn't just put that two-bit tripe-fest King Arthur in a top ten list of anything?! Sigh with relief, as this is the sword from Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail. Come now, any sword that bestows supreme executive power when thrown by some watery tart, as well as being able to take off arms of black knights at the lightest touch, well, that's my kind of sword.

5. Robin Hood's Bow (as carried by Errol Flynn)

Robin Hood is arguably the ultimate folk hero. Flynn's portrayal is timeless, and set the standard for future adaptations of the tale, as well as for future heros in film. Although the arrows never seemed to draw blood, they were still enough to woo Marian.

4. Indiana Jones' Whip

Utterly original, completely unexpected, absolutely brilliant. Indiana Jones was the first real hero to use a whip since Zorro. How successful was it? Suffice it to say that nobody thinks Zorro when they see a whip anymore. They think fedora.

3. Harry Callahan's .44 Magnum

Whether or not the magnum is the most powerful handgun in the world, or can blow a man's head off, or is even a decent gun, it doesn't really matter. Clint's immortal words cemented forever the place of the .44 in the annals of film.

2. Any Gun Held by John Wayne

I'm thinking specifically of the Winchester rifles of True Grit, but anything the Duke uses will do. Wayne, like him or not, was the cinematic icon, the Elvis of film. Any weapon he held was made awesome by his touch. Especially those swinging rifles -- reins in his teeth, galloping at the villains, the Duke was the man.

1. Luke Skywalker's Lightsaber

This is like putting the Beetles at the top of any music list - you just know it's gotta be there. The lightsaber made everything old new again, and proved the timeless elegance and beauty of the swordfight. The grace and visceral energy of Skywalker as he deflects imperial lasers and fights Darth Vader has captivated generation after generation.

In which I try to say something intelligible (although irrelevant) using only song lyrics

2008-11-24T10:34:00.000-08:00

The phone rings in the middle of the night,
My father yells "It's a beautiful day, don't let it get away." That's just the way it is, somethings will never change - while mona lisas and mad hatters, sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
turn around and say good morning to the night. Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. But when the sun shines again I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in. Beautiful dawn - lights up the shore for me. Thought I would die a lonely man, in endless night. But now I'm high. I'll be up with the sun, I'm not coming down.

Homosexuality is usually not a choice. . .

2008-11-21T12:38:00.000-08:00

But the fact that the orientation itself is most likely involuntary in no way excuses its indulgence (no more than heterosexuals are excused for adultery).

There is a common misconception flying around Christian circles that claims that at some point, every homosexual chose to become homosexual. They intellectually resist any indication to the contrary. If scientists discovered a "gay" gene (possibly the xq28 chromosome) tomorrow, there would be many Christians who would no longer know how to condemn the practice of homosexuality. They've built a huge part of their defense of the Biblical doctrine of marriage on shaky foundations.

These days, we hear a lot about tolerance. The liberals preach it and the conservatives go running out of the room with their hands over their ears. The problem is a faulty understanding of the difference between acceptance and love. The liberals have something right. We should love the homosexual. There is absolutely no justification for holding up a sign that says "God hates fags" at a gay pride parade. Besides being completely wrong, people who do this are sending out a message of hate to a people they are called to love. The liberals therefore equate love with acceptance.

The conservatives have something right too. We don't have to accept homosexuality into our homes and churches. We have a duty to the body of Christ, and to the homosexuals themselves. We are doing them no favors by telling them that there is nothing wrong with their behavior. Practicing homosexuals should be barred from church membership and from partaking of the Lord's Table (just as anyone living in grievous sin should be, homosexuality is not uniquely abominable in God's eyes). However, does a father cease to love his son, because his son is disobedient to him? No, he loves his son; therefore, he sends him to his room without his supper. I would be extremely surprised if anyone was ever positively changed because someone withheld love from him. Donald Miller in "Blue Like Jazz" pointed out how seriously flawed and downright sinful a method it is to seek to change someone through not loving them. It is hopeless and selfish. Love is the social catalyst.

So, liberals love and wrongly accept; conservatives don't love, because they think to love is accept. Have you guessed the solution? It's the only other permutation. Love, but do not accept. Christ says "Come to Me just as you are." He does not say "come to me and you can stay just as you are." When we give the homosexual the latter message, it is a false gospel.

These are some things I have been thinking about lately. Please don't take this as me saying that every liberal, and every conservative is like this. I am obviously painting in very broad strokes and coloring in the lines provided by stereotypes.

Galactophagist (n.)

2008-11-19T22:14:00.000-08:00

You heard me - Galactophagist. This is the new word of the day. Some of you philologists might be able to guess this one. Same rules as before (basically, don't be lame by cheating). Go ahead, impress me.

So did I

2008-11-19T12:06:00.001-08:00

Well, this means that you now have to learn six random facts about me.

Here goes:

1. When I was a baby I could spin a pacifier around like a propeller (really freaking out, and amusing nursery attendants). I could be a 1000 dollarionaire if my parents had just taped it and sent it to AFV. Some other kid won 1st prize for that stunt recently, and he had half of my spinning talent.

2. I was mock held-up in Paris with a banana. By a very drunk man who thought it was hilarious (but I really wasn't in the mood)

3. I am ridiculously affected by smacking.

4. I analyze things to a ridiculous extent.

5. I like doing voice impressions and fake accents.

6. I used to be called Robbie (until about the 7th grade).

Alright, I tag: MPK, Hannah Noland, My dad, Winston Kimmel, Tyler Knight, Justin Hughes (even though he never reads this and would probably not participate if he did). If you are not one of those people and you were not tagged by Kaleb, go ahead and do your own and pretend like I tagged you.