[the day I was surprized by snowfall sometime this month]
[the day I decided such a large, undisturbed canvas needed to be exploited]
[hanging out at the bus stop]
[camera phones are sick]
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
Monday, 29 January 2007
things that piss me off
I love imaginative titles.
#1 When people try to win arguments by being persuasive rather than being right. (It's rather insulting, when you think about it.)
#2 The safe philosophies of Christians on how they interact with homeless people.
It's not our responsibility to control what someone does with the gift we give them, is it? Then the love becomes conditional. Did God tell you He would only forgive you and withhold His wrath and grant you inheritance if you promised not to abuse your stewardship, not to stray from the path, and to never get mad at Him or cuss Him out to His face; to miss a few Sundays of church or ignore a convicting word? So what if "they're going to buy drugs or alcohol with it"? God the Son gave away all that He had knowing some of us would buy drugs and alcohol with it. Eventually, some of us realize the wealth that we're squandering and sober up but He did not make that a requirement; He did not take a vote at the beginning of the world: "OK, by a show of hands, how many of you will accept & love me, obeying my commands all the days of your life? Good, good...and how many of you will spit in my face, curse, reject and deny me until the day you die? ... Ouch. Dad, what do you think of these numbers? ... ...Alright, fine, I'll go anyways." If the guy sleeping on the sidewalk is not "the poor" that we're supposed to take care of, then who is? (If everyone who walks by assumes the same thing, these people won't even get money for the things you DO approve of them having, like food, will they?) What on earth does a Christian have that he can hold on to? What, with the perfect God within, can we possibly have need for? Give and then, if you're concerned (about the other person, not about your self), pray. Pray against addiction or other deadly behaviors. (Heck, we can be praying that for ourselves, too.) Pray for a way out. Pray for a miracle. Pray that you'll see them again - and give again. Pray in faith that your gift would go where it should. Give so much that they wonder.
#1 When people try to win arguments by being persuasive rather than being right. (It's rather insulting, when you think about it.)
#2 The safe philosophies of Christians on how they interact with homeless people.
It's not our responsibility to control what someone does with the gift we give them, is it? Then the love becomes conditional. Did God tell you He would only forgive you and withhold His wrath and grant you inheritance if you promised not to abuse your stewardship, not to stray from the path, and to never get mad at Him or cuss Him out to His face; to miss a few Sundays of church or ignore a convicting word? So what if "they're going to buy drugs or alcohol with it"? God the Son gave away all that He had knowing some of us would buy drugs and alcohol with it. Eventually, some of us realize the wealth that we're squandering and sober up but He did not make that a requirement; He did not take a vote at the beginning of the world: "OK, by a show of hands, how many of you will accept & love me, obeying my commands all the days of your life? Good, good...and how many of you will spit in my face, curse, reject and deny me until the day you die? ... Ouch. Dad, what do you think of these numbers? ... ...Alright, fine, I'll go anyways." If the guy sleeping on the sidewalk is not "the poor" that we're supposed to take care of, then who is? (If everyone who walks by assumes the same thing, these people won't even get money for the things you DO approve of them having, like food, will they?) What on earth does a Christian have that he can hold on to? What, with the perfect God within, can we possibly have need for? Give and then, if you're concerned (about the other person, not about your self), pray. Pray against addiction or other deadly behaviors. (Heck, we can be praying that for ourselves, too.) Pray for a way out. Pray for a miracle. Pray that you'll see them again - and give again. Pray in faith that your gift would go where it should. Give so much that they wonder.
Saturday, 27 January 2007
nutmeg memories
I just can't help it. Every time I smell nutmeg, I think of porridge and immediately think of my father. I always go right back to being seven years old and eating a breakfast worth waiting for. Man, that I could cook like he does. I don't even think I have the passion for it. And he, well, he doesn't get the forum for it which is sad like "Good Will Hunting"-squandered-talent sad.
Wednesday, 24 January 2007
"I'll be your pool-boy any day."
Yes, someone actually said that to me today. Yes, it was presque awkward but mostly funny.
On Monday, I asked my friend, "What's the antidote for resentment?" I had been thinking about a particularly tense situation of mine in recent days or weeks and that weekend, something made me more specifically address some plans for action. That morning, the word "resentment" came to me as an accurate characterization of my feelings and it sat in my belly like I imagine a couple pounds of under-cooked ground beef might. A few minutes later, my friend asked me about a situation of the previous night, curious about my take on it. She said she would understand if I had any resentment, "No, that's not the word...bitterness?" toward her. She settled on a different term which I forgot but the r-word struck me in the face like a gong-mallet (....on a gong). Hmmm.. We went into the kitchen.
I told her how I felt about the situation (confused but not bitter, resentful or any other negative emotion-al toward anyone) and that kinda sealed the topic. After some silent respective bustling abouts, I asked, "What's the antitdote for resentment?" She took a brief pause and said "forgiveness," not unsure at first but then questioning herself slightly, because the answer seemed too trite, she told me. Later, in another room she adds, "I think the antidote for resentment is the cross." Hmmm, thought I.
It's not like I felt that, "Oooooh, God's gonna make me do something ugly," kind of dread but rather surprize. In fact, if anything, I'd say I was unfeeling but I filed the document right away and made a note of it in the log.
Today during our discipleship group meeting, another girl shared about her journey with bitterness toward another and how she had finally submitted, that day, to God, to the Spirit's promptings, and confronted someone with an honest - practically prostrate - explanation and request for forgiveness. I can't describe the whole thing to you without taking something away. Another girl in the group told us how forgiveness had been showing up as a theme recently, how she had just selected a study on forgiveness for the discipleship group that she herself leads. I chimed in, "In keeping with that..." and explained how it seemed (more now in this moment than before) that God was after me about the same thing. Another girl, after me, explanded on the streak, saying that she had expressed regret over the weekend after coming home from a gathering because she had been overly saracastic with some unsuspecting (undeserving?) people. Her boyfriend said, Well you could apologize, and she had tried to brush it off, pointing out that the incident was in the past. Then he pushed her, God pushed her, the Spirit within convicted her and she consented but noted that she probably would not see these people for a while. On Monday, a day that she is "never on campus," she was manning a booth from which she saw every single person she needed to make amends with stop by. I jumped in, "Oh, man, that means there's something waiting for me when I get home!" It was more of a whiney, drag-your-feet wail than anything, knowing how I had no choice.
I spent 2+ hours in a circle of Christians with two six-strings and a jambe singing laud and honor to Jesus this evening and that was marvellously delicious. I think God used me in a new/unique way that I may report back on in the future.
While packing up, a friend of mine reminded me of an apology I had been meaning to make to him for a few weeks and I definitely pulled it out. It was painful (because I acted like an ass) and apologizing, when done properly, is never easy but I got it out and I think it was a good clarifying moment for us. I think, actually, that I was harboring some bitterness toward this guy that vanished after the conversation.
Then came the home time. I brought it up, we talked, she was suprized, I fumbled, I re-explained, she laughed a little, she apologized, I felt more like a jerk with each passing sentence (though secretly partially justifed - in a true way) and sooner than later it was over. I re-stated a bit later that I had not opened the worm can to ellicit an apology from her but to make one of my own. I realized that I had mentioned an "apologetic manner" in which I was speaking and clarified that I was meant to beg forgiveness of her but never actually said them ugly words, "I'm sorry." I did that just as she walked off to bed because it was too easy to get away with not saying it.
What's fascinating is that, as soon as I walked in the door, my attitude toward her was drastically different than what it had been in the past two months or so. (Yes, I harbor well.) I think it was an anticipation of, I guess, the freedom that transparency and confession bring. I suppose I was high off of the result of the other apology, occuring not 20 minutes earlier and the pool-boy comment, too but I would like to credit God more than that. : So, the air was effectively cleared and it was good to talk to her so freely, to feel like I could say anything - even be blunt because she really can handle it -, and to know how long I had been held captive I felt triumph.
A few paragraphs ago I had a crazy revelation: a recurrent night and day prayer of mine in the past 4-5 days has been for humility. I forget what exactly prompted it but I wanted this badly. Now I see what He has done. I see how He has, at least from my point of view, killed two birds with one stone (maybe three oiseaux): I was humbled - but graciously! -, I learned to forgive and I got relationships back. God, You are good. Now I just have a few more things I would like You to change in my life (right now!) but we'll talk about that later.
On Sunday, my God dropped a Bible verse into my head and for once it held water. I was and still am very much amazed. I am disappointed that no one else sees the weight of this but maybe that will come in the future. My friend, in a group of five friends, was expressing some raw emotions; some bitterness, fatigue, confusion and other things I have no lables for. It was an intense time. I think the rest of us were struggling with knowing what to do. There seemed to be so much at steak - this seemed so unexpected and unprecidented! One asked probing questions and made suggestions. One spoke stable truths unabashedly. One slipped in jokes at appropriate times and concurred with/fleshed-out what others had said. I remained silent. I was not scared or uncomfortable. I was a little angry at life on my friends behalf but otherwise felt very [calm], for lack of a better word. Under prayers and silence, I asked God what I could do. I discovered a very practical/hands-on side of myself that I was not so fully aware of previously.
I waited and listened. I formed some retorts in my head, things that I knew she knew and perhaps would NOT like to hear at the moment.
In a few split-second moments I was slightly frustrated with her for speaking things that, on a better day, she would, herself, shut down. But I kept quiet. I asked one last time, when it looked like we were digressing, what I could do, God. I wondered if perhaps I had some Bible verse that could get some wheels turning or apply some soothing ointment. The friend who spoke truths, she ever insightfully observed that, "It seems like there's a lot of bondage going on," and in my self I agreed fully, marvelling at how God was using us, one and all, in this time. She pointed out, also, what we all should know, that there is freedom in Christ, "so what you're experiencing is not of God."
Along the way, I had been trying to come up with a good analogy to explain my main beef with what my hurting friend was saying. If the analogy was not sound I would not bother. This was a do-or-die kind of conversation. God dropped Galatians 5:8 into my head which meant nothing to me (in terms of any pre-knowledge) and then in my classic, "oh that was just me throwing numbers out," style, I got Isaiah 53:9 next. I decided to look up the first reference anyways. What's the subtitle of the first section of Galatians 5? "Freedom in Christ." How familiar am I with the book of Galatians? not very. So.. glancing over it, still trying to listen to people talk and to not hype myself up too much, I try to decide if I want to read this or not. (As if my wants... anyways.) The last thing I wanted to walk into was a, "that's not actually what Paul meant," correction, killing my argument and my confidence in one foul swoop. I checked Isaiah and the reference was not sensible to my brain. I went back to Ephesians. The situation was growing ever close to a topic-change, a diversion that would mean my window (or at least the BEST window) was gone and I still didn't know what to think.
I continued being silent and heart-praying while I unfolded bottom-of-my-backpack page corners. The mood lightened substantially and a friend asked, "You got something you wanna say, Jess?" I twisted my face and considered. There was a moment when they all looked at me expectantly. [I can't make sense of how people expect so much of me at times.] I figured that the best case scenario was DEFINITELY worth the risk of getting the worst case scenario.
I said, "[Friend,] I think you've been lied to." I didn't look away from her face for a second, making sure the words had gone in. I brought up truth-friend's other assertions and expressed how I was sad and how it was unfortunate that she was being held. I then pulled out the Bibs. I said hurriedly that the verse had come to me, cringing at the use of Christianese which, I think, obliterated my chances of being taken MOST seriously. I read verses 1 and 2 then 7 and 8. Two others responded to a glitch, jokingly, trying to cut themselves from the tension but I drove onward, unwilling to not be heard: "But seriously, this is you - 'You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth? That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you. [7-8]'" It was perfect, it was absolutely perfect.
At the right moment, I told her that, if a racecar blows out all its tires, it needs to take a pit-stop because it will never make it to the finish line if it pushes onward in that condition. (A general AMEN comes out.) It is a very painful thing to watch, this crippled machine that wants to be invincible and preserve its pride, run itself into the ground. "But shouldn't I be able to drive on blown-out tires?" No! You are a machine, you need to fill up with gas, you need to get your oil checked .. "But if God is the gas.." No - God is in the pit. He and His crew just need you to pull over so that, in 8 seconds, they can give you a complete make-over, enabling you to complete a few more laps.
This is not to restrict or relegate God, no. She insisted that God should be the driver and I half-agreed, "Yes.. in another analogy..." You cannot go on forever, I tried to explain; just like you need to sleep and to eat - you cannot go on forever.
Well...I don't know what happened with her but I know that I marvel at God. How He does what He does is a mystery to me and I love Him for it. How did He give me what I needed to say? How did I fall so well into His will during that whole time? I suppose what He needed to use me for was more important than me finding time to centre myself and make sure I sought His face; He just hijacked me because He needed this person at this time. How great Thou art, thus sings my soul.
On Monday, I asked my friend, "What's the antidote for resentment?" I had been thinking about a particularly tense situation of mine in recent days or weeks and that weekend, something made me more specifically address some plans for action. That morning, the word "resentment" came to me as an accurate characterization of my feelings and it sat in my belly like I imagine a couple pounds of under-cooked ground beef might. A few minutes later, my friend asked me about a situation of the previous night, curious about my take on it. She said she would understand if I had any resentment, "No, that's not the word...bitterness?" toward her. She settled on a different term which I forgot but the r-word struck me in the face like a gong-mallet (....on a gong). Hmmm.. We went into the kitchen.
I told her how I felt about the situation (confused but not bitter, resentful or any other negative emotion-al toward anyone) and that kinda sealed the topic. After some silent respective bustling abouts, I asked, "What's the antitdote for resentment?" She took a brief pause and said "forgiveness," not unsure at first but then questioning herself slightly, because the answer seemed too trite, she told me. Later, in another room she adds, "I think the antidote for resentment is the cross." Hmmm, thought I.
It's not like I felt that, "Oooooh, God's gonna make me do something ugly," kind of dread but rather surprize. In fact, if anything, I'd say I was unfeeling but I filed the document right away and made a note of it in the log.
Today during our discipleship group meeting, another girl shared about her journey with bitterness toward another and how she had finally submitted, that day, to God, to the Spirit's promptings, and confronted someone with an honest - practically prostrate - explanation and request for forgiveness. I can't describe the whole thing to you without taking something away. Another girl in the group told us how forgiveness had been showing up as a theme recently, how she had just selected a study on forgiveness for the discipleship group that she herself leads. I chimed in, "In keeping with that..." and explained how it seemed (more now in this moment than before) that God was after me about the same thing. Another girl, after me, explanded on the streak, saying that she had expressed regret over the weekend after coming home from a gathering because she had been overly saracastic with some unsuspecting (undeserving?) people. Her boyfriend said, Well you could apologize, and she had tried to brush it off, pointing out that the incident was in the past. Then he pushed her, God pushed her, the Spirit within convicted her and she consented but noted that she probably would not see these people for a while. On Monday, a day that she is "never on campus," she was manning a booth from which she saw every single person she needed to make amends with stop by. I jumped in, "Oh, man, that means there's something waiting for me when I get home!" It was more of a whiney, drag-your-feet wail than anything, knowing how I had no choice.
I spent 2+ hours in a circle of Christians with two six-strings and a jambe singing laud and honor to Jesus this evening and that was marvellously delicious. I think God used me in a new/unique way that I may report back on in the future.
While packing up, a friend of mine reminded me of an apology I had been meaning to make to him for a few weeks and I definitely pulled it out. It was painful (because I acted like an ass) and apologizing, when done properly, is never easy but I got it out and I think it was a good clarifying moment for us. I think, actually, that I was harboring some bitterness toward this guy that vanished after the conversation.
Then came the home time. I brought it up, we talked, she was suprized, I fumbled, I re-explained, she laughed a little, she apologized, I felt more like a jerk with each passing sentence (though secretly partially justifed - in a true way) and sooner than later it was over. I re-stated a bit later that I had not opened the worm can to ellicit an apology from her but to make one of my own. I realized that I had mentioned an "apologetic manner" in which I was speaking and clarified that I was meant to beg forgiveness of her but never actually said them ugly words, "I'm sorry." I did that just as she walked off to bed because it was too easy to get away with not saying it.
What's fascinating is that, as soon as I walked in the door, my attitude toward her was drastically different than what it had been in the past two months or so. (Yes, I harbor well.) I think it was an anticipation of, I guess, the freedom that transparency and confession bring. I suppose I was high off of the result of the other apology, occuring not 20 minutes earlier and the pool-boy comment, too but I would like to credit God more than that. : So, the air was effectively cleared and it was good to talk to her so freely, to feel like I could say anything - even be blunt because she really can handle it -, and to know how long I had been held captive I felt triumph.
A few paragraphs ago I had a crazy revelation: a recurrent night and day prayer of mine in the past 4-5 days has been for humility. I forget what exactly prompted it but I wanted this badly. Now I see what He has done. I see how He has, at least from my point of view, killed two birds with one stone (maybe three oiseaux): I was humbled - but graciously! -, I learned to forgive and I got relationships back. God, You are good. Now I just have a few more things I would like You to change in my life (right now!) but we'll talk about that later.
On Sunday, my God dropped a Bible verse into my head and for once it held water. I was and still am very much amazed. I am disappointed that no one else sees the weight of this but maybe that will come in the future. My friend, in a group of five friends, was expressing some raw emotions; some bitterness, fatigue, confusion and other things I have no lables for. It was an intense time. I think the rest of us were struggling with knowing what to do. There seemed to be so much at steak - this seemed so unexpected and unprecidented! One asked probing questions and made suggestions. One spoke stable truths unabashedly. One slipped in jokes at appropriate times and concurred with/fleshed-out what others had said. I remained silent. I was not scared or uncomfortable. I was a little angry at life on my friends behalf but otherwise felt very [calm], for lack of a better word. Under prayers and silence, I asked God what I could do. I discovered a very practical/hands-on side of myself that I was not so fully aware of previously.
I waited and listened. I formed some retorts in my head, things that I knew she knew and perhaps would NOT like to hear at the moment.
In a few split-second moments I was slightly frustrated with her for speaking things that, on a better day, she would, herself, shut down. But I kept quiet. I asked one last time, when it looked like we were digressing, what I could do, God. I wondered if perhaps I had some Bible verse that could get some wheels turning or apply some soothing ointment. The friend who spoke truths, she ever insightfully observed that, "It seems like there's a lot of bondage going on," and in my self I agreed fully, marvelling at how God was using us, one and all, in this time. She pointed out, also, what we all should know, that there is freedom in Christ, "so what you're experiencing is not of God."
Along the way, I had been trying to come up with a good analogy to explain my main beef with what my hurting friend was saying. If the analogy was not sound I would not bother. This was a do-or-die kind of conversation. God dropped Galatians 5:8 into my head which meant nothing to me (in terms of any pre-knowledge) and then in my classic, "oh that was just me throwing numbers out," style, I got Isaiah 53:9 next. I decided to look up the first reference anyways. What's the subtitle of the first section of Galatians 5? "Freedom in Christ." How familiar am I with the book of Galatians? not very. So.. glancing over it, still trying to listen to people talk and to not hype myself up too much, I try to decide if I want to read this or not. (As if my wants... anyways.) The last thing I wanted to walk into was a, "that's not actually what Paul meant," correction, killing my argument and my confidence in one foul swoop. I checked Isaiah and the reference was not sensible to my brain. I went back to Ephesians. The situation was growing ever close to a topic-change, a diversion that would mean my window (or at least the BEST window) was gone and I still didn't know what to think.
I continued being silent and heart-praying while I unfolded bottom-of-my-backpack page corners. The mood lightened substantially and a friend asked, "You got something you wanna say, Jess?" I twisted my face and considered. There was a moment when they all looked at me expectantly. [I can't make sense of how people expect so much of me at times.] I figured that the best case scenario was DEFINITELY worth the risk of getting the worst case scenario.
I said, "[Friend,] I think you've been lied to." I didn't look away from her face for a second, making sure the words had gone in. I brought up truth-friend's other assertions and expressed how I was sad and how it was unfortunate that she was being held. I then pulled out the Bibs. I said hurriedly that the verse had come to me, cringing at the use of Christianese which, I think, obliterated my chances of being taken MOST seriously. I read verses 1 and 2 then 7 and 8. Two others responded to a glitch, jokingly, trying to cut themselves from the tension but I drove onward, unwilling to not be heard: "But seriously, this is you - 'You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth? That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you. [7-8]'" It was perfect, it was absolutely perfect.
At the right moment, I told her that, if a racecar blows out all its tires, it needs to take a pit-stop because it will never make it to the finish line if it pushes onward in that condition. (A general AMEN comes out.) It is a very painful thing to watch, this crippled machine that wants to be invincible and preserve its pride, run itself into the ground. "But shouldn't I be able to drive on blown-out tires?" No! You are a machine, you need to fill up with gas, you need to get your oil checked .. "But if God is the gas.." No - God is in the pit. He and His crew just need you to pull over so that, in 8 seconds, they can give you a complete make-over, enabling you to complete a few more laps.
This is not to restrict or relegate God, no. She insisted that God should be the driver and I half-agreed, "Yes.. in another analogy..." You cannot go on forever, I tried to explain; just like you need to sleep and to eat - you cannot go on forever.
Well...I don't know what happened with her but I know that I marvel at God. How He does what He does is a mystery to me and I love Him for it. How did He give me what I needed to say? How did I fall so well into His will during that whole time? I suppose what He needed to use me for was more important than me finding time to centre myself and make sure I sought His face; He just hijacked me because He needed this person at this time. How great Thou art, thus sings my soul.
Tuesday, 23 January 2007
I was thinking,
about an email I had just written, while looking for something in my bedroom. I thought aloud about a more sarcastic reply I could have written. Someone asked me, as a side-note to the main bit of the email, if I could bring their scissors to our next meeting. (I have had this girls scissors since the last week of November, methinks.) I wrote her, yes of course, but in my thinkalouds, I said, with a pseudo laugh, "Sure I can give you back what belongs to y--" and I kinda stopped there as a revelation came piercing through the wall and right into the side of my skull like the sharpest blowdart. It came out of nowhere and took me down fast. I made the connection that I always make: that phrase is the alternate title for evangelism - giving back to God what belongs to Him. That thought made me smile like I just drank an excellent apple cider or received a piece of snail-mail from someone I haven't heard from in years. ah
While rounding the south-west corner of Wellington and Neeve Streets, I spied two men ahead in long trench coats looking aimless and immaculate. Oh joy, it's the Mormon missionaries. (Am I allowed to be cynical? Probably never.)
I tried to avoid them but my stupid don't-be-rude mechanism kicked in at the last moment. I don't know what's wrong with me; that mechanism usually gets me into trouble. He asked what I thought of Jesus Christ and something else. I told him that I believed the Good News and that it revolutionized my life. (Something made me desperate to avoid using a simple label or all-inclusive term to explain myself.) He told me about the prophet John Smith and the book of Mormon, briefly. He wanted to know if he could come to my house some time and tell me some things...about other things. He looked very calm. He spoke rather clearly and had somehow mastered the art of actually listening to what I was saying, but turning it into binary code or something less personal and more easily processed. It's like I was talking to a telemarketer who wrote the book on rebuttals. I wanted to "get out of there." I wanted to be at home and NOT talking to this person. I did not want to get to the point where I had to be rude or to walk away, mid-conversaion because he was pushing too hard. I told him I didn't "buy" the deals about the book of Mormon and John Smith. He harped on the word. "I don't believe it, is what I meant," I supplied. What makes you say that? I've heard it before. Some [Mormon dudes] came to my house because my friend invited them and I just don't buy it. Why? Because the Gospel is complete, was my answer which sounds cheap when I know that so much of the "foundation" that we would both have is similar, meaning that, if I had an identical building block, that is a foothold for him; a cripple to my argument. I hate that. I thought about it afterward. I wondered what I should have done differently. It's not fair for me to say this guy is like all the other Mormon guys I have encountered. Nothing about him struck me as different but it's still not fair. I wondered if I was under obligation to try to tell him the Truth. I think I was because he certainly needs it as much as the rest of us. I admit that I had written him off because, when you get culted, you don't usually come out. It's not fair to write people off and I know that but I do it often. I was more focussed on me getting away, than I was on telling this man what is true for true. I suppose I was swayed by my desire to go home, my lack of confidence in my "apologetics" and my extreme lack of patience. I do not like being bullied. I may or may not have taken a couple of swings at this guy's face in my mind. I thought hoity-toitily about how much better my or our methods are. That is most probably wrong. I mean... methods are a dangerous subject, (b) it's all God and (c) pride is not your friend. On the other hand, if you need to convince someone of the truth of your spirituality then there is something wrong. I suppose I am speaking from my personal monotheistic standpoint. I thought of the pamphlets and DVDs that my former housemate ended up with. If you need to drill something into my head until I yield out of wanting the pressure to be relieved or out of having my spirit broken - if I can make the decision to believe you because of logic then it aint right. The Gospel makes absolutely NO sense and it needs no paraphernalia to penetrate. I guess I kinda like that about the ol' Gospezillio. I suppose if I were less selfish I would have tried harder to plant a pea under their mattresses. That is the best I expect to be able to do. There is far too much allegedly impregnable doctrine and religion drilled into their head for me to expect it to unravel in one conversation. It happens but I don't expect it to happen with someone like me. Mmm, I need to stop putting the expectations of self on God. This guy's partner had approached someone else who came through the intersection. He followed the man up the street for far too long and when he got the official official boot off the island, he tried to talk to a woman right behind him, walking her dog. I can't stand that kind of insensitivity. The rudeness blows my mind. A greatly scaled-down version of this is people coming to have a conversation with me when I am (CLEARLY) reading. That aint even right. but... it's not the topic of now. I aim to not be a colonizer or a turn-or-burn ideology pusher. On the other hand there is one thing - JUST ONE - that I could say I admire about the Mormon organization. Wow I am inwardly cringing so much right now to say this, I hope it's some form of humility otherwise I really don't want this. From what I understand, all men are required to serve 2 years as missionaries (and women 1?). From what I gathered about these two (and they may be particularly out-going, shameless guys), they will/would approach EVERY person who walks by them, provided they are not already in a conversation. That is more than I can say for my behavior when I go downtown to talk to peeps about God. I shoot about 2 or 3 for 10, I'd say. Oh - I meant to mention: the calmness is unsettling (creepy?) and also makes me think that this guy's reliance was on the wrong thing/person. But to be so desperate to tell your story that you stop people on the streets... it sounds early-church-esque. Granted, there is no way I will concede that persisting after someone has said NO (especially more than once) is a good thing. This is an invitation to the best party (or, as I like to refer to it, after-party) of all time. The Guest of Honor is someone you'd surely like to celebrate, the music will be awesome, food's taken care of, you can invite your friends, there is NO CURFEW and it's generally a bumpin great time. Nonetheless, this is still an invitation. Who is going to enjoy a party to which they had to be bodily forced through the door? Does that even work? I can ask you if you want to come 18 times and wave the invitation in your face all I want but if you choose to decline, you choose to decline. I oughta take you at your word though. I mean, hey, the party's still a few weeks away, if you change your mind in the future, you know where to find me. Or maybe someone else will invite you, too. Maybe you'll see some posters up or hear about it on Facebook. Well... I hope I didn't break some copyright law using that name.
While rounding the south-west corner of Wellington and Neeve Streets, I spied two men ahead in long trench coats looking aimless and immaculate. Oh joy, it's the Mormon missionaries. (Am I allowed to be cynical? Probably never.)
I tried to avoid them but my stupid don't-be-rude mechanism kicked in at the last moment. I don't know what's wrong with me; that mechanism usually gets me into trouble. He asked what I thought of Jesus Christ and something else. I told him that I believed the Good News and that it revolutionized my life. (Something made me desperate to avoid using a simple label or all-inclusive term to explain myself.) He told me about the prophet John Smith and the book of Mormon, briefly. He wanted to know if he could come to my house some time and tell me some things...about other things. He looked very calm. He spoke rather clearly and had somehow mastered the art of actually listening to what I was saying, but turning it into binary code or something less personal and more easily processed. It's like I was talking to a telemarketer who wrote the book on rebuttals. I wanted to "get out of there." I wanted to be at home and NOT talking to this person. I did not want to get to the point where I had to be rude or to walk away, mid-conversaion because he was pushing too hard. I told him I didn't "buy" the deals about the book of Mormon and John Smith. He harped on the word. "I don't believe it, is what I meant," I supplied. What makes you say that? I've heard it before. Some [Mormon dudes] came to my house because my friend invited them and I just don't buy it. Why? Because the Gospel is complete, was my answer which sounds cheap when I know that so much of the "foundation" that we would both have is similar, meaning that, if I had an identical building block, that is a foothold for him; a cripple to my argument. I hate that. I thought about it afterward. I wondered what I should have done differently. It's not fair for me to say this guy is like all the other Mormon guys I have encountered. Nothing about him struck me as different but it's still not fair. I wondered if I was under obligation to try to tell him the Truth. I think I was because he certainly needs it as much as the rest of us. I admit that I had written him off because, when you get culted, you don't usually come out. It's not fair to write people off and I know that but I do it often. I was more focussed on me getting away, than I was on telling this man what is true for true. I suppose I was swayed by my desire to go home, my lack of confidence in my "apologetics" and my extreme lack of patience. I do not like being bullied. I may or may not have taken a couple of swings at this guy's face in my mind. I thought hoity-toitily about how much better my or our methods are. That is most probably wrong. I mean... methods are a dangerous subject, (b) it's all God and (c) pride is not your friend. On the other hand, if you need to convince someone of the truth of your spirituality then there is something wrong. I suppose I am speaking from my personal monotheistic standpoint. I thought of the pamphlets and DVDs that my former housemate ended up with. If you need to drill something into my head until I yield out of wanting the pressure to be relieved or out of having my spirit broken - if I can make the decision to believe you because of logic then it aint right. The Gospel makes absolutely NO sense and it needs no paraphernalia to penetrate. I guess I kinda like that about the ol' Gospezillio. I suppose if I were less selfish I would have tried harder to plant a pea under their mattresses. That is the best I expect to be able to do. There is far too much allegedly impregnable doctrine and religion drilled into their head for me to expect it to unravel in one conversation. It happens but I don't expect it to happen with someone like me. Mmm, I need to stop putting the expectations of self on God. This guy's partner had approached someone else who came through the intersection. He followed the man up the street for far too long and when he got the official official boot off the island, he tried to talk to a woman right behind him, walking her dog. I can't stand that kind of insensitivity. The rudeness blows my mind. A greatly scaled-down version of this is people coming to have a conversation with me when I am (CLEARLY) reading. That aint even right. but... it's not the topic of now. I aim to not be a colonizer or a turn-or-burn ideology pusher. On the other hand there is one thing - JUST ONE - that I could say I admire about the Mormon organization. Wow I am inwardly cringing so much right now to say this, I hope it's some form of humility otherwise I really don't want this. From what I understand, all men are required to serve 2 years as missionaries (and women 1?). From what I gathered about these two (and they may be particularly out-going, shameless guys), they will/would approach EVERY person who walks by them, provided they are not already in a conversation. That is more than I can say for my behavior when I go downtown to talk to peeps about God. I shoot about 2 or 3 for 10, I'd say. Oh - I meant to mention: the calmness is unsettling (creepy?) and also makes me think that this guy's reliance was on the wrong thing/person. But to be so desperate to tell your story that you stop people on the streets... it sounds early-church-esque. Granted, there is no way I will concede that persisting after someone has said NO (especially more than once) is a good thing. This is an invitation to the best party (or, as I like to refer to it, after-party) of all time. The Guest of Honor is someone you'd surely like to celebrate, the music will be awesome, food's taken care of, you can invite your friends, there is NO CURFEW and it's generally a bumpin great time. Nonetheless, this is still an invitation. Who is going to enjoy a party to which they had to be bodily forced through the door? Does that even work? I can ask you if you want to come 18 times and wave the invitation in your face all I want but if you choose to decline, you choose to decline. I oughta take you at your word though. I mean, hey, the party's still a few weeks away, if you change your mind in the future, you know where to find me. Or maybe someone else will invite you, too. Maybe you'll see some posters up or hear about it on Facebook. Well... I hope I didn't break some copyright law using that name.
Monday, 22 January 2007
is that actually how I look or is it just how you see me?
Note: (part of) the reason we fear rejection so much is that we equate, "I don't like you (romantically)," with, "You're not good enough."
I've been thinking a lot about [every thing] lately, who I am and who I am not. I am overwhelmed by both. There must be a lot of maggots at the dump.
I've been thinking a lot about [every thing] lately, who I am and who I am not. I am overwhelmed by both. There must be a lot of maggots at the dump.
Thursday, 18 January 2007
The use of peanut butter is absolutely not allowed in the servery DUE TO ALLERGIES
I just saw this sign in Creelman Hall's eatery and I was made very happy by the use of the word "servery". It's a good word. (I didn't know it existed until now.) It reminds me of shrubbery.
My philosophy professor asked us if we were good or bad people. He asked if Paolo and Francesca were good or bad people. Sometimes I really hate school. Sometimes I wish I could carry an apologist in my pocket. Sometimes I wish people would break down and admit that what they believe is junk. You know you're searching; just admit it.
My philosophy professor asked us if we were good or bad people. He asked if Paolo and Francesca were good or bad people. Sometimes I really hate school. Sometimes I wish I could carry an apologist in my pocket. Sometimes I wish people would break down and admit that what they believe is junk. You know you're searching; just admit it.
Monday, 15 January 2007
(a question I'd never ask)
I am very happy with the present weather in this Southern Ontario corner of my life. I enjoy that this winter seems like a for serious winter but I am sad that it feels too late and all I can think is "too little too late".
So there is this great story that I have been telling people I know (and some that I don't know) because I think it's great. I choose my audience carefully; those who can hack it and those who are not overly squeamish. I have noticed a few things about myself in the process. I have recieved a paltry glimpse of what a stand-up comic's tour might be like, telling the same jokes every night. A few friends and I were discussing the telling of this story and I was bragging [ah, I can hear the frozen rain hitting the side of my house and it is way cool] about how many times I had told the story (now to 30 people in 9 days). One of the friends present is an unfortunate pillar in this story and in my explaining to her my reasons for telling, I emphasized the responses and the perks, leaving her to ask (void of an inquisitive tone), "You told 29 people." I was like, "Yea!" in two syllables as I turned my head away briefly. Then I turned back and grabbed her shoulder for emphasis, my body ready for what I was about to say before my brain and my mouth were. (I think my spirit tipped it off.) "That I would tell the Gospel so often."
Ohhh, self-rebuke, how delicate a creature you are. Sure it's always the H Spizzo that does the rebukables but when the convicting words come from your own lips it's often more humbling than any thing else.
The follow-up thoughts: why am I not rushing to people saying, "Listen, listen - you gotta hear this story," about the greatest Truth ever known? Ahhh I know, sensitivity, timing for everything, efficiency, strategy but for serious - what were the apostles waiting for? No rejection or loss of friends or dignity detered them. They muscled through and told everywhere and everywhen they could. Meh... that I would be so excited, (and prolific?) I would pray, methinks.
So there is this great story that I have been telling people I know (and some that I don't know) because I think it's great. I choose my audience carefully; those who can hack it and those who are not overly squeamish. I have noticed a few things about myself in the process. I have recieved a paltry glimpse of what a stand-up comic's tour might be like, telling the same jokes every night. A few friends and I were discussing the telling of this story and I was bragging [ah, I can hear the frozen rain hitting the side of my house and it is way cool] about how many times I had told the story (now to 30 people in 9 days). One of the friends present is an unfortunate pillar in this story and in my explaining to her my reasons for telling, I emphasized the responses and the perks, leaving her to ask (void of an inquisitive tone), "You told 29 people." I was like, "Yea!" in two syllables as I turned my head away briefly. Then I turned back and grabbed her shoulder for emphasis, my body ready for what I was about to say before my brain and my mouth were. (I think my spirit tipped it off.) "That I would tell the Gospel so often."
Ohhh, self-rebuke, how delicate a creature you are. Sure it's always the H Spizzo that does the rebukables but when the convicting words come from your own lips it's often more humbling than any thing else.
The follow-up thoughts: why am I not rushing to people saying, "Listen, listen - you gotta hear this story," about the greatest Truth ever known? Ahhh I know, sensitivity, timing for everything, efficiency, strategy but for serious - what were the apostles waiting for? No rejection or loss of friends or dignity detered them. They muscled through and told everywhere and everywhen they could. Meh... that I would be so excited, (and prolific?) I would pray, methinks.
Friday, 12 January 2007
hockey & I
It started around 1993 when my mother got my sister, brother and I into watching the playoffs because she's a life-long Habs fan. It was pretty exciting to watch the team that you were rooting for win the Cup. Let's not discuss the fact that I didn't fully know what was going on... being 8 years old and all.
Between that time and my first year of high school, I called myself a Habs fan and relished the idea of smack-talking anyone who rooted for a different team, especially - of course - the Maple Leafs. I remember, in grade school, whenz my mother would come to pick us up from the after-school care programmy thing, she would banter with the care-takers because they were all Leaf fans. I guess that's where I got it from. The only line I specifically remember her saying was in context of an up-coming TOR/MTL game: "I think I saw some tissues on sale at Shopper's Drug Mart. You might want to pick some up before the game," implying, I believe, that many tears would be shed. (A-ha-ha-ha.)
Hm.. in first year, I didn't talk to many people, not even my roommates. I didn't do much school work and... well, I passed the time with a special collection of oddities. One thing I did was fill up my evenings with Bible studies/small groups (3) and large-group Christian weekly meetings (2) so that, Monday to Friday, I had somewheres to be. I didn't really feel lonely or desire to befriend more peeps, I just kinda went about my business. One of my other favorite obsessions was the good ol' NHL. I could show you the notes, scrapbooks, magazines and other random (useless?) stuff I compiled in that first year (and a few years since). You would see how meticulous and relentless I was. I watched all the games I could, always giving up 6 hours for the Saturday double-headers. In this region of Canada, the games aired most often (on basic cable) were the Leafs games. Thus began my journey out of Quebec.
I started to really take to it, memorizing stats & jersey numbers, celebrating hat-tricks..
It even got into my schoolwork, just a little bit. For a composition in one of my musicianship classes, I used the names of the top twenty all-time goal scorers as my lyrics. (It was a spoken/rhythm piece so it made sense. Think about it... Ro-ba-taille, An-dre-chuk, Ste-vie Y... Robataille was two sixteenth notes & one eighth, Andreychuk was three triplets and Stevie Y the same as Rob. Greeee-tzkyyyy was a chanting, two-quarter-note deal and so forth... yes.)
During the playoffs that year, I remember yelling at people on campus (just a few), if they wore a jersey of a team who was still in, the name of the opposing team. "GO PHOENIX!" Wait... does Phoenix even know what playoffs are?... hmmm...I know there's one guy on campus who wears a Coyote's jersey every now and then. (Just one guy.)
After that year was over, the next September, I signed a contract with eternity and in the weeks and months to follow, my fetish began to dwindle. I hardly noticed at first until one day it hit me that I was filling my time because (a) I really did not have that many friends and (b) I needed something to distract me from life.
I dunno... sometimes I feel bad that I don't know who Kyle Wellwood is or how many times we've beaten Ottawa this season. Honestly, I feel like an overly sentimental (clingy?) parent of kids who have moved out and grown into real adults. The Leafs I think of (the ones I "know and love") are the 2002-2003 team. I think of Shane Corson, Tie Domi, Tucker (of course), Antropov, Belak, Green, Kaberle, Mogilny, Campbell's-soup Sundin who looks like he's smiling when he's wincing and trying to catch his breath (creepy!) and I even have a hard time re-assigning the numbers in my head. I mean #6 will always be Aki Berg, I think, and #24 McCabe. Wait - he still plays, doesn't he? Either way, I have a screwed up and seemingly permanent memory that refuses to change with the times.
I can't seem to get back into it (though I've all but stopped trying) because really, that void is filled. Hmmm.
There was meant to be more to this story but I'm drawing a blank.
There was a time when I had to stop dead in my tracks, walking back to rez on an asphalt path late one night. The way the ground had formed its well-trodden sections made me see a cracked shape that looked EXACTLY like the Minnesota Wild's logo. I guess it's a ... bear's...head...? It's some kind of animal head's profile, looking left. I was proud of myself in that moment, having hockey so officially on the brain.
I also did prop up a pillow of mine with a hockey skate (because it was too stinkin flat and apparently I'm picky about head elevation) and dream the entire night about the sport. I thought that was cool though I will admit it was probably not as mysteriously subconscious as I would like to pretend. Mmfp.
Between that time and my first year of high school, I called myself a Habs fan and relished the idea of smack-talking anyone who rooted for a different team, especially - of course - the Maple Leafs. I remember, in grade school, whenz my mother would come to pick us up from the after-school care programmy thing, she would banter with the care-takers because they were all Leaf fans. I guess that's where I got it from. The only line I specifically remember her saying was in context of an up-coming TOR/MTL game: "I think I saw some tissues on sale at Shopper's Drug Mart. You might want to pick some up before the game," implying, I believe, that many tears would be shed. (A-ha-ha-ha.)
Hm.. in first year, I didn't talk to many people, not even my roommates. I didn't do much school work and... well, I passed the time with a special collection of oddities. One thing I did was fill up my evenings with Bible studies/small groups (3) and large-group Christian weekly meetings (2) so that, Monday to Friday, I had somewheres to be. I didn't really feel lonely or desire to befriend more peeps, I just kinda went about my business. One of my other favorite obsessions was the good ol' NHL. I could show you the notes, scrapbooks, magazines and other random (useless?) stuff I compiled in that first year (and a few years since). You would see how meticulous and relentless I was. I watched all the games I could, always giving up 6 hours for the Saturday double-headers. In this region of Canada, the games aired most often (on basic cable) were the Leafs games. Thus began my journey out of Quebec.
I started to really take to it, memorizing stats & jersey numbers, celebrating hat-tricks..
It even got into my schoolwork, just a little bit. For a composition in one of my musicianship classes, I used the names of the top twenty all-time goal scorers as my lyrics. (It was a spoken/rhythm piece so it made sense. Think about it... Ro-ba-taille, An-dre-chuk, Ste-vie Y... Robataille was two sixteenth notes & one eighth, Andreychuk was three triplets and Stevie Y the same as Rob. Greeee-tzkyyyy was a chanting, two-quarter-note deal and so forth... yes.)
During the playoffs that year, I remember yelling at people on campus (just a few), if they wore a jersey of a team who was still in, the name of the opposing team. "GO PHOENIX!" Wait... does Phoenix even know what playoffs are?... hmmm...I know there's one guy on campus who wears a Coyote's jersey every now and then. (Just one guy.)
After that year was over, the next September, I signed a contract with eternity and in the weeks and months to follow, my fetish began to dwindle. I hardly noticed at first until one day it hit me that I was filling my time because (a) I really did not have that many friends and (b) I needed something to distract me from life.
I dunno... sometimes I feel bad that I don't know who Kyle Wellwood is or how many times we've beaten Ottawa this season. Honestly, I feel like an overly sentimental (clingy?) parent of kids who have moved out and grown into real adults. The Leafs I think of (the ones I "know and love") are the 2002-2003 team. I think of Shane Corson, Tie Domi, Tucker (of course), Antropov, Belak, Green, Kaberle, Mogilny, Campbell's-soup Sundin who looks like he's smiling when he's wincing and trying to catch his breath (creepy!) and I even have a hard time re-assigning the numbers in my head. I mean #6 will always be Aki Berg, I think, and #24 McCabe. Wait - he still plays, doesn't he? Either way, I have a screwed up and seemingly permanent memory that refuses to change with the times.
I can't seem to get back into it (though I've all but stopped trying) because really, that void is filled. Hmmm.
There was meant to be more to this story but I'm drawing a blank.
There was a time when I had to stop dead in my tracks, walking back to rez on an asphalt path late one night. The way the ground had formed its well-trodden sections made me see a cracked shape that looked EXACTLY like the Minnesota Wild's logo. I guess it's a ... bear's...head...? It's some kind of animal head's profile, looking left. I was proud of myself in that moment, having hockey so officially on the brain.
I also did prop up a pillow of mine with a hockey skate (because it was too stinkin flat and apparently I'm picky about head elevation) and dream the entire night about the sport. I thought that was cool though I will admit it was probably not as mysteriously subconscious as I would like to pretend. Mmfp.
Wednesday, 10 January 2007
perhaps I think too much
I slept in my own bed last night for the first time in what seems to be about 5 nights. Mark you, I was only away from home for one night - I just happen to sleep on the couch every so often. I think I am the closest thing to narcoleptic that is possible without actually being. It's like Anglicanism to Catholicism.
A round-trip ticket to Bermuda in June from Air Canada will cost me $550 plus applicable taxes and other stupid airline junky poo-poo fees. It'll be worth it.
yea, hm yea.
I store up too many treasures on Earth. Have I said that already? Anyone want to come pillage my room for things I don't need but like to pretend I am keeping for some good reason? help me..
A round-trip ticket to Bermuda in June from Air Canada will cost me $550 plus applicable taxes and other stupid airline junky poo-poo fees. It'll be worth it.
yea, hm yea.
I store up too many treasures on Earth. Have I said that already? Anyone want to come pillage my room for things I don't need but like to pretend I am keeping for some good reason? help me..
Monday, 8 January 2007
thinking
It's weird to be back, it's weird to be back and OH - it's kinda weird to be back here on campus for the first day in session for Winter 2007 (unless you're a vet or a Graduate student).
I am happy that it recently "snowed". I didn't actually get to touch it since the fall started and ended during my 20-minute bus ride.
I don't have class today (it's Monday). Neither do I have class on any other Monday or Friday this semester. (Let that sink in.) I am excited and scared about this semester.
This winter break for me has been like no other before. I can barely describe how I feel. I don't feel like myself anymore. I am tired of hearing myself talk. (I shouldn't be blogging, then, should I? Well, no; you're right.)
I feel like the break was longer than the 2 1/2 or 3 weeks that it actually was. I feel like I haven't been in school for MONTHS and I have no idea how to get back into the groove. I think part of the problem is that I don't have closure on last semester. I am in denial. Ugh. Classes start tomorrow at 10. Shall I be ready? I think I need to cut "Smallville" out of my life if I plan on getting up on time for class. WHY CAN'T PEOPLE AIR THAT SHOW AT A NORMAL TIME?? I need to start working toward owning a television station. Or I should just befriend someone who does or who can fanangle... things.
I am happy that it recently "snowed". I didn't actually get to touch it since the fall started and ended during my 20-minute bus ride.
I don't have class today (it's Monday). Neither do I have class on any other Monday or Friday this semester. (Let that sink in.) I am excited and scared about this semester.
This winter break for me has been like no other before. I can barely describe how I feel. I don't feel like myself anymore. I am tired of hearing myself talk. (I shouldn't be blogging, then, should I? Well, no; you're right.)
I feel like the break was longer than the 2 1/2 or 3 weeks that it actually was. I feel like I haven't been in school for MONTHS and I have no idea how to get back into the groove. I think part of the problem is that I don't have closure on last semester. I am in denial. Ugh. Classes start tomorrow at 10. Shall I be ready? I think I need to cut "Smallville" out of my life if I plan on getting up on time for class. WHY CAN'T PEOPLE AIR THAT SHOW AT A NORMAL TIME?? I need to start working toward owning a television station. Or I should just befriend someone who does or who can fanangle... things.
Saturday, 6 January 2007
[title-less]
Eight-point-Six Things I Like about Joshua Robinson
1. His blog reeks of professionalism which is unique in a relieving way.
2. His hair is white-blonde.... like straw?
3. English majors always deserve mad props.
4. Who else owns a copy of "Pornograffiti" and actually knows Nuno Bettencourt's name?
5. He plays with verbal language like it's a Slinky (ever moving, rarely used for its intended purpose and really fun to turn over in your hands).
6. He is the secret sideways twin of Silas Wong (who also got a Top Ten list!).
7. He sings and plays acoustic with passion I will never have. [Insert words here that don't exist because I can't describe how impressed I am.]
8. He loves the Jesus and approaches Him with the kind of reverence and respect that existed between the sexes in the days that men stood up when ladies entered a room, and we ladies kept our ankles covered.
8.6. He laughs at my stupidness, he sometimes gets my stupidness (and propogates it) and if it's a special brand of stupid, he doesn't laugh at all.
I don't know what provoked this particular rendition of the Top Ten. I think it was finding this picture which happens to be exploiting what those in the photography world refer to as the "Popeye angle".
JR, you, my friend, are some kind of hard-pressed coal in the not-so-smooth.
the series:
Silas: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2006/09/draw-er-of-smirks.html
Katie: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2006/10/having-crushes-on-multiple-young-lads.html
Lydia: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2007/04/one-thing-i-like-about-lydia.html
Paul: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2008/04/10th-paul-post.html
1. His blog reeks of professionalism which is unique in a relieving way.
2. His hair is white-blonde.... like straw?
3. English majors always deserve mad props.
4. Who else owns a copy of "Pornograffiti" and actually knows Nuno Bettencourt's name?
5. He plays with verbal language like it's a Slinky (ever moving, rarely used for its intended purpose and really fun to turn over in your hands).
6. He is the secret sideways twin of Silas Wong (who also got a Top Ten list!).
7. He sings and plays acoustic with passion I will never have. [Insert words here that don't exist because I can't describe how impressed I am.]
8. He loves the Jesus and approaches Him with the kind of reverence and respect that existed between the sexes in the days that men stood up when ladies entered a room, and we ladies kept our ankles covered.
8.6. He laughs at my stupidness, he sometimes gets my stupidness (and propogates it) and if it's a special brand of stupid, he doesn't laugh at all.
I don't know what provoked this particular rendition of the Top Ten. I think it was finding this picture which happens to be exploiting what those in the photography world refer to as the "Popeye angle".
JR, you, my friend, are some kind of hard-pressed coal in the not-so-smooth.
the series:
Silas: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2006/09/draw-er-of-smirks.html
Katie: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2006/10/having-crushes-on-multiple-young-lads.html
Lydia: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2007/04/one-thing-i-like-about-lydia.html
Paul: http://jesfffskah.blogspot.com/2008/04/10th-paul-post.html
From the Belly of the Beast: What goes on inside a full-body gorilla suit
The bad parts:
Dudes are far rougher with guys than they are with girls (this seems logical) but it sucks when you can't tell people that they need to stop the ...bullyage.
It's hot.
It's also hot temperature-wise. A full body of fur with no ventilation but the eye-holes, coupled with much running around is a bad combination. I started getting dizzy because I could hardly drink and rarely breathe (properly).
Gorilla hair in the mouth and gorilla hair sticking to your sweat is unpleasant. I recommend it to all!
The good parts:
Some people get scared, even when they know you are not a real gorilla. I made a grown woman scream and jump after she read my name-tag.
People I do not know and now barely remember wanted to take pictures with me. I guess tourists will always be tourists. Country folk.....
It's weird.
In this situation, my costume was hardly related to the theme which made it even weirder.
The look on people's faces when they find out who I am is amazing. They were more shocked than I would have predicted. I thought I had set the standard of weirdness pretty well so that few things were out of my ordinary.
I had rock-hard abs for like ... an hour and a half.
I'd like to come across those pictures 10 years down the road. Ach... they're probably all over the Internet by now.
In other news, I'm pretty smitten with this little number. (It's an eye-pod.)
Dudes are far rougher with guys than they are with girls (this seems logical) but it sucks when you can't tell people that they need to stop the ...bullyage.
It's hot.
It's also hot temperature-wise. A full body of fur with no ventilation but the eye-holes, coupled with much running around is a bad combination. I started getting dizzy because I could hardly drink and rarely breathe (properly).
Gorilla hair in the mouth and gorilla hair sticking to your sweat is unpleasant. I recommend it to all!
The good parts:
Some people get scared, even when they know you are not a real gorilla. I made a grown woman scream and jump after she read my name-tag.
People I do not know and now barely remember wanted to take pictures with me. I guess tourists will always be tourists. Country folk.....
It's weird.
In this situation, my costume was hardly related to the theme which made it even weirder.
The look on people's faces when they find out who I am is amazing. They were more shocked than I would have predicted. I thought I had set the standard of weirdness pretty well so that few things were out of my ordinary.
I had rock-hard abs for like ... an hour and a half.
I'd like to come across those pictures 10 years down the road. Ach... they're probably all over the Internet by now.
In other news, I'm pretty smitten with this little number. (It's an eye-pod.)
Thursday, 4 January 2007
"Apocalypto" (2006)
My feelings for this film are kept in a cage, poked and prodded by on-lookers but unmoving (some lazy but not quite sad tiger). I'd like to release them before the harassment incites a lashing-out. What shall I use to coax? [There is a unique abruptness that comes upon a sentence that ends with a transitive verb used like an intransitive one. I love it.]
This film is violent and grueusome. I cannot deny it.
And yet, two days after viewing it, I cannot get it out of my head. Only five other films have ever gripped me like this: Fight Club, The Passion of the Christ, The Sting, Singin' in the Rain and Pride and Prejudice. They pervade my thoughts and refuse to let me go until I explore them or, in worst cases, until I watch them again. I've seen FC 8 times, The Sting 5 or 6 times and both Singin' in the Rain and TPotC twice.
I saw such horror and such evil on the screen that I started pulling my Bible out of my bag, intent on readin up some [Ancient city]ians to keep me grounded because NOTHING in this film spoke of God, nothing. I was shocked and grossed-out. I was very uncomfortable and many times I tried to figure out how long a scene or incident would last to decide whether it was practical to leave the theatre (and come back?), taking into account that my brother, who was sitting beside me, probably would not understand.
I never did read anything; I took a long time un-doing the Velcro flap, waiting for loud bits to cover me but by the time the book was open, right side up and at the desired page, the incidents on screen were stomachable, oh and also I was mesmerized.
I am impressed. I really.. don't know what to say about this. I left the theater slightly shaken up. To my delight, the film let us out at 01h30 onto sketchy mcdark n' creepy Richmond Street of downtown Toronto. Much more to my delight, my brother is 6'2" and fights when he needs to.
I think the violence could have been diminished by about 10 or 15% and the film still would have made people squeamish, it still would have made us understand the primal and brutal society/culture but perhaps we would not have been so deeply disturbed to the core. (I am willing to admit that maybe it's just me.)
Despite all this,
despite it, I say, I really loved this film. I mean, at first I felt violated; I had to play some God-singin' music and read the Bibs to make sure I could sleep but the next day and yesterday I have found the violence slipping into the background while artistry and complexity come to the fore. I don't know if I'd recommend this film to or whom. I do know that I'd like to own a home copy myself and may even look the other way if someone (a.k.a. me) decided to shell out more money for a second big-screen viewing.
I can't grasp all of what grasps me about this work. I have snippits and snapshots in my head but more than that there is something so deep-seated, so intriguing..
something draws me in.
There is some higher, purer standard of human life that I caught a glimpse of and though I am excited to now have the knowledge that it exists, I struggle with the knowledge that I will never attain what it is that fascinates me so. Something is pulling me in and calling my name. It's an amped-up version of The Lord of the Rings films, the intricate and complete alternate world that begs us to join it while we know it does not exist. It's like, for me, the rich music of the 1970s that tell me I should have been born in the late 60s because I was meant to be there. I was there...I am there...but secretly not.
The parts of men, the traits that God has given us, the ones that, ignoring our fallenness, make us amazing creatures are glorified and exposed, enshrined. I like that. It's rare, it seems exceedingly simple and something to be proud of. What is...who is man that He is mindful?
If I could be so moved by the best traits of man, put on a pedestal, an x-thousand- or million-dollar budget with planning and hard work, then how the heck more amazing is God? Who... could exceed myself? Who or what could possibly be greater than man? We invented electricity! Imagine, Arrogant Self, who is better than thee on thy BEST day? He surpasses all and we are naught. Hmmm... this is not where I expected the post to end up.
To be continued....
9/10
This film is violent and grueusome. I cannot deny it.
And yet, two days after viewing it, I cannot get it out of my head. Only five other films have ever gripped me like this: Fight Club, The Passion of the Christ, The Sting, Singin' in the Rain and Pride and Prejudice. They pervade my thoughts and refuse to let me go until I explore them or, in worst cases, until I watch them again. I've seen FC 8 times, The Sting 5 or 6 times and both Singin' in the Rain and TPotC twice.
I saw such horror and such evil on the screen that I started pulling my Bible out of my bag, intent on readin up some [Ancient city]ians to keep me grounded because NOTHING in this film spoke of God, nothing. I was shocked and grossed-out. I was very uncomfortable and many times I tried to figure out how long a scene or incident would last to decide whether it was practical to leave the theatre (and come back?), taking into account that my brother, who was sitting beside me, probably would not understand.
I never did read anything; I took a long time un-doing the Velcro flap, waiting for loud bits to cover me but by the time the book was open, right side up and at the desired page, the incidents on screen were stomachable, oh and also I was mesmerized.
I am impressed. I really.. don't know what to say about this. I left the theater slightly shaken up. To my delight, the film let us out at 01h30 onto sketchy mcdark n' creepy Richmond Street of downtown Toronto. Much more to my delight, my brother is 6'2" and fights when he needs to.
I think the violence could have been diminished by about 10 or 15% and the film still would have made people squeamish, it still would have made us understand the primal and brutal society/culture but perhaps we would not have been so deeply disturbed to the core. (I am willing to admit that maybe it's just me.)
Despite all this,
despite it, I say, I really loved this film. I mean, at first I felt violated; I had to play some God-singin' music and read the Bibs to make sure I could sleep but the next day and yesterday I have found the violence slipping into the background while artistry and complexity come to the fore. I don't know if I'd recommend this film to or whom. I do know that I'd like to own a home copy myself and may even look the other way if someone (a.k.a. me) decided to shell out more money for a second big-screen viewing.
I can't grasp all of what grasps me about this work. I have snippits and snapshots in my head but more than that there is something so deep-seated, so intriguing..
something draws me in.
There is some higher, purer standard of human life that I caught a glimpse of and though I am excited to now have the knowledge that it exists, I struggle with the knowledge that I will never attain what it is that fascinates me so. Something is pulling me in and calling my name. It's an amped-up version of The Lord of the Rings films, the intricate and complete alternate world that begs us to join it while we know it does not exist. It's like, for me, the rich music of the 1970s that tell me I should have been born in the late 60s because I was meant to be there. I was there...I am there...but secretly not.
The parts of men, the traits that God has given us, the ones that, ignoring our fallenness, make us amazing creatures are glorified and exposed, enshrined. I like that. It's rare, it seems exceedingly simple and something to be proud of. What is...who is man that He is mindful?
If I could be so moved by the best traits of man, put on a pedestal, an x-thousand- or million-dollar budget with planning and hard work, then how the heck more amazing is God? Who... could exceed myself? Who or what could possibly be greater than man? We invented electricity! Imagine, Arrogant Self, who is better than thee on thy BEST day? He surpasses all and we are naught. Hmmm... this is not where I expected the post to end up.
To be continued....
9/10
"that hooker"
You can argue that it's the woman's choice, that it's empowering, that it's her body and she can do what she wants with it.
But,
I submit to you,
no woman (or man, I suppose) enjoys washing blood out of their underwear in a dilapidated brothel's bathroom sink.
But,
I submit to you,
no woman (or man, I suppose) enjoys washing blood out of their underwear in a dilapidated brothel's bathroom sink.
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