a narrative

A herd of giggling miniskirts clippety-clopped out of Johnson Hall and down the red brick pathway. I determine not to look, lest I be met with pride or despair. When it became apparent that they were about to cross in front of me, I figured I could use a reminder of what the world is doing these days.
I looked. I took the whole image in for a few seconds and was met with a grief more sincere than anticipated. I thought, "They're running to their death," with alarm and a queer sense of helplessness. I almost wanted to scream out to them.

the Mathematical Gospezillio

I am not sure why I did not post this sooner:

z = essence of God x = character of eternality d = death
w = essence of man y = character of perfection

G(z) --> God; as a function of Godliness
F(y) --> man; as a function of perfection (what hung in the balance)
S(d) --> sin; as a function of death (the consequence)
J(w) --> Jesus; as a function of manhood (what enables Him to substitute)

G(z) = z + y^x [as God; perfect; eternal (depending on perfection)]
F(y) = w + y^x [as man; perfect; eternal (depending on perfection); in God's image]

S(d) = d^(1/x) - z^(1/x) [death; absence of God; powers to nullify eternality]
J(w) = z + y^x + [w - (d^[1/x] - z^[1/x])] [as God; perfect; eternal; as man; the inability to accept sin]

F(S(d)) = w + [d^(1/x) - z^(1/x)]^x [man choosing to sin]
F(d) = w + d - z [man; imperfect and not eternal; death; absence of God]

J(S(d)) = z + y^x + [(d^[1/x] - z^[1/x]) - (d^[1/x] - z^[1/x])] [Jesus accepting sin as a man]
J(z) = z + y^x [as God, perfect; eternal]

F(J(z)) = w + (z + y^x) - z [man taking Jesus' death in stead of his own]
= w + y^x [as man; perfect; eternal]

The first draft was completed on 26 November 2004 and, since then, it has been refined countless times and critiqued twice by people who know their game. The first was my Maths teacher and the second was a friend, a student of Engineering. My teacher was someone who, from the beginning of term I was very spiritually interested in. (I think I made up that phrase but I hope you understand what I mean.) It was almost instantaneous that I cared about where he stood with God. I told myself that, if I did not present my work to him by the end of the term, that would be a great opportunity lost for a silly reason. I showed him after our second last class and it was a very interesting experience. He seemed taken aback and slightly impressed but, what's more, he was uncomfortable with the subject matter in that this-is-something-I-try-to-repress kind of way. I think what motivated me to create a mathematical representation of the Gospel was mostly a realization that metaphors and analogies, when well used, can make a world of difference in terms of comprehension. When you tailor some kind of alegory to a person's particular knowledge, it's like you're speaking their language and the truth of your statements can resonate quite clearly. I believe in analogies, I truly do. It brought me great joy (and still does) to know that I could bring something as important as this to my teacher in his language. [Side note: if you wish to call me a cop-out artist, go for it.]

My engineering friend told me why this does not work which, effectively, has sent me back to the drawing board. That was in June 2005 and here I sit - in March - having made no progress.

une petite pause

O beautiful, beautiful, how beautiful.
I look and smile at this something so gorgeous. Then I look away, concerned about vanity, lust or greed. My eyes never seem so thirsty as when they see such beauty and find themselves frustrated by how little they can soak up.
O how could some such thing be so created? J'n'peut pas dealer avec ca.

Gorgeous et merveilleux; mon Dieu, merci.

analysis

You know, the more I think about it, the more the Blog culture has got me trippin.

This is a place where freedom of speech is almost absoultely available (barring the contractual obligations your blog provider has imposed, like prohibitions about racist, sexist, etc.-ist material).

Saying exactly what you mean about something that is important to you often makes one extremely vulnerable. Most people try to avoid vulnerability, partly because of pride, partly because of insecurity and probably because of other reasons, too. Putting yourself on display with no way to control your audience's response is a difficult and uncomfortable thing to do but we willingly engage because we know there is chance of a great pay-off. If someone affirms you, boy! is that a glorious feeling!

With blogs, a great amount of risk is diminished from being vulnerable. [Side note: I should mention that I am quite filled with pride at the moment I write this and so I apologize to all and will edit what is appropriate later, to fit a more God-honoring code of conduct.] We all have theories, thoughts, feelings, discourses and so forth upon which we ruminate but often never articulate because we figure no one needs to hear them. They're either too hair-brained, too boring, too obscure, too useless or something else discouraging to be mentioned to others. On the Internet, on your personal web log, you are free to spout all your theories and ideas and your audience can be controlled in several ways. (1) You can choose who has your URL. (2) You can (with most servers, I believe) choose who is allowed to offer feedback to your work. (3) You can delete (or moderate) comments at your will. (4) You have the chance to defend or explain yourself after something profound or controversial has been spouted into the air. (5) You have a backspace key.

All of this is likely something you already knew, whether or not you've spent much time thinking about it. However, my pseudo-epiphany from twenty minutes ago is that we enjoy that small bit of vulnerability. I think that playing the odds is somewhat alluring and the pay-off, especially in this arena, where we say things that are not everyday and therefore do not carry an everyday risk, is exceedingly grand. Imagine! People reading your words regularly (and commenting on them) are basically indicating that they care about what you think. For me, there is no higher compliment.


I'm still proud... but the prevailing emotion/feeling is actually fatigue and thus, I go to bed.

fitted well

Let me just say that the inventor of boxer shorts needs a hearty pat on the back. These things are making me have a good day. I think they're made by Wilson. My other boxers don't move like these. Wow... I could just .. tap-dance or something.
OK, that's my shameless plug for the day.

strangeness of children

Aisle 3 in Domenic's no frills on Harvard Road in Guelph, ON offers the following:

canned meat and fish.....rice
bread crumbs................beans
sauces.........................side dishes
pasta...........................canned vegetables


This afternoon, I was perusing this aisle and off-handedly noted that someone was stocking boxes on top of the shelves, requiring him to walk around nine or ten feet above the ground. Then I heard a young boy, of 5 or 6 years, exclaim, "Look, Mom! Look behind you! ... Mom, Mom!" and he continued until she turned around and said, "Oh yea! ... There's a guy up there!" in the sing-song, humoring tone all parents are required to perfect and affect. As soon as she had responded to him, the boy started again, "Mom, Mom, look! Look behind you! Tuna! There's tuna!" I thought he was misusing a word or speaking in code or perhaps saying something in his second language, Spanish, that I could not understand. I glanced over and saw that he was merely drawing his mother's attention to the stacks of canned fish next to her.

Something about the fact that this boy was as excited about seeing a guy walk around on what might seem like a roof in a death-defying manner as he was about seeing a random fish product entertained me a great deal.

O how unimportant life seems when it's a mere back-drop to God's glory. O how much bolder I crave to become.

I realized that it's not about fulfilling organization standards or assauging guilt, it's about fulfilling the Great Commission.

I stood there talking with guys and thought about how much time was left. It's funny: when we feel inadequate, we are fine with leaving results to God. But when we think things are running smoothly, we are reluctant to agree that we need Him. To-night was phenomenal and I do not even understand it. God, all I can say is: grow this ministry, please.

quelque fois

Sometimes I think about the Gospezillio. By "sometimes" I mean, "many times per day." I wish it would pervade my thoughts enough to motivate me beyond reason.

People talk about "religion" and Catholicism all the time and it drives me crazy with frustration and sadness. There is a deeper and broader loss there - in religiousness - than I know of any where else.

As I sat this evening in my French class, watching a short film about a boy whose Catholicism was not an option and also nuttin but a thang. What is that? How ironic is it that the institution or set of beliefs that should be telling people about the Son of God (and all ensuing joy, grace, immortality, etc.) is instead leaving them with everything that opposes what Jesus stood for. Someone needs to tell the Catholic church what "the Pharisees" is code for in modern language.

In that class, I thought, I will NEVER stop assailing against religiousness and dead Catholicism [here I specify to accomodate those who are Catholic Christians] until it is reformed or until the day I die. The next thought (after a few more angry ones) was, Should that be some kind of long-term mission field for me?

I want always to tell people who are stuck in motions and misunderstanding Jesus' sacrifice that -something- -is- -missing-. Agh, I get fired up just thinking about it now. It never ceases to stir passion in me to tell the truth and help set the captives free. They're captive!

If you're Catholic and you're reading this, come get mad at me: I challenge you. I have decided that holding my tongue is something I shall ease up on when on this subject. Some truths need to be said. This is my people group, in a way. Then, so are the people who live downtown.

Now, when I say that, I mean not "people in the centre of the city where most business is done" because in a city like Guelph, ON (population: 170 000), "downtown" consists of about a 12-square block area. This is small. This is smally small small -- I cannot even convey to you the minisculosity of this so-called downtown area. [Note: "Minisculosity" is not a vrai mot.]

In a city like Toronto (or New York, Montreal, and so forth) downtown is a mother of a place, almost a city itself. I cannot count the blocks of Toronto's downtown area for two reasons: (1) My travels there have not been exhaustive and (2) I could not even visualize it all in my head if I had. As for Montreal, well, it is slightly smaller than Toronto (there are 500 000 less people in the entire city -- bam! that's three times more than Guelph's total population!) but the downtown area is still something that just seems to go on forever. [If you are more familiar with one city than the other, equate Queen Street with Rue-Ste-Catherine and Bloor Street with Boul-de-Maisonneuve, perhaps. Any suggestions on Yonge Street?]

During my first and second years of university when I lived at home, I would frequently bus into the Tobes. The Greyhound route stops at Union Station (the biggest station of transportation since EVER -- go see it; it's disgusting) and from there, it is a sixty- or seventy-five-minute bus/train or streetcar ride to my mother's house. More often than not (especially when my sibs and I moved to Lakeshore Blvd) I would take the streetcar because it seemed faster (there were no interchanges, as opposed to three with the subway/bus route), especially at the time of day I usually travelled. Often I would reach downtown T.O. around 23h30 or midnight and that is the time the downtown starts to come alive. I watched out the window which, on the streetcar, offers an almost too close view of the streets and I experienced all manner of negative emotion based on what I saw.

People are dying and I see it most clearly in the heavily populated areas of large cities. People are dying of addiction to things that bring only death. Sex is always the first one on my mind, then comes drugs and alcohol. After that, all that is left is broken, selfish relationships which do a great job of tying other addictions in and bringing about the very destruction of a person's soul.

All I can see is hurt when I look out those windows and the worst part is that I know what is needed to heal them, one and all. We discussed this same thing this afternoon during our discipleship group meeting. When thinking about the end of the world (and how it should be an encouraging thought - something to look forward to), I seconded someone else's posit that the world is a failing and corrupt place. "It's like figuring out what is wrong with the world is like answering what two plus two is," I said. "Everyone says it is x and spends their life solving for that variable. We," indicating all the in the room and all in the Body, "know that the answer is four - we've known that since the beginning!" With increasing conviction I concluded that, "We can scream all we want, 'It's four, it's four!' and no one listens." The analogy I was going to pull was that oh-so-simple one of the proverbial brick wall being screamed at. Believers have been screaming at unyielding brick walls since Antioch but, on the last day, the wall will come crumbling down. (Imagine! Just from a few millienia's worth of screams!) At the time however, I said, "When the time comes that every knee bows it will just be like, 'Finally..!'," with an emphatic relaxing of my body as if to say, "'It is finished' -- and now completely."

In the back of my head, I could not help but wonder: is this a selfish approach? Am I searching for my own vindication? I should not seek after what will be the hugest "I told you so" moment in history but rejoice (as if practicing for the after-party) in knowing that every tongue has finally confessed.

From downtown: "4" is a way out. "4" is not only being taken from an environment that wants to destroy you but being placed in one that will prosper you into eternity. Consider redemption and reconciliation and try not to be moved. Consider being regarded as valuable and irreplacable and try to remain unchanged. x equals 4 and I wish to be a professing mathematician.

purge/tidy

I want to post quotations more frequently so that I do not end up with the kind of back-log I presently have. Before continuing, I would like to note that an interesting thought hit me typing one of the quotations. I wondered if Colbert is turning into something of an idol. It seems odd that he has monopolized my quotation life as of late. The idea of staying away from the show alltogether did cross my mind but I do NOT like this idea one bit. (That may be the reason I quit, however.) The other thought was to step back, take a deep breath and evaluate the situation and its idolatry components. One thing I would like to stop doing is planning to quote him before the show has even begun. It is like a competition to see how many great lines I can extract from an episode or how many episodes I can quote in a week. Weird, eh? Oui, je sais.

Here's a piece of defence for myself: on a weekly basis, this is the only television show I watch. If I am visiting my sister or father, I watch OODLES of television but I am only genuinely interested in about 20% of it. If TCR is the only thing I watch, it will be the only thing I quote. Right? Am I making excuses now? I think God asked me if I would give up watching TCR for Lent and I pointed out that the season would likely end before Easter and thus this was an outrageous request. I'll get back to you on that.

Non-sensical claims in rudeness:

I couldn't have said it better myself -- except for all the times I've said it myself on this show.

I would have a beer with ya. [beat] That's how men [value] each other. Like, all men want to have a beer with President Bush.
Norah Vincent (guest, author of "Self-made Man", an account of the full year she spent disguised as a man): Speak for yourself.
I always do. [beat] And by "myself", I mean everyone else.

Everyone is entitled to their own facts, not their own opinions.

Unless a judge is an activist, hedoesn't try to do anything. He just sits there and stares off into space like a Koala bear.

Things Colbert dislikes:

I'm not a fan of government monopolies. Why should it be only governments who are allowed to ... print money?

I don't believe in penicillin. It's too sciency.

Messing with words:

the "Interweb"

Disabled ... I should say, "handicabled".


There are more but they demand hefty contextualizing. (They excite me because they offer a glimpse into Colbert's spirituality.)

number eight

This post is about my youngest sister, Jahydah, who is presently 32 days away from her 2nd birthday.

I had a dream to-day that I lost her in a grocery store (a rather large one). By the time I had realized it, they were about to close and the lights were being shut off for the outer aisles. I was panicking, almost crying but not really and it did not help that I was in charge of my brother, Jahkubb (5), too. The family had come to this city (one that connects more easily with Mississauga but hardly at all with Guelph -- that's how I remember it) and then the rest of them left me with the younger two to come home (by bus or something) later on. I was upstairs in a hotel-like building (based on my memories of the Hilton from Winter Conference) visiting some extended relations with Jahkubb and then, when I remembered about Jahydah (don't ask why/how I did this) I scrambled down the stairs in a way so desperate I cannot describe it. The relatives, after a few flights told Jahkubb to go with me and they would let us two go on our own. We overshot the ground floor (again based on the Hilton staircase) and almost ended up on street level. We mounted the first flight again and exited into the grocery store. I prepared Jahkubb, "We're gonna look for Jahydah now so make sure you stay with me and call out her name, OK?" I yelled her name out once and a cashier said, "Jesskah?" She was looking down at a sheet of paper which led me to conclude that someone had told her there is a Jesskah looking for a Jahydah. [In retrospect, there is no way that could have been known but, oh well, it worked for me.] I went to the cashier and she told me the guy at the pharmacy had found her but, when it got to be 10 o'clock, "he got real." At that last line, my body could only react by contorting itself - I drove down into a squat on the floor, incredulous - and then I stood back up and screamed, "WHAT IS THAT?" A few people looked my way and the cashier did not seem to care. She said, I'll go ask my brother, indicating another cashier who she had to wait for. While I anticipated the next clue, I scanned the aisles (the ones now darkened) but kept her still within earshot and view. Jahkubb was there, not messing about so much, holding my hand every so often. This seemed to be taking forever and I could not understand why NO ONE was anywhere near as concerned as I was. I thought about calling home but I could not yet decide if that would improve or worsen the situation. I imagined Jahydah being made to wait in the staff lounge upstairs. I imagined going up to get her and her fear overriding her ability to trust (or perhaps recognize) me. I thought, "I should call Sinead and see if she will respond to her voice and let her know she can trust me." That didn't happen though. What happened was a telephone ring, RIGHT below my head, destroying the dream. When I awoke, I was relieved to be assured I had only been dreaming but I was very disappointed because I wanted to know what would happen at the end. As I paced those aisles, it became more and more clear to me that, at this point, she was either asleep or had been taken because I should be able to hear her cry right now.

About two hours ago, I called my Dad's house and asked to talk to Jahydah. The last time I talked with her (last week) she only said Hello (barely) and as I proceeded to ask her questions, she became very confused and only stood with the reciever in her hand, staring at my brother and sister as they tried not to laugh at her. Usually when Jahydah picks up the telephone, she is pretending to talk and all she hears is either a dial tone or nothing at all b/c she's using someone's cellular. When I called this evening, she said hello, she told me what she was doing (I did not actually understand the words) and she said bah bah which roughly translates to "bye-bye". This is classic case of the head-heart disconnect. I knew she was OK but I wanted to feel relieved. I told my brother Jahrell that I only wanted to talk to her because I had had a nightmare about losing her in a shopping mall and he said, "Oh really," in a very characteristic that-is-very-serious-and-I-will-react-by-pretending-it-isn't way. He added, "Don't ever tell me that again," which I thought was great because he clearly understood my feelings of terror.

This is quite the uplifting post, eh? Let me finish with the other thing I wanted to say about Jahydah that is a bit more cheerful.

A random kitchen conversation (22/02/06):
Jahrell: Jess, if you have chocolate, be prepared to give 98% of it to Jahydah.
Jahrann: She's like a seagull: you give her a bagel and she wants a bakery.

O, how I love my family.

shocking?!

I found out this evening that Stephen Colbert is the youngest of eleven children. His guest (Lorrine Bracco) said, "Really?" and he responded by listing off their names in about 2 or 3 seconds. It was very disgusting. The crowd applauded briefly and he turned to them saying, "I hope you're applauding my mother's womb."


I read a quote a moment ago that said, "We secure our friends, not by accepting favors, but by doing them," and I am still trying to figure out if it is actually as profound as it looks or if it is a piece of normal, run-of-the-mill wisdom.

the up-and-down all-together too long day

To-day was another one of those lovely days wherein I went to bed too late (yester eve), woke up too early and seemingly lived three days in the space of one. At the end of it, I cannot honestly say that I am relieved, that I feel a sense of accomplishment or that I could do it again. [Insert ringside bell sound "Ding!"]

I went to class -- that's always good
I completed mes devoirs -- even better
I enjoyed our small group (a.k.a. Bible study) and for once left without a bad taste in my mouth
I had a couple of meetings -- bam!
Some good email connections were made
I had an uber weird nap
God answered a prayer in an unbelieveably uncanny way


That little list there is organized in my speech style, not thought styls so it looks very weird on my screen. Let's add to the list that I made cookies.

I had a minor tiff with my housemates this evening. Try to understand: I started my day at 08.30 and came in the house for good at 23.45. Can you understand why I might want to seclude myself in my bedroom quarters - if just for a moment? Let me not plead a sarcastic, pity-party case. I came into my room and, when I heard someone coming down the hallway, I closed my door because I do not like telling people, "I don't want to talk to you right now," because I understand no means of making that an unoffensive comment. There was a knock on my door and, when I saw the tsk-tsk look on my housemate's face behind it, my anger shot up to about 40% of capacity. Then I was told how we needed to talk (we're planning something for to-morrow so I understood that discussion would be necessary this eve) and so I asked for five minutes' delay. From down the hallway, another housemate calls, "We know you don't want to talk, that's why you closed your door," in a joking manner. I jumped on it saying, "Yes, I thought that was part of the 'open door' policy but! lo and behold.." and I think I was cut off there but had intended to finish by pointing out that even a closed door is approached. (Herein the anger reached 50%.) She says, "That is so rude, Jess," and my anger rose to 90% in a heartbeat as I swallowed swear words and a rasied voice to say something to the effect of, "I'm going to close the door now," and I let go the knob. With a 12"-gap remaining, I heard some incredulous protests (now at a full 100%) and so re-opened the door to re-state my case. I rambled for a good thirty seconds the salient details of my very present mood, forsaking politeness for efficiency, and enfin close the door again. When I sat at my desk I was trying to calm down and praying to God for patience, patience, patience. I guess He did answer that prayer. This is my beef: why is it wrong for me to say I am not in the mood to talk? I am not in the mood to talk FAR more often than most people I know but, I cannot (and choose not) to change this about myself. Why should I need to hide and come up with excuses for my personality? There's some anger residue in my tank, I can feel it. It makes me want to have it out now; now that I have articulated my thoughts clearly. Man, let's move on.

I talked to-day with a woman who knows budgeting and knows university students well. She told me some interesting and helpful things which are too obscure to here note. The meeting did, for a spell, make me very uncomfortable because I realized I was in a tight place from which I had no way to prove myself honest. I was being totally honest but, because she does not know me, she has no reason to trust me and believe what I say. (How frustrating...) She was asking me questions about what I needed money for. As she listed areas of expense, I became more and more disappointed by my inability to come up with numbers that actually sounded scary. I wonder if she thought I was trying to rip her (or the university) off but she did not strike me as someone who could be so fooled. If anything, she seemed intent on giving me money. She was rounding up my numbers like nobody's business. It was, by far, one of the weirdest situations I have been in for months. The thing that stuck with me most from the whole ordeal (I saw her yesterday, too, so let's include that appointment also) was how she insisted that leisure expenses were a legitamite part of my budget. SINCE WHEN?! She asked, "What do you do every week for fun?" I fumbled. She offers, "Say you go to see a movie and get a hamburger. [Pause] So what's that? Twenty bucks a week?" I cannot express to you how blown away I was by this notion. It is still absolutely foreign to me. Spending money on a weekly basis for recreation is supposed to be OK? I'm not exaggerating here or trying to make a joke or be stupid. I seriously find this a very strange idea. Let me spell it out: the line between "want" and "need" is thick, rigid and immovable. It is or it isn't. [Have a field day with that last sentence, English scholars!]

I should stop writing now but I want to post this evening's notes from The Colbert Report. He started the show by making a plea to Sir Slade, a British fortune-holder, who this morning advertised in The New York Times for an American heir to his $13 million (can that be right?) property. Colbert was making cheesy and sleezy promises here and there (too much like a political candidate would) as if he were talking to Sir Slade and, when he got round to talking about the dogs, Colbert promised, "I will feed them only the finest tresspassers."

While proposing alternate adjectives to make the term "The Long War" (referring to what was previously known as "The War on Terrorism") more appropriate, Colbert suggested we might say, "...all the lib-long day which, as any early nineteenth-century railroad-track layer will tell you, is not that long."

There is a segment of the TCR that shows up every now and then called, "All You Need to Know" where Colbert summarizes news stories into bite-sized pieces of Colbert-filtered usefulness. He said of "Channel One" that studies have shown that more people remember the commercials better than they do the actual program. He continues, "All you need to know? [The image changes from the Channel One logo to a Lunchables rip-off.] Kids love Cracker-Snacker Lunchables becauuuuuuuse [half-beat] they're FANTASTALUNCHABLE!!"

connecting

It's revelation time!

I was writing an email to a (brilliant) friend of mine in which I described parts of a sermon I heard last December called "Enlarging my Heart" [see post of 21 December]. The pastor had pointed out that Jesus did not call His disciples to be hunters of men but fishers! The important distinction here is that hunters attack (prey is seized) and fishers invite (prey hands itself over). [Could this stuff be related to the "city on the hill" concept?]

As I attempted to elaborate on the relevance of this concept, I started thinking about the nature of fish and fishing; how it is possible to catch the same fish more than once (in one sitting) and how bait is crucial (and that land and sea are very different territory). Then, three distinct thoughts collided and my brain blew a fuse. Pow! (1) One was from a talk that Gregg Hinzelmann brought to us in November that involved unreahced people groups. He drew the analogy of an apple orchard where, on the outskirts, people used all kinds of cutting-edge technology to insure that every branch was stripped clean. But, if you plunged into the thick of the orchard, a long trip to the secluded centre, you would hear only sporadic THUMPs breaking the eerie silence. There were no pickers here where the apples were falling to the ground, over-ripened. Here, the challenge shifts from finding enough apples to fill your baskets (as seen at the over-populated orchard limits) to finding enough baskets to collect all the apples. The trees in the centre of the orchard each represent one of 17 700 people groups in existence that many of us never think or care about. Gregg said, "Why stay on the fringes and do all the hard work? Some trees are in the middle of a raging river, full of hornets [and] guarded by vicious dogs." Re-reading my notes now, I see that this would be a good lesson to review and perhaps post on zhe blog. (It's off the hook, I promise.) (2) The second is something that my pastor mentioned a few weeks ago as he described the dream of Jesus. He said that, "the problem is never the harvest, it's the labourers." To expand on that idea, I'll add that he said, "Right now, God is using you as much as He can. The problem is not that there's not enough work to do to glorify God." (3) The third and final thought comes straight from the book of Matthew, saying, "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field," (9:37b-8) and it does a fine job of connecting the first two thoughts.

My revelation was this: There are some bodies of water, like Lake Ontario, in which you are more likely to catch a boot or a deadly disease than a fish. The lake at the base of my grandmother's property, her former house in Orrville, Ontario (home of Bobby #4, just outside Parry Sound) is calm, clear, good for swimmin and fairly large. Under the bridge, Duck Lake becomes Maple Lake and is no longer bordered by my grandmother's land. My brother has been fishing up north for what is probably a decade by now and here are a few things I have learned about the status of the area (whether I wanted to hear it or not). From one of the large, flat rocks (ideal for drying bathings suits if you're human or eating mussels if you're a raccoon), you will probably never see a fish no matter how long you wait, how great your lure is or how tasty your bait is (unless you're looking for minnows - which are plentiful - but catching them is a joke). If you take a boat out to the middle of the lake, your chances increase so that you might get a handful of bites in an hour though you will likely not reel anything in, despite all the fluourescent spinners and freshly-bled worms, crayfish or minnows you employ. In Maple Lake, the shore is not fit for standing or walking (and snags are abundant) so fishing is done best in a boat. The conditions in the middle of this lake are very similar to Duck Lake except that Maple Lake boasts a small island on which you might see some exotic birds or turtles. However, if you were to exit the main part of the Duck Lake, battle a mean current, and find yourself docked at Hunter's Point, you will have hit the proberbial jackpot. Here the fish must be bored or absolutely stupid because they seem to be seeking an excuse to be caught and dragged from the water by the gills. Every cast is attacked (usually by a very small sunfish) no matter what is on the hook - including nothing at all - or how many times this fish in particular has already been yanked from the water. I kid you not: once, while looking for a hook to use, my brother's rod lay on the rock and dangled over the edge and some bright young sea creature seized the naked fishing line. I am sorry but that is desperation at its finest.

The thought of fishing for men in such an effortless manner boggles my mind. Truly, all the fisherman needs to do is get to the water and the fish yelp, "Pick me, pick me!"

Concluding this post has proved more difficult than I expected. I am trying to figure out how this idea is applicable to my life and all I can think of is an Eastern country in Africa though I do not know if that is the end of the story. I'm out.

It's the 100th Post!

Yay for the centennial! I have been holding off a post for many days because I wanted to make this one extra cool but, alas, I have nothing overly exciting to share.

There are two things I learned last weekend:
(1) My wallet is ugly.
(2) Pears actually taste good, contrary to a lifetime of indignance.

Here is something great that I cribbed from the script of "The Family Man" (2000):
[This film comes highly recommended from yours truly, so I will do my best to conceal things that would spoil the experience for someone who hasn't watched yet. After having a conversation with a woman who expressed her desire to have a relationship with him (though both she and he are already married to others), Jack has a conversation with his best friend, Arnie, that begins with him describing the encounter and then...]
Jack [smoothly]: ... So if you would just [pushing a napkin across the table] write her exact address down here - if you have it - [pause] do you have a pen? Please.
Arnie [as if it hits him in waves]: Whoa-oa-oa-oa. You're not actually thinking about cheating on Kate, are you?
Jack [still confident]: Well it wouldn't really be cheating, Arnie. [Beat] It's complicated.
Arnie [in righteous anger]: Alright, maybe I haven't been as good a consigliere to you has you have been to me but hear me out on this, OK? A little flirtation is harmless [but] you're dealing with FIRE! Alright, man? The Fidelity Bank & Trust is a tough creditor. You make a deposit somewhere else, they close your account. [whispereing, close to the table] Forever!

I thought this film was amazing enough to be watched twice (though I cannot pinpoint exactly why and am glad for that fact). There is a scene where Jack watches a home video of a big birthday bash for Kate and we see him making a special tribute to his wife by singing "La-la-la (Means I Love You)" and I found it to be such an interesting thing to watch. At the risk of sounding like an idiotic cheeseball, I will mention that something about the moment seemed very real. What I appreciated the most was that it was actually Nicholas Cage (Jack) singing, not someone else and he sings like the average guy would.


Here are a couple of great nuggets I found in an electronic newsletter from a friend of mine who is currently serving with Campus Crusade for Christ:
"Everday we give a part of ourselves - our love, our service - to people who don't appreciated it. But if we are really fools for Christ, what do we have to lose?"
"Love and trust in God (not methods and organization) are the basis of all ministry, even with university students."
("Wherever you go, be all there." -- this one was quoted from someone else in the newsletter)
The AndersON PRESS, January 2006


I suppose this is it for post number one-hundred. I have an envelope full of quotations to post, the vast majority of them from Stephen Colbert, but the time it takes to contextualize them makes the task too monstrous for me at present. (Coming soon!)

for Joel

You know who you are, friend, and this post is dedicated especially to you. This is from my five-year-old brother (the one who brought you the genius of the knock-knock joke about Q, the Fat-head).

On Wednesday, he came home from school and asked me if snakes laid eggs. Then he asked if turtles laid eggs, if spiders, dogs, cats, eagles, and so forth laid eggs and I answered each question to the best of my knowledge. Then, to see how much he actually understood about the whole concept of egg-laying I asked, "Do you lay eggs?"
He responded, "I don't lay anything."
Satisfied, I nodded, "Oh."
Then he continued, "You know what I lay?"
"What?" I asked.
"I lay poo!" he exclaimed. After a beat, he said, "And when I wanna go pee, I go 'PEEEEE!!'" [for the last word he thrust out his pelvis and squealed the EEs to emphasize his point]. He concluded with, "And then I go on the toilet so I can lay my poo eggs so they can crack."


What do you think, Joel? Is this up to your standards of hilarity?