Busy Weekend

Had a good week this past seven days. Over the weekend I went camping up near Mannville (go to Edmonton and hook a right, it's about an hour and a half east) where my older brother lives. This year it was beautiful warm weather, unlike last year when it was raining the entire weekend we were out. It was nice to sleep in a dry tent. This camping trip is an annual event among a bunch of us, basically family. This year was myself, Chris, Scott, Jeff (my three brothers), and Peter (one of my best friends). We also tried to get Rob (Peter's brother-in-law, and also a good friend) to come along, but he had school and it just didn't work out, unfortunately. Basically, us guys went out camping while the wives (of those who have wives) spent time at Chris' house. It's almost like a family reunion. It's great getting to spend time together like this, a full weekend to just chill with those that I love. I got to see my nephews that I don't get to see very often and which are growing up entirely too fast. Jason (Scott's kid, born September last year) is almost walking now. Peter William (Peter's kid, born November last year) is crawling up a storm, as well as puking up a storm. Darrian (Chris' kid, born last January) is already pulling himself to his feet, and just chattering away like mad. Basically it was a good weekend, full of relaxation, golf, swimming, and sunburn (at least for me).
Around this weekend has been an entire week off. The last time I worked was Tuesday, August 23rd, and I don't work again until Wednesday, August 31 (tomorrow morning, as of the time I am writing this). I'm getting tired of my job, so some time away was nice. I have actually put in my resume to The Sign Guys. They deal with the signs for all of Home Depot across Canada, as well as other such stores and signs. If I get this job, then I can leave Chili's and go to a new job, which is a good thing. I really kinda hope I get this job, if for no other reason than the opportunity for travel that it presents. I have always wanted to travel, but unfortunately getting through school has saddled me with some debts that make it extremely tricky to do any sort of travelling. I'm just not able to afford the time away from work. However, if work and travel were combined, that would be just fine with me. And who knows, maybe someday I'll get over to Europe like I've always wanted to.
Also, I found out this weekend what my mark in my class was. I figured that if I passed the exam, a straight out 50%, then I would pass the class with a 67%, which was more marks than I needed. So my entire goal was to just pass the exam. And I did. I barely passed by a mere 41%, bringing my final mark to 84.25%. I was surprised and pleased, and relieved to finally be done. I've got Athabasca University (the place I was taking the class) to send my transcript to AUC (the place from which I'm graduated/graduating), and as soon as they have received it, I get my diploma. Yay.
Last of all, when I got back from camping, I had an email about a possible roommate. I met with him on Monday night, and by the end of the night I had a new roommate in place. He moves in on Sunday, which is when Jeff is moving out. That is a weight off of my shoulders.
You know, all in all, I think this weekend was probably the best weekend I've had in months, maybe even years. I think that God sent a plethora of goodness my way this weekend as a way of recharging me. I've been feeling a bit lethargic and down lately, but I'm much more energized now, more positive about life in general than I have been for a long time. Heck, today I did things that I had been putting off for a while now, and I'm not completely dreading work, though I still want that other job. Every once in a while, I'm blindsided by God's goodness. I think I tend to forget, but looking back on this weekend, I am reminded of all that is good in my life, and God's placement of the people and events around me. Sweet.
Well, I'm going to go now. Who knows what next week will look like, but whatever it is, I think I'm ready to handle it. Bring it ON!!

P.S. The pic is my nephew Darrian from a couple months ago. Isn't he a cutie?

The Importance of a Good Breakfast

2. I never was any good at math

James ran and caught up to Mel, tripping over a stone on the sidewalk and crashing into her. The two of them tumbled onto a lawn, rolling over each other, finally coming to a rest. Mel sat up, rubbing her head. “James,” she called out, “where’d you go?”
“I’m right here,” came the muffled reply.
Mel looked around for a second, confused, before being unceremoniously dumped onto the ground when James pusher her off of his face. He sat up, unconsciously mimicking Mel’s motion of a moment earlier by rubbing his head. Suddenly he was smacked upside the head by an indignant woman. “Why in the name of caramel popcorn did you tackle me, you nitwit?”
“I tripped!” James now rubbed the back of his head where he had been smacked. This day was not going well. “There was a stone in the path, and it tripped me up. It was an accident - I swear.” He stood up and pointed at the stone that was slowly creeping across the sidewalk.
Mel shook her head, but a smile had crept onto the corners of her mouth. “Sure you did. Tell me another one.”
“Hey, I - ” The stone was slowly creeping across the sidewalk. That seemed, to James, to be rather odd behaviour for a rock. This bore closer attention. He turned to look, but Mel beat him to it.
“Hey, that’s not a rock at all.” She ran over and picked it up, holding it at face level. “It’s a turtle.”
Well, that explained the creeping. But it didn’t answer the question of how it came to be here. Which was okay, because that was a question that hadn’t been asked yet. Now he asked it. “How did it come to be here?” The question was met with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry,” James said somewhat sheepishly. “I guess you couldn’t hear my inner dialogue.”
“You are so strange. And I don’t know how it ‘came to be here’”
“Well put it down and let’s get going. We’re going to be late for school.”
Mel looked horrified. “No, we’re not going to leave her here on her own. She’s defenceless!”
“It doesn’t seem defenceless to me,” muttered James, looking down at his scraped up elbow. He looked up and met a withering glare. “Uh, kidding.” A moment of silence passed, making James exceedingly uncomfortable. Finally he sighed and took off his backpack. “Fine, stick him in here. I’ll put him in my locker, and we can figure out what to do with him later.” What was he supposed to do with a turtle? It was just getting better and better.
With the small reptile tucked away, the two of them finished a relatively uneventful walk to school. Neither noticed the cow following them, though it did cause a small accident when a pair of bikers going in opposite directions decided to watch the bovine instead of the road and they smacked into each other. Later, once they both regained consciousness, they went to coffee, fell in love and had two darling little children, one of whom became a movie star, but his career was ruined because of a strange obsession, nay paranoia, that the cows were watching him. He was admitted to a mental institution until he was medicated enough to function in the real world as the receptionist at a day spa in Daytona. No one knew that he was right, but that’s not important to this story.
Math class. Specifically Calculus. Why had he taken this class? It was like an hour of torture every day. He didn’t even need it to graduate. But here he was, day after day, learning about derivatives, tangents, secants, and who knows what else. After the whole cereal and turtle incidents, James just knew that he was going to have to go up to the front of the class and try and figure out a question that he would fail at miserably. And then the turtle would probably pee on his locker or something.
“James. See if you can do this question.”
The voice cut through his daydreaming. He looked up and saw his teacher standing with a piece of chalk in her hand, which was extended out to him. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and grabbed the chalk, looking at the board. An nearly incomprehensible squiggle of numbers, letters, and invented shapes covered the board. Leaning back, he studied the problem very carefully, noticing, from the corner of his eye, his teacher going and leaning casually against the windows of the second story room.
Giving his head a shake, he concentrated closer. Truth be told, if he looked hard enough, he could usually figure it out, at least most of it. Hesitatingly, he applied the white chalk to the green blackboard and started making calculations. A minute later, he was staring hard at what he had done. He was close, he knew it, but he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing that would give him the final answer.
Suddenly, the answer came to him. Specifically, it came to him from the side of the room where the teacher was still standing. “It’s 4 plus minus root 76, over 6.”
A quick check showed that the mysterious voice was right. As he wrote it down, James’ stomach grumbled. He was suddenly hungry, and for some reason he wanted fish.
Out of the blue, his teacher screamed. And not a small scream either. This was a full out top-of-the-lungs screech, the kind that set the teeth on edge. Immediately everyone else in the class started screaming, and James could hear desks being turned over and papers scattered. Without hesitation, he threw himself to the floor and covered his head. “Every man for himself!” he yelped.
The quiet finally came to him a couple minutes later. There was no one in the room, or so it seemed. He raised his head and slowly looked around. The room was a complete mess, but also completely empty, except for himself. And he still could vaguely smell fish. He carefully walked over the upturned desks and the binders that covered the floor and stuck his head out the door. The hallway was littered with papers and books, and there seemed to be no one in the any of the classrooms. Sirens were starting to get closer, lots of sirens. A hot, moist breeze was gusting through the classroom. And a loud rasping noise seemed to be coming from the window, and it was coming in time with the gusts of the breeze. The smell of fish was also stronger.
Slowly, James turned around and faced the windows. He couldn’t see anything, but there seemed to be a touch of fog on the edge of one window, like someone was breathing on it. Cautiously, he approached the window, his heart starting to beat a little bit faster in his chest. Something was definitely wrong. Just as he neared the window, a loud bang caused him to hit the floor inelegantly, where he came face to face with the source of the noise. The pencil that had fallen off the desk warily rolled up to his nose, tapping him lightly, almost as though to chastise him for being so silly. He chuckled slightly. This was ridiculous. There was obviously a joke being played, or he had missed a bell, or something. There was nothing to worry about, even if the sirens were getting closer. He jumped to his feet and looked out the window. A Tyrannosaurus Rex looked back at him.
James’ eye twitched involuntarily.
Mel ran out the back door with the rest of her classmates. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but it couldn’t be good. She had been in the bathroom when she heard screaming and what sounded like a large marathon being run through the hall. It turns out that it was the entire student body panicking and running outside. Not one to miss an opportunity to cut class, she had joined them, and soon found herself outside with her friends. None of them could tell her exactly what was going on.
“There’s a monster of some sort,” said Carrie.
“I heard a sniper was going around the school.” Cameron pointed his fingers like guns and pretended to shoot.
Dawn shook her head. “Nah, I bet it’s a fire. I thought I saw smoke.”
Suddenly Mel broke in. “Where’s James?” She had been scanning for him and he seemed to be missing.
Cameron shrugged and pretended to shoot Dawn, who looked disgusted and smacked his hand away. And then kicked him for good measure.
“Seriously guys, where’s James?” Mel was getting worried. James was her best friend. They had known each other for almost their entire lives (she bugged him that he was the new kid on the block, because she had been living there for two weeks longer), and she was fearful that he was hurt. The others were still goofing around, so she left them and walked towards the building.
Carrie caught up to her and walked with her. “Where are you going Mel?” she asked. The determined set of her friend’s jaw gave the answer. “You can’t go back in there, it’s not safe.”
Mel sighed. “I’m going in, you stay here and cover for me. I know James. He needs someone to take care of him, he is completely incapable of taking care of himself.”
Carrie shrugged and turned away. “Careful, you nutcase,” she called over her shoulder before melding back into the crowd.
A waft of hot, fishy breath washed over James. The voice that had given the answer spoke again. “Are you James?”
Against all convention, the dinosaur had talked. In fact, it had spoken twice. And it had asked him a question. And it was purple. James closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them. It was still there. There was no evidence of cameras or anything. This seemed pretty real. Or pretty surreal.
Panic started to well up inside of him, but just as he reached his breaking point, he though meh. This wasn’t completely unexpected. Every time he didn’t get his cereal in the morning, weird things happened. Usually it was just his underwear ripping in gym class, but this didn’t seem entirely outside the realm of reasonability. Somehow.
Suddenly, James was struck with a thought. “How in the world did you know the answer to the math question? You’re brain is only the size of a peanut, or something like that.”
The dinosaur’s eye opened slightly wider. “You’d be surprised, young man. Now, are you James?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I sure am James. Why do you want to know?”
“I’m here on a matter of grave importance, and time is of the essence. I need you to come with me.”
Of all the things he had expected to hear, this was pretty low on the list. Although, to be fair, he had not been expecting to see a talking purple dinosaur today either. This was just in keeping with the general weird that had been his morning. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?” he asked suspiciously.
“James, if I had desired to consume you, I would not have taken my time as I have. You are far too valuable to eat.”
“See,” replied James, “that’s what I’ve always said, but no one ever listens to me. I guess if time is important, then we should go, eh?”
By the way his head jerked back, the dinosaur seemed surprised. “You’re not even going to inquire as to the nature of my business with you?”
“Nah, why bother. I’ve never been one to argue with a giant talking purple dinosaur.”
“James!” A voice from the hall drew his attention.
“I’m in here,” he replied. He watched as Mel came in, looking very concerned.
“What’s going on,” she asked. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
James was surprised at her lack of attention, until he glanced at the window and saw that he couldn’t see the T-rex anymore. Before he realised what was happening, he was caught up in a huge hug. “I was so worried. I thought you were dead or something.”
“Nope. I’m just in here making new friends.” He motioned at the empty window that was now filled with a giant purple dinosaur. “How do you do that?”
“I’m very sneaky. Now listen, before we go, we need the turtle you found this morning.”
James shrugged and turned to leave the room. He paused. “Mel, this is…um, a big purple Tyrannosaurus Rex. Dino, this is my friend Mel.”
The dinosaur nodded. “How do, madam.”
Mel opened her mouth and squeaked.
“Entertain the guy, would you Mel?” James was bemused by her reaction. He ran out into the hall towards his locker. That turtle better not have done anything to his books.
The cow was intrigued. This was unexpected. He would have to report this to his superiors. Just as soon as this pesky cud was thoroughly chewed.

Woah, didn’t see the dinosaur coming, which is odd because they are HUGE! What is this beast’s plan? How does James fit into the picture? Will the turtle be eaten as a light snack? Do these pants make me look fat? Will Mel makes friends with the dinosaur? To find the answers to the question…will keep me awake at nights. You however can sleep easy knowing that I will answer at least one of these questions eventually. Which one? Hang on and find out in the next instalment of The Importance of a Good Breakfast.
Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger time, same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger place!

I need a roommate, and soon.

First off - if you know of anyone who needs a roommate in the Calgary area starting in September, let me know. Or give them my email address and have them contact me. I still need a roommate for the fall. The only qualifications are that it has to be a male, and I would really, really, really prefer a non-smoker. Other than that, I'm not picky. Let me know.
Now, I have two movies to relate. The first one is "The Terminal", starring Tom Hanks. Frankly, I like Mr. Hanks. He seems to be very good at everything he tries, and this is no exception. The character he plays is a genuinely nice guy who just happens to have ended up being unwanted. He handles his situation very well, without whining or crying or anything like that. He simply tries to survive and adapt as best he can. Would that we could all accept setbacks with such dignity.
The second movie is Dawn of the Dead, the 2004 remake, starring Sarah Polly (of "Road to Avonlea" fame). I have to admit, I am rather fond of the ocasional zombie flick, and this one is as good as any I've seen. There are no real scares, but there is some suspense, and I found myself actually liking some of the characters enough to start talking to them ("Don't turn around, somethings gonna bite you" "she's becoming a zombie guys...look look look look look!" "Oh don't you dare die, I like you too much" - actual things I said, out loud, to the movie). There were moments of humour without falling into slapstick, and there wasn't a heavy-handed message thrown awkwardly into the mix. All in all, a movie that is not completely without merit. Plus there's lots of gore and gunshots. I guess that's the guy in me coming out to play.

Dangit, rambled again.

What does the word beautiful really mean? Is it just how someone looks, or is it something more? Sadly, I think that the word has lost a great deal of its power. I ask this question because, more and more, I feel that the word beautiful has become a straight synonym for pretty, and that there is no real word, or desire to have one, that truly denotes all that a person is, rather than just how he/she looks on the outside.
All that I am about to say is very much from the male point of view. I don't know where the average woman would stand on what I am going to say, but it would not surprise me to find that it is similar in many ways. However, since I am male and am attacking this from a male point of view, I will inevetiably be using 'she', since the English language doesn't really have a neuter pronoun.
There are many different angles that I could attack this issue from, and the difficulty that I am having is finding one that I want to use. I suppose I will start with why this has come to bother me, and why I would think about it at all. It happens quite regularly that guys I am around will point out a woman to me and comment that she looks beautiful. Usually I am disinclined to argue with their sentiment, namely that the particular woman they are referring to is physically attractive. There's nothing wrong with that, as far as I'm concerned. Some people are more phsically attractive than others. A few problems arise out of this, however. The standards of physical beauty are so varied that what one person views as beautiful, another person will only view as average. I've always been inclined towards redheads, but my brother has always liked redheads. Ergo, I will find redheads more attractive than the blondes he favours. Already we can see the word beautiful being diluted, losing its meaning because there is no real standard. Secondly, after describing a woman as beautiful, the same person will go outside and describe the new Ford Mustang as beautiful. That shows that the word simply refers to looks, as opposed to anything more substantial. Thirdly, once a woman is rated beautiful, then her other faults become completely irrelevant. A "beautiful" woman is granted way more leverage than is an "ugly" woman. Attractive women can be complete b****** and get away with it simply because they have large breasts (which, sadly, is often a major factor for many guys on what counts as beautiful). As a beginning, this isn't too strong an argument. There is nothing wrong with a word to describe outward appearances, and I agree. However, there are already a plethora of words for that very purpose, given the current craze with physicality in modern North American society: Gorgeous, pretty, attractive, and sexy are four obvious ones, just off the top of my head. However, complete inner and outer beauty is a concept that seems to be losing words and the worst part is, the majority of people don't seem to notice or care.
And that brings me to my next thought. This does not have much to do with a specific word. In fact, in looking up the origins of the word beauty, I found that it comes from and old French word meaning 'pretty', which seems to contradict what I've written thus far. I am not arguing the actual word. What I am arguing for is the concept. Beauty, I think, should be more than looks, much more. The old saying about beauty being only skin deep is the exact opposite of what I am considering here. Beauty is everything. Looks can be included in that, but they are among the last things considered for true beauty. What should matter is who the person really is, not what they look like. Unfortunately, the world in general often seems to put very little stock in this idea. The message that is constantly thrust at people is that looking a certain way is the only way to be happy. This message seems to be driven towards women, but it affects men as well. If all men see is thin, large-chested women, and are told that this is what is truly desirable, then they too will start to believe it and will then pressure those around them to fit into that ideal, thus perpetuating an already unfortunate circumstance. And then we are all told that this is what beauty really is.
The funny thing is, it would be hard to find people who would actually claim that this is what really matters to them. If you asked a person what qualified a person to be considered beautiful (as I'm using the word - totally beautiful), they would likely give off lists of character traits (humour, smart, etc) rather than just big breasts and small waists. Sadly, I personally find it hard to believe that people actually think that. So I didn't ask, I just listened and have felt myself very enlightened. I have attended bible college for the past six years (even when I wasn't actually attending school, I was still involved in one way or another), and have come away constantly disappointed by what I heard and watched. It always amazed me how shallow many of these people were, and how they tried to hide it behind a mask of spirituality. Women were ogled as they walked down the hall, comments were made between guys and the such. One tradition always bothered me, and I hesitate to bring it up now when I never have before. I am never one to hide behind the anonymity of the internet by making comments here that I would never say in person, or defend (By the way, if you ever have a problem with anything I say, call me on it. Email me if you have my address, or leave a comment or something. I will try to clarify, defend, apologise, or otherwise deal with it. Don't let me get away with anonymous pig-headedness). This tradition was to take the student directory that was given out at our school and rate the women in it. Everyone was to choose the three best looking women and the woman who got the most votes was the best looking woman on campus. I never felt comfortable with that, so I didn't participate (I may have once, my freshmen year, but I can't remember if I did or not, and even then I was uncomfortable with it, I know that for sure), but I also never spoke out against it. Most of the guys would defend the practice, saying that there was nothing wrong with doing it, but I would disagree. While there is nothing wrong with noticing that a woman is attractive, when you start rating them, you are objectifying them, turning them into nothing more than their outer layer. And it isn't even just an isolated case that bothers me, it's the constant repetition of the message that reinforces the idea.
Now that I've described what beauty isn't, maybe you're wondering what I think beauty is. Beauty is a concept that encompasses more than just one aspect of a person. In order for me to describe a woman as beautiful, I have to know her first. I have to see how she interacts with other people, what she says. She has to have a personality that isn't mean or spiteful. It is hard to put into words exactly what beautiful is to me because it looks different in every person that I encounter it in. A person cannot look beautiful. A person has to BE beautiful. Everything about them has to point in one direction, a sort of harmony of mind, body, spirit, and soul.
Wow, that's an awfully lofty standard that I seem to have set. Or is it? I don't expect a person to be perfect. Everyone has faults and makes mistakes. Everyone has parts of their lives, their innermost beings, that need to be worked on in one way or another. However, beautiful people deal with them, those who merely look good let the problems take control. A position of power versus a position of weakness.
To wrap this up, I'll say this. This is not so much an argument about a word, or even a concept. This is a call for people to start thinking about this concept in a manner that is not quite so blasé as has been done in the past. Make a conscious effort to focus on something more substansive than looks. Take beauty back from the shallow and vain.

The Importance of a Good Breakfast

1. Morning Should Start in Mid-Afternoon

The knife flew through the air, but James didn�t panic. Cool as a cucumber, he reached up and snatched it out of the air the second before it plunged into the chest of the beautiful woman next to him. "Give up, Despairo," James called out. "You can't beat me. I'm just that much better than you, and way better looking."
Despairo screamed in frustration. "You impudent little punk," he shouted. "You dare mock the great Despairo? I'll make you pay for your arrogance." He rushed forward, only to be met by a rock solid fist. Again and again he used his face to stop the fist until he fell to the ground in a heap.
A quick kick to the ribs was enough to satisfy James that the villain was down for the count. He turned to the woman beside him and smiled broadly. "Your cat is safe now, ma'am," he said gallantly.
"Oh Buttons!" The woman ran over and picked up the cat, stroking it affectionately. "How can I ever repay you James?" She walked closer, pursing her lips for a passionate kiss.
James leaned forward, but jerked back when the cat started beeping loudly. He stared at the cat, which smiled up innocently at him. Cautiously, he reached out his hand and tapped the cat on the head, but it kept beeping.
Suddenly the woman reached forward and started shaking him. "C'mon bud. Let's go." This was highly unorthodox. "Up and at 'em," she said, shaking him harder.
With a start, James sat up in bed, nearly smashing into his mom, who jerked back in surprise. "Well, you sure don't do anything slowly, do you?"
Fifteen minutes later, he sat at the table, munching on some Cheerios. He wasn't sure who had invented morning, but whoever it was had been blatantly wrong. He oughta be dragged out into the street and flogged. At least he still had his Cheerios, his daily morning ritual, the tiny O's swimming floating delicately in a sea of milk would lift his spirits. But they seemed drier that usual today for some reason. He glanced down at his bowl just as his little sister enthusiastically dug a spoon into her grapefruit. A stream of juice hit James in the eye, blinding him. "Janie!" he shouted, leaping at where he thought she was. He was wrong, and with a crash he knocked everything off of the table, sliding off himself and landing rather inelegantly on a box of cereal. He laid on the ground for a minute, rubbing his eye and blinking rapidly, trying to get his sight back.
Finally he sat up, looking at the carnage he had unleashed around him. Sugar was spilled all over the floor, Janie's grapefruit was across the kitchen, still wobbling around slowly, and his precious Cheerios were scattered everywhere. Janie was sitting in her chair, or at least trying to. She was finding it hard to remain in said chair while she was laughing. Finally she gave up and dropped to the floor, rolling around while she clutched her sides, gasping for breath.
"It's not funny Janie," James said sulkily. "I spilled all of my Cheerios. You know what happens when I don't eat them in the morning. Strange things. Strange, irritating things. Now what am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you try eating them off of the floor?" she asked sweetly, between gasps for air.
He stuck out his tongue at her, but she wasn't paying attention. A quick glance at the clock showed that he didn'�t have time to finish eating and clean everything up before he had to leave for school, so he did what any self-respecting teenager would do - he sat down at his chair and started eating what cereal remained in his bowl. It still didn't taste right, though.
Just then, his mom came into the room. "What happened. I thought I heard..." she trailed off as she noticed the mess in the room. "What's going on here?"
James gave her his most innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiled broadly and put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
His mother looked at him through narrowed eyes, then glanced at a newspaper at the other end of the table. "Harold, what happened?"
The newspaper lowered itself to reveal a bespectacled man wearing a blue shirt with a striped tie. He glanced around the room and shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, Carrie" was all he said. The paper raised itself once more, and he was gone.
"Okay, last chance." She levelled her best mom gaze on both of her children. James squirmed in his seat, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he looked at his sister, and found some satisfaction that she was also uncomfortable. "Which one of you is responsible for this mess?"
James sighed quietly. I guess there's nothing left to do, he said inwardly. Without looking at his mom, he raised his hand, and pointed directly at his sister. He looked up, only to see a finger pointed straight back at him. Slowly, they both looked at their mother, who was standing with her arms crossed, and looking very cross.
"Since you both appear to be guilty, you both have to clean it up."
"But mom..." they both started, but she cut them off.
"No buts, no ifs, no maybes, no 'aw geez', no nothing. Clean this up and go to school. Even if you aren't finished eating. You'll be fine until lunch."
A few minutes later, the kitchen was back to its normal state of disarray. Janie grabbed her lunch and went to the door just as her bus pulled up to whisk her away to the eighth grade. Just before she left the house, she looked back at James. "One question. Did you not realise that we were completely out of milk? You were eating dry Cheerios."
"That explains a lot," James muttered to himself. He sighed and grabbed his lunch, stuffing it in his backpack. This was going to be a gem of a day, he could tell. At least it was a nice day out, and he was meeting Mel at the corner by her house to walk to school. That was always fun. With a shouted "Bye Mom!" he ran out the door and down to the sidewalk. As much as he hated mornings, it was kind of nice to walk to school on a day like this. The neighbourhood was relatively quiet, with proud, stately elms lining the street, the leaves emerging into a full, healthy green. Pink flamingos were scattered around the neighbour's lawn, proudly proclaiming Mrs. Horn'er's fortieth birthday. Of course, the Horn'ers lived across the street, and James was pretty sure that her birthday wasn't until August. And she was forty-five or forty-six.
The sun showed itself through some leaves, casting interesting beams of light onto the sidewalk. James tried to get by them without letting them touch him, like they were some kind of super powered laser being shot from a satellite, trying to kill him. He dodged this way and that, leaping around like some sort of super agent from the movies. At one point, he was facing the lawn with the flamingos, and he paused. Had they all been facing in the same direction before? It seemed like they were all looking at him. A shrug. Probably just his imagination.
It was weird enough, though, that he stopped his game. The mood wasn't quite right for that sort of game anyway. This was a contemplative sort of morning. A few birds chirped in the trees, singing their songs as they flitted around the leaves. Houses passed by on either side, their manicured lawns looking fresh and proud. The Christmas lights on Ms. Card's house shone dimly in the morning light. Not only had she never taken them down, they were still plugged in, and lent an interesting look to the neighbourhood at night, with the softly glowing red and green lights, and the Santa on lawn smiling and waving. Three months, and it still was going. James wondered if she was even home, or if she had left on an extended vacation.
A scurrying sound behind James interrupted his thoughts. He waited a second and then whipped around, but there was nothing there. "I know you're there," he called out softly, but nothing stirred, except for a lone squirrel, peeking out from behind the waving Santa. But that didn't fool James. He knew the squirrels were following him. They had been for some time now, but he wasn't quite sure why. The squirrel looked at him innocently before slowly sinking behind the Santa and disappearing without a trace. It was exactly this sort of thing that happened when he didn't get his Cheerios.
His journey continued past a few more houses. One house had a garden starting to bloom in front of the house. Another had a few St. Patrick's day decorations up - green shamrocks, leprechauns, rainbows with pots of gold. A cow was grazing contentedly on Mr. Von Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger's lawn. Oh man, he's gonna be ticked, thought James to himself. He doesn't even walk on his lawn himself, let alone having a cow walk all over it. The cow watched him as he passed, its dull brown eyes following his movements.
He passed a few more houses on either side, nearing the corner where he was to meet Mel. She was already waiting, and as she turned, he smiled and waved. He went to call out, but his greeting died on his lips as something occurred to him. A cow? James stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around, but there was nothing to see.
Mel came up behind him. "What is it?" she asked, looking at him funny.
"There was a cow on Mr. Von Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger's lawn."
Mel laughed. "You didn't get your Cheerios this morning, did you." It wasn't really a question, more of a statement of fact. She knew him pretty well.
James looked offended. "It's important to start your day off right, with a proper breakfast. Cheerios is a part of this complete breakfast."
"You're so weird," she said, but she was still laughing lightly as she did.
A quick glance at Mr. Von Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger's lawn showed that there was nothing there, so with a shrug James turned around and headed towards school.
The cow looked around the corner of the house, watching the two teens walk away. Everything was going well so far.

Are the cows evil? Will James ever catch the squirrels? How do ducks come into play? Are the flamingos more than they seem? Isn't Von Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger a weird name? Especially for an Asian? Which he isn't, but it wouldn't it be odd if he was? Is he a secret Asian? All of these questions and more will be answered, or completely ignored, in the next instalment of:
The Importance of a Good Breakfast.
Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger time, same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger place!**

** [Editor's note: Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovich time is every Monday, hopefully, and same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovich place is right here]

Liststssttsts

Common items, items that are staples of the diets of most people, that I do not enjoy in the slightest:

Peanut Butter
Mustard
Coke (the cola, not the company)
Pepsi (the cola, not the company)
Diet Coke
Diet Pepsi
um...cola in general
Raisins
Scrambled Eggs
Oranges
Orange Juice
Relish
Cucumbers
French Toast
Peanut Butter
Apples (I don't hate these all the time, just sometimes)
Coffee
Maple Syrup
Peanut Butter
Mustard
McDonald's

Now an explanatory note about some items.
Apples: Growing up, apples and oranges were almost the only fruit that we ever had. I simply grew tired of apples and didn't eat them for a long time. Now I don't mind eating apples, but it's not something I go out of my way to do.

Oranges/Orange Juice: Just don't like 'em. No reason. Just don't. Tangerine's, or "Christmas Oranges" are the exception.

Mustard: Same thing. Tastes terrible, don't want it.

Coffee: I refuse to drink it any way except for black, and I dislike the taste so much that I just don't drink it. The last coffee I had was in December of 2003, it was two cups and each cup had at least two heaping spoonfuls of Hot Chocolate mix in it. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. It was also barely coffee. On the other hand, it doesn't bother me when other people drink it.

Coke: (also Pepsi, and their corresponding Diet forms) I simply don't like colas. Never really have. Probably didn't drink enough of it as a kid, so I never developed a taste for it.

French Toast: If I wanted soggy bread, I'd dip my toast in water each morning. Or noon. Or whenever I manage to drag myself out of bed.

Maple Syrup: almost misleading. I don't really like the generic, fake maple syrup, either the homemade kind (sorry mom) or the store bought kind. Real maple syrup from real maple trees made in real Quebec, that stuff is pretty good (at least the few times I've had it). That being said, I will eat the fake stuff from time to time, especially in restaurants. Don't particularly enjoy it, but I don't really hate it either.

McDonalds: I don't eat much fast food (about four or five times in the past year), but when I do, it's usually Burger King or Wendy's. It is never, ever McDonalds. Part of that is because of my natural aversion to the stereotypically popular items of pop culture (I never watched Friends or Seinfeld either). Part of it is because I really don't think that they have very good food, even for fast food stores. That's really just my opinion, but I'm not going to change it any time soon. And their fries are no better than most places.

Scrambled Eggs: If I eat them, it's usually in a restaurant. They can be okay, but I never really liked them growing up at home, and that still drives me today. I'm fine with that.

Peanut Butter: I probably eat more peanut butter than I eat any of the other items combined. Yet it is the one that I can stand the least. Plain peanut butter is something that I find completely disgusting. There are times, when I am way too tired, or have eaten way to much, that just the smell of it can make me nauseous. And peanut butter breath is like kryptonite to me. On the other hand, put it in a candy/desert bar, and I'll kill to get it. Or at least wound. The peanut butter bars with the marshmallows are wonderful. And so are Reese Peanut Butter Cups (but only if the chocolate is on the outside. The backwards ones have too much PB). I guess anything is palatable with enough sugar.

So there you have it, more from the land of weird that is my life. Let this be a message to all of you. If you offer me any of the above items and I refuse, I am not merely being polite. I simply don't like these items. If I'm being polite, I will accept the above items and eat them with a smile on my face, and a knot in my stomach. Except the McDonald's and the peanut butter. I just can't do it.

Angels must be very naggy. They're always HARPing on things. (Sigh) Sorry about that.

I watched a movie today that I enjoyed, but I did it in a slightly different manner than I normally do. I came home and my brother started playing a movie that he had been watching earlier, so I sat down and watched the rest with him. Normally I don't watch movies unless I see the beginning (or know the beginning extremely well), but I decided that I wanted to this time. The movie, for the record, was The Big Hit, starring Mark Wahlberg. This is a movie that I enjoy, which is why I decided to continue watching it. After it was all over, I decided to watch the beginning, and I found it to be an interesting experience because I got to see the set ups for the payoffs that would come later. An important part of most movies/stories is foreshadowing. Watching the movie this way suddenly made the foreshadowing more obvious. It is almost a technical exercise, watching the end and then seeing how the beginning drives towards that end, and how to make it natural. This probably doesn't excite many other people, but I found it to be an interesting exercise, one that I will probably try again here and there. Seeing who the character is, and then watching to see how the character became that way, or how the audience was shown that the character was that way, is something that I find appealing.
As for the movie itself, it's a bit crude in places, but I really do find it to be an amusing tale. Mark Wahlberg is good at playing a genuinely nice guy who happens to be a contract killer. The scenes where he is falling in love with the woman were a bit creepy at first because both Jeff and I thought the girl was in high school, but it turns out she was in college, so that's not so creepy. And Mark Wahlberg was still pretty young at the time, so it's not bad at all. But I tell you, it was still kinda creepy.
Before I wrote this, I was writing a poem with the intention of posting it. And then it got to be a kind of creepy poem. I didn't finish it because I want to let it percolate a bit longer, to see where it's going, and to see if it is fit for public consumption.
That's it, that's all I got right now.

Finally!

After months of procrastination, I am finally finished. I went and wrote my final exam for my online course today, meaning that I am done my schooling for the forseeable future. In order to pass the course, I need to pass the exam. To pass the exam, I need 50%. A fifty on the exam would give me around a 67% in the class. I'm pretty sure that I'll get at least 70% on the exam, so I'm not worried about this at all.
And what better way to show that I have offically finished school than to go back to bed.
G'night y'all.

Fwoosh

On Friday night, Jeff and I had invited Rob and Char over for supper. Because Jeff was working late, it was my job to cook, which was fun. So I puttered around the kitchen, feeling very domestic, and when it was the proper time, I went outside and lit the barbecue. The BBQ we have here is a bit goofy, because when you light it, it's a big, brief fireball and then it's working perfectly. It's kind of neat. So the grill is going, and I go out a bit later with some potatoes wrapped in foil, for making baked potatoes obviously. Later I put the chicken on (a lemon garlic marinated chicken, pretty good, though I think I cooked the chicken a bit too long, seemed just on the dry side, but only just) and cook everything up. We also had pie and Taco Salad (Mandy's recipe, made by Charlotte) and Toffee Tarts (not their real name, but also from a recipe by Mandy, but I made them) and it was great fun. Somewhere in all of that I put my hand to my head, either to scratch an itch, or to smooth my hair. When I did that, I made a discovery. Ever since I lit the BBQ, I had been smelling somthing that smelled vaguely like a burning match. I figured that the aroma from the BBQ had just wafted downstairs with me. Turns out I had actually singed the hair on my head, and I had been smelling burnt hair. My eyelashes were also singed, but my eyebrows were fine. I guess the fireball had been bigger than I thought. Guess that's one way to get a trim.

Oyoyoyoyoyoyoy

"Pardon my C-cup". A line that is sure to become one of the best remembered movie lines off all time, along with "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn", and "I'm a mog, half dog, half man. I'm my own best friend". The movie Stealth certainly had plenty of action. Every two minutes I was getting up to hurl over the seat in front of me, a condition brought on by the waves of cliches and pointless scenes that assaulted me. I mean...it was...an...okay movie.... Okay, that's a lie.
Really, it wasn't a completely terrible movie. But it was by no means a good movie either. There was nothing particularly surprising about it, no twist ending that no one saw coming. The cliches came hot and heavy, the characters were almost developed and the special effects, while good, were nothing that hasn't been seen a million times before. The thing that elevates this movie slightly above any other of a million other mindless action flicks is that the acting was actually pretty good. Sadly, the material that they were acting out was not so good, but with what they had they managed to do the best they could. It's like shovelling a pile of poop - you may be the quickest, strongest, and best poop slinger out there, but at the end of the day it's all still crap.
There were so many problems with this movie that it became an unintentional comedy. For example, in one scene the intrepid hero fires a missile (that's one missile) into a clump of trees at the edge of a forest. There is a huge explosion. I'm okay with that. But what about the second explosion, and the third explosion, creating a fireball a half a klick long. I'm pretty sure that the missile explodes once and that's it (I'll admit I may be wrong I suppose), and there was nothing else there to create explosions. Unless those were gasoline trees, where we get fuel from the sap. Another explosion, um, scene features our intrepid hero firing a missile into a hangar at an airfield. This time the many explosions is more believable, given the materials present in the hangar, and I think he fired more than one this time. They show people outside of the hangar being flung backwards by the huge explosion. Somehow, though, two guys manage to not be flung back, even though their buddy standing right beside them is flung back dozens of yards.
And let's speak of our intrepid hero. It's at least halfway through the movie before there is any indication that he is the focus of the movie. Up to that point, he's actually a sleezeball and that's about it. And he reveals to another character that he is in love with Jessica Biel (the lone woman pilot). And it shows in how he looked at her while going off to sleep with another woman, an occurance that is apparently quite common. Now that's love. As my brother said, "it's like they opened up the book of movie cliches and pulled out thirty of them for the movie" (or something like that). The characters were not developed at all. They certainly tried character development over the first half of the movie, but it just didn't work at all. By the time the actual action started in earnest, I didn't care about these characters any more than I had when I walked in. I was rooting for Jamie Foxx's character because he was the actor I knew best. That was it.
It was supposed to be an action packed drama. It turned into a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 comedy. I felt sorry for Jeff because he was sitting between me and Peter, and we kept him busy swivelling his head back and forth to listen to our comments that were much more entertaining than the movie itself.
Really, we should have been expecting that though. Considering our evening started with us grabbing tickets to see the 7:50 showing of Four Brothers, only to find at 7:35 that we had purchased tickets for a movie not opening for two days, seeing a bad movie was not surprising. The planes looked cool though. And I found it amazing how much stuff they could get away with simply by placing this movie in "the near future" (actual subtitle at the beginning of the movie). For instance, in "the near future" we will have satalites that can read fingerprints left on objects and identify a person. That can zoom down, and then see sideways, zooming in horizontally towards their subject. Planes that can fly at Mach 4 and go around the world without ever needing to refuel or worry about it (except when it becomes a plot device). This movie astounded me. Heck, I usually am amused by bad movies (see: Anacondas), but this one was too much.

Crap

From the bad news department we have this little tidbit. Turns out a former pastor of mine has been arrested for trying to solicite sex from a twelve year old on the internet (the twelve year old was actually a male adult police officer posing as a twelve year old in a sting type of operation). Needless to say this was quite a shock. But it already has me thinking, wondering how someone could fall into such a pit, and then I realised that it was entirely too easy. And that scares me, because there have been times in my life when I have been headed in the wrong direction, and it is so much easier to just carry on than to turn around. What would happen if I made some slightly different choices in my life, if I allowed the lure of anonymity on the internet to embolden actions that I would otherwise shrink from. Anyone who thinks that it is impossible for them to fall into such traps is fooling themselves. Because what I said about him falling into a pit was wrong. I can guarantee that it was a long journey composed entirely of small steps, most of them completely unnoticeable at the time but obvious in retrospect. And that's how it always goes - one little step, a step that 'won't make a difference' merely greases the step until you are sliding out of control. I've never been one who is completely in control in the first place. I tend to sit back and let things happen, which isn't always bad, but has very deadly consequences if I'm not careful. You can see why it worries me a little. Because I know this pastor, I know he's not a bad guy. I just feel sorry for his wife and child.
The other reason that I don't like this is because it is entirely possible that this will lead to anti-church/anti-Christian sentiments among people, which is completely unfair. I'm always conscious that claiming to be a Christian leads to higher expectations of morality and ethics, and rightly so I think. However, lost in that scrutiny is the fact that every single Christian on the face of the planet (and Muslim, and Catholic, and Buddhist, and Jew, etc) is human, and as such is completely fallible. Maybe it's just that Christians have farther to fall than those who claim no particular religious affiliation.
All in all, this sucks.

The first comment I received on this post made a good point - at this point the facts have not all been found and reported on. It is possible that he is innocent and there is some sort of mix up (someone else was using his computer or something like that). Innocent until proven guilty. That doesn't change the sentiments of my post though.

See, I can be quick

Over the past few weeks I've been browsing a webpage that is entirely devoted to finding the truth behind urban legends and hoaxes. I am finding it very interesting seeing the types of things that people are willing to believe. For anyone interested, the website is www.snopes.com. Particularly useful is the section called Inboxer Rebellion, which basically debunks (or confirms/explains) many of the common emails that are constantly forwarded amongst the masses. If you hate these emails, then that's a good place to check whenever you get one, just to see if someone's inadverdantly (or perhaps very verdantly) taking you to the cleaners.

I guess the Cutlass is faster

Frankly, I don't know what it is about car races that make them so much darn fun. All the cars do is drive around in a circle, occasionally smacking into each other. It's noisy, dirty and smelly. It makes my bum hurt to sit on those hard benches for hours on end. And yet, I am extremely happy.
In case you hadn't guessed, I recently watched some racing. Today, in fact, I spent about four or five hours at the track, and it was awesome!! There are many different things that appealed to me. They had the super sprint class (or something like that) which were just fast cars with a huge wing on the top and a smaller wing on the front to keep them from flipping over. They were small and bullet shaped, and fast. They each had around 700 horsepower (most cars tend to have 200 or less by comparison), and they were loud. Just the thought of how much power they each had was sweet. When they drove by, I could feel the power being released. Also, they went around the corners (it was an oval track) sideways, like rally cars, only much faster. When they drove by going less than full power, it was almost as though they were living creatures being held back. They may not have been using it, but there was power just barely below the surface, just seething until it was released.
Then there were, well, all of the other cars. None of them quite had the same power, but they were also even more fun. These were all cars (and some trucks) that were the kind you would see driving around the street. They were slightly more beat up, but still the same. A Honda Prelude, a Chevy Cavalier and other such cars. These cars were more prone to crashing, and bumping each other "accidentally", and frankly it just looked like fun. It was neat because some of the cars were in the claimer series, as it was called. That meant that for $420, you could buy one of the cars and come back the next week and race it. That is pretty sweet.
I really don't know what the fascination is racing cars like that. My own family isn't a big car family, but Peter's family is much more so, at least he and his father are (his sisters and mom not as much, though they still appreciate cars more than most). Having spent as much time around them as I have, that really has helped to shape my views of vehicles. There's just something about the way a car can feel alive, and when I see the racing, I feel that better than at other times. And frankly, watching cars go fast and crash into each other is just fun (hence the reason for summer movies).
Who knows, maybe this shows my redneck side. If that's the case, then just scatter car parts on my lawn and call me Billy Bob. Or possibly Peter.
Vrrooooommmm, screeeech!
Bye

Most Orange Kool-aid used in one scene.

First things first: I have seen two movies recently. The first was The Aviator. This movie shows that Leonardo DiCaprio is not Jack from Titanic. He is actually capable of acting, and doing a darn good job of it too. It is long, and I could not say how accurate it really is, but all in all, I'd say it's worth checking out.
The second was War of the Worlds. I have never read the book, though it is on my to do list. The movie was all right. There were some points that just didn't seem to make much sense to me, such as the aliens using their sophisticated scope to search a house for people, but they managed to hide behind a mirror and so they were all right. That means the aliens travelled across space, have highly advanced machines, but refuse to use anything more sophisticated than plain sight to search. If they had used heat vision or something like that they would have caught the people right away. That's just one of a million different ways that we could find people, and the aliens are supposed to be more sophisticated. But that is not really the big strength of the movie. Everything everyone did made me feel uncomfortable. It was an interesting look at how people react in a stressful situation. Especially troublesome was the mob scene where everyone started killing each other over a car, one of the only one that was working, and basically destroying the car. The utter panic made me a little uneasy, mostly because it seemed like it was rather accurate as to how people actually would act. All in all, it was a fun movie, worth seeing once.
I had more to say, but I'm not going to say it right now. I'll let things percolate some more.