My little brother...

...who, incidentally, knows all of the lyrics to "MacArthur Park"...had a dream last night that Christopher Walken hit him over the head with a laundry basket (apparently there was some altercation). That beats anything I've got.
Today was also his half birthday. I got him a 20th anniversary Optimus Prime Transformer figure (which is, if I do say so myself, pretty much the coolest ever), and there was much happiness. Really we don't do half birthdays, but I bought it for him a little while ago, and knew I was never going to make it until August.
I didn't.

Still here

That's about all I got right now. Still here.

"How to do what you love"

I found an interesting article on the above topic. Appropriate, considering how many conversations I've had recently on vocation, calling, the future, etc, etc. I'm not sure I agree with all of his suppositions, and I would hardly consider his advice axiomatic, but some good points, nonetheless.

Just finished watching Bergman's The Seventh Seal (that would be the one with the knight playing chess with Death). I liked it. I will have to think about it, but it wasn't nearly so pretentiously artistic as I have been led to believe (either that, or *I* have become pretentious...don't answer).

Also, as it turns out, science has "proven" that our subconscious mind is better at making decisions. I now have scientific validation for something I've often noticed in myself, where time spent "making a decision" is really just accepting the decision I have already made.
I was just talking about something similar last night with Johanna, about the ideas that seem to spring fully formed from the mind, like Athena in armor, that seem (whether regarding a story, or a poem, or theology) to just fit, almost like self-evident truth. I suppose they're all really the work of what Stephen King called "the blue collar guys", that part of your brain that is always grinding away on something while you are doing something else (as opposed to the glamorous "consciously deep and meaningful thoughts" part of the brain).
Probably why some of my best ideas come while washing dishes or standing in the shower.

In what turned out to be a post mostly about theaters of various sorts...

So I decided to just make a scattered list of complex sentences and sentence fragments to cover anything interesting that may have happened in my life since my last post; I will, of course, miss many of the more interesting points, because of my eccentric memory ("eccentric" stems from the Old Norse for "swiss cheese").

I went to see "The Secret Garden" at GVSU with Amber and Caroline on Amber's birthday; the acting was mediocre, but the singing was superb, making the show well worth seeing (though not as good as CU's).

I've committed to directing a scene for Willows this year, but have taken the underhanded step of casting myself as Richard III, thus beginning my path to villainy (the wooing of Lady Anne scene, for those wondering...now all I need is a Lady Anne); would anyone honestly expect me to direct someone else playing my favorite Shakespearean role?

Continuing in the theatre vein, I saw the One Acts at CU this past weekend, which included pieces directed by old chums Michael Coon (a bizzare but wonderful bit of Japanese parable theatre) and Josh Middleton (an incredibly well written bit about three chimps trying to write Hamlet); much joviality and reuniting with old pals, and so forth.

Also went to see West Side Story (I realize this makes me look incredibly imbalanced, but I'm not...well...not on this point, at least) with Katie; it was...pretty good, and free, which is a good combination (and hey, *I* want to be in America, too).

Jane and I justified seeing "Nanny McPhee" by going together; it was well worth it, and as an added bonus afterwards we solved most of the great conundrums of life (except why it is on button up shirt collars that one side tends to curve down, while the other side curves up...does *anyone* have lead on this one?)

I got a Calvin Library Card, which is good, because they have more books than CU, and don't currently have a prize out for my scalp because of late fees...yet.

I finally bought a Bartlett's; 17th edition, because I didn't like the gold leafing on the 18th.

I'm struck by the fact that none of this can be particularly interesting to anyone, but I am so deep in blood, and all that...

Still no car; first car, then apartment.

Sela Ward is gone from House, God be praised.

On Thursday, I get to go to a psychiatrist (as part of the Mill Steel hiring process, to weed out the psychopaths [at least the less than clever ones], and those who do not play well with others); I'm hoping for the whole treatment, with inkblots and my childhood and everything (sadly, there is no couch, I've heard). I may have to resist the urge to go "Will Hunting" on him.

Ok. I'm stopping. I was going to post this, and then start on a more meaningful entry, freed from mundane considerations. But it's a bit late now. So...um...right. Raincheck?

Been Watching: House, natch
Been Reading: Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder
Been Listening to: Tapestry by Carol King
and Tigerlily by Natalie Merchant

Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams...

Just finished watching Equilibrium (instead of writing a detailed post), an excellent sci-fi/action movie superior, in most respects, to the Matrix movies. I highly recommend it, if that is your cup of tea.
I've also started listening to the Decemberists Picaresque, which finally came in the mail. I'm only halfway through the album, but already I think it's one of the strongest I have heard in the past year or so. A sort of symphonic pirate folk, with tales of love and loss at times almost desperately evocative.

It's felt like an odd couple of weeks. You know those times when you were little (or maybe last week) when you would spin around just to get dizzy, and sometimes your eye would catch something and follow it, and for just a moment, with the turn of your head, you could see the world and not just a blur? That's sort of what life has seemed like--a blur of motion punctuated by the occasional clear image.

Last night was spent cutting out and glueing together Cheat Commandos action playsets and vehicles. Rock, rock on. We have the whole set. Feel free to envy.

Went to see Cornerstone's opera this past Saturday with Jane. Splendid evening, all around, complete with tea in one of North America's coziest sunrooms (which is, I suppose, somewhat wasted on Michigan weather).

Last week I went to the library to do some work, fleeing the havoc that is the IT department where I now reside. It was...nice. Just to be there, surrounded by all the books, was somehow refreshing, like I could breathe easier. You can feel the knowledge radiating from the pages. Do I miss the hallowed halls of higher education and scholarship? I must, or else it wouldn't have felt like a homecoming of sorts. Or at least a reminder, that that world exists, and has a piece of me.

But more on that later. There's always more, and there's always later.

ennui...that's the word for it

I confess that I am filled with an almost insurmountable inertia when I think about writing here (or perhaps anywhere, as those who have engaged in the patience-building task of writing are well aware). I promised Carleen that I would do better with my correspondence this year, and promises made to the expecting mother at a baby shower are extra sacred. By at least 42 percent. If not more.
I am back from Florida, by the by, though I am sure no one thought that I was still there, shucking this life of mine with all its modicum of grandeur to live as a beach bum amongst the splendor of the old Jewish ladies in West Palm Beach. Chelle and I had a splendid time, with much rambling and singing and sleeping in and general pleasantness of being. Travel buddies we remain. Scott and Sarah continue to fall into the not insubstantial but hardly indiscriminate category of favorite people in the world.
I think that's really all for now. Later I will regale you with tales of my decisions about grad school, life, and the monastic existence, but at present you are victim to my unfettered caprice. And my caprice is sleepy.

Oh. Hugh Laurie won the Golden Globe for House. This pleases me on some level, though I did not bother to actually watch. Amber said his acceptance speech convinced her that he and I were twins separated at birth. I can live with that comparison.

fin.

Goodbye, cruel....Michigan

Greetings one and all. It has been quite some time since I have updated, and there are, no doubt, many wonderful and magical tales I should share. But that will have to wait. In just a few moments I will be leaving the bleak, grey skies of Michigan for the slightly less bleak, less grey skies of Indiana, en route to the bright, sunny, hurricane-laden air of Florida. Chelle and I are spending New Years with fellow Oxonians Scott and Sarah. Happiness ensues.
See you all on the other side.

Prideful and Prejudicial Thoughts

Jane and I went to go see the new theatrical release of Pride and Prejudice this afternoon (my first time, her second), and though I loathe the idea of structuring a formal review, I thought I would share some of my random thoughts on the matter (the "original" BBC production being one of my favorite films of all time).

Good things of note:

-The film had a good bit of life and energy to it. The world of the film looked "lived-in", with folks living their lives, rather than prancing about on Georgian set pieces. Things got dirty, hair got mussed, and so forth. And the ball scenes were turned to 11.
-They conveyed well the disparity in wealth and status between the Bennets and the upper social circles. Admittedly, this was a bit heavy handed, as the Bennets came off a bit shabbier and more working class than Austen probably intended, but, honestly, subtlety is not the strong suit of the average moviegoer, so I think this was probably a necessary evil.
-It was nice, too, to see girls who looked roughly the ages the characters were supposed to be, acting roughly that age. Granted, the giggling and general goings on was a bit thick at times, but not completely out of line. And they did actually attempt to make Jane prettier than Lizzie.
-Wickham, though his presence is scarce, manages to be as dashing and likable as he *should* be. The BBC's Wickham was, let's face it, well-acted, but average slouching towards homely.
-Beautiful sets.
-Nice cinematography, though a bit claustrophic early on.
-ummmm......Oh. My beloved Netherfield ball scene with Darcy and Lizzy was different, but still one of the highlights.

And now, the BAD things of note:
-BINGLEY. Words fail me. At best I can call Bingley an idiot. And I mean this in the classic mentally infirm, wandering the town drooling and muttering to the pigeons sense of the term. He was more Darcy's ward, lapdog, or incompetant nephew lackey than his friend (although there is one cute scene where he is rehearsing with Darcy what he will say to Jane), and he was neither handsome, gentlemanly, or affable.
-Darcy is, well, not bad, but bland. Here we have not an intense and principled but prideful man who changes for the better because of love, but kind of an awkward, stuffy kind of guy who is sort of misunderstood. I know, I know, I am a Colin Firth fanboy (though Jane called him "stiff" as Darcy), but when he was on screen you knew he was *about something*; give me some tortured brooding or something here. Interestingly, this film hits the attraction between Darcy and Lizzie rather early, but does little to develop him; if we didn't "know" that he ends up with Lizzie, we just wouldn't care.
-The first proposal. Outside in the rain? An almost kiss? Enough said. Maybe not. I also thought their argument, and The Letter which follows, lacked the depth and levels it needed.
-The second proposal too, actually. The bridge seemed to be stolen from Anne of Avonlea, and did we really need a solid minute of Darcy striding through the mist with his shirt open, as the music swells?
-The Wickham scenario, which is supposed to be the conflict of the end of the story, ends almost before it begins. Its import is lost, and here serves as much to marry off Lydia as bring Darcy and Lizzie together.
-Actually, I thought the whole Change (Darcy towards most everything, and Lizzie towards Darcy) was lacking. It seemed undercut by a dozen little things, from plotting to dialogue downward, and almost comes off as more of a misunderstanding or a foregone conclusion than anything else.
-Wasted time (and I am not talking about the multiple shots of the world spinning round and round the *allegedly* gorgeous Kiera Knightley). What Emma Thompson did BRILLIANTLY in Sense and Sensibility was establishing solid characters with little moments, and use of wonderful, witty, Austen-esque (if not actually Austen) dialogue. There seems to be a lot of wasted space for just about all the characters, here. And the dialogue in general was sort of sub-par, and some of it oddly placed.
-Instead of sarcastic Dad and shrewish Mum, we get passive faded Dad and simpleton Mum.
-Lizzie seems a bit less...bemused...in this one. Less kind but quick-witted connoisseur of human folly we have come to expect, and a bit more a stubborn, sharp tongued teenager. Perhaps this subjective, though.

You know, I could probably go on about this for a while, and honestly I keep thinking of more stuff as the evening goes on (barely scratched the surface earlier, Jane), but I will just stop here in the middle, because I have no desire to go through the whole thing a point at a time.
Honestly it wasn't a bad little film, despite what all the above may lead you to believe. But it is, I fear, ancillary. P&P "Lite", or with all the sharp corners worn off.
Two and a half pancakes out of five, maybe? Three? And honestly, it may not be possible to come up with a two hour version that will truly satisfy. (I'd like to see what Emma Thompson would have done with it, though).
Any thoughts?

Differential Diagnosis, People

Today, I am sick. I even stayed home from work. I had actually intended to work from home despite it all, but I slept a large part of the day, and really had neither the inclination nor the motivation to get started on anything. I tried. Honest.
And I sound something like a cross between Johnny Cash and Janis Joplin.
I also realized that I have no "sick traditions"; you know how some people watch Gone with the Wind or read tax law or something every time they are incapacitated? So I decided to start one. There is something so appropriate and comforting lying in bed watching episodes of House when you don't feel well. I even had my cane. But just to reach things so I needn't get up.
Honest.

Happy...um....Between Holidays Day!

Greetings and salutations, one and all.
Just a short entry tonight, because, although it is late and I must reluctantly rise early, I knew that if I did nothing to break the inertia of having not posted in so long, I might *never have written again*. Ever. The problem is, you see, once you let it slip by for a little bit, you feel the need to post something comprehensive, or at least interesting, to justify your absence. And as the events of life stack up, your imaginary tome grows longer, and more complex, until even the ghost of James Joyce appears by your bedside one night shaking his head somberly and saying "Just forget it. It's not worth it."
So, that being said, I may go into some of the interesting things (wait...what were they again...) that have happened in the meantime, but more likely I will simply continue to ramble on randomly as I always have.

I had a spinach salad with mandarin oranges and raisins for dinner tonight; it was actually pretty good, but I am already hungry again. You see, I've decided to try something of an experiment: between now and the end of the year, I am going to try to subsist on only fruits and vegetables. With the occasional fish for protein. And this may not include lunch meetings. Or Christmas. I haven't figured it out yet. Partly I want to see how quickly I can drop the few pounds I have picked up since Oxford, but partly I am just curious to see how I feel.
And, while this idea was not strictly spiritual in its inception, we are physical beings, so it all works together; I think perhaps God will teach me some things through the hunger, and the denial.
We'll see how it works out.

My brother John is officially a part of the United States Army. He finally triumphed over all the red tape and bureaucracy, and was sworn in on Monday. He ships out for boot camp right after the New Year, and, instead of working on helicopters as was planned previously, he will now (a blessing of the delay, I suppose) be working on jet aircraft. I believe that, by many accepted standards, John is now the Coolest Person I Know. On further inspection, being an aircraft mechanic is actually better than being a pilot, because 1)The pilots know you keep them alive, and treat you well and buy you drinks, and 2)There is far less risk of exploding or ramming into things at extreme velocities.
So here's to you, Sarge. *clink*

Speaking of velocity...I have been mulling over Special and General Relativity here and there, recently. I think I almost understand (you know the difference between knowing *that* something works, like a formula or something, and really getting your mind inside of it, when suddenly you really *get* it, and that little light goes off, and the kazoos start playing, and...right), but I still have some snags. Not that I think I've bested Einstein, or anything, but there are some things that simply don't seem to work out. I'm guessing it's just me. Perhaps more on this later.

I tried to catch up on some of my correspondence tonight. Something of a lost cause. Essentially just writing "Thank you for calling, please hold" numerous times. (BTW, Christy: I've misplaced your email address, and your don't allow comments on your blog. What up with that, yo? *Ahem*)

Oh, and I went to the Society of Biblical Literature conference in Philadelphia the other weekend.
And I had Thanksgiving.

Grace be with you all, because I am going to bed.

Brian

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

Although I suppose technically, since it is past midnight, it is the Day After Guy Fawkes Day.
Today was also my friend Melissa's wedding, in which I was an usher (I even got to go to my first wedding rehearsal on Friday). Despite some small issues--such as the unity candle not lighting, and the best man initially handing the minister (Jeremy Grinnel, for those who know him) a Ring Pop instead of the rings--it was a beautiful service. The reception was fun, spending time with some great people I don't get to see often enough.
Afterwards, because the reception was short, the night was young, and I was wearing a suit, Katie, Racie, Angela and I were considering a movie (Isaac couldn't come because his wife Lisa had promised them elsewhere, and she is responsible). By the time we left the chapel, it was raining, so I pulled to the curb and picked up Racie. By the time we got to the theatre just a few minutes away, it was *pouring*; after I dropped Racie at the curb, I had to park waaay in the boondocks, so I was absolutely soaked (in suit and tie and bouttoniere).
We had to wait for the good movies to start, so after watching previews for a while, we went back to Racie's apartment (to drop off THE bouquet that she caught, and to pick up a coat), then to CU to hang out and Katie's apartment (fun was had, and both pictures and class surveys were taken), then drop off Angela (she had to work early), then back the the theatre (the rain had, mercifully, stopped before all these events.
We ended up seeing Elizabethtown, which was very good but almost great, and the sort of movie that makes you think about life, and I may talk about it at some point in the future when I am more coherent.
From there we went to coffee, but coffee turned into dessert and dessert to dinner and then dessert, because we were hungry. Many stories and laughs and much good conversation.
And then I went home.
And here I sit, sleepy and pretty well contented for a day.

And here's two pennies: one for your thoughts, and the one for the old guy.

"Remember, remember the 3rd of November"

I think that perhaps, taken together, all the little thoughts I have been having about my life might add up to something worth mentioning. But I had a twelve hour workday today, I am tired, and I just spent an hour and a half on the phone with Scott, brainstorming about the movie ("The Flautist") we are apparently making when Chelle and I go down to Florida. (I wonder that perhaps our styles and creative visions may not mesh; mine is more "Takeshi Kitano meets Garden State", and his is more "Wes Anderson on Valium and psychedelic mushrooms." We did manage a plot, theme, and a whole mess of characterization, though. Time will tell.)

Today I had my very first flat tire ever, on the way to work. Sans cell phone, no less.

Yesterday I found one of my old journals. Shouldn't I have an advantage on the guy who wrote them? And yet it seems I could learn from him, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.

I have decided to apply to Notre Dame, amongst perhaps some other American grad schools.

And yet, I am less certain about grad school than I have been. Or at least, more willing to be less certain. I don't want to simply be trying to buy time, delaying the unfortunate inevitability of decision. Or going by default, because I see nothing else. ("I guess I will go to grad school." "I suppose I will teach."--my words.) I want to be willing to say "I don't know", and accept the future as a blank canvas that God and I have to go about filling in.
I haven't the foggiest what I might do instead, or what may be out there for me, but I will never see anything staring at my feet. Expanding my options, me. And it may very well be in the end I find myself right back here, and going off to Oxford or Notre Dame, but it will be for the right reasons, and because I chose it. "The end of all our exploring," said Eliot,"will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

I could live with that.

Vienna Teng. Live. In Person.

Just a short entry tonight, but I must write something, because if I am not going to write about seeing Vienna Teng in concert, what *will* I write about?
Many of my friends and most semi-longterm readers of this blog will know that I have been carrying on a love affair with her music for quite some time, and tonight I had the pleasure of seeing her in concert for the first time. Johanna, Katie and I (Chelle, oh Chelle, we missed you so) made the trek out to a little coffee shop in north Lansing where she was performing.
Enchanting. Absolutely. She sings like an angel, plays like a virtuoso, and writes like a Muse (ok...maybe I am exaggerating a little...but not much). For those who have never heard her, for the love of all that is good and beautiful find one of her cds, and listen to it (in that order).
For those who *have* heard her: I think she is even better live. She has a wonderful stage presence, and she had a good rapport with the audience (though perhaps the small venue size helped), taking requests, telling stories (explaining how all her songs are like people, and sometimes they are not on speaking terms), and even had us sing the chorus parts of "Soon Love Soon" (when a cell phone went off at the end of a song, she told the unknown owner that they were "damned lucky it was in the same key"...though other than that the audience was wonderful, except for that somewhat annoying official photographer guy clicking away)(I just noticed that the preceding sentence was very long). She played some of her new, as-yet-unreleased material (of which the best was "Blue Caravan", our trio decided), and it was interesting to see how well she adapted some of the "bigger" songs to just her and the piano. She sang a lovely Chinese folk song acappella as an encore.
As we filed out, I bought a cd from her opening act (David Berkeley, a singer songwriter with hints of both Jim Croce and Damien Rice) and some Official Vienna Teng Stickers (one is for you, Chelle) because all her t-shirts were extra-large (why am I explaining all this? is it interesting? ok). As we walked down the street, we all agreed it was amazing. Amazing squared, even. It could have been amazing cubed, quoth I, if we had actually gotten a chance to meet her. What's that, Katie? She was at one of those tables autographing cd covers?
And so we skipped (figuratively...stay with me here) back to the car to grab my cds. When we got back, the line was almost gone. I even let some other chap go ahead of me.
At this point I feel the need to explain. I had actually thought of what I would say to her if just such an occasion were to arise (because this is how my mind works); it had occurred to me in the middle of the concert. I had just discovered her before I went off to Oxford (Days before, in fact). And during my semester, as I walked the miles and rode the buses with my faithful MP3 player and headphones, she became the soundtrack to my time there. Her songs are almost inextricably linked to those memories, and that part of my life (Chelle? Agreement?).
Now, the problem is that I didn't actually think I would meet her once we left, and when we rushed back inside and I actually did, I was caught off guard. It's a bit like going to talk to someone whose office is on the 11th floor, and suddenly the elevator on the first floor opens, and there they are, not where they are supposed to be, and your well conceived train of thought derails, and the stammering begins. Right.
Anyway, Johanna and Katie insist I did not *sound* semi-literate or developmentally challenged, but it felt that way as I managed an awkward "It's nice to meet you." (which she returned, with a handshake.) It was...odd...trying to connect this person to music and a voice I felt I knew already almost as a friend. Anyway I did manage to get out a sentence or two about the whole Oxford thing, we talked for a few moments and she seemed very nice, and she signed my cd covers before we left. (And let's be honest: I have a slight crush, and I just wanted to come off like Cary Grant...next time, maybe...)

So all in all a wonderful time was had by all, and, goodness, it's late all of a sudden. I never seem to have enough time for these things, though I suppose I was rambling anyway. Though I must be off, I know I have emails and/or comments to send out to people. Watch your mailboxes, and the comment section of previous posts, I suppose.

Grace,
Brian

Well

It's getting to be that time again, that time when Mom asks me several times a day when I am going to update my blog. I suppose that is a reasonable request (for request we know it it), considering I have not posted anything substantive in quite a while, and not posted regularly in...well...ever.
One of the difficulties is that I am, at times, a bit like Lizzy Bennett, and unlikely to say anything unless it will amaze the whole room. It seems there are lots of small things, tales or stories or musings I could write about, and even intend to at the time, but I tuck them away like little fireflies caught in a jar; when I come back to them later, their already meagre light has been extinguished, and there seems little point. Yes, yes, from now on strike while the iron is hot, and carpe diem, while Robert Herrick laughs maniacally, and all that...

Work continues to grind on, more good than bad, and the only real bad coming from things it cannot help, that it *is* work, and that it requires me to get up early, and sit reasonably still all day long, and so on. My boss continues to outsource anything deemed remotely "creative" to me, and indulges and even encourages my peculiar sensibilities. For example:
I made this
as part of a survey that went out to the *entire company*. And there are scads more examples, as I find myself doing web design, hints of marketing, recruiting...even an official cartoon character/comics strip (and I promise if I finally get Norman up and running, you will all [whoever 'you' may represent at this point in time] get to see him).
This past week we were at the Grand Valley career fair, meeting nervous college students clutching their resumes in their sometimes ill-fitting suits, hawking the Mill Steel Open House, and, of course, giving away kitschy merchandise (pens, mints, hats, etc). Things were a rousing success, and I was actually something of an evil mastermind behind it, in charge of all the promotional material (my handouts and fliers were deemed genius by...well...Nick, at least), our setup design, and the aforementioned kitschy freebees. Of the latter, the official Mill Steel socks (I am not making this up), my personal favorites, became the *absolute star of the fair*, in all their offbeat glory. We had other employer coming from across the hall to get some, because word had spread. The Aflac guy traded one of his talking ducks (which we christened "Socks") for two pairs of his very own.
Right. I was just going to summarize there, rather than tell the whole story. Seems I've managed something in between.

Oh, yes: Chelle and I are going down to see Scott and Sarah in Florida over New Years. We had been talking about it for a while, but in a fit of semi-planned impulse, we bought some (relatively cheap) plane tickets this past Friday (and before that, we even get to ride a train again). Old friends, a journey, and my birthplace...sounds like a fine idea.

--------
I feel this need in my life to simplify--everything--even as grad school looms and I continue to wonder what it is I really *want* and why and...But life keeps moving, refusing to stop, and give me a chance to think. But honestly, I don't know if that would make any difference. Here's to getting lost in fields of flowers, and finding your way home. *clink*

Well, more to say, no doubt, but it's getting late, and as I had no real point in starting, or destination, I suppose I can end wherever I want to. Which is right......

...here.

So I am quite certain

...that I have a good deal to tell: my trip to Indiana the weekend before last to see Scott and Chelle; the Tale of the Wallet that Was Lost and then Found; Oxford sorrows and joys; my grand journey back into the magical land of Academia; umm...internship stuff; uh, the Grand Awards on Sunday; then....shoot...(heck, I don't know. With regard to my own life I have the memory of that guy from Memento...you know....what's his name...)...
Right, but the *point* is I have neither the time, nor the energy, nor the inclination to go into any of those things *at this particular time,* ("I have no recollection of those events, Senator") though I have no doubt at some point soon I will. Or I will forget about them completely. I just wanted to let you all know that I am, in fact, alive.
News that is worth talking about at the moment is that my brother is going into the Army. (John, not David..what's the matter with you?). He took all his placement tests today, is sworn in (swears in?) on Friday, and heads out for basic training on the 26th of the month. After that, he will be stationed in Texas to attend helicopter maintenance school.
I would, and I'm sure he would, appreciate prayer in all of this. I know this is what he wants to do, and something he will be both proficient at and happy with. He is already ahead of the game, having scored the highest they've ever had on the placement exams (raise your hand if you are surprised...no? all right, then), and receiving one of the highest signing bonuses they've ever paid. Also of note, he is going *in* as an E5, which is one rank higher than Dad when he *left* the Navy. (but then, Dad kept getting busted down...but that's another story...) But all that aside, it is a very serious commitment, and for at least the next six years of his life.
Also an odd little bit: for those of you who know a certain Dan Kersey, he and John will be at the same base. Interesting, no?

And, on a completely pointless note, I filled out one of those little question srvey things that I found on Katrina's Livejournal. If you care for a momentary diversion, you can find it on my Livejournal account.

These days I keep hearing...

...that people find me cold. Or distant. Difficult to get to know. A closed book. With a lock, in a trunk, buried in the basement. Intimidating. From other quarters, “morally superior” (or that my actions don't line up with my thoughts, and I appear so). Inscrutable. That they don’t know what is going on inside my head. That they don’t feel like they really know me. That our friendship sort of "plateaus", and doesn’t go any deeper. I don’t disclose things about myself. I don’t share my feelings.

I’m not sure what to think. (I know that I am more comfortable listening to someone talk about themselves than I am talking about myself, but it seems to be deeper than that. ) When several of my close friends say these sorts of things, it means *something*. I know that I am not always honest, that I don’t always care enough to try, that much of the time I am “on” around people, that I’m not quite comfortable in my own skin. But sometimes I’m not exactly sure what it all means, or what precisely I am supposed to *do*.
And it’s late, and I'm tired.
And what if Brian at his most open is still inscrutable? (Even to himself?)

Happy Birthday to Me....

***Important Notice that may DRASTICALLY AFFECT Your Life***
...or not so much. Along with my new job and newly clean-shaven face, I also have a new cell phone. It's one of those new fangled contraptions with a color screen and a camera and, I am certain, a cloaking device and a nuclear self destruct system and a thing that makes me sound like Darth Vader and numerous other exceedingly spiffy technological trinkets. The most pressing point at this moment is that it has a new phone number, and within a short time my other number will be deactivated (or, as I like to think of it, "decommissioned"). So, if you regularly call me, or occasionally call me, or would simply like the option of calling me (or if you don't like me, and would like to have my number in your phone book so you can make a point to snub me), email your request here...which would be my email address. Include the name of your favorite film, and...umm...your third favorite color.
***End Important Notice***

The new job is going well. I spent some of the first week as the proverbial trout flopping about on the deck, bugging out its eyes and making rasping, sucking noises with my gills, but I am doing a *bit* better now. I've quickly discovered that the best part of the business world (at least to a poor recent college graduate) is lunch meetings, which I have been engaging in frequently.
To clarify my employment situation: I work for Mill Steel in Grand Rapids (which I have learned is not actually a pun off of "steel mill", nor is Mill the name of the family which founded and still owns it). My official title is "Quality Systems Administrator", which looks excellent on paper, even though I am essentially an intern. The company is switching from QS9000...
***A Basic Primer on Quality Systems***
In the not too distant past, a group of Europeans, most likely Germans, decided that it would be fun to come up with a universal set of documentation and quality standards. This would, ostensibly, make communication between companies easier, and would help make sure every one was doing their jobs properly. Thus the "ISO" standard was born ("ISO" stands for "I'm So Officient", a rather unfortunate misspelling of "efficient"). It has now been determined that this group of probably German Europeans was, in fact, legally intoxicated at the time, meaning that ISO joins rodeo and the pet rock on the list of "Things Invented While Hammered".
The first widely implemented ISO standard was ISO 9000, the number referring either to the number of lagers or the combined pounds of schnitzel consumed by the drafting committee. ISO 9000 migrated to the States, it is now believed, through an infected box of those funny little triangular paper clips delivered to a bank in Delaware. It then spread to offices, manufacturing companies, kindergartens, and even some levels of organized crime ("I'm sorry, Guido, you failed your audit. If your documentation don't reach compliance, you're gonna wake up with an accountants head in your bed.")
And the world was happy...or at least unhappy and extremely well-documented.
Until one day, the heads of the "Big Three" automotive manufactures in America (Ford, GM, and Chrysler...collectively known as "Cerberus") decided that if those prissy Europeans couldn't whip the Nazis, then they sure as heck couldn't write documentation for manly American cars with low gas mileage. And so they pooled their collective resources and worked hard to create a new standard, working so hard, in fact, that they failed to notice that their homes and entire neighborhoods had been purchased by their Japanese competitors, their children sold into slavery, and their wives forced to work the hospitality suite at the Nissan exhibit at national auto shows. The result was "QS9000" or "Quality Systems 9000", making the bold statement "We care so much about precision we won't even make up a catchy experimental name like...um...Porpoise, or...Eskimo."
Thus the reign of QS9000 commenced, and there was peace throughout the land of automotives and automotive sales. Until one day, an envoy came with a message from across the sea: a marriage proposal! And so it was that QS and ISO joined in holy matrimony, and very shortly thereafter (although official word from the palace was that it was *at least* nine months later, if not more) a child was born unto them, a beautiful princess named TS16949, who had the loveliest features of both her parents. In spontaneous, uncoerced celebration, the citizens of both kingdoms brought her gifts, paid homage, and did funny little dances for her amusement. On an unrelated and completely coincidental note, some of those who abstained from the festivities were trampled, boiled, burnt to a crisp, then consumed by carnivorous worms in a series of freak stapler related office accidents. The staplers in question have since been recalled.
***End Basic Primer; rejoining entry, already in progress***
...to TS16949, and I am in charge of the transition for the next year. It can be tedious and dense, and it's not exactly "creative writing" (heck, it's not even journalism), but it won't be so bad once I get the hang of it. At the moment, I am actually working on accreditation for the metal testing lab at one of the plants under a completely different standard ISO 17025, to sort of "get my feet wet."
But I get business cards.

As the title indicates today is my birthday (or rather, yesterday was my birthday, because it is now the 6th as I finish this, but you know I'm not a nit-picker...*cough*cough*). I made pizza for my family (my pizza skills are actually more unique than my pancakes, if that is any indication), and I got the first season of House on DVD (high-def, letterboxed snarkiness with surround sound...booyah!), in addition to some clothes shopping I got to do a few weeks ago.
[I've also decided I *am* going to buy a cane (Buddy, no insult meant), and go as House for Halloween. David is going as Strongbad, thanks to his tone perfect voice work (I kid you not, he's got a knack; he can do the whole cast, save Marzipan).]

I'm sure I had things I wanted to say here, but I seem to have misplaced them somewhere along the way.
I feel...a little old...at twenty three, even though I know I haven't the right. I'm continually reminded of all I don't know, and the little I did know that I somehow forgot. Forgetting it what I fear the most. (Ok, maybe I am being melodramatic; what I really fear the most is probably big hairy bugs or something, but forgetting is way up there). Grad schools stares me down, daring me to blink at its promise of unlimited knowledge and eighty thousands dollars if debt, and I feel my eyes start to twitch. Sometimes I wonder if I should put it off a few more years, "see the world" first (whatever people mean when they say that), because I may never have this much freedom again.
I wrote this at the other day:
"I was sitting at work, listening to Muse. I hadn’t really listened to them since Oxford, and the sound was still part of that place to me (sitting on the bus, walking down the street to the rhythm). On the desktop was a picture of Christ Church. And for a moment, I felt Oxford, that place, the chill and dampness and the weight of the air, the presence of those with me. And I know that it will never be again, even if I go back, because that time, with those people, is finished. And a part of me mourns, an another part wonders if I even want to go back, if it will be too much like an empty house, with all the children moved away."
I hope that doesn't sounds morose. It isn't meant to be (well, maybe it was slightly so at the time). But flowers only bloom for a season, and the children have to move away sometime :)
But besides all that, I covet your prayers for...help...as I sort out the future. "Help" is such a wonderfully all-inclusive word, wisdom and judgment and strength and more, all rolled into one.

Speaking of which (Oxford, I mean, not help), Johanna and I are going to see Chelle this weekend, a visit long delayed. It will be worth it, I'm sure.
There are a lot of people that I miss, who I have been lax in keeping up with. My perpetual struggle. I hope ya'll hear from me soon.

Grace be with you all,
Brian

"This is how the post ends, this is how the post ends, this is how the post ends..."

Waiting for Godot

This is my last shift at switchboard, and perhaps the last time I will ever work at Cornerstone. The summer is coming to an end. Classes are beginning for all those souls either blessed or cursed to still be in the midst of their education. It seems a good time for some reflection.
I had a lot of plans for this summer when I came back from Oxford (or more accurately, a lot of ideas and/or random impulses). I was going to pick up the guitar again, maybe try my hand (or hands, so to speak) at the piano. Oh, and brush up on my ballroom (I keep getting books out of the library...). I organized a shelf of all the books I own that I have not read. I was going to start Latin and Coptic. Finish my internship. Catch up on my theological reading and maybe start my grad school essays (I don't really like anything I have written in the past four years. ahem). Polish my Greek to a blindingly reflective sheen. I was finally going to write, free some of these story ideas that have been marauding through my brain for so long. A story a week was my plan; you all remember that. I was going to keep up my correspondence with my friends, both Oxonian and otherwise (truly a first for me, for I am notoriously bad about this). And beyond all that, real, meaningful time spent with my family, friends, and, most importantly, with God.
And most of those things, of course, didn't happen. Not really. Oh, maybe a weak stab here and there, but for the most part I was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. I do realize that I have a tendency to be too ambitious, maybe a bit unrealistic about my own capabilities, or just the number of hours in the day. But it's also more than that.
There is a line from the film "Fahrenheit 451" that is burned into my memory (I can't remember if it is in the book) where Montag is railing at his wife and her vapid, hollow friends.
"You're not really living," quoth Montag. "You're just killing time."
For the past few months I feel like I have been doing just that: killing time, as though I am just kicking around waiting for something to happen. You know how it is when you are waiting for someone to arrive, and you don't want to get started on anything meaningful, because they could show up any minute? So you might watch some television, check your email, mindlessly surf the internet. Fluff things. The styrofoam packing peanuts of life. I can remember doing that when I was younger, when we would be waiting for mom and dad to come back from grocery shopping (or something like that) so we could go out. I could burn a whole morning doing nothing in particular, thinking they would be back soon anyway (although, really, when I was eleven it's not as though I would have written a symphony or taught myself Swedish had I known).
My life is styrofoam packing peanuts.
And yet I know I'm not waiting for anything in particular. Nothing is going to happen. "This is my life. I've waited twenty-six years for it to start...but this is it," said the protagonist of Garden State whose name I cannot remember.
Indecision...or at least a failure to act (I identify with Hamlet...though I never go about with my doublet unbraced)...has always been one of my character flaws. I wait for things to happen, to force my hand. Reacting instead of acting...perhaps to deny a measure of responsibility. Recently I have had cause to think about how that abdication has hurt people I care about. I have placed burdens on others that were not theirs to carry; for that I am sorry, and can only hope to make amends.

I've been thinking about something Johanna and I talked about, that every decision you make, every relationship you cultivate, either brings you closer to the person you want to be, or pulls you away. I don't suppose it is something we (I) consciously think about, but, well, there it is. Reminds me of Lewis, too, talking about loving your neighbor; it doesn't matter if you feel like you love him, just start acting as though you do, and one day you will discover that you do. Like the fairy tale about the person's face changing to fit the mask he wore. Sometimes all that remains is the will. Just do, even if you don't feel it, even if you feel you are acting, and eventually the rest will catch up. "Become who you are," Luther said.


Right. Yes...well, that's probably enough introspection for the moment (though I do have more...if we don't take these things in bite-size pieces, we are liable to choke. or at the very least chew with our mouths open...I've lost the metaphor, never mind). And no matter how undeserving I may be, God's grace is ever present, and humbling.



As I said, today is my last shift at switchboard. Next week I start a...
***Cue Dramatic Sousa-esque Theme Music***
...Real Job!
The Tale: A few weeks ago Katie (Stanfield. Not Oxford Katie. Or Kate [Oxford Kate. But there is no other Kate]) told me that her dad's company was looking for (essentially) a technical writer to work for the next year. Normally such a temporary position would be difficult to fill, but with my plans for grad school, it was a perfect match. A few phone calls and an "interview" later (I hesistate to call it that, because throughout the process it seemed like he was the one trying to convice *me*! [as though I needed convincing]) and I am the newest employee of Mill Steel, where I will not, in fact, mill any steel. Essentially my job is to take "normal person speech" and translate it into technical standards and jargon formulated by people from Europe, where, I might add, the alcohol consumption is quite high. I am a professional obfuscator. I even get a fancy new cell phone and yet another laptop.
It's one of those blessings that chased me down, or just fell out of the sky and smacked me in the back of the head, like a Holy chunk of space debris. The only negative is that the company insists I be clean shaven. So, I suppose for the next year I must wear my face in the Roman fashion (over the unanimous vote of my friends, who seem to prefer as much of my face be covered as possible). Perhaps I will post pictures, if anyone is filled with a sense of morbid curiosity.

(I am at home now, by the way, and sleep calls my name, so this will grow increasingly succinct, before collapsing altogether)

Johanna'a cousin Sarah was in town this week (the one who came to England with her), so I got to spend some time with the both of them. It was nice; the three of us just seem to be comfortable together, and even though technically I have only met Sarah twice, I feel like I have known her longer (but then, a week in Avalon is an eternity; time flows differently). We had a picnic...

Speaking of Johanna, we are planning to drive *all the way* to Indiana to see Chelle in a few weeks. A visit long, long overdue, and I miss her (Johanna may, too, but I miss her more). You see, SCIO friends, the disadvantage of living in such a large country? Otherwise we would ba having block parties every other week...

And with that, I must away. Morpheus and the land of dreams beckon.

Grace be with you all,
Brian

Latina est gaudium--et utilis!

It has been some weeks now since my last substantive entry, and undoubtedly many meaningful things have happened in my life in the interim.
However...I'm not going to talk about any of them at the moment. Later, perhaps.

I've finally started my Latin work this week. I am hoping to cram all forty chapters of Wheelock's first year grammar into the next few months. I am actually enjoying it immensely...for the moment, at least. I have a bit of a head start, I know, because of my Greek work, and it is fun going back to simple sentences and translation. To whit, a poem I thought was intensely amusing:

Cattullus Bids His Girlfriend Farewell
Puella mea me non amat. Vale, puella! Catullus obdurat; poeta puellam non amat, formam puellae non laudat, puellae rosas non dat, et puellam non basiat! Ira mea est magna! Obduro, mea puella--sed sine te non valeo.

Translation:
My girl does not love me. Goodbye, girl! Catullus is tough; the poet does not love the girl, he does not praise her beauty, he does not give the girl roses, and he does not kiss the girl! My ire is great! I am firm, my girl--but without you I am not strong.

I admit it loses something in the translation...

Poetry Break

Trying to Write Poetry
And suddenly I realized what was wrong.
The whole time, all along, I had left
My shoes on. How can you write poetry with your shoes on?

TO KNOW
Oneself is a task
Never quite as interesting
As all the talk
Would make one believe