Expression

Creation, content creation--to be precise--is big business.

It's also barrels of fun, ages 3 and up. (because 'copy-and-paste' is sooo pre-kindergarten)

I know I've griped about lack of originality before. Maybe it's a pet peeve... or maybe griping is simply therapeutic.

Either way, you owe it to yourself to make something new today. Remember what it was like to play with modeling clay and sandcastles as a kid? No?

Hmmm... it's probably just suppressed memories. Those are easy enough to resurface. Your assignment? Go to the beach, build a sandcastle, then come back with those sensations firmly lodged in your cranium.

Better?

There's something liberating about being able to express yourself. Be it the spoken word, the written word, or miming. Because not everybody has the chops necessary to draw an impressive abstract work of art. (despite what all you 20-year-olds with crayons may think)

Of course, your expression doesn't need to be terribly structured, even if classical art is what floats your boat. Stream of consciousness can work wonderfully. (Heck, most of my blog posts are stream of consciousness, and look what a glorious disorganized mess they've turned out to be.)

The important thing is that you have fun. If limericks are torture (and they are), don't write them. If reciting epic sagas is what tickles your fancy, have at it.

Also, it's not wrong to base your expression on what someone else has already done. Shoot, the novel "Frankenstein" has been adapted for TV and film no fewer than 9 times. But then... okay... maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with that.

What am I saying? Not entirely sure. Just... break out of your box. Stop consuming. Start making. Even if it isn't any good. It'll be good for you.

And... who knows? Maybe you'll actually be good at it. Though, it's fair enough to say that "good" is very subjective. If you try your hand at open mic and the audience breaks into tears, you might be a lousy comedian, but you'd probably make a wonderful tragedian.

Keep trying. It's all about niche.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Beavers

The North American Beaver is the third-largest rodent in the world. It is also a pest. You may not know this, but there is a huge beaver eradication program in Tierra del Fuego, of all places. Why? Well, in 1946 the Argentinian government imported 50 beavers in an attempt to encourage fur trading.

There are--currently--200,000 beavers in the region. So, this attempt either succeeded or failed spectacularly, depending on your point of view.

The moral of the story? Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.

The irony--to me at least--is how "well-meaning" can so easily translate to "disastrous". I mean, think of those poor furry creatures, almost made extinct in North America due to overzealous fur traders. Why, the heart breaks to think of it.

Unfortunately, introducing a non-native species was a really stupid way to extend the olive branch.

Now, I've a much better idea for extending an offer of peace to those semi-aquatic rodents. And... believe it or not, this blog is the solution.

You see, as with most blogs, this one collects statistics about those who visit the site. It can detect browsers, number of visits, and even the last link visited before coming here. And... not even kidding... one of those links is getdentalimplantsinfo.com.

Clearly, part of my audience is elderly beavers who are looking for a set of new choppers. And--as we all know from the social security fiasco--this demographic can be extremely influential if wooed in the proper way.

Okay. So, these Tierra del Fuego beavers have a problem. Government persecution is getting intense, and they're starting to run out of trees. Sure, they could migrate north into the South American mainland, but South American rainforests are known for their hardwood. To a Beaver with chopper problems--this is an untenable solution.

My solution? Welcome them back home to North America with open arms. Evergreens are a nice soft wood, and we're drowning in them. With the lumber industry on ice, we have a serious problem. Homeowners are losing scenic views and property value by the inch. I know--personally--that Mt. Hood disappeared from our view about five years ago and hasn't reappeared.

So, come back ye beavers. We're sorry for the past sins of our fur trading brethren, and wish to extend the fir branch of peace. (because extending a branch of hard olive wood to toothless beavers is a serious faux pas).

Until next time,
- Daniel

Somnolence

Some people have chronic injuries. I--fortunately--am not one of them. Others are in an eternal state of stupor. I--unfortunately--count myself among the ranks thus afflicted.

It's not depression, mind you. Just stupor. Many of you probably are familiar with the feeling. It's like you're plugging along below the waterline, muddling through life. You're not feeling sorry for yourself, but--since the aquatic life is all you know--that's all you end up experiencing.

And then, one day, you break through the surface, see the sun, sky, stars, and realize what all you were missing. Sure, roast sea cucumber is all well and good, but why eat that when you could be chowing down on grilled albatross? (actually, I hear sea birds are generally of a stringy consistency, so maybe that's not such a good analogy)

Granted, there's something to be said for just plugging along. We would probably be nervous wrecks if our lives resembled The Lord of the Rings or a Jane Austin flick. Yeah, that's probably an understatement. Having a gaggle of orcs barge into a board meeting is enough to put a fellow on edge.

It's true. And I, for one, like getting a fair amount of consistency out of life. Consistency is easier to deal with. Getting up to go to work five days a week, making sure my weekends are the antithesis of wild and crazy, keeping friends who are sane. These are things that make me happy.

Unfortunately, they've also caused me to have a sort of stupor or mechanical indifference to life. And--of course--I would never have realized this without change.

Hopefully, my last post didn't come across as blasphemous or cavalier, as that wasn't my intention. But my spiritual life--much as my physical life--has been a bit apathetic over the past few years. Not a falling away from the faith or independence from God, but a rut of status quo. It took meeting an old friend with a vibrant faith to wake me up and start the work of ending my spiritual somnolence.

The job offer that went through yesterday was yet another bombshell to the fuddy-duddiness of life. I've been in college for six years, and had settled into a pattern of mediocrity and indifference. The situation climaxed in October, which caused me to drop out of grad school, which forced me to begin the search for full-time work. Starting January 3rd, the honeymoon with academia ends and the dance with professionalism begins.

In short, it feels like someone put some cheyenne pepper in my hookah. Or... like I've ingested one of Jeeves's concoctions for overcoming hangovers. "... What they consist of, I couldn't tell you. He says some kind of sauce, the yolk of a raw egg and a dash of red pepper, but nothing will convince me that the thing doesn't go deeper than that."

Ahem.

Another image that came to mind is Col. Stamp Proctor from the 1956 film adaption of Around the World in 80 Days. That man knew how to break a fellow's reverie. Seriously, insulting a Brit's love of Whist will work every time. You might even get a pistol duel out of the deal.

All this to say, eat more albatross and less sea cucumber. I think that was the point. Maybe.

Until next time,

- Daniel

Reinvention

The phrase "reinventing the wheel" is blacklisted in every child's mind. From birth. It's a terrible waste of time and efforts. Sure, it can be an interesting exercise in academia, but nowhere else.

And then, I spoke with a friend who convinced me that I'm totally wrong in thinking this.

Sure, reinvention is a pointless exercise with stuff like math and engineering. But what about stuff like philosophy and theology?

You might think you could never achieve the same depth of insight as Thomas Aquinas or Martin Luther, and you might be right, but you would be completely missing the point.

Sometimes, reinventing the wheels that revolve in our minds help us to understand them better.

Worldview is defined by Wikipedia (gasp) as the following:

A comprehensive world view (or worldview) is the fundamental cognitive orientation of an individual or society encompassing the entirety of the individual or society's knowledge and point-of-view, including natural philosophy; fundamental, existential, and normative postulates; or themes, values, emotions, and ethics.

So, the question is, how do you form a worldview without reinventing the wheel? Technically, you can read books of philosophy and theology, then form your worldview by reusing the framework of the authors. Lots of people do this.

Trouble is, if you're using the framework that someone else has built, how can you have a true appreciation for how that framework was built?

Starting from the fundamental tenants of Scripture, it is totally possible to come up with a complete and useful worldview that affects how you interact with the issues in life. You can do this without referencing a solitary theologian or philosopher. Yes, I'm absolutely serious. The John MacArthurs and John Pipers of the world are optional reading material (I mean, shoot, where did they derive their framework from?).

What would happen if each Christian took their Bible, threw out every presupposition not contained therein, and proceeded to build a worldview from "scratch"?

I think you would discover a leaner Christianity, bereft of ideological baggage, denominational differences, and pet doctrines. Sure, it's a lot of work. Nobody said reinventing the wheel was easy. Sure, not everyone is going to reach the same conclusions. We're different and have sin natures that corrupt our understanding of even the simplest tenants of Scripture.

But one thing is certain. Struggling with Scripture is a very fruitful thing. We'd be able to better express our beliefs to those around us.

I mean, wow. Imagine a world free from soundbites. No, that's too hard.

Our dear leaders in office could learn something. We could use more original thinkers in office, willing to put aside agendas and ideology to--quite simply--do right by their constituents.

But that's a topic for another post. Thanks to Paul B. for the idea behind this one. Love you bro.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Palpitations

I hereby pronounce the EKG (electrocardiogram, for you academic types) the most amazing invention known to mankind.

Why?

Because, prior to its invention, it was impossible to easily and accurately plot heart palpitations. This is a monumental development.

The computer age has rendered many arts into sciences. Take door-to-door sales, for example. Once upon a time, your success in selling typewriters was a function of your charming smile and blind luck (and resistance to slamming doors).

Now, we've got metrics, spreadsheets, and trend plots. Fewer polyester suits and more web advertisements. I'm not saying it's better, but on the bright side, telemarketers still exist in case you miss the charm of slamming doors.

So, what does this have to do with EKGs and heart palpitations?

Simple. Delivery of romantic lines is now open to direct inspection by the scientific method. What? You're not an artsy romantic? No fear, we've got you covered. Science geeks rejoice.

The method is simple. Hook your target up to a EKG prior to the moment of import. Then, let 'er rip (make sure you've got an audio recorder rolling). When done, sync the audio to the graph of the heart's electrical activity over time. The faster the heartbeat, the better your lines. Simple.

Granted, you don't get quality data overnight. It'll take a number of test subjects before you can tabulate enough data to draw a respectable bell curve and determine which words and phrases work best.

But hey, all that work is worth it. Go ahead. Hand over that hard-earned data to a software programmer, and before you know it, you'll have a brand-spanking new iPhone app, ready to serve your every chivalrous whim.

The lady of your dreams will be yours. Just have her speak into the microphone, and you will be instantly prompted with the correct response (with an appropriate error threshold, of course).

Oh, sure, there are risks. Every big breakthrough in the last... well... forever... has had its share of risks. She might verbally shun your use of technology, then proceed to put Tom Dickson to shame while shoving your sorry ego into the nearest dumpster.

Don't say I didn't warn you. Not everyone will be gracious and understanding about being inspected like an ant under the Fresnel lens of science. Pick your subjects carefully, or you will find yourself fried like a bug on the sidewalk. Not even kidding.

(Okay, the whole post was a joke, except for the last two paragraphs. Seriously. Be careful. You may not survive the encounter.)

Until next time,
- Daniel

P.S. For the record, I did not steal this from The Manslater (the concepts are easily confused, but trust me, iPhone apps are the future.)

P.P.S. You have my word that I was not under the influence of Star Wars when I came up with the title. The fact that Palpitations can be easily mistook for Palpatine is completely coincidental. (off topic, try saying "Palpatine's Perfectly Primed Palpitations" five times fast.)

Elephants

White Elephant gift exchanges. You love them. You dread them. Each one could go terribly wrong at any moment.

Nobody wants to be stuck with the empty roll of toilet paper.

My beef isn't with the cardboard tubes. It's with the predictability. My knack of predicting the presence of coffee mugs and Starbucks gift cards at any random gift exchange would make a weatherman jealous. We need to up the ante, stop being self-enabled savants, and make gift exchanges fun again.

Here's my idea.

The original intent of the term "White Elephant" referred to objects that you couldn't get rid of and were hideously expensive to maintain.

Clearly, you see the problem with cardboard tubes. We don't maintain cardboard tubes; we throw them away.

We need better gifts. White elephants would fit the bill perfectly, but they're rather rare in Oregon. Dragons have the added ability of fire breathing, but they're extinct (not to mention hard to gift-wrap).

I'll admit I was stumped. But then, it hit me.

Siblings.

They're the perfect gift. Impossible to give away (I mean... what are you gonna do... put someone else's kid up for adoption?), and expensive to maintain (I'm not even going to bother proving this to you).

Don't get the wrong idea. I love my siblings to pieces. Sometimes literally. It's just, when they ride their bikes into my car or put The Chipmunk Song on repeat... in weak moments, I feel the best expression of love would be to put them up for adoption.

And hey, when it's a choice between adoption and instant death, who's going to argue?

So, if you see a suspicious mummy-shaped package at a gift exchange near you, keep this in mind. I've never claimed originality in my thought processes, so the responsibility for what you take home is yours and yours alone.

Just don't end up with the empty roll of toilet paper.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Withdrawals

Kindle withdrawal. I've got it bad.

There's just something about having the world's great (and not so great) literature in the palm of your hand. Any title in Amazon's considerable online library ready for immediate consumption. An all-you-can-eat buffet of free samples. Free internet access--allowing you to peruse Wikipedia at length without worrying about petty details like cell phone data plans.

It's exhilarating.

So, what happens when you take all this literary power away? Your heart-rate increases, your palms get sweaty, you start rummaging for your non-functioning Kindle at the most random times. I swear. It's worse than Facebook.

As you may have guessed, my Kindle is dead. Sometime in the last month the charge cord disappeared, and--as might be expected from someone with the memory of a goldfish--I have no idea where it is. This is... indeed... a disadvantage I hadn't foreseen. Having to charge a device so infrequently that the charger has enough time to get away.

More to the point, the source of my distress is a book, hidden within the memory recesses of my electronic narcotic. The Elusive Pimpernel (1908), written by Baroness Orczy. A tale of adventure, intrigue, and true love. A good book. A reaaaallly good book. The Scarlet Pimpernel had just confronted his arch enemy, Armand Chauvelin, in the heart of hostile France, when... all of a sudden...

I couldn't turn to the next page.

Yep. I'm perpetually stuck at the 66% mark.

Due to the nature of the Kindle, when the power dies, the screen retains whatever was last displayed. It's kind of a cruel irony. You have a device that can store thousands of books and access unlimited stores of information online... but, when the power goes out... you're restricted to a single page. And, if we're going to be honest with ourselves, there's only so much information you can glean from a single page (microfilm or no microfilm).

After reading the same page about 10 times, I felt I was either grasping at the edges of insanity or trying to milk a stone sculpture. In desperation, I set the device down and grabbed my laptop, trying to hunt down a fellow literary addict with a spare cable.

Finally, success. Someone had succumbed to the wiles of the new 4th generation Kindle and had a spare USB cable I could use.

Still, I won't have it in my hot little hands until Friday night. That's.... 24 hours away...

1,440 minutes...

86,400 seconds...

...

I'm not gonna make it.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Shortcomings

I don't know if you've noticed this, but people are generally proud of their accomplishments in life. This--probably--is the reason I have a cork-board in my room with ribbons and a bookshelf with plaques and trophies. If, in the future, I get an opportunity to through-hike the PCT or earn a graduate degree, I'm sure I'll be proud of those accomplishments too.

However, the weirder and more eclectic side of people is that they are also very proud of their shortcomings.

Part of this could be misplaced optimism, or maybe the educational system forgot to instruct its pupils to use the slow-lane if a brighter bulb is trying to pass on the left. In any case, I see this kind of thing all the time. People who are proud of their obnoxiousness, proud of their ignorance, proud of their stinginess.

In my case, it might be a case of not wanting to feel like a failure. As most of you know, I'm going to drop out of the Electrical and Computer Engineering graduate program at Purdue. The thing is, I seem almost to be ridiculously proud of this epic demonstration of academic incompetency. Some of the things I tell myself are...

"Those career academic types don't connect with real-life."

"The educational system is corrupt and work experience is where it's at."

"I didn't want an M.S. degree anyway. Buying a house and getting married should be my priorities."

For some reason, the thought never occurred to me that perhaps... just perhaps... I make a lousy electrical engineer. Maybe... just maybe... I'm not smart enough to learn the requisite math for the degree. Possibly... just possibly... I don't have the self-discipline to pull something like this off.

Wait. People have shortcomings? Horrors.

It seems that entrepreneurs understand what most of us don't. Failure is good. Why? Because it shows us--in a rather brutal and unforgiving way--what works and what doesn't work. If an entrepreneur fails in a business enterprise, they dust themselves off and try again, and--chances are--will do better, or at least not fail in the same way.

Shortcomings lead to failures. Ergo, shortcomings are good.

So, while I'm not exactly tickled over losing so much money in this grad school enterprise, it's probably a good and healthy thing for me to experience.

We homeschoolers can thump our collective chests as much as we want, but I fear that we fall into the same trap as our public school peers. Namely, the assumption that failure is bad and should never be acknowledged as such (even when we do fail). Ergo, we can't learn from our mistakes.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have about six months of soul searching I need to do. Time to reevaluate and try again with a better understanding of shortcomings and failure.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Compromise

Compromise. What a dirty word. It's like saying, "let's take my ideals and your ideals, combine them, boil them down to a sticky paste, and bake them into a solid mass that mollifies both and satisfies neither."

Lovely.

But, I'm here to tell you that compromise can save lives. And seriously--what's more noble than that?

You've all met the adventurer in your life. The man who wants to climb K2 and the woman who wants to swim the English channel. These adventurers are so bold, so cunning, that nothing can dissuade them. You name it, it's been tried. Fatality charts (there are two deaths for each attempt. :nods:). Raw facts (you'll have to ingest 500 pounds of raw meat to reach the summit). Pleading (Widowed at 23? What will the in-laws say?). Et. cetera., et. cetera.

Herein lies the opportunity to save your beloved friend or significant other. Compromise.

Face it, you're going to have to show an effort. Fatality charts, raw facts, and pleading are all well and good, but they're just words. Words without action. If you're going to hold off the Grim Reaper, sometimes you have to meet him half-way.

Case study. You're in the midst of wedding planning, when--out of the blue--your bride- or husband-to-be drops the anvil. "Honey, let's get married on the moon!"

(you laugh, but I warn you, if the commercial space industry continues at its present rate, you'd better be prepared for this one.)

You might play the fatality card (Apollo 13? Challenger? Hellooo???), the raw facts (You'll lose 10% of your bone mass. No, it doesn't matter if we bring whole fat milk along.), or even the pleading card (But. but. HOW can we possibly afford this after buying those rings made out of impossible-to-findium?).

These attempts, while valiant, are doomed to fail. Your honey has clearly already weighed the disadvantages and found them wanting.

Herein lies your only hope. Compromise. Unfortunately, there's a lot of grey area between terra firma and the lunar surface, but, on the other hand, you've got 239,000 miles of bargaining room to work with (more if you time it right).

Now, granted, you're going to have to assume some risk. Some people might consider Low Earth Orbit to be an acceptable compromise, while others might go so far as to shoot for Geosynchronous orbit (or perhaps even a sling-shot trajectory around the far-side of the moon--hey, the lunar module pilots were cool too!).

If you hold particularly strong sway over him or her, you might even be able to talk them down into the Earth's atmosphere. A wedding on the Vomit Comet isn't ideal, but you at least get the illusion of zero gravity--though completing the ceremony in 25 seconds might require a justice with a particularly dextrous tongue.

How close you get to earth really depends on you. No pressure. Wait… space is a vacuum… better make that lots of pressure…

Compromise. It saves lives. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Until next time,

- Daniel

(Credit to Melanie H. for triggering the mental synapse that led to this post.)

Cookies

A glass of water can say a lot about your perspective on life. If it's half-full, you're a bodacious individual who needs a pressure gauge to keep optimism from bubbling out your ears. If it's half-empty, your closest friend is a deep-sea ganglion and your only comfort in life is that one day he'll be big enough to swallow both you and your misery.

But, face it, water is an inherently limited medium for the barometer of personality. I'm here to suggest a much better alternative.

Cookies.

Cookies are extremely heterogeneous. They can be made of sugar, spice, and everything nice--or frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails. The latter may not sound appetizing, but neither were the mud cookies you made as a confectionary-crazy kid.

So, what exactly does a cookie say about your personality? The possibilites are endless, so I'll just focus on a few:

Oatmeal Raisin

You're... well... a kind of boring individual. If you go out to lunch with your friends, you'll be the one at the salad bar. When you get home from work, you'll be the one out for a jog through the neighborhood and early to bed while the rest of your compatriots are at a rock concert. But, hey, there are perks to a boring life--you'll probably be ice skating at age 75 while the rest of your acquaintances are constrained to walkers.

Chocolate Chip

You're a justifier. You try to counterbalance every negative with a positive. If you faceplant on the sidewalk while learning how to ride a unicycle, you switch and learn braille instead while the surgeons are reconstructing your face. If you tend to be a bit of a firebug, you request that your community service hours be spent at the local fire department. On the other hand, at least you're worthy to have the word "exciting" etched on your tombstone.

Snickerdoodle

You're a manipulator. You know that nobody would agree to going on a 100 mile ultramarathon through the wilderness, so you ask if they'll go on a fast day-hike with you instead. When the pastor asks you to assemble the church directory, you proceed to oversee the whole operation and delegate all the work to others. Change the name, increase the attractiveness of the proposal. That's your motto. You should be a politician.

Fortune Cookie

You're deceptive. You don't care about getting cookies to eat them any more than you care about going to the library to read books. Nobody knows what's really going on behind your baby blues, because you've always got so many angles. If you have friends with a good sense of humor, you'll be getting a lot of protractors for Christmas.

Hey, at least it's not coal.

Until next time,

- Daniel

Nonnegotiables

Humans are... can I say it? Stubborn.

And not only that, but the affliction gets worse as we age. If stubbornness were a cold virus, by our early twenties, most of us would have full-blown pneumonia.

"This is obvious," you say, "tell me something I don't already know."

I can do that.

There's a magic word most of us have ingrained in our vocabulary. Nonnegotiable. There are some things we won't permit--that go too far. These things, we don't even bother coping with them, because... after all... they're nonnegotiable.

Maybe it's just the season of life I'm in, but I see this concept used a lot in relationships.

"Yeah, I'm attracted to her. I thought she was The One. But, getting to know her better, I found that she's Pentecostal. I'm Amish for crying out loud. That's nonnegotiable."

"He's a fantastic guy. Thoughtful, courteous, and makes me feel special. But his close relatives are constantly doing things that remind me of bad Addams Family reruns. Sorry, that's just nonnegotiable."

Sure, those are outrageous examples, but they illustrate the point. "He snores." "She doesn't want a lot of kids." "He's not interested in going into the mission field." "She's not thrifty in how she spends money."

Nonnegotiables? To some people, they are.

In a Biblical sense, what sorts of things are nonnegotiables? Well... you both need to be Christians. That's about it.

Oh, and it helps if the two of you like each other. That's always a useful thing, assuming you're not the betrothal type.

Fact of life: there are some things you won't find out about the other person until you've married him or her. Some things--indeed--that you might have considered nonnegotiable beforehand.

Say, you find she's a terrible cook, and burns your toast every morning without fail. What are you going to do about it? Divorce her?

Of course not. You work through it. Maybe you team up with her. Take cooking lessons together. Something. You don't just roll over and die (unless the cooking really is that bad.)

Another example. Say you find that he has different ideas on how kids should be raised. What do you do about that? You work through it. Prayerfully, humbly, and in a giving way. Again, divorce isn't an option. In fact, the only Biblically sanctioned reason for divorce is sexual immorality, and even that isn't mandated.

Here's where I make a little stretch in logic. You tell me if I'm way off-base or not.

If we don't consider any issue in marriage (with the one possible exception given above) to be nonnegotiable, should the same be true (with the added requirements of both being Christians, attracted to one another) for pre-dating, pre-engagement?

Yes, relationships are hard work. I don't say this from personal experience, though those who have been in them tell me they are. However, hard work implies that some progress is being made. It implies that the obstacle isn't insurmountable, and that two people with a desire to work through issues that pop up can--indeed--do that very thing.

In short, stop being so stubborn.

The older we get, the more set in our ways we get. Don't let that get in the way of God's plan for you.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Poetry

Veil of Pride

Why do I always ask the heart,

For leave to cherish it as art?

Why do I give it center stage,

While walking through this present age?

A question grim, a question drear,

You see me from a place of fear.

You know I speak the truth in love,

Yet hearts are hearts, and yours a dove.

Where are you now? Where is your face?

A scathing river hides that place.

I do not know, I cannot find,

A way to see or glimpse your mind.

This effervescent flow of pride,

Can I condemn, should I subside?

Its source is neither yours nor mine,

Yet both may use to draw the line.

Sorrow floods my pained soul,

Yet God is God, who makes me whole.

I shall not turn my back to you,

But ask for what will see me through.

The veil, if it holds, is just,

I do not question it, or us.

But He knows best, the truth He holds,

Let faith be key while life He molds.

~ D.S.

Fluff

I'm a self-avowed fan of fluff. It's not very manly of me, I admit, but I'm unabashedly fond of Angora rabbits and alpaca fleece. It doesn't take a grizzled ex-Marine to appreciate the advantages of goose down over bare concrete.

But fluff comes in many forms. Many consider Shakespeare and Jane Austin to be fluffy as well. Brain fluff. (and, yes, I'll admit to being a fan of fluffy literature.)

One may--and, probably should--question the long-term effects of fluff. Is it possible to escape the gravitational pull of a fluffy lifestyle after you've indulged long enough?

Fluff is cute, comfortable, and companionable. However, it is not good for developing abs of steel or a mind of metal. Case in point: neither Maximus Decimus Meridius nor Saruman the White were fluffy guys.

The enterprising mind will try to grasp the advantages of both worlds. There are two ways to accomplish this. One approach is to embrace fluff and substantive labor simultaneously. Unfortunately, such behavior would probably involve laughing uproariously at your calculus book or sleeping in chainmail. So, no, count me as a skeptic.

The second approach is to embrace one for a time, then switch gears and bask in the other. A lot of working adults have this as their penultimate goal in life. Work your heart out for 40 years, then chill in the easy chair of retirement with a tall glass of lemonade. This isn't a bad approach, but be warned, once you've acquired a taste for charcoal toast, it may be hard to relinquish it.

Lazier members of society eschew the idea of toil altogether. If you can't take it with you, why bother?

Suckers for punishment form the opposing echelon of thought. Somehow--and I would love to learn the secret--they've managed to put a facade of leisure on their house of horrors.

But, eh, at the end of the day, life is pain. Anybody who says otherwise is selling something. Even fluff can result in pain (to which anybody who has gone to a lion petting zoo can attest).

Ask too much of life, and you'll be disappointed. Ask too little, and you'll be infected with the same fatal cancer.

Be content.

(Yeah, apparently my parents weren't off their meds when they gave me the same advice. Parents know what they're talking about. Who knew?)

Until next time,
- Daniel

Laura

Memory is my nemesis. It's as simple as that. Some things come naturally, others don't.

Like names.

My pastor once told me that he can walk up to a 30-year parishioner and completely forget his name. I laughed.

Until it happened to me.

Usually these events are rather sporadic. Usually they never repeat for the same person. Usually a few choice mnemonics can set the problem to rights.

However, the concept of "usually" means that such trends are meant to be broken. Yes, even with something as mundane as memory (or the lack thereof). See, I have a friend named Laura...

Except you wouldn't know that her name is Laura. I never call her that. It's not intentional, it's just... yeah. The first time it was funny, the second time less so, the third time embarrassing, and the progression has continued downwards from there.

Last night was the final straw. I called her by the wrong name, and ended up writing a map on a notepad with an arrow pointing to her seat at the table to remind me.

The frustrating thing is, with most Lauras, I'm a-ok. It's just this particular one that gives me trouble.

It's kind of a dangerous situation if you think about it. Say you're playing frisbee. Good practice is to say the name of the person you're throwing the disc to. Call out the wrong name and give a particularly aggressive throw, and bad things could happen.

I mean, really. Imagine the resulting obituary: "killed by forgetful friend."

Not good.

The result is this blog post. I'm putting all my chips on the table. If the ol' grey matter can't take a hint by a global publication of its failings, nothing will work.

--------------------------------------------

In retrospect, perhaps I should have anonymized her name. But then, as I know multiple Lauras (five at last count), the same aim is achieved. Besides, with my luck, I've probably got the wrong name, so all is well.


Until next time,
- Daniel

Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving. "Be Thankful" is the order of the day. So, in the spirit of the season, I've compiled a list of 10 things I'm thankful for. They're in no particular order (which is good, as I wouldn't want you to get the impression that I rank socks over my buddy Nick).

Also, before I begin, there's a soap box here that needs a little lovin'...

Ah, much better. Being 7-feet tall has its perks. Start rant...

The only thing Turkey and Thanksgiving have in common is that they both start with the letter 'T' (and that the former is slaughtered en-masse in preparation for the latter.)

Not to sound too grumpy, because, after all, I heart an annual Tryptophan high just as much as the next carnivore. However, can we please lose the association that Thanksgiving = Turkey Dinner? Turkeys are to Thanksgiving what Santa Claus is to Christmas and what Bunnies are to Easter.

/rant

There, I feel better now...

So, with no further ado... just what could a paranoid, introverted homeschool grad be grateful for? Here goes...

1. Socks
   For being warm, fluffy, and making it possible to run in freezing weather.
   
   
2. I Kissed Dating Goodbye
   For making me feel more holy and pure (and doing nothing to help me choose the right girl.)
   
   
3. Purdue
   For taking my money away so I couldn't do stupid things with it.
   
   
4. Puppet Labs
   For giving me money so I could give it to Purdue so I couldn't do stupid things with it.
   
   
5. English Country Dancing
   For disproving the common anatomical misconception that some people are born with two left feet.
   
   
6. Apple Inc.
   For helping me end an era of pro-Microsoft bigotry. Oh yeah... and for being cool.
   
   
7. Nick Morrissey
   For not dying (but unfortunately raising the suspicion that running with Daniel could end in premature death.)
   
   
8. Stochastic Processes
   For making me feel like an idiot.
   
   
9. Linear Algebra
   For not making me feel like an idiot.
   
   
10. TriMet
    For dealing with traffic so I can focus on Jeeves and Wooster.

And there you have it. Nobody said I was the most orthodox person in the world. What are you thankful for?

Until next time,

- Daniel

Dogfooding

Eating your own dog food. Novel concept. If you don't like the taste of your own shoe leather, don't feed it to somebody else.

At work, the entire company is spending the next six weeks executing 'Project Empathy'. We're using our own software, experiencing the pain our users experience, and hating ourselves every step of the way.

But I don't want to talk about software. For one, after a long day at work, I'm sick of the stuff. Two, nobody can put an audience to sleep faster than computer scientists talking shop.

How does dogfooding apply to real life?

Birthday gifts are a prime example. When you give a gift, it can be difficult to give something that you yourself would like to have. So... and this is entirely anecdotal... most gifts are something the giver either doesn't want or is indifferent to.

The result? You aren't eating your own dogfood.

Be willing to give. Generously. Give as you would have given to you. If you love others as you love yourself, you're doing both yourself and them a favor. You're still eating your own food, but it's good stuff: caviar for the Russians, ice cream for everybody else.

Maybe this seems petty and materialistic. And granted, if you're measuring your friendships by finery, that's just sad.

However, I'd like to propose something to you. Honesty, candor... all that stuff we like to harp on and talk about... I'd maintain that it's rooted in our wallets.

Words are cheap. Actions are more expensive. Gifts are you-did-what-with-your-bank-account???

If you won't back up verbally communicated friendship with a day at the beach, a hike in the woods, or a surprise birthday party, you probably aren't the sort of person who will invest monetarily during hard times and in desperate circumstances.

A corollary can be found in Proverbs 14:20:

The poor is hated even by his neighbor,
         But those who love the rich are many.

In the same vein, you don't go around buying everybody on your Facebook friends list an iPhone 4GS. Friendships are founded with words, developed through actions, and matured through investment. As has been astutely noted by some of you, you don't go from anonymity to intimacy in one fell blow. Don't give your heart, time, and money away without a thought.

Learn what it means to be a friend. Hold nothing back, but be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.

Me personally, if I see one more SSL error, I'm going to scream. If your computer screen spontaneously cracks, now you know why.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Practical Application (or not)

Math. The nectar of the gods. The refuge of the wise. With a pad of paper and a pencil, you can move the world.

Take a cup of water. How do you calculate the volume? Good question. Glad you asked. Fortunately for us, we have this thing called calculus.

All you have to do is find a mathematical model that describes the shape of the cup, integrate, and voila, you have the volume.

Now, a standard pixie cup can be represented by a truncated circular cone, which can be described via:

The cross-section of the cup, going through the xy plane, is a circle, described by:

With a = z for any particular cross section. The area of a circle is... as we all know:

Since the radius is z for our example, the area of a cross section becomes:

Great, so we've got the area for each cross section of our pixie cup. Now, to calculate the volume, we merely integrate the area of each cross-section over the height of the cup. Simple.

Now, there's the fact that c <= z <= d, where c is the radius of the cup at the bottom and d is the radius of the cup at the top. Hence, the resulting integral becomes:

The beautiful thing about calculus is that there are various ways to visualize things. For example, instead of integrating from c to d, we could calculate two integrals from 0 to c and 0 to d, respectively, then subtract the former from the latter. This has the effect of finding the volume of a large circular cone and subtracting the volume of a smaller cone from it. This looks like:

Voila.

Up until now we've been using arbitrary constants. To find the volume for this particular cup, all we need to do is make a couple of measurements.

Ah, we find that the bottom radius is 1.5 inches and the top radius is 2 inches.

Plugging these numbers into our formula, we see that the cup contains 24.74 cubic inches of water. Now, this isn't terribly useful, so let's convert to cups.

The ratio of cubic inches to cups is 1 cubic inch to 0.06926 cups. So... multiplying by 0.06926, we have 1.71349 cups.

...or you could just use a measuring cup. That works too. Sometimes using math to solve certain problems is analogous to hunting moose with bazookas.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Catmatism

We live in a dogmatic world. (now there's a dogmatic statement.)

And sure, eh, it's understandable. We're told to be fully convinced in our own minds.

But boy, does it drive me bonkers. Even when you're talking about something that you're supposed to be dogmatic about.

Say you're in a Bible study or sunday school class. The teacher has a target, a goal, a conclusion he wants everybody to reach. He pauses, and asks for input. At this point, some intrepid student is going to raise her hand and make an observation that is entirely true and relevant to the topic, but doesn't go where the teacher wants it to go.

This is where you'll get one of two possible reactions:

1. He'll agilely take the comment in stride and affirm it as an equally valid point.
   
   
2. He'll either ignore the comment entirely or condemn it as irrelevant because it wasn't the input he desired.

This second reaction has, as of late, been driving me batty.

You're talking about Jesus. His purpose for coming into the world. The teacher stops and asks for input...

A student raises his hand.

"To save people from their sins."

The teacher responds, "no, actually, he came to disseminate the Truth."

Really?

Okay, if I were to be honest with myself, the teacher's response is absolutely valid. Jesus did come to share the Truth. What drives me batty is the dogmatism to a certain line of thinking that automatically invalidates any alternate way of approaching the question.

Gahhhhh...


If that's dogmatism, I'm going to be a catmatist from now on.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Gumption

It takes gumption to do a lot of things in life. It takes gumption to get up, brush your teeth, and head out to work five times a week, 50 weeks a year, for the rest of your useful life.

It also takes gumption to crawl out of your sleeping bag and go for a 20 mile hike in the Olympic National Forest. However, it doesn't take gumption to do this in 37° F weather with ice-cold rain seeping down your neck.

That takes stupidity.

Unfortunately, it seems I'm generously endowed with that particular characteristic, so after a fruitful business trip in Bellevue, WA, I drove 175 miles to a suspiciously empty Graves Creek campground in the Olympics. Trading a cushy hotel room for an airconditioned tent in the boondocks never seems like a bad idea when you're cozily nested in the aforementioned hotel room.

As I saw it, the weekend held promise of adventure and potential perils, Black Bears and Cougars among these. Sadly for the adventure, but happily for my life-and-limb, neither proved an issue. Ironically, it was the seemingly innocuous fauna of the region that served as the agent for my undoing.

Pay attention to these two persnickety characters:

1. Beavers
2. Elk

I was moseying along a trail, happy as a cactus in a rainforest, when it ended. Gone. It was as though the frog had leapt from the lily pad and hit the bottom, never to be seen again. Trails shouldn't do that.

Granted, there had been many puddles along the trail thus far. Rather large puddles at that. But this... This was more of a lake than a puddle.

I tried skirting around the perimeter, but it was hopeless. The trail was lost and I was about to follow duitifully in its footsteps. Just then, I saw it...

A downed aspen tree. And not just downed. Hewn. Aimed perpendicular to a now-submerged plank bridge.

Yes sirree, some overgrown rodent had decided to sabotage the bridge. There's no need for questioning on that point. Trust me. Those buck teeth would fail any polygraph test in the country.

That was day one. After crossing the submerged bridge, I completed a mostly-uneventful 14 mile out-and-back through the rain forest. After returning to base camp, I proceeded to enjoy a long, mostly-sleepless night.

Day two, the elk had their way with me.

I never knew this before, but elk follow very predetermined paths through the forest. Paths that can--to the untrained eye--appear like legitimate hiking trails.

And so they did.

Ten miles into the hike, all of a sudden the trail took on a mind of its own. It began twisting back and forth as though an insane lumberjack (or twisted NPS employee) was the mastermind. And not just one trail, mind you, but multiple trails that would branch off at the most inopportune times, making me wonder which was truly legitimate (hint: none of them were).

The result? Instead of hitting my desired terminus at the Enchanted Valley, I was stymied and sent back at the 10 mile mark, forever wary of the evil mind of the Elk.

Be wary, O lover of Beaver or ensign of Elk. I'm onto you now.

Cheap thrills. They'll kill me yet.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Upscale Eating

I've never been much of an upscale eater. Spending more than $15 on a single meal doesn't... usually... happen. Still, being on my own in Washington with nothing better to do, I decided to go undercover and double that figure.

Granted, this is small fry in a world where $100+ meals aren't uncommon affairs. Little matter that you could feed yourself at McDonalds for a month on that sum. (The question of whether that's a good idea is a different question altogether. There's more than one documentary on the subject, so I'll let you ponder the theological implications of supersizing later.)

Regardless, I think we can agree, $30, $100, or $1000, restaurants that save ink by rounding all prices to the nearest dollar are in a different class than the Dairy Queen around the corner. It's a class where the food is more an attraction than a means to an end. A class where style and service are more important than bang-for-the-buck.

One day, when I've made my fortune selling toothpicks and programming toasters, these indulgences may make more sense. Until then, I'm content to indulge once for the street cred. (yes, I have been forced to tip more than $5 on a meal.)

Thus is posed the question. What exactly does $30 get you at a mid-scale restaurant? In the spirit of humorists of old, here goes...

What you get...	Downside...
Darker ambiance	Harder to find your salad
More attentive servers	They never go away
Unlimited refills	You will float out the door
Gourmet recipes	Enough spices to kill a cockroach
All-black staff uniforms	Collisions are inevitable
Expensive decor	$12,000 fish mounted to wall

Do the pros outweigh the cons? While you're deciding, I'll be making my way to a pack of Dentyne Ice to sooth my hyperactive taste buds...

Until next time,
- Daniel

Olympic Expedition

Farewell, dear friends. As I write these words, the clock is spinning rapidly toward the point of my departure. Farewell Seattle. Farewell urban life.

In short, this techno-geek is flying the coop. Goodbye road running. Hellloo trail running. (where have you been all my life?)

Where am I going?

The Olympics.

Where?

Well, not Greece, unfortunately. I couldn't get the time off from work, and transatlantic flights are hideously expensive. This was the next best thing.

Olympic National Park is a 922,650 acre park that sits within the Olympic peninsula of the state of Washington. There aren't any roads that traverse the interior. The best you can do is drive around the perimeter and find a stub that probes a few miles inward. After that, you're on your own in the exploration department.

Me? I have my eyes set on the trails of the southwestern corner of the region. Taking highway 101 into the interior past Lake Quinault, there's a campsite that provides access to trails that follow the east and north forks of the Quinault river upstream. The campground is named Graves Creek. That'll be home for the weekend. (I'm purposely not searching Google for the backstory behind the name. If you do, don't tell me. I like surprises.)

On Friday, I'll be tackling an out-and-back from North Fork campground to Kimta Peak (elevation 5399 ft.). Saturday, a lower-altitude trail run along the North Fork Quinault River to Low Divide. Sunday, if I'm still able to walk, I'll close out the trip with another out-and-back along the East Fork Quinault River to Enchanted Valley.

What's better, I'll be bringing my DSLR with me so you can feast your eyes on the broad swaths of cloudy nothingness that NOAA is predicting. It's Washington... and November... so I guess I shouldn't complain.

If the bears get me, make sure you grab the GPS track from my watch. I'd like it to be immortalized in some way. Maybe on a new brand of bear repellent or... perhaps... a map for directionally challenged hikers... but I don't want to ask too much.

And just so we're clear, if I get lost, there's no obligation to send in a rescue party. I mean, it would be nice and all, but I don't like twisting arms. Hikers gotta hike, bears gotta eat. However, if you need some exercise and happen to be in the area, keep an eye out for signal flares.

Until next time,
- Daniel

My Monster

The last two years have been a bit of a facade. I've lost passion, drive, and interest in education, work, and life in general. Church has been the source of some disillusionment and the target of some frustration. Things came to a head this semester, as it came time to face the music and realize that I'm not academically or financially capable of earning my graduate degree in electrical and computer engineering.

And then, things got better...

Brian Plett was instrumental in starting my running addiction. Last December, he invited me to join him in an April race, so I accepted and started training. It's been a gradual process, but consistent exercise has been instrumental in improving my physical and mental conditioning, and has played a key role in getting me to think rationally about my future (if you don't have answers to your problems after a 3-hour run, you ain't getting them).

In August, I was offered an internship with Puppet Labs in Portland. It has been a fantastically stretching experience, enabling me to turn a long-time passion of web development into a paid opportunity to work with some of the best designers and front-end engineers in the business. Never have 14-hour days in the office and on the bus passed so quickly.

In September, I went on a camping trip to the John Day area with several friends. It further helped to clear my mind and give me proper perspective on the important things in life. Ashamed as I am to admit it, the financial stress involved in studying at Purdue has negatively affected my behavior towards my family and friends. Obvious as it may seemed, this trip helped me realize that family and friends should take priority over education, and solidified my resolve to make changes to my academic program.

In October, I notified the head of the Electrical Engineering department at Purdue of my desire to drop out of the program. While I'd dreaded the moment for a long time, making the decision brought a good deal of stress relief. Trusting God to direct my future is the right thing to do. The definition of insanity is trying the same thing and expecting different results. My past couple years have met that definition.

In November, I met with my manager at Puppet Labs for a one-on-one, giving him an honest evaluation of my academic prospects. Not only was he understanding, and eager to support my desire to switch majors from ECE to Computer Science (my undergraduate degree is in CS, so pursuing a graduate degree in the same was an obvious choice), but offered me a full-time position until I move to Indiana in Fall of 2012.

Where do I go from here?

God has provided abundantly. He's given me hope again for the future. Even though my application to the School of Computer Science at Purdue is by no means guaranteed to be accepted, I don't fear rejection. He's provided a full-time job (a job I love) which will provide enough money for me to focus on school full-time during Fall 2012 and Spring 2013, if that's indeed what I end up doing.

Even though I can't fully express my appreciation to everyone who has been involved in my life, I'd like to thank each one of you for your role in bringing me to where I am now. God is good, and I pray I never think otherwise, no matter what the future may bring.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Change

Life is like rolling down a mossy embankment.

Life is not like hiding under your bedsheets writing blog posts.

But ignore that for the moment. Suppose life were more like a DVR. That second analogy would make more sense. You could blog about the good parts while skipping through the bad parts. Watch the movie until the boogie monster comes out of the closet, then skip out and let the rest of the family experience the carnage.

...or maybe you like carnage, and you'd rather leave the love scenes to the family. Your mileage may vary. I for one get enough carnage at the dentist office.

Alas, reality strikes. It seems our lives more closely resemble the Man in Black rolling down a hill yelling "asss yooouuu wisshhh". We're actors in an action film. A film with a script and a very strict director who hates ad-libbing.

The Arminians can have at me in the comments below, but it at least seems that life will move on with or without us.

Now, before you crucify me for comparing God and His Will to Rob Reiner and William Goldman, let me say I believe that God's plan is much better than the Pit of Despair and Miracle Max. (believe me, if Billy Crystal showed up as the answer to prayer, I would have some serious questions).

There seems to be considerable merit behind the idea that God is the Director of Life (not the cereal, and definitely not the magazine). He formed the foundations of the world, created man in his own image, and is intimately involved in our lives from beginning to end. Is it such a stretch to think that he orchestrates the day-to-day fabric of our lives?

All we have to do is face the music and play what he's composed for us. All things work together for good, and I for one am not going to think my Savior means me harm when life seems less than perfect.

Yup, change is part of the equation. Ups and downs are part of the ride. The boogie monster is a-comin', and there ain't a lot you can do about it.

So, what am I going to do about it? One second. Hand a superman costume under the covers and release that bad boy. I'm ready to ride my monster.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Baggage

Honesty. Why is it so hard to get right? Why do we put so much effort into avoiding the truth about how we're doing in our daily walk? Every Sunday service has a meet-and-greet time. Why does it seem that 'good' is the default answer to 'how are you?'. If we're doing so 'good', why are our lives filled with trouble, pain, and all sorts of trials?

Are we afraid of exposing who we really are? Do we think that 'good' is all anybody else wants to hear, so we don't bother telling them the truth?

I'm guilty. I do this all the time. And I confess it's due to feeling that others don't want to hear about the not-so-tidy bits of my life. I've had experiences in the past where I try telling how I really am doing during the meet-and-greet time, and more often than not, I get utter confusion. When people don't hear the magical codeword indicating everything is fine and dandy, they tend to panic. (what do I do? what do I say? ahhhhhhhh...)

Granted, this is anecdotal, and rule #1 in constructing an argument is that all anecdotes are evil. Fair enough.

Alas, I've never been very good at social conventions. Perhaps it's not socially proper to tell others your problems in a casual context. Perhaps people who undergo periods of depression and anxiety should be sequestered from public view. Perhaps one of the prerequisites for social gatherings is that you check your emotional, physical, and spiritual baggage at the door. Perhaps so.

But if so, it doesn't seem right.

If this sounds like a bitter diatribe, I don't mean it to be. Maybe the problem is me. Maybe I'm being too sensitive. Maybe the vast majority of the people I shake hands with mean what they say.

Maybe so, but deep down inside me, I have doubts, which is why I'm blogging on the subject.

Say what you mean. Mean what you say. It's harder than it sounds.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Flirtation

WARNING: The following is the brainchild of a certain late-night Google Chat session. You know who you are.

Flirtation. It affects us all. Sad but true.

You may not be married.

*cheers*

You may never have been engaged.

*CHEERS*

Shoot, maybe you haven't even dated.

*C-H-E-E-R-S* (ouch, that Josh Harris crowd is deafening)

But you've flirted or been flirted with. You know you have.

Go on. Fess up. Confession is good for the soul. I'll wait...

...

Still recalcitrant, eh? No hurry, I've got all day...

...

There now. Don't you feel better?

Now. Where was I? That's right. Flirtation. It affects us all. Christian Homeschoolers more than most.
:cries of rage:
(argh, would somebody please do Harris crowd control?)

That's better.

Why do I say this? Well, we view flirtation as one of the seven deadly sins, so we don't talk about it. To quote Hogan's Heroes:

"I know nothing, I hear nothing, I see NOTHING."
~ Sergeant Schultz

But it happens regardless, and you need to know how to deal with it. That's why I'm here. No, it's true. Even yours truly has been guilty of occasional gallantry and the victim of the odd coquette. Fortunately, both problems have similar solutions, and neither involve joining a monastery or nunnery for the remainder of your useful life.

If you're the perpetrator of serial flirtation, stop. Take a deep breath. Then, ask yourself if being asked to go to a movie is equivalent to a marriage proposal. I thought not.

If you're the victim of serial flirtation, stop. Take a deep breath. Then, ask yourself if you should go on a hike with that girl with the involuntary giggle or that guy bereft of the concept of personal space. I thought not.

Overly simplified much? Probably. People like to flirt.

What? You don't?

You're telling me that if someone commanded you to flirt with that handsome hunk with the supercomputer inside his cranium, you'd have a hard time complying? Or, for the guys, if a warrant was issued for the arrest of two people--you and that charming lady around your age with the athletic build and long eyelashes--you'd be hesitant to run off together and be put on the FBI's most wanted list?

If you said 'yes', I have news for you. You're not human.

We have met the enemy and he is us.

Until next time,
- Daniel

The Benefits of Getting Older

I have brothers. Four of them. They're getting stronger than me, faster than me, and taller than me. I'm desperately trying to stay ahead in the wit department, but it's not easy.

Regardless. I have one key advantage. I'm the oldest.

This may not seem like an advantage, but it is. With age comes wisdom. With age comes monetary resources. With age comes the opportunity to break new ground in the prank/retaliation department. (Face it, just like with the first horror movies, there aren't any cliches to avoid. It's a virgin, untouched domain, and I'm the first to get to it.)

I'll admit some of my early attempts were amateurish and prone to backfiring. The pillow trap over the door, the raisins filled with Cayenne pepper, the 3AM radio alarm set to Mexican polka music, yes, amateur to a tee. I suffered almost as much as the prankee.

That rhymed.

...

Hey, but this time, I'm prepared.

See, two of my brothers have birthdays in November. Nathan and Marcus. The 1st and the 10th. Like two unsuspecting binary numbers.

The problem with my past pranks is that there wasn't any motivation behind them. Your brother hands you raisins. Ummm... suspicious much? He asks you to come upstairs. Creeeepy. The indicator light on your alarm is on, when you know it's never supposed to go off on Sunday morning. Yeah, you get the picture...

Now, try these on for size:

• "Happy Birthday Nathan! Let me cut you a slice of this raisin applesauce cake..."
  
  
• "Hey, Marcus, could you come upstairs for a minute? I'm gonna need some help getting your birthday present downstairs..."
  
  
• "Nathan, make sure you turn your alarm on: birthday breakfast at IHOP tomorrow..."

Not bad, eh?

Oh, they have no idea (and fortunately, they don't read this blog), but they're in for some very memorable moments.

Now you see why I've been training for an ultramarathon. I'm counting on the fact that I can run farther than they can. If so, you'll either have a prank report or I'll be incognito for 61 years (assuming those life expectancy tables are correct).

Until next time (maybe),

- Daniel

How to Get Lost

Who knew? Who knew that there's a 5,100 acre forest within walking distance of the largest metropolitan area in Oregon?

I sure didn't.

Yesterday, I took it upon myself to explore this new wonder. Like Moses and the burning bush, I approached the forbidding depths on foot in fear and trepidation. Unlike Moses, I left my shoes on. Also unlike Moses, I took the trouble of mapping my route via satellite first. Not that it did any good, but at least I tried not to get lost. That counts for something, right?

There are a number of factors which conspire against visitors to Forest Park. First, there are the trees, which--while not exactly old growth--are thick and gnarly enough to obscure any kind of view. Second, there are the roads and trails, which are poorly marked and have the tendency of going anywhere but where you think they ought to go. Third, it's hilly country (downtown Portland lies at 50', the mean elevation of Arlington Heights is 1000'), so unless you have a topo map, good luck finding Dr. Livingstone.

During my adventure, I took a wrong turn and ended up way too far south (the sound of cackling chimps was the giveaway). Heading north from the zoo, I detoured through the International Rose Test Garden (the view of decrepit roses and rotting blossoms is breathtaking in late October) and the Japanese Gardens (Don't get excited. North America and Japan lie at the same latitude, so yeah, they share common foliage. My advice? If you're tired of fir trees and climbing ivy, don't visit Japan).

Finally, I hit a familiar landmark--Fairview Blvd--and was golden for about ten minutes. The map said to turn right on Wildwood trail in 0.3 miles, so I did. Except it wasn't Wildwood trail. (Well, it felt like 0.3 miles.)

So I'm walking up this unmarked trail, which I just know is the wrong trail (funny how that works), looking for my next turn onto Cherry trail, which--of course--never appears. Then, wonder of wonders, I crash out of the bushes and stumble right into the Hoyt Arboretum parking lot... which... of course, was my desired destination all along.

Needless to say, I'm beginning to rethink the wisdom of a 50k trail run. Yes, there'll be a lake on my left-hand side for the entire race. Still, with my track record, I don't know that tempting fate is a great idea.

Not to dissuade anybody from joining me, of course. Getting lost is a character building experience. Moral of the story: You want character? Hang out with Daniel.

Laplace Transform of x^2 + e^x

Yes, readers who understand a bit of calculus are going to have an unfair advantage during today's blog post. Hey, I make the rules, I can use calculus if I like. Besides, calculus is the key to life (also, 42 is the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.)

Roughly speaking, calculus can be divided into two general disciplines.

• Integration - calculating the area below curves
• Differentiation - finding the slope of curves

As the advanced mathematician can attest, either of these operations is vastly more difficult to do than their algebraic underlings. (how I cry for the days of multiply, divide, add, and subtract.)

When you get really crazy and deep into the mathematical curricula, you learn about something called the Laplace transform. It's a handy way to analyze mechanical, optical, and electronic systems, but one of its niftiest side-effects is what it does to the basic operations of calculus.

Simply put, differentiation and integration become multiplication and division, respectively. Take the Laplace transform of a function, divide it by s, then find the inverse Laplace transform, and voila, you've integrated. Ditto for multiplication.

All this to say, I wish there were a Laplace transform for life, but alas, there doesn't appear to be. Let the alchemists have the gold; give Indy the holy grail; all I want is a coherent way to unravel life's mysteries, is that too much to ask? (no, 42 doesn't check out... its derivative is zero and its integral over the entire real line is infinity. Bo-orring.)

And for the record, the Laplace transform of x^2 + e^x is 2/s^3 + 1/(s - 1). It may come in useful some day. You never know. (I take check, Visa, PayPal...)

...on Wookies and Friendship

Oddball friends. You know the type. Friends who are friends due to intrinsic factors, not extrinsic ones. You know who I'm talking about. They could be Imperial slave traders on Kashyyyk, and you'd still have a blast hanging out with them and doing stuff together. Your friendship isn't tied to a common hobby, a common occupation, or even common interests, and yet there's a bond that seems to transcend all of that.

Maybe you've only thought of friendship in terms of commonalities. That's perfectly fine. Many great friendships are built on that principle. And yet, there are those oddball people you know, who, against all odds or reasoning, you genuinely like. Just because.

Now I'm not saying that you should buddy-up with slave traders or find a Wookie to hug. No, just like in marriage, you don't proactively seek people who are in every way opposite from you. Regardless, they'll show up, invited or no, and you need to do... something... when they arrive (staring blankly at the wall and reciting digits of Pi isn't going to cut it.

Now, it's true that we naturally gravitate to people with common interests. Geeks like geeks, nerds like nerds, rednecks like rednecks, and so on. Why? Well, they're the people we typically feel safe around, who we think will respect our eccentricities and with whom we can get the biggest bang for the buck from our social time. But, what are you supposed to do when Sam the zookeeper from down the street stops by your weekly LAN party at Joe's house? Worse yet, what if he's an entertaining chap who can spin elephant dung into a humorous yarn?

Why, one approach could be to hand him a copy of National Geographic before hunkering down behind your twin plasmas to wrap up that game of Starcraft. But why? I mean, sure it's strange (heaven knows zookeepers need a strange sense of humor). And sure, you're probably a bit put off and confused. But by golly, the safe option--the easy out--seems more like an avoidance of risk. And risk, my friends, is one of the most underrated parts of friendship.

Risk. That four letter word gives us a sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Risk can yield ridicule and very small gain for our efforts. Nevertheless, that effort, I believe, is what creates the potential for some great friendships. Say you're a geek. You can talk math, science, and literature all day long with likeminded people, with little to no risk that they're going to think you strange. Ah, but go outside that circle and try befriending someone you wouldn't normally have much in common with. I think you'll find that wonderful things can happen.

I'm sorry to keep going back to marriage, but it's a good example. Take a guy, who may be interested in monster truck racing, football, and bungee jumping--and a girl, who may be interested in gardening, knitting, and literature (or swap the two--I've met male knitting aficionados, but I'm not naming names). Normally, you'd expect fireworks, demolition, utter failure. And yet sometimes--in spite of all odds, they find that the effort they pour into making the friendship work, causes them to become less self-centered around their own personal likes and dislikes, and show that friendship can be more. Of these, a portion decide to get married, and often--these marriages last for life. The old adage, "opposites attract", is often true, and yet it shouldn't be. At least, not in the way we typically view friendship.

So, next time Sam tells that raucous tale about the time 10 bull elephants ran rampant around the zoo, dropping potent smelling parcels everywhere, give him a chance. It could turn into something special. (the friendship--I'd count the story as a lost cause).

Until next time,

- Daniel