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.