Be advised, the following may contain extreme Christmas-spirit-killing material. Rated "I" for Informative, Illuminating, and Illustrated Christmas rage.
When I was a kid Christmas had no commercials. Heck, I barely even had Christmas off from school, no one cared about it, there were no expectations, and we just did our thing. Granted that was in a country where Christmas is as popular as selfless giving is in America, but the fact remains—Christmas was great.
So now I ask, since when did Christmas get so commercialized? And why do we, as a culture insist on raping this celebration of winter and family by spoiling these two priceless things by dousing them in the boiling poison of materialism? Christmas is polluted! Code Red! Abort! I wonder why I have to listen to 200 commercials in stores, on the radio, on billboards, and on TV tell me that I have to buy something for the people I love in order to show them my appreciation. Well advertisements, I call your bluff. Do the companies selling diamonds care about your loved one? Do they want you to be happy? Do they really mean it when they say “merry Christmas!”. Pifff! Merry Christmas ho ho HA! It’s just a North American conspiracy to make you buy more things. MORE, ALWAYS MORE! And maybe it’s a sign when we have to rack our brains, scratch our heads and say “oh jeez what in the world can I get that person, seems like he/she has everything already”. CODE RED! I’m no tree hugger, but I’ve got to say that when it comes to this point, put your $20 into the flippen Salvation Army tin. I know it’s counter-cultural to actually selflessly give during Christmas instead of giving-because-you’d-feel-bad-if-you received-with-nothing-to-give-back, but you can do it. You can transcend blaring, loud, neon colored advertisements that tell you that you aren’t good enough, or your stuff is outdated, or that the best gift for your loved one is______ (insert word here). Commercialized, materialized America raped Christmas and turned it into a corporate money making machine.
Christmas trees are the newest icon to place on the alter in the sacred Temple of Materialism—the mall. They are the new symbol of American Express, affluence, and “trying to find that gift that’s perfect for that special someone? Well try SKREW YOU!@$ It works every time, guaranteed, so that this Christmas you can put a smile on her face with bren-topia travels all new SKREW YOU. Order online right now and with a purchase of $5,000,000,000,000 you can register to win a $50 gift card. That’s a complementary $50 gift card only when you order now!”.
It makes me want to burn them. All.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
god save the queen!
It was a startling plot twist when Brent found himself enjoying life in Canada. When I began my second year here in September, there was only one other place that I could imagine to be worse than Canada; that proprietor of pride, that great temple to consumerism, the emissary of global domination, and the holy headquarters of Twinkies—America. But now as my time here comes to an end it would seem that the people around me have somehow managed to creep their way into my heart, and I will miss them. I feel like I’ve said far too many goodbyes in my time, and I have, and now I will again. The most difficult part of goodbyes is being willing to say hello again, knowing that it will be closely followed by another goodbye. Slowly good friends will turn from faces into electronic symbols displayed crudely on a computer monitor until correspondence ceases, and I realize that I don’t even know the person I’m emailing anymore. I have been called a critic and a cynic, but there is little romance in farewells and much to dwell on; it is difficult to keep from becoming a victim of experience.
I have always thought that there are three things that are fundamentally wrong with our human existence: death, disease, and farewells. All seem necessary and unavoidable, yet inhuman in essence. In a perfect world or perhaps in heaven there will be none of these—I will look forward to the day.
So this goes out to you my Abbotsford, Chilliwack, Langley, and Vancouver friends.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
I will miss you.
So what, ask you, could possibly be next for a nomad such as myself? Two words: Washing-ton. You may have heard of it. I will be going to a very prestigious community college near my parents place in/near Tacoma where I hope to do some gen-ed before hopping on the University wagon. This will be my first time living in America since 7th grade—and I don’t know how I feel about it. But I have a ski pass and skis—life should be good.
I have always thought that there are three things that are fundamentally wrong with our human existence: death, disease, and farewells. All seem necessary and unavoidable, yet inhuman in essence. In a perfect world or perhaps in heaven there will be none of these—I will look forward to the day.
So this goes out to you my Abbotsford, Chilliwack, Langley, and Vancouver friends.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
I will miss you.
So what, ask you, could possibly be next for a nomad such as myself? Two words: Washing-ton. You may have heard of it. I will be going to a very prestigious community college near my parents place in/near Tacoma where I hope to do some gen-ed before hopping on the University wagon. This will be my first time living in America since 7th grade—and I don’t know how I feel about it. But I have a ski pass and skis—life should be good.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
live?
What does it mean to live life?
It would seem to me that many modern westerners live their lives vicariously through the medium of media. It is a vent of all our modern ages pent up desires funneled through a safe means that is not only without consequences, but is socially acceptable. Passion, war, love, adventure, action are desires innate to the human psychology but no longer acceptable in North American sociology, much less ecclesiology. But is not rejecting core human components rejecting the meaning of humanity, the distinctive between us and other living organisms? What is a live lived thorough artificial means? It is fake, simulated physical and emotional risk that is, that must be, incomparable to its real human origins. Imitation can never be as good as the original.
So we, modern humanity, have given up our natures for simulations on a screen wishing that we were the ones behind the gun or kiss—and silently we mourn the death of some inner desire that longs for that life. We are taught from a young age the rule of safety—everything in this society is focused on living life within this parameter. Isn’t society better off for it? Aren’t we happier because we live longer lives than ever before in the history of mankind? Perhaps it is time to reconsider the meaning of life and the social rule that a long life is always preferable to a short one. The first question one asks of a deceased person is the age when he/she passed away. Why can life not be judged by the fullness of life and the impact it made instead of age? It is time to live life and judge it by fullness, not length; impact, and not wealth.
Sometimes to live life fully one must risk greatly. But is not an attempt at full human life worth the thousand daily deaths we die in this sterile environment? Would an early death pursuing full life not be considered gain?
These are the questions we must ask.
It would seem to me that many modern westerners live their lives vicariously through the medium of media. It is a vent of all our modern ages pent up desires funneled through a safe means that is not only without consequences, but is socially acceptable. Passion, war, love, adventure, action are desires innate to the human psychology but no longer acceptable in North American sociology, much less ecclesiology. But is not rejecting core human components rejecting the meaning of humanity, the distinctive between us and other living organisms? What is a live lived thorough artificial means? It is fake, simulated physical and emotional risk that is, that must be, incomparable to its real human origins. Imitation can never be as good as the original.
So we, modern humanity, have given up our natures for simulations on a screen wishing that we were the ones behind the gun or kiss—and silently we mourn the death of some inner desire that longs for that life. We are taught from a young age the rule of safety—everything in this society is focused on living life within this parameter. Isn’t society better off for it? Aren’t we happier because we live longer lives than ever before in the history of mankind? Perhaps it is time to reconsider the meaning of life and the social rule that a long life is always preferable to a short one. The first question one asks of a deceased person is the age when he/she passed away. Why can life not be judged by the fullness of life and the impact it made instead of age? It is time to live life and judge it by fullness, not length; impact, and not wealth.
Sometimes to live life fully one must risk greatly. But is not an attempt at full human life worth the thousand daily deaths we die in this sterile environment? Would an early death pursuing full life not be considered gain?
These are the questions we must ask.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
secret memory monkey
Its an odd thing to realize that teachers actually cares sometimes. I had a class with this one professor last year, she was a good teacher, and even inspired me to go to university instead of hanging out around this joint. No big deal, profs inspire lots of students and change peoples course of thinking and lives daily so I figured she forgot about me. This is where there’s a plot twist because the assumed statement above is about to be proved untrue. Could it be possible that teachers actually care about there students? That they seek to impart knowledge and not gain dollar signs? That they remember names of students EVEN AFTER the school year is over? I thought it was just an idealistic myth created by school websites and freshmen, but apparently not.
I ran into one of my profs from last year who I haven’t seen in over 6 months not expecting too much. My jaw dropped in amazement not only as she called me by my name but started asking questions specific to my personal existence. There are only three explanations for how this can be: 1. She saw me in the hallway, looked up my file before I saw her, and then proceeded to act “surprised” to see me and ask questions. 2. She has a picture of me on her computer desktop and thinks about me daily. 3. She has a secret memory monkey who lives in a basement in Russia and speaks to her through an intracranial telekinetic communication device (you may know it better as the ITCD). There are no other possible explanations. In the interest of truth I seek to search, expose, and annihilate whoever this teachers informer is.
I ran into one of my profs from last year who I haven’t seen in over 6 months not expecting too much. My jaw dropped in amazement not only as she called me by my name but started asking questions specific to my personal existence. There are only three explanations for how this can be: 1. She saw me in the hallway, looked up my file before I saw her, and then proceeded to act “surprised” to see me and ask questions. 2. She has a picture of me on her computer desktop and thinks about me daily. 3. She has a secret memory monkey who lives in a basement in Russia and speaks to her through an intracranial telekinetic communication device (you may know it better as the ITCD). There are no other possible explanations. In the interest of truth I seek to search, expose, and annihilate whoever this teachers informer is.
Monday, October 23, 2006
sucker punch
Things I’ve been doing of late:
Provincial Emergency Program Search and Rescue Team Member Certification. (for people who like, drive off cliffs or get stuck rock climbing, or are stuck on a steep cliffy place. We get them out. Its pretty sweet, I’d recommend it)
Sleeping out on the streets of Vancouver waiting for a sale at Mountain Equipment Co-op to start the next day. Got some sweet $500 La Sportiva Nepal Evo mountaineering boots for $80, no big deal, ya know, they’re just boots and stuff.
Planning on climbing Mt. Baker this weekend; 12,500ft mountain just as a warm up for climbing Everest this summer. It’s not that big anyways.
Having sweet hang out sessions at my house just about everyday. Usually involving happy juice and dinner.
Trying to find me a pair of skis. Just a good pair of skis but not for 700 bones. And then getting a back country set up for all your backcountry ski dreams to come true.
Not having mid-terms. Because of all the outdoor leadership stuff this semester, we don’t have midterms. Its like being out of school watching everyone else stress out. I realized that I’ve never not been a student. And that if not being a student is this much fun, I wonder if I like the whole student thing. Hmm…
Provincial Emergency Program Search and Rescue Team Member Certification. (for people who like, drive off cliffs or get stuck rock climbing, or are stuck on a steep cliffy place. We get them out. Its pretty sweet, I’d recommend it)
Sleeping out on the streets of Vancouver waiting for a sale at Mountain Equipment Co-op to start the next day. Got some sweet $500 La Sportiva Nepal Evo mountaineering boots for $80, no big deal, ya know, they’re just boots and stuff.
Planning on climbing Mt. Baker this weekend; 12,500ft mountain just as a warm up for climbing Everest this summer. It’s not that big anyways.
Having sweet hang out sessions at my house just about everyday. Usually involving happy juice and dinner.
Trying to find me a pair of skis. Just a good pair of skis but not for 700 bones. And then getting a back country set up for all your backcountry ski dreams to come true.
Not having mid-terms. Because of all the outdoor leadership stuff this semester, we don’t have midterms. Its like being out of school watching everyone else stress out. I realized that I’ve never not been a student. And that if not being a student is this much fun, I wonder if I like the whole student thing. Hmm…
Saturday, September 30, 2006
love and cheerio's
Although I have absolutely no experience on the matter, it would seem to me that love is perhaps the most impossible of anythings to fake; though not for lack of trying. True, I am no expert on the matter, but having little experience increases one’s ability to observe from an objective stance, what people call love.
On considerably more than a few occasions I have had friends who find themselves "the one", the one to complete all dreams, to satisfy every little corner of their insecure hearts, and surpass every prerequisite (save for Bible College students who have no prerequisites, but that’s another matter) they could have ever dreamt up. “She’s got to be the one” is followed by a list of reasons proving beyond any doubt why this statement is true. And, if at Bible College, the victim will go even farther to say that it is “Gods will” for them to be together. The turning point comes when the newly supposed “in love” couple separates for a semi-extended period of time (usually between 2-6 months, in rare cases over 1 year) at which point, like clockwork, one or the other looses “feelings” for the other person and the axe fastly descends. The exception to this last part is, of course, Bible College where one or the other states that “God told me to break up with you” usually resulting in profound confusion by the receiver of the statement and a retaliatory, “but he never told me!” But really, it’s a loosing argument, how can one argue with special revelation happening right in front your face in the form of your partner breaking up with you? It’s selfish, really.
The question is, was that love?
I would suggest that the above scenario was the same kind of love that I love honey nut cheerio’s with. It tastes great, feels good, I say that I love it, but I also know that it is unlikely to last too long. After a while I know that I will discover some new cereal that will taste even better, though for now honey nut and I are in the proverbial spring time of our relationship.
Whatever the analogy, the point is that people call feelings/emotions love. But that seems lacking. Others say commitment for life is love, but that seems too cold and concrete. Or is love an action, a verb? A combination of all of the above? Does anyone even know what they’re talking about when they claim to have “fallen in love”? Surely it is something that may naturally happen but in all cases does not naturally stay.
I think I’ll just stick to honey nut cheerio’s.
On considerably more than a few occasions I have had friends who find themselves "the one", the one to complete all dreams, to satisfy every little corner of their insecure hearts, and surpass every prerequisite (save for Bible College students who have no prerequisites, but that’s another matter) they could have ever dreamt up. “She’s got to be the one” is followed by a list of reasons proving beyond any doubt why this statement is true. And, if at Bible College, the victim will go even farther to say that it is “Gods will” for them to be together. The turning point comes when the newly supposed “in love” couple separates for a semi-extended period of time (usually between 2-6 months, in rare cases over 1 year) at which point, like clockwork, one or the other looses “feelings” for the other person and the axe fastly descends. The exception to this last part is, of course, Bible College where one or the other states that “God told me to break up with you” usually resulting in profound confusion by the receiver of the statement and a retaliatory, “but he never told me!” But really, it’s a loosing argument, how can one argue with special revelation happening right in front your face in the form of your partner breaking up with you? It’s selfish, really.
The question is, was that love?
I would suggest that the above scenario was the same kind of love that I love honey nut cheerio’s with. It tastes great, feels good, I say that I love it, but I also know that it is unlikely to last too long. After a while I know that I will discover some new cereal that will taste even better, though for now honey nut and I are in the proverbial spring time of our relationship.
Whatever the analogy, the point is that people call feelings/emotions love. But that seems lacking. Others say commitment for life is love, but that seems too cold and concrete. Or is love an action, a verb? A combination of all of the above? Does anyone even know what they’re talking about when they claim to have “fallen in love”? Surely it is something that may naturally happen but in all cases does not naturally stay.
I think I’ll just stick to honey nut cheerio’s.
Friday, September 22, 2006
College Dropout
Dear friends, companions, country men, and kin:
Accept my most profuse apologies for the lack of news concerning my current state of affairs. It was two days after my arrival in N America when the recommencement of the school year was held. The very next day a courageous and, some would say daring group of Outdoor Leadership students began a pilgrimage to one of the worlds last strongholds of evil: Squamish. The mission: to climb with all modern technical tools, the high, nigh impossible solid granite walls of Squamish. So basically a group of guys and I took an 8 day rock course based in Squamish, which is right out of Vancouver. So now I’m practically pro. If you feel obliged you can even frame a picture of me, put it on a shelf in a dark corner, and then burn incense, light candles and say things in low unintelligible tones while making upside-down “OK” signs with your fingers. If any of you need a picture of me just let me know and I’ll send you one with an autograph on the back of it.
Immediately after the rock course the group of guys proceeded to partake in another 8 day course, this time studying mountaineering—with an emphasis on glacier travel and navigation. A few of the guys even fell into crevasses just like they do on vertical limit...but no one died—which is kind of the point. But I have to admit we all looked pretty hardcore walking around with ice axes, helmets, harnesses, crampons etc. even though in reality we had no idea what we were doing for the first part at least. The transition from Japan to BC I believe is worth mentioning at this point. Two weeks ago I was in Japan experiencing extremely deathly intense heat and nigh 100% humidity. Yesterday I was on top of Hartzel (a relatively low peak but technical nonetheless) in -7c temperatures, or -15c with wind-chill freezing my leftover tan off my icy body. Depressing...somewhat, but you get some you lose a tan. Its a high price to pay.
In other news, I have officially achieved the status of “College Dropout”. Having just arrived back from my various pilgrimages and mountaineering ventures today I received an ill timed letter in my mail box stating that if I did not come and talk to the financial office by 4:00 my studies will be terminated pending me giving them money. Having opened the letter by 6:00 this evening I am officially a college dropout. Luckily, because I am best friends with the financial lady at school I may be able to weasel my way out of this mess. I’ll just have to remember to turn on the old charm and bust out the sweet cute look I do so well.
Accept my most profuse apologies for the lack of news concerning my current state of affairs. It was two days after my arrival in N America when the recommencement of the school year was held. The very next day a courageous and, some would say daring group of Outdoor Leadership students began a pilgrimage to one of the worlds last strongholds of evil: Squamish. The mission: to climb with all modern technical tools, the high, nigh impossible solid granite walls of Squamish. So basically a group of guys and I took an 8 day rock course based in Squamish, which is right out of Vancouver. So now I’m practically pro. If you feel obliged you can even frame a picture of me, put it on a shelf in a dark corner, and then burn incense, light candles and say things in low unintelligible tones while making upside-down “OK” signs with your fingers. If any of you need a picture of me just let me know and I’ll send you one with an autograph on the back of it.
Immediately after the rock course the group of guys proceeded to partake in another 8 day course, this time studying mountaineering—with an emphasis on glacier travel and navigation. A few of the guys even fell into crevasses just like they do on vertical limit...but no one died—which is kind of the point. But I have to admit we all looked pretty hardcore walking around with ice axes, helmets, harnesses, crampons etc. even though in reality we had no idea what we were doing for the first part at least. The transition from Japan to BC I believe is worth mentioning at this point. Two weeks ago I was in Japan experiencing extremely deathly intense heat and nigh 100% humidity. Yesterday I was on top of Hartzel (a relatively low peak but technical nonetheless) in -7c temperatures, or -15c with wind-chill freezing my leftover tan off my icy body. Depressing...somewhat, but you get some you lose a tan. Its a high price to pay.
In other news, I have officially achieved the status of “College Dropout”. Having just arrived back from my various pilgrimages and mountaineering ventures today I received an ill timed letter in my mail box stating that if I did not come and talk to the financial office by 4:00 my studies will be terminated pending me giving them money. Having opened the letter by 6:00 this evening I am officially a college dropout. Luckily, because I am best friends with the financial lady at school I may be able to weasel my way out of this mess. I’ll just have to remember to turn on the old charm and bust out the sweet cute look I do so well.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
on account of america
The air just isn't as good. The food is just too greasy. The trees are all weird looking. And the airport security is so ridiculously tight that you aren't allowed a bottle of water in your carry on bag. Yes my friends, I have indeed reached the land of the free and the home of the brave. But if I had anything to do with it, I would call this country the land of the cheap and the home of the paranoid. And I mean cheap in a good way, because things are cheap here. On the drive back from the Seattle airport I was thinking that, and forgive my ignorance if I'm totally off on this one, America on most accounts excluding topography and people is a culturally drab place to live. I may be speaking out of ignorance and please correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that America has no distinctive food (hamburgers chains don’t count), distinctive festivals (sales at malls don’t count and neither does Christmas, its not American), or much that can be called uniquely American...besides basketball jerseys, cheap foreign labor, thanksgiving, and war.
But people here are funny, friendly, and open. I was freaking out today in Safeway because I felt like everyone was staring at me--there are two possibilities for this: 1. Maybe they were trying to read my shirt, it was a completely nonsensical shirt covered in big bold English words that don’t connect or make sense. Perhaps they, in an effort to make heads and tails of my shirt were perplexed and bewildered and thus made eye contact with me as if to say "stealiest of my eyes, why doth thou so beseech mine eyes to look upon such seaming perplexity as this demonstrated by thy apparel?". Or 2: In America maybe its normal for people to look at you in the eyes while your shopping. And maybe its OK not to have to pretend that everyone around you doesn't exist. Shocking. Perhaps even culture shocking to quote the colloquialism.
In any case, I will head north soon to the land that is exactly like here, but has a different flag. I don’t really know why they fly a different flag...or why there’s a border between here an there. Because you know places like Germany and France don’t have a border, its just like passing into another state except the sign says "welcome to Germany" instead of "welcome to Alabama", or vise versa.
But people here are funny, friendly, and open. I was freaking out today in Safeway because I felt like everyone was staring at me--there are two possibilities for this: 1. Maybe they were trying to read my shirt, it was a completely nonsensical shirt covered in big bold English words that don’t connect or make sense. Perhaps they, in an effort to make heads and tails of my shirt were perplexed and bewildered and thus made eye contact with me as if to say "stealiest of my eyes, why doth thou so beseech mine eyes to look upon such seaming perplexity as this demonstrated by thy apparel?". Or 2: In America maybe its normal for people to look at you in the eyes while your shopping. And maybe its OK not to have to pretend that everyone around you doesn't exist. Shocking. Perhaps even culture shocking to quote the colloquialism.
In any case, I will head north soon to the land that is exactly like here, but has a different flag. I don’t really know why they fly a different flag...or why there’s a border between here an there. Because you know places like Germany and France don’t have a border, its just like passing into another state except the sign says "welcome to Germany" instead of "welcome to Alabama", or vise versa.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
ok, ok. you got me
So I have a confession to make. As some of you may have suspected, it was not I who wrote those super happy 13 year old girly blogs. Now Im going to go out on a limb and be honest with you; I was going through a hard time, blogging just wasn’t the same any more. I had no desire to “write down” my thoughts or “share” my emotions. No. so what did I do? I got a YWAM-er named Amy (the same Amy referenced by as “fat Amy” in previous posts) to relieve me of my blog-bound duty to write an entry. I figured that an odd entry by an unknown person was better then no entry at all. But now you have brent, in the flesh fully at his fingertips typing a rare but delightful entry. Good on you.
The occasion for such a post? The end of my time at Northstar is at hand. But in 5 short hours I will be embarking on a 12 hour train ride to Sendai, a place in the north of Japan where I will join a family reunion on the beach. Just like old times. This place in Sendai is literally the only thing in my life that hasn’t changed since I was a kid so its nice to go there and feel at home…or feel something. However, owing to the convenient lack of internet at this place up north I will not be able to post until…September some time, most likely. So until then my friends I bid you love, peace, and hippies rain down upon you like salmon falling lightly in the heavens, like frogs croaking in a pond by moonlight, like a joyous ocean wave rebounding against the beach-the mortal enemy.
And Northstar? Great. I should tell you about it sometime. www.ridenorthstar.com
The occasion for such a post? The end of my time at Northstar is at hand. But in 5 short hours I will be embarking on a 12 hour train ride to Sendai, a place in the north of Japan where I will join a family reunion on the beach. Just like old times. This place in Sendai is literally the only thing in my life that hasn’t changed since I was a kid so its nice to go there and feel at home…or feel something. However, owing to the convenient lack of internet at this place up north I will not be able to post until…September some time, most likely. So until then my friends I bid you love, peace, and hippies rain down upon you like salmon falling lightly in the heavens, like frogs croaking in a pond by moonlight, like a joyous ocean wave rebounding against the beach-the mortal enemy.
And Northstar? Great. I should tell you about it sometime. www.ridenorthstar.com
Sunday, August 13, 2006
I play the GUITAR
...and i play well. (so says the fat girl amy)
its a fact.
my name is brent-o san and i am from japan, and i rock so hard speaking my two languages. i love the fat girl amy, even though all she does is eat, i still love her. im bringing her back to america and then canada, its gonna be a blast!
i had braces and i still wear the retainer every once in a while, its good stuff. i really dont want my teeth to get out of whack like they used to be, that would just be horrific. well its kind of sad, well actually i dont if im sad or happy, the summer is coming to an end and i will be leaving this north star place in less than a week and then going to see some of my old friends in sendai, its going to rock, but fat amy isnt coming. BOO. this has been a good summer full of thinking, laughing and bathing. i actually enjoy bathing even though some may think otherwise. we had a power outage the other day, a huge storm. oh something else about bathing, today i went to the onsen and i was like yeah im tan, what, what... and then to my thoughts demise i found out my tan was just dirt. unfortunate. i like britney spears. you know? fat amy made me like her, and i dont mind, mainly because fat amys so cool that its hard not to be swayed into her own thoughts/opinions/beliefs. anyway. back to this summer, i have realized many things about life and family and friends and cleaning and hiking and playing and responsibiliting and learning and translating and friending and climbing and manualing and cooperating and appreciating and discovering and eating and LIVING a rock and roll lifestyle... and as Joey Tribianni would say "sharing and giving and receiving." i actually love the rock and roll lifestyle its rocking and i just rock out every moment i can. i3po forever, look them up on myspace, they are one of the best bands in the freaking world!
SERIOUSLY this is real last week we had a camp that came of about 25 kids from the ages of like 6 to 13 and we took them up into the mountains with backpacks and all... eep! and seriously, it was so amazing from the time we left to the time we got back(which was only about 2 days when it was supposed to be 3 or 4 or something due to some tyfoon that was trying to rain on our parade and did but only by warning, not by any real damage to skin or life) it was night and day difference there had been such a change in the kids lives, it was really cool to be apart of and see. truly cool.
word.
hey sorry since i have been taking medication for my uh my blogs get seriously wild and i am very sorry for it. read on with joy and laughter, yipperreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!
FIRE IN THE HOLE!
i just love this life that i live its nice. im alive breathing feeling and LOVING it. yeah.
its a fact.
my name is brent-o san and i am from japan, and i rock so hard speaking my two languages. i love the fat girl amy, even though all she does is eat, i still love her. im bringing her back to america and then canada, its gonna be a blast!
i had braces and i still wear the retainer every once in a while, its good stuff. i really dont want my teeth to get out of whack like they used to be, that would just be horrific. well its kind of sad, well actually i dont if im sad or happy, the summer is coming to an end and i will be leaving this north star place in less than a week and then going to see some of my old friends in sendai, its going to rock, but fat amy isnt coming. BOO. this has been a good summer full of thinking, laughing and bathing. i actually enjoy bathing even though some may think otherwise. we had a power outage the other day, a huge storm. oh something else about bathing, today i went to the onsen and i was like yeah im tan, what, what... and then to my thoughts demise i found out my tan was just dirt. unfortunate. i like britney spears. you know? fat amy made me like her, and i dont mind, mainly because fat amys so cool that its hard not to be swayed into her own thoughts/opinions/beliefs. anyway. back to this summer, i have realized many things about life and family and friends and cleaning and hiking and playing and responsibiliting and learning and translating and friending and climbing and manualing and cooperating and appreciating and discovering and eating and LIVING a rock and roll lifestyle... and as Joey Tribianni would say "sharing and giving and receiving." i actually love the rock and roll lifestyle its rocking and i just rock out every moment i can. i3po forever, look them up on myspace, they are one of the best bands in the freaking world!
SERIOUSLY this is real last week we had a camp that came of about 25 kids from the ages of like 6 to 13 and we took them up into the mountains with backpacks and all... eep! and seriously, it was so amazing from the time we left to the time we got back(which was only about 2 days when it was supposed to be 3 or 4 or something due to some tyfoon that was trying to rain on our parade and did but only by warning, not by any real damage to skin or life) it was night and day difference there had been such a change in the kids lives, it was really cool to be apart of and see. truly cool.
word.
hey sorry since i have been taking medication for my uh my blogs get seriously wild and i am very sorry for it. read on with joy and laughter, yipperreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!
FIRE IN THE HOLE!
i just love this life that i live its nice. im alive breathing feeling and LOVING it. yeah.
Friday, July 28, 2006
a philosophy of babies
I am surrounded by babies. Probably by more babies then I've ever seen in my life. All in the space of one month. There's probably as much crying around here as there are gawking girls drooling over their very dippers hoping that perhaps they too will one day have the privilege of holding a dear smelly one of their own. And bless their hearts. But despite the incessant noise protruding from their wide open cake-holes, babies make me think. Why do they cry? Sure its because they fell, or they want more jello even though there's none left--but why is crying the first sound they make when they're born? There's a 3 week old baby that I watch cry when someone flashes a camera in his face, or when he's grumpy, or...whenever he starts crying for no particular reason (as babies so often do). It makes wonder if they don't want to be here on earth. And why would any one? Surely we who have been alive longer then a few days know that life is pain and pain is crying. When babies cry perhaps they are lamenting life itself. It seems from their first moment on earth they protest loudly and continue to do so until they are eventually assimilated into this hostile environment so that the daily pain of life is bearable.
Cant blame then for crying really
...except when they're being snotty pricks
Cant blame then for crying really
...except when they're being snotty pricks
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
i wish i was a baller
no i don't wish i was baller but thats not a big deal i just thought it sounded cho genki.
its me brent livin in the north alps of japan, and I'm lovin' IT! woop woop...me and my co-guide gabriel-san got back from our adventurous hike of five nights and six days, by the way where i spent my twenty-first birthday....yes, i love my birthday but mine actually blowed because of the onsen problems (no big deal i:ll explain it if you really want to know) but the exciting thing about my birthday after i had come home from our hike my beautiful north star friends gave me a big bash, well actually they just sang me happy birthday and made me some yummy ice cream tower that looked like a poop mountain but was so tasty but since i am so thin i couldn't finish it so my fat friend amy did! i love her fatness!!! ok back to my hike...it was so amazing, um, we saw a bear that looked like a brownie because it was so far away, i wanted to eat it but knowing about my thinness i knew i wouldn't be able to... i wished amy was there. gabriel is also anorexic like me. no he's not I'm not either but its just so you get the idea of how fit me and my friend gabriel-san are. yeah about my hike: I just want to let you know/ remind you that i am really bad at telling about my life experiences so im sorry if this doesnt seem in depth enough or whatever... i will try to do my best.....oh radical-ness i went to a coldplay concert yesterday in Nagoya which was the shiznet! they were beautiful like they were so simple yet so gorgeous, like the music isnt like so complex where you are like going wow did you hear or wasnt that amazing on the guitar but its just like yeah you know? i think you do. beauty in its most expensive form. like it was reminiscent of sitting in nature and just being surrounded by beauty but it costed like 100 dollars. yep. oh lately honestly i fell in love with the computer and im on it like every three seconds so its like absolutely insane...seriously people are calling me their internet lover (amy, the fat one) im on the computer because i am doing like a mountaineering guides manual: intense.
btw also known as by the way, does anybody know about how to post pictures on this bad boy? if so let me know. coolness.
i feel like there is more that i want to say but its hard to put my finger on it...hmmmm.
oh right i totally forgot: i won a dance competition! i rock so hard, my moves are like kick ass, i move like michael jackson! you would have cried if you saw it it was honestly perfection. i won stickers. yeah thats right STICKERS! I ROCK!
its so neat that i can speak japanese, its such a blessing to be able to utilize my language gifting of the tongue for the good of humanity and adventure camp sport telephone fire....that made no sense, and i am sorry for that, but really it is good to be back in the motherland speaking my tribal language. YES...i really believe thats all this is aboot. ok peace from your sensei, live long and prosper.... dun dun dun dun du dun dun du dun dun dun dun ok i cant finish that but htat was the imperial march, vaders theme...weve got some serious star warriors here, losers. i never watch it im too cool for that i like to sleep.
its me brent livin in the north alps of japan, and I'm lovin' IT! woop woop...me and my co-guide gabriel-san got back from our adventurous hike of five nights and six days, by the way where i spent my twenty-first birthday....yes, i love my birthday but mine actually blowed because of the onsen problems (no big deal i:ll explain it if you really want to know) but the exciting thing about my birthday after i had come home from our hike my beautiful north star friends gave me a big bash, well actually they just sang me happy birthday and made me some yummy ice cream tower that looked like a poop mountain but was so tasty but since i am so thin i couldn't finish it so my fat friend amy did! i love her fatness!!! ok back to my hike...it was so amazing, um, we saw a bear that looked like a brownie because it was so far away, i wanted to eat it but knowing about my thinness i knew i wouldn't be able to... i wished amy was there. gabriel is also anorexic like me. no he's not I'm not either but its just so you get the idea of how fit me and my friend gabriel-san are. yeah about my hike: I just want to let you know/ remind you that i am really bad at telling about my life experiences so im sorry if this doesnt seem in depth enough or whatever... i will try to do my best.....oh radical-ness i went to a coldplay concert yesterday in Nagoya which was the shiznet! they were beautiful like they were so simple yet so gorgeous, like the music isnt like so complex where you are like going wow did you hear or wasnt that amazing on the guitar but its just like yeah you know? i think you do. beauty in its most expensive form. like it was reminiscent of sitting in nature and just being surrounded by beauty but it costed like 100 dollars. yep. oh lately honestly i fell in love with the computer and im on it like every three seconds so its like absolutely insane...seriously people are calling me their internet lover (amy, the fat one) im on the computer because i am doing like a mountaineering guides manual: intense.
btw also known as by the way, does anybody know about how to post pictures on this bad boy? if so let me know. coolness.
i feel like there is more that i want to say but its hard to put my finger on it...hmmmm.
oh right i totally forgot: i won a dance competition! i rock so hard, my moves are like kick ass, i move like michael jackson! you would have cried if you saw it it was honestly perfection. i won stickers. yeah thats right STICKERS! I ROCK!
its so neat that i can speak japanese, its such a blessing to be able to utilize my language gifting of the tongue for the good of humanity and adventure camp sport telephone fire....that made no sense, and i am sorry for that, but really it is good to be back in the motherland speaking my tribal language. YES...i really believe thats all this is aboot. ok peace from your sensei, live long and prosper.... dun dun dun dun du dun dun du dun dun dun dun ok i cant finish that but htat was the imperial march, vaders theme...weve got some serious star warriors here, losers. i never watch it im too cool for that i like to sleep.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
yarigatake
My co-guide Gabe and I are leaving for a 7 day 6 night hike in the Northern Japan Alps. We are intending to climb Yarigatake, one of Japans highest and most famous peaks. Should have lots of hot springs and lots of 10,000ft mountains. Our mission is to scout trails for future possibilities of leading campers up them, mark evacuation routs, make contingency planns etc. A 7 day hike is by far the longest I've ever done and should be an excellent way to spend my birthday...as long as we don't run out of food.
Friday, June 30, 2006
babies?
Today I held a one day old baby. For many, their first time holding such a young little thing is a life changing experience.—it makes one think about priorities in life, beauty, and the meaning of life itself. I would just like to preface my following statements by saying that I am not a horrible person, I do not hate small humans, and some people have even been known to call me “nice”. As privileged as I am to receive these flattering comments I am not mentioning them without purpose; I will trust you keep these things in mind for the remainder of this post. For you see, unlike the average dreamy male who loves the little things to death, I look down to the smelly bundle in my hands and recognize him as a representation of all the crying babies I have ever encountered on air, land, and oceanic transportation devices…and a bundle that somewhat brings to mind prunes or lizards for some reason. Naturally, I wonder if I will always feel this way towards miniature humans and something tells me I wont but we’ll travel intrepidly so as not to wake the sleeping babies. I look forward to the day that I come to respect mini-humans as cute little "snookie-wookums" as grannies always say.
In more of an update, a YWAM team of 9 just joined the lofty ranks of the Northstar staff. They’re fresh from America but surprisingly willing to be assimilated to Japanese culture—a rare and admirable combination…for being Americans. Good people though, very good. I’ve also been doing a fair bit of translating from Japanese to English; a new and somewhat nerve racking hobby to be forced to undertake, but my skills in Japanese are slowly returning. Every word I remember is treated like the prodigal son-with celebrations and feasts and rainbow coats and the killing of fatty animals. The best part about the arrival of the YWAM team is that now we have regular meals because before YWAM came the staff numbers were so few that there were no meals. Of course you must understand there are no campers yet either so having regular meals for four staff members seamed understandably superfluous. It was thus commissioned from a higher rank that we not be fed, but instead reap our own fields in spring, if you know what I mean. So that meant coffee for breakfast, a role for lunch, and plain rice for dinner. I also weighed myself for the fist time in 2 years and found that I had lost 12lbs since high school. This came as a surprise to Brent who, not having much to loose in the first place, was likely invisible from the side view much as paper is invisible when looked at from the right angle.
In more of an update, a YWAM team of 9 just joined the lofty ranks of the Northstar staff. They’re fresh from America but surprisingly willing to be assimilated to Japanese culture—a rare and admirable combination…for being Americans. Good people though, very good. I’ve also been doing a fair bit of translating from Japanese to English; a new and somewhat nerve racking hobby to be forced to undertake, but my skills in Japanese are slowly returning. Every word I remember is treated like the prodigal son-with celebrations and feasts and rainbow coats and the killing of fatty animals. The best part about the arrival of the YWAM team is that now we have regular meals because before YWAM came the staff numbers were so few that there were no meals. Of course you must understand there are no campers yet either so having regular meals for four staff members seamed understandably superfluous. It was thus commissioned from a higher rank that we not be fed, but instead reap our own fields in spring, if you know what I mean. So that meant coffee for breakfast, a role for lunch, and plain rice for dinner. I also weighed myself for the fist time in 2 years and found that I had lost 12lbs since high school. This came as a surprise to Brent who, not having much to loose in the first place, was likely invisible from the side view much as paper is invisible when looked at from the right angle.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
state plainly
The state of Japan is at best depressing. Here are people who have everything if not more than our white neighbors have. There are no scenes of poverty in this country that will bring churches to pass around offering plates, there are no naked, barefoot, starving children wasting away on the streets, there is no civil war, ethnic cleansing, oppressive government, not even rampant crime—it’s the safest country in the world! There is nothing I can see that will tell me how sad this place is. The problem is so indefinable and undiscoverable that most who visit here never see or understand that there could possibly be a problem—a problem that can’t be fixed by throwing money at the situation, preaching, becoming a Christian, or sending them away. And I haven’t the foggiest idea what it could be. But there is desperation for something I don’t know, for life.
Put your offering plates back on the shelf, for one thing I believe strongly; money will not reverse the damage that money has caused.
Put your offering plates back on the shelf, for one thing I believe strongly; money will not reverse the damage that money has caused.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Shin-ShimaShima
First, a thought from the office I used to work at (emphasis on *used* to work at, thank goodness). There’s no lying about it, we've all had more then our share of evil elementary teachers. For me that teachers name was Mrs. Anderson you can imagine how easy it would be to pick on a foreign kid disguised in white skin who couldn't read the word "cat" while all his classmates were reading Pilgrims Progress in old English. And to make matters worse, I was going to a Christian school. But that is not what I am trying to talk about--it has plagued me for many a year as to how these evil teachers become evil. Surely at some point they were normal. And in the rare case that your evil teacher has found a suitable mate--she must have been human enough to feel some kind of emotion and look attractive enough at some point in life. Well I have now seen how these teachers happen and now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense--office ladies. Office ladies are anal about small things, have favorites, suck up to their bosses, expect everyone to be wrong except for themselves, and I’ve noticed they have a particular aversion to people. When I was talking to one of these type of office ladies about future ambitions I vomited a small amount in the back of my throat as she told me she was studying elementary education and wanted to become a teacher. Suddenly I was standing in front of Mrs. Andersen II talking to her pre-teacher self. May those children’s souls rest in peace.
I am excited to announce that I have officially made it to Japan. The way you can tell a stand-by passenger from a normal one is by looking around during the safety demonstration; the only people who have their heads held high and are beaming like they've just won the lottery are probably them. In light of its cheap price I tend to forget the high price one pays for a stand-by ticket. In a grueling battle of attrition between me and the airplane, 3 precious days of transportation were lost to what I now call, "limbo"--Greek god of grayness. His chariot? the most notable invention of the 20th century--the air plane. In a moment enlightenment I realized that the pressure of an airplane, the complete compressed enclosure of its doors seems to parallel the complete vacuum of time it represents. You simply sleep when you want and the meals are given out at amazingly random times, i.e. why are you serving me lunch at 2 in the bloody morning? I don't care if its lunch time in Siberia! I need my sleep!
In any case, I was a bit apprehensive when disembarking the plane. I had a slight feeling of guilt in my stomach; similar to the kind of guilt I would imagine would be felt by someone who was committing adultery. For you see, I had given up my long lost proven friend for a cheap fling out in the Americas--a fling which I thought would complete my being and solve my problems, but which I have found to be as empty as Americans answers to geography questions. With this odd comparison in mind, I timidly exited the long vacuum-cleaner-hose walkway back to the country that I have dreamt of returning to for so long. In order to complete my happiness, I moved Japan time from the secondary time on my watch to primary, and American time to secondary. After inhaling a long, humid, hot breath I knew that I was really back. Although self-admittedly I am somewhat apprehensive. I knew a Japan really well when I lived here, but I have changed and many of the people who made Japan for me are now gone. In the back of my mind I wonder if Japan and I are still going to be friends. Its the way I wonder about old friends when we go out to coffee, are we still friends even though we've both changed in so many ways? Can the same friendship still be had, because chances are that there's not enough time to build a new one.
Now that I have arrived at the Northstar campus near Shin-ShimaShima (ya, the name of a station. Try saying it, its fun) in Nagoya I realize that Japan is home to fantastical natural beauty. I haven't seen such a beautiful place since Austria--and that’s just what it looks like too, flowery fields surrounded by foothills while off in the distance rises the Japan alps all snowy an jagged like. I've always suspected Japan might be home to natural beauty but this is more than what I expected. So to all of you out there who think Japan is nothing but city, tell all your friends that its not, it is your obligation to spread this rare truth.
As far as Northstar is concerned, I am super excited and super privileged to be able to do what I am doing here. Due to Japans dire need for outdoors people who know what they're doing, it seems my area of study, and therefore, I, am some kind of rare specimen around these parts. My duty is to develop, standardize, and lead 4 day backpacking trips around this area. What I am most excited about is Northstar’s desire for excellence and professionalism in the activities they do--apparently it is this that separates Northstar from the few other camps around Japan. All told, good vibes so far.
Good vibes.
I am excited to announce that I have officially made it to Japan. The way you can tell a stand-by passenger from a normal one is by looking around during the safety demonstration; the only people who have their heads held high and are beaming like they've just won the lottery are probably them. In light of its cheap price I tend to forget the high price one pays for a stand-by ticket. In a grueling battle of attrition between me and the airplane, 3 precious days of transportation were lost to what I now call, "limbo"--Greek god of grayness. His chariot? the most notable invention of the 20th century--the air plane. In a moment enlightenment I realized that the pressure of an airplane, the complete compressed enclosure of its doors seems to parallel the complete vacuum of time it represents. You simply sleep when you want and the meals are given out at amazingly random times, i.e. why are you serving me lunch at 2 in the bloody morning? I don't care if its lunch time in Siberia! I need my sleep!
In any case, I was a bit apprehensive when disembarking the plane. I had a slight feeling of guilt in my stomach; similar to the kind of guilt I would imagine would be felt by someone who was committing adultery. For you see, I had given up my long lost proven friend for a cheap fling out in the Americas--a fling which I thought would complete my being and solve my problems, but which I have found to be as empty as Americans answers to geography questions. With this odd comparison in mind, I timidly exited the long vacuum-cleaner-hose walkway back to the country that I have dreamt of returning to for so long. In order to complete my happiness, I moved Japan time from the secondary time on my watch to primary, and American time to secondary. After inhaling a long, humid, hot breath I knew that I was really back. Although self-admittedly I am somewhat apprehensive. I knew a Japan really well when I lived here, but I have changed and many of the people who made Japan for me are now gone. In the back of my mind I wonder if Japan and I are still going to be friends. Its the way I wonder about old friends when we go out to coffee, are we still friends even though we've both changed in so many ways? Can the same friendship still be had, because chances are that there's not enough time to build a new one.
Now that I have arrived at the Northstar campus near Shin-ShimaShima (ya, the name of a station. Try saying it, its fun) in Nagoya I realize that Japan is home to fantastical natural beauty. I haven't seen such a beautiful place since Austria--and that’s just what it looks like too, flowery fields surrounded by foothills while off in the distance rises the Japan alps all snowy an jagged like. I've always suspected Japan might be home to natural beauty but this is more than what I expected. So to all of you out there who think Japan is nothing but city, tell all your friends that its not, it is your obligation to spread this rare truth.
As far as Northstar is concerned, I am super excited and super privileged to be able to do what I am doing here. Due to Japans dire need for outdoors people who know what they're doing, it seems my area of study, and therefore, I, am some kind of rare specimen around these parts. My duty is to develop, standardize, and lead 4 day backpacking trips around this area. What I am most excited about is Northstar’s desire for excellence and professionalism in the activities they do--apparently it is this that separates Northstar from the few other camps around Japan. All told, good vibes so far.
Good vibes.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
stand-by 101
Dirt-bag travelers, hearken these words of wisdom.
The time is upon us my dear friends in but eleven short days I will be standing in a crowded airport staring blankly at the ticket agent who will be trying to convince me to go home instead of chancing a flight to Japan when all the seats are oversold. If you’ve done it before, you know exactly what I’m talking about; stand-by flying…when you metaphorically, literally, spiritually, ecumenically, and grammatically fly be the seat of your pants. For most, the goal of stand-by flying (henceforth referred to as SB flying) is to get there. By any means possible. In the past I have even contemplated breaking the legs of paying passengers in an attempt to heighten my chances of getting on the plane or just stick my foot out and trip them just to see if they break an ankle…or head. You could call SB flying the great equalizer of modernday man. I am convinced that no matter how nice you are when you step into the air port, as soon as you step into the security line and pass through the S.S.S.S. (“Super Special Security Screening” - an unfortunate custom observed with every SB passenger where the guards make you take off everything but your pants and shirt in an effort to thwart terrorism. But what kind of dirt bag terrorist would fly stand-by anyways? If you’re going to kill yourself at least do in comfort and style-that’s what I say). There are a few rules of SB flying that I have learned over my extensive experience there of:
1. Never listen to The Check in Lady. Her main purpose is to get rid of you and treat you like trash. Remember—you are not a paying customer, therefore your opinion doesn’t matter, you are only extra work.
2. Be head strong. Many times the only way of getting a Check In Lady to help you with something is by being persistent and annoying. This is not an act of rudeness because you will find that they react the exact same way, and in fact treat everyone with the same rudeness. One might call this the airport culture.
3. Be open to friendliness especially with other SB’s. You could be in the airport stranded for days or weeks, there’s only a few other people who know your troubles like you do, the SB’s. They are your protection and your theft control at night-you must trust these people and comfort each other in your journeys and trials. As much as possible, learn the names and do small talk with The Ladies Behind The Desk and make yourself a friendly recognizable face-this will help you feel more at home and may also serve as an anti-theft device.
4. Take everything in stride. Never panic or show signs weakness, I’m convinced the Ladies Behind The Desk like to see us that way. We will not ever let them win. Never.
5. Your primary objective of going to the airport is NOT to catch a plane (a common misunderstanding). Make your own primary objective i.e. make friends, carry old ladies stuff, read a book, do 50 push ups, make a Desk Lady laugh, time your run from one end of the air port to the other etc. Your secondary objective is catching a plane. With this attitude The Ladies always lose, and you are in a win win situation.
Now, go forth and do likewise my young choco-bean and be fruitful.
As you may have guessed, I am flying stand-by to Japan from Seattle on the 16th—18th area. A mere 11 days away, and though I feel bad for quitting my cruise ship office lady job so soon, I cant help but feel totally elated for busting out of that climate controlled prison of my soul. Almost there.
The time is upon us my dear friends in but eleven short days I will be standing in a crowded airport staring blankly at the ticket agent who will be trying to convince me to go home instead of chancing a flight to Japan when all the seats are oversold. If you’ve done it before, you know exactly what I’m talking about; stand-by flying…when you metaphorically, literally, spiritually, ecumenically, and grammatically fly be the seat of your pants. For most, the goal of stand-by flying (henceforth referred to as SB flying) is to get there. By any means possible. In the past I have even contemplated breaking the legs of paying passengers in an attempt to heighten my chances of getting on the plane or just stick my foot out and trip them just to see if they break an ankle…or head. You could call SB flying the great equalizer of modernday man. I am convinced that no matter how nice you are when you step into the air port, as soon as you step into the security line and pass through the S.S.S.S. (“Super Special Security Screening” - an unfortunate custom observed with every SB passenger where the guards make you take off everything but your pants and shirt in an effort to thwart terrorism. But what kind of dirt bag terrorist would fly stand-by anyways? If you’re going to kill yourself at least do in comfort and style-that’s what I say). There are a few rules of SB flying that I have learned over my extensive experience there of:
1. Never listen to The Check in Lady. Her main purpose is to get rid of you and treat you like trash. Remember—you are not a paying customer, therefore your opinion doesn’t matter, you are only extra work.
2. Be head strong. Many times the only way of getting a Check In Lady to help you with something is by being persistent and annoying. This is not an act of rudeness because you will find that they react the exact same way, and in fact treat everyone with the same rudeness. One might call this the airport culture.
3. Be open to friendliness especially with other SB’s. You could be in the airport stranded for days or weeks, there’s only a few other people who know your troubles like you do, the SB’s. They are your protection and your theft control at night-you must trust these people and comfort each other in your journeys and trials. As much as possible, learn the names and do small talk with The Ladies Behind The Desk and make yourself a friendly recognizable face-this will help you feel more at home and may also serve as an anti-theft device.
4. Take everything in stride. Never panic or show signs weakness, I’m convinced the Ladies Behind The Desk like to see us that way. We will not ever let them win. Never.
5. Your primary objective of going to the airport is NOT to catch a plane (a common misunderstanding). Make your own primary objective i.e. make friends, carry old ladies stuff, read a book, do 50 push ups, make a Desk Lady laugh, time your run from one end of the air port to the other etc. Your secondary objective is catching a plane. With this attitude The Ladies always lose, and you are in a win win situation.
Now, go forth and do likewise my young choco-bean and be fruitful.
As you may have guessed, I am flying stand-by to Japan from Seattle on the 16th—18th area. A mere 11 days away, and though I feel bad for quitting my cruise ship office lady job so soon, I cant help but feel totally elated for busting out of that climate controlled prison of my soul. Almost there.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
peculiar...
Word has trickled down through the ranks that some of my faithful readers have come to believe that some of my blogings are “jokes” or just simply untrue. I.e. living in a trailer or sleeping under the stairs. I am shocked and bemused at this two faced lack of faith in my stories. I can assure you that everything I have written about is at least 90% true…except for the whole dragons in Portland thing—but that was the exception.
I think I have been reading too much of Narnia because I had a dream that I woke up and Aslan was laying on my bed beside me. But in my dream I didn’t see him, it was more a strong sensation that he was laying down beside me but I dared not look lest he wasn’t there. Peculiar feeling really.
My second peculiar feeling was at my first hippy concert I went to with Pam (yey!). After the excellent concert involving bagpipes, barons, drums, and other various 12th century instruments I went and talked to a band member for a short while. Another two guys came to talk making a circle of four people—while the other two were engaged in conversation I looked at the flip flops of the guy next to me-they were the same as mine but a different shape. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed he was my same height, wearing my same shorts but khaki and a similar shirt but white instead of grey. I finally turned to make conversation with him and noticed he was my age and he had my same hair style but blond and his facial expressions looked similar to what I imagined mine were at that time but his eyes were blue. I walked away from that small talk conversation fully convinced that we could be the best of friends. This in less than one minute. Peculiar? Yes.
The school year having ended I feel now is the opportune time to reflect upon my academic year. Talking to the only other Japanese person at the school over a cup of coffee, I believe she used an apt word that I believe sums up my year in Canada—in Japanese this word is “henko”, literally meaning “strange child”. And so in retrospect I believe that this last year has been proof that I am henko. Not just outwardly by living in a trailer or riding a bike to school (apparently riding a bike for non-recreation is an invitation that says “I am worthlessly poor please give me the finger and honk at me”) but also in the Christian culture at Bible College. It seems like bible school is an extension of junior high youth group, the only difference is that people are older and therefore more flowery in their repetitive Christianisms and worship songs. Maybe its some sort of competition—the more Christianisms you use repetitively and the more you cry in worship sessions the more attractive you are to the opposite sex. But the most notable of Bible school eccentricities seems to be a superspiritual belief that verges on mysticism. This kind of mystic belief I have observed seems to allow these people to transcend difficult questions about Christianity, answering them with an air of “questions don’t matter I don’t need my mind so long as I feel”. Which seems to work for them fine, but it’s definitely not my style. So one might say that I am a bit disillusioned by this past year of Bible College. Leading me to one of two conclusions; there is something wrong with them or there is something wrong with me. And because I seem to be the only one to notice these peculiarities among Bible Schoolers, or else I am the only one to voice any abnormal behaviors in relation to them, I have concluded that I am henko—a strange child.
So it has been written, so shall it be.
I think I have been reading too much of Narnia because I had a dream that I woke up and Aslan was laying on my bed beside me. But in my dream I didn’t see him, it was more a strong sensation that he was laying down beside me but I dared not look lest he wasn’t there. Peculiar feeling really.
My second peculiar feeling was at my first hippy concert I went to with Pam (yey!). After the excellent concert involving bagpipes, barons, drums, and other various 12th century instruments I went and talked to a band member for a short while. Another two guys came to talk making a circle of four people—while the other two were engaged in conversation I looked at the flip flops of the guy next to me-they were the same as mine but a different shape. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed he was my same height, wearing my same shorts but khaki and a similar shirt but white instead of grey. I finally turned to make conversation with him and noticed he was my age and he had my same hair style but blond and his facial expressions looked similar to what I imagined mine were at that time but his eyes were blue. I walked away from that small talk conversation fully convinced that we could be the best of friends. This in less than one minute. Peculiar? Yes.
The school year having ended I feel now is the opportune time to reflect upon my academic year. Talking to the only other Japanese person at the school over a cup of coffee, I believe she used an apt word that I believe sums up my year in Canada—in Japanese this word is “henko”, literally meaning “strange child”. And so in retrospect I believe that this last year has been proof that I am henko. Not just outwardly by living in a trailer or riding a bike to school (apparently riding a bike for non-recreation is an invitation that says “I am worthlessly poor please give me the finger and honk at me”) but also in the Christian culture at Bible College. It seems like bible school is an extension of junior high youth group, the only difference is that people are older and therefore more flowery in their repetitive Christianisms and worship songs. Maybe its some sort of competition—the more Christianisms you use repetitively and the more you cry in worship sessions the more attractive you are to the opposite sex. But the most notable of Bible school eccentricities seems to be a superspiritual belief that verges on mysticism. This kind of mystic belief I have observed seems to allow these people to transcend difficult questions about Christianity, answering them with an air of “questions don’t matter I don’t need my mind so long as I feel”. Which seems to work for them fine, but it’s definitely not my style. So one might say that I am a bit disillusioned by this past year of Bible College. Leading me to one of two conclusions; there is something wrong with them or there is something wrong with me. And because I seem to be the only one to notice these peculiarities among Bible Schoolers, or else I am the only one to voice any abnormal behaviors in relation to them, I have concluded that I am henko—a strange child.
So it has been written, so shall it be.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
office lady!
If you’re anything like me, you’re probably wondering what in Hades I’m doing here these days. Well, even if you aren’t I sure am… but in exciting news I have found a job for a while. That’s right, I am now an official office lady (I got my badge yesterday) for a cruise ship company. So I get to wear a cool headset with a microphone on it and answer calls in front of a computer screen and give people information about how to get to various places in Portland. Which is somewhat ironic given the fact that I just moved to this town 2 weeks ago. I have a suspicion that I may be the first male office lady that has been hired by this company because everyone keeps referring to our department as full of “her”s and “she”s. Although I am not bold enough yet, I plan on politely reminding my benevolent co-workers of my gender…if necessary with my fist. How many girls would do that huh?! Hopefully this job will lift me out of complete destitution and redeposit my financial corpse onto the proverbial “lifeboat” of life.
Yes friends, it was a hopeful time for all of Portland.
Yes friends, it was a hopeful time for all of Portland.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
my personal hero
Yes, it was another grey day in Portland when Brent suddenly realized that he had much in common with his personal hero, Harry Potter. For you see, Brent not only shared the same last name, the same birth month, and the same sense of style (the robes, I love the robes), but now their parallel lives took on an uncanny likeness when Brent took up residence in a closet under the stairs. When Brent lay there at night after the light was off but before he dozed off he often wondered what Harry felt like living in a similar residence...and if those giant glasses ever burned his eyes like a magnifying glass when he looked into the sun.
Needless to say, I am now proud to announce that I live in a storage room under the stairs. I call it my "basement suite". I have been looking for jobs for the past week but one can only do that so long that before frying his mind with how much sucking up one must do to get one. It makes me sick and I hate myself more every time I do it, but I suppose it is unavoidable. I'm so bored that I take walks in circles and read the Narnia books for hours--I should read more challenging books perhaps, but Narnia books are so addicting...soo addicting.
In other exciting news it would seem the curse of the certificate of eligibility has finally been broken. In America I have come to realize that one is not credited as of sound legal mind and age until one has attained proficient government eligibility to be regarded as such. In this society I have found the title of Proficient Eligibility to hinge a lot on one thing; a drivers license. Hence the drivers license is the certificate of eligibility-proof that you are of sound legal mind and age. So it is my joy to announce that at the age of 20 and after one year of attempting to attain this certificate I have looked boldly into the face of society and said "No longer shall I be regarded as an infidel for I shall triumph". And I did. Ladies and gentlemen, Brent the Eligible.
Thank you.
Needless to say, I am now proud to announce that I live in a storage room under the stairs. I call it my "basement suite". I have been looking for jobs for the past week but one can only do that so long that before frying his mind with how much sucking up one must do to get one. It makes me sick and I hate myself more every time I do it, but I suppose it is unavoidable. I'm so bored that I take walks in circles and read the Narnia books for hours--I should read more challenging books perhaps, but Narnia books are so addicting...soo addicting.
In other exciting news it would seem the curse of the certificate of eligibility has finally been broken. In America I have come to realize that one is not credited as of sound legal mind and age until one has attained proficient government eligibility to be regarded as such. In this society I have found the title of Proficient Eligibility to hinge a lot on one thing; a drivers license. Hence the drivers license is the certificate of eligibility-proof that you are of sound legal mind and age. So it is my joy to announce that at the age of 20 and after one year of attempting to attain this certificate I have looked boldly into the face of society and said "No longer shall I be regarded as an infidel for I shall triumph". And I did. Ladies and gentlemen, Brent the Eligible.
Thank you.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Another Day in Portland
One hot afternoon when Brent was admiring the view of the Portland skyline (as he often did when there was so little to do with his time) he caught sight of an odd looking airplane. “that’s odd” Brent said to himself, “for a plane to be flying so low”, but as it got nearer he noticed that the wings of the airplane were moving up and down and that the front end of it had smoke coming out of it. “Oh golly! It must be on fire!” he said in a panicked fright. As it came ever nearer he realized that it wasn’t a plane at all, but was just another stupid dragon menacing the good citizens of Portland. For you see, Portland dragons are a not the typical fierce dragons you read about in story books, no, Portland dragons are much more likely to accidentally fly into a sky scraper or trip over a road sign then they are to do any real damage. Brent watched on while animal control teams tried to entice the dragon away with a giant cardboard cutout of a female dragon hanging from a black government helicopter—the plan seemed to be going well until the dragon lit the female dragon on fire with its flaming breath. The flames of course went straight up beneath the helicopter making a kind of heli-oven from which the inhabitants soon began bailing out of. The poor dragon who thought he had lit his lover (that is the cardboard cutout) on fire began crying giant drops of steaming water into the city streets and making some sort of sound that was so low that it seemed to be causing an earth quake (Brent who was quite well read in dragons knew this sound to be the mourning cry, or distressed dragon sound. The other city folk just thought it was an earth quake).
By this time the firefighters had arrived on scene with their equipment and tried to hose down the beast. Unfortunately for them, this seemed to cheer the dragon up quite a bit for he stopped his horrible earth quake sound (which by now had brought half of Portland down to rubble) and began dancing and playing in the fireman’s stream of water like a child plays in a sprinkler. I say this is unfortunate for the firemen because a happy dragon is more dangerous than a fierce one. When dragons get happy they start to dance, and as dragons are extraordinarily large creatures with odd proportions and little sensitivity to pain they are not much good at staying out of the way of buildings. So as the well intended firemen hosed the dragon, it began doing some rendition of “I don’t wanna be a chicken, I don’t wanna be a duck so I shake my butt, do do do do” and by the time it came to the twirl dance part he was knocking over whole sky scrapers with the left tail movements and as he did multiple “jump tuck and twirls” (rather gracefully as Brent noted) he decimated the whole Lloyd Center shopping mall. It was a funny sight to see crowds of city people and even firemen running away from the dragon like it was some kind of world war one retreat to the trenches.
Another day in Portland.
By this time the firefighters had arrived on scene with their equipment and tried to hose down the beast. Unfortunately for them, this seemed to cheer the dragon up quite a bit for he stopped his horrible earth quake sound (which by now had brought half of Portland down to rubble) and began dancing and playing in the fireman’s stream of water like a child plays in a sprinkler. I say this is unfortunate for the firemen because a happy dragon is more dangerous than a fierce one. When dragons get happy they start to dance, and as dragons are extraordinarily large creatures with odd proportions and little sensitivity to pain they are not much good at staying out of the way of buildings. So as the well intended firemen hosed the dragon, it began doing some rendition of “I don’t wanna be a chicken, I don’t wanna be a duck so I shake my butt, do do do do” and by the time it came to the twirl dance part he was knocking over whole sky scrapers with the left tail movements and as he did multiple “jump tuck and twirls” (rather gracefully as Brent noted) he decimated the whole Lloyd Center shopping mall. It was a funny sight to see crowds of city people and even firemen running away from the dragon like it was some kind of world war one retreat to the trenches.
Another day in Portland.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence--Moscow
Hanging out with a newly wed couple, an observer cannot but feel a spy infiltrating the ranks of matrimony. But no matter how much enemy information is recorded he cannot but feel as though they will always know more than he. What I am referring to is the international conspiracy of marriage--that which all young bachelors and bachelorets have heard rumors about, but which few, in fact none have experienced. Especially in recent history a matrimonial epidemic has hit our culture and on the front lines of this barrage stands the Christen sub-culture. After reaching the age of eligibility the once sedated flame that kept the hormones tame now run like a wildfires in the streets of Christianville. Indeed the hormones of these young individuals attempt to overthrow the sermon-based cerebral propaganda of abstinence. For this very reason they are the weakest and therefore the first to fall. My friends, do not become another statistic, stand firm all of you. And for the fortunate few who manage to survive this time of trial, a word of invitation (assuming minimum 40 years of age, singleness, meaninglessness, and lack of immediate family) I invite you to consider the following activities that will enhance a meaningful existence and ensure a swift, premature death: 1. Mine sweeping in Cambodia. 2. Standing in front of tanks to protest government things 3. Stage a demonstration for Catholicism in Northern Ireland.
But really, married couples have a secret, I'm sure of it--it is for this reason I have decided to declare cold war on the Marriage Club of Secrecy (M.C.S.), the Underground Society of Matrimony (U.S.M.), and the Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence, commonly known as the C.W.O.I. (Headquarters for all global capitalist propaganda and ministers unsurprisingly located in Moscow itself).
It has begun.
But really, married couples have a secret, I'm sure of it--it is for this reason I have decided to declare cold war on the Marriage Club of Secrecy (M.C.S.), the Underground Society of Matrimony (U.S.M.), and the Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence, commonly known as the C.W.O.I. (Headquarters for all global capitalist propaganda and ministers unsurprisingly located in Moscow itself).
It has begun.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
summer!
This time when I crossed the boarder into Canada, I got a strange sensation, kind of like that feeling one gets when arriving home after a long time away. I've crossed the boarder many times from the US to Canada and never have I felt more at home on this side than on the other. This sensation was even more surprising given the fact that this past year has been one not necessarily filled with awesome memories-its been hard. And although living in a trailer has been good, I am excited to get out of that stinky hell hole. The warmer it gets the stinkier that trailer is. But alas, school is out campus is empty and I am on my way to camp out in front of MEC (the REI of Canada) tonight to score some super cheap used gear they're selling tomorrow morning. It should be a good time.
For the first month of this summer it looks like I'll be living in downtown Portland with my bro Cami for the month of May until I head off to Japan in June. So for all you's Portland sluggards be on guard, I may show up at your door with a water gun and shoot you in the face until you fall over backwards.
In other news, I am pleased to announce that I have passed all my classes with then exception of none. Why is this a big deal you may ask? Because they were freaken hard man. Freaken hard. And for all you studious young university go-ers who are not yet done with finals, a word of advice-HAHA! SUCKERS!...I'M OUT OF HERE! WOOHOOO!
Summer here I come.
For the first month of this summer it looks like I'll be living in downtown Portland with my bro Cami for the month of May until I head off to Japan in June. So for all you's Portland sluggards be on guard, I may show up at your door with a water gun and shoot you in the face until you fall over backwards.
In other news, I am pleased to announce that I have passed all my classes with then exception of none. Why is this a big deal you may ask? Because they were freaken hard man. Freaken hard. And for all you studious young university go-ers who are not yet done with finals, a word of advice-HAHA! SUCKERS!...I'M OUT OF HERE! WOOHOOO!
Summer here I come.
Monday, April 17, 2006
work:
the act of mindlessly prostituting ones body to carry out menial tasks for the sake of acquiring material possessions or paying off debt.
One takes precious time off his life sacrificing eight hours per day to the wanton demands of a power hungry overlord commonly referred to as a “boss”. At the end of his life I wonder if he would look back and say “if only I could have worked more”—no, no my friends, such words would be foolishness. However, this is the great conflict; to participate in the government’s evil capitalistic scheme by yielding our God-given freedom annexed by this “work”? Or to run free, poor as animals but rich as the fields in spring? ‘Tis a great evil that modern man is faced with this cruel cruel decision. For the first perspective ensures security and financial prosperity—but at the cost of ones freedom. Many times he is forced to work at a desk in a drab city appeasing superiors in constant fear of loosing the job. The ladder choice ensures nothing at all, but it taunts freedom and independence, adventure and unknown—but for who’s benefit? We call this choice the hermit choice. For what good is a person who, with potential for good and ability for changing the world, runs off into the mountains to seek selfish sanctuary? He is a hermit and does nothing with the time he is given. There is a quote that says “I am only one tree in a forest, but still I am one tree”. So the worlds a horrible place—but to run and hide cannot be the answer.
Recently I’ve been talking to one of my friends about exploring South America. Apparently there’s a bunch of unsummited mountains and unexplored mountain ranges down there waiting for some overconfident white boys to discover. Naturally, my buddies and I were the first to nominate ourselves for this mission. But many times I ponder the idea of spending so much of ones life pursuing a personal mission that neither benefits nor inhibits others. Not that inhibiting others is good, it’s all just a bit apathetic sounding. This was the inspiration for the above rant.
One takes precious time off his life sacrificing eight hours per day to the wanton demands of a power hungry overlord commonly referred to as a “boss”. At the end of his life I wonder if he would look back and say “if only I could have worked more”—no, no my friends, such words would be foolishness. However, this is the great conflict; to participate in the government’s evil capitalistic scheme by yielding our God-given freedom annexed by this “work”? Or to run free, poor as animals but rich as the fields in spring? ‘Tis a great evil that modern man is faced with this cruel cruel decision. For the first perspective ensures security and financial prosperity—but at the cost of ones freedom. Many times he is forced to work at a desk in a drab city appeasing superiors in constant fear of loosing the job. The ladder choice ensures nothing at all, but it taunts freedom and independence, adventure and unknown—but for who’s benefit? We call this choice the hermit choice. For what good is a person who, with potential for good and ability for changing the world, runs off into the mountains to seek selfish sanctuary? He is a hermit and does nothing with the time he is given. There is a quote that says “I am only one tree in a forest, but still I am one tree”. So the worlds a horrible place—but to run and hide cannot be the answer.
Recently I’ve been talking to one of my friends about exploring South America. Apparently there’s a bunch of unsummited mountains and unexplored mountain ranges down there waiting for some overconfident white boys to discover. Naturally, my buddies and I were the first to nominate ourselves for this mission. But many times I ponder the idea of spending so much of ones life pursuing a personal mission that neither benefits nor inhibits others. Not that inhibiting others is good, it’s all just a bit apathetic sounding. This was the inspiration for the above rant.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
sock sleeping
In one comment posted by an author that at this time shall remain nameless, the question "are you alive?" was posed. This term "alive" particularly stuck out to me as at this moment such a term seems somewhat subjective in light of the whole semester ending. I suppose I am proud to announce that death has not yet grasped me by the jugular and sucked my proverbial "blood" from my still warm body. No, Brent shall live to die another day. God save the Queen.
The other day I went into Starbucks and asked for a free coffee. And I got one-a grande extra hot chai tea latte to be exact. And then they offered me a job. For a moment I was tempted to take them up on the offer but how would the cafeteria floors manage without me? Could I prostitute my floors to just any random minimum wage student worker? I think not! It goes without saying that I gracefully declined the job offer. Thanks anyways suckers.
Winter camping is a biohazard. Never have I been so repulsed at my own stench and that of my fellow tent mates as when the snow gear comes off. Although it is common practice to sleep with ones socks in his sleeping bag (so as to prevent ice from forming on them and to dry them out) after one night of said “sock sleeping” I opened my sleeping bag to the smell of gangrene, trench foot, and limb-rot. Instinctively I tried running away from the smell but the socks had already taken me as their deadly hostage—there was no escape. The only benefit to winter camping is that one can actually physically see smells coming off people in the form of deadly gaseous steam that would have put chlorine gas in WW1 to shame—now you know when to run away from your friends.
The sun-its like natures congratulations for making it through 6 months of sucky weather without dying from any combination of vitamin D deficiency, boredom, ugliness, suicide, or cold. Thank you mother nature for 6 months of death and 2 months of sun. I am not bitter.
The other day I went into Starbucks and asked for a free coffee. And I got one-a grande extra hot chai tea latte to be exact. And then they offered me a job. For a moment I was tempted to take them up on the offer but how would the cafeteria floors manage without me? Could I prostitute my floors to just any random minimum wage student worker? I think not! It goes without saying that I gracefully declined the job offer. Thanks anyways suckers.
Winter camping is a biohazard. Never have I been so repulsed at my own stench and that of my fellow tent mates as when the snow gear comes off. Although it is common practice to sleep with ones socks in his sleeping bag (so as to prevent ice from forming on them and to dry them out) after one night of said “sock sleeping” I opened my sleeping bag to the smell of gangrene, trench foot, and limb-rot. Instinctively I tried running away from the smell but the socks had already taken me as their deadly hostage—there was no escape. The only benefit to winter camping is that one can actually physically see smells coming off people in the form of deadly gaseous steam that would have put chlorine gas in WW1 to shame—now you know when to run away from your friends.
The sun-its like natures congratulations for making it through 6 months of sucky weather without dying from any combination of vitamin D deficiency, boredom, ugliness, suicide, or cold. Thank you mother nature for 6 months of death and 2 months of sun. I am not bitter.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
how the tables have turned...
It seems my string of incredibly mind numbing, frustrating, minimum wage paying, anal boss pleasing, low end society jobs has finally come to an end. As of this summer I will have responsibility, "specialization", and the most coveted of all--a title. That's right, I have officially received the news that I have been hired as an "Outdoor Program Consultant" at Northstar Outdoor Adventures in Japan. Pretty soon I'll be hanging plaques on my wall, firing people, and putting a title on my office door which will probably be my bunk bed. Actually my work will be developing, standardizing, and leading backpacking trips--which is hard because to have a good backpacking trip you have to do more than just walk. Walking is boring...because it's walking lets be honest. It's a really amazing opportunity to utilize my studies/experience because Northstar has nothing that would be considered in N. America as, "industry standard" so there's definitely areas that I can help improve. The situation is a bit tougher/sketchier due to the fact that there is no organized search and rescue and no helicopters in the area. But at the same time there's little/no liability so I guess it balances out...unless someone dies. Working at Northstar will combine my three dreams: Japan/Japanese people, ministry, and the outdoors. It is for these reasons I submit that no summer job could surpass this one.
All visitors are welcome.
This may be the most normal post I've ever posted-there's no ranting, words in capital letters, or exclamations...I feel so average
All visitors are welcome.
This may be the most normal post I've ever posted-there's no ranting, words in capital letters, or exclamations...I feel so average
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Banzai! for the matrimonial conjugal betrothal of a dear wedded one
I would like to take this opportunity to announce the glorious betrothal of my brother, friend, and mentor; Cami Potter AKA "The muffin man". It was the 18th day of the 3rd month of the 6th year of the 4th lunar circumnavigation of the 1st day after St. Patricks commemoration of the 5th stage of the 8 fold path to enlightenment when we sent him off to the sound of a shattering bottle of champagne over his head (you know, like what they do for ships…only metaphorically). The ceremonies were fun, the bachelor party was superbly executed, and the grooms dudes were…well there’s no beating around the bush, we were hunks. Huge hunks of monkeys; Extraordinarily large, perhaps superfluously enormous, copiously corpulent HUNKS. Though of course in the shadow of Muffin man we were all but a dirty worm to be run over by steal studded winter travel tires. But after all the fun was over I was left with a feeling similar to that experienced after a funeral. I suppose that’s because in some ways it was an end. It was also the beginning of a super awesome new thing, but it’s always good to recognize and celebrate an end. Banzai for Mr. and Mrs. Muffin—may they dance and frolic where the women flow like salmon and the wine flock to beer like Capistrano. We salute you.
The coffee bean: crutch or crux?
My latest theory has been that in the Northwest coffee is popular because living in the Northwest freaken bites. Lets be honest, during the peak season a typical Northwesterner may not see the sun for weeks or even months. This is not humanly normal. The body says to itself “hey, I need some artificial stimulants to put an artificial sun back into my dismal, sad, glum life”. And if the patron prefers legalized stimulants then he/she would naturally go to the nearest dealer for a fix of that sweatshop supporting black, miry, teeth staining liquid diarrheic we have come to “love” (aka be addicted to) called coffee. Granted there is s certain coffee culture in the northwest that is educed by a lack of any other social day time activity by way of the drizzly depressing weather outside, and for that reason many of us have gone astray. But not you!! Boycott!! Picket!! Pillage!! Vikings!! Amsterdam!! Freedom fries!! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!! LONG LIVE THE SHERRIFF OF NOTTINGHAM!!
At this point I will just assume that I have lost all my friends. But I don’t care!!...Heck, lets just go talk about it over coffee.
The coffee bean: crutch or crux?
My latest theory has been that in the Northwest coffee is popular because living in the Northwest freaken bites. Lets be honest, during the peak season a typical Northwesterner may not see the sun for weeks or even months. This is not humanly normal. The body says to itself “hey, I need some artificial stimulants to put an artificial sun back into my dismal, sad, glum life”. And if the patron prefers legalized stimulants then he/she would naturally go to the nearest dealer for a fix of that sweatshop supporting black, miry, teeth staining liquid diarrheic we have come to “love” (aka be addicted to) called coffee. Granted there is s certain coffee culture in the northwest that is educed by a lack of any other social day time activity by way of the drizzly depressing weather outside, and for that reason many of us have gone astray. But not you!! Boycott!! Picket!! Pillage!! Vikings!! Amsterdam!! Freedom fries!! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!! LONG LIVE THE SHERRIFF OF NOTTINGHAM!!
At this point I will just assume that I have lost all my friends. But I don’t care!!...Heck, lets just go talk about it over coffee.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
two ultimate truths
There are two great ultimate Truths; first, the cuteness of kids on skis. You know the polless-wonders who fly down any color run getting air off moguls. They do all this without a single flaw in balance or finesse that would put any ballet dancer, or yes, even Sir Michel Jackson to shame. For being the most fearless/daring/fate-tempting skiers on the hill-a toast to the children of the skis. Cheers.
The second great ultimate truth; cuteness of snowboarder girls. I don't know how they do it, but a chick boarder bombing it down a run, off a sweet jump, and ending in a cloud of powder is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. I don't know about you but I'd sit next to one of these boarders on the lift any day. I give them two thumbs up for style, form, and a desire to be recognized by outward performance. Good work ladies, you're an inspiration to us all.
And for those of you ladies who desire a special male companionship but have no snow sport experience, don't worry, most men prefer ladies in swim suits anyways. That's a two thumbs down for gross men. You people are an inspiration for us all to wear deodorant-for that we are thankful, but at the same time one noble deed does not make up for a life of grossness. Better luck next time boys.
The second great ultimate truth; cuteness of snowboarder girls. I don't know how they do it, but a chick boarder bombing it down a run, off a sweet jump, and ending in a cloud of powder is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. I don't know about you but I'd sit next to one of these boarders on the lift any day. I give them two thumbs up for style, form, and a desire to be recognized by outward performance. Good work ladies, you're an inspiration to us all.
And for those of you ladies who desire a special male companionship but have no snow sport experience, don't worry, most men prefer ladies in swim suits anyways. That's a two thumbs down for gross men. You people are an inspiration for us all to wear deodorant-for that we are thankful, but at the same time one noble deed does not make up for a life of grossness. Better luck next time boys.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
arrogus insecureum
There is nothing that tastes more bitter in my mouth than arrogant outdoors people. Especially the ones who are incredibly amazing at everything and presume that, because they are amazing at everything they have more worth than those that are not (a mathematical equation that I have developed for this called in Latin, "Arrogus-insecureum", the conjecture that {more ability = more worth}—a desperately grade school philosophy. This attitude is evident even in Batman Begins, with the quote "It's not who you are, but what you do that matters" Everything in this business is performance based, the more performance the bigger the ego, and consequently, the more ones mouth is open conceitedly bragging about his own abilities in a manner that portrays rancid insecurity of the most desperate echelon.
This is the one thing that ruins the beautiful outdoors; ugly people.
This is the one thing that ruins the beautiful outdoors; ugly people.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
muse
There have been a few times recently when watching a movie or reading a book when I feel as though I see my life in a clear light—it’s as if for a second the fog clears, nakedly exposing what the heck my life is. I envy those inspirational stories of people my age who pursue justice, hang out with the poor, seek truth, and fight for answers in far away countries. And it leads me to wonder if what I am doing with my life is in any way accomplishing or leading towards any kind of common good. Or have I become diluted by vain N. American promises and ideals, have I forgot the people I met in impoverished countries, their justice and their need for truth, have I narrowed my mind to the mundane, do I only care only for myself. In these moments there is a strong sensation of discontent—my life does not align with my virtues. But how can ones life be judged if not by his virtues? It is the few and far between who seek virtuous living, and even then it is mostly a conscience-appeasing living which attempts to amend the conflict between personal interests and virtuous living via justification and philosophical summersaults. One such summersault that I’ve been thinking bout recently is the quote “Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Many selfish things make people feel alive, but do they come alive doing those things? Is not true life found in the pursuit of service to others so that we can “come alive”?
Temporal, immediate satisfaction: search for thing to come alive = come alive = help other people
But, does “coming alive” give us eternal meaning? I would argue that in order for a finite being to have purpose, it must have infinite meaning. If a finite being is without infinite meaning, it is aimless and in search of temporary solutions to simulate purpose in order to convince the person that life is still worth living.
Goal focused, satisfaction in journey: Search for infinite meaning = by helping others = infinite meaning
I suggest that this is the finest goal; to lead life in the pursuit of infinite meaning—this can mean hanging with the poor, seeking truth, pursuing justice, talking with that kid, or fighting for answers in far away countries. There is no worse fate that I can think of other than laying on my death bed with a mind full of regrets that I had spent my life on temporal acquisitions instead of just doing something.
I think that made sense...
Temporal, immediate satisfaction: search for thing to come alive = come alive = help other people
But, does “coming alive” give us eternal meaning? I would argue that in order for a finite being to have purpose, it must have infinite meaning. If a finite being is without infinite meaning, it is aimless and in search of temporary solutions to simulate purpose in order to convince the person that life is still worth living.
Goal focused, satisfaction in journey: Search for infinite meaning = by helping others = infinite meaning
I suggest that this is the finest goal; to lead life in the pursuit of infinite meaning—this can mean hanging with the poor, seeking truth, pursuing justice, talking with that kid, or fighting for answers in far away countries. There is no worse fate that I can think of other than laying on my death bed with a mind full of regrets that I had spent my life on temporal acquisitions instead of just doing something.
I think that made sense...
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
consequences
"Avalanches are like the STD's of backcountry skiing, they make you shudder and say 'mmm...maybe not'"
Thursday, February 16, 2006
breast du poulet
Given the variety of notable, yet minor events happening at this time in my life, the following is a chapter by chapter “recap” on my thoughts, feelings, epiphanies and monsters.
-----------------------------------Scary------------------------------------------
Old single lady syndrome—I thought this happened only in the movies, but apparently not; they talk to themselves and their pets constantly, they do not let the pets leave their sight on pain of being reprimanded and slapped. Snoopy—they drink my milk when I am gone. After suspicions of said thievery, I preformed a controlled test which involved a lady, my milk, and my absence. My hypothesis was proved when the milk had less volume upon my return. Left over phobia—ladies such as this periodically throw away my left over food for concern of food poisoning. Stingy—in order to save money, some ladies have been known to turn the boiler off and claim that it is broken—scary.
------------------------------------Boring----------------------------------------
Today in Chapel I had an epiphany—worship sessions have not changed their songs since I was in 8th grade. Its like a musical testament to Saint Monotony. Anabaptist Theology—it’s a class, but it shouldn’t be. The locals refer to this class as crap-abaptist crap-pology due to their lower intestinal reaction upon entering the classroom.
------------------------------------Amazing--------------------------------------
This week I have seen the sun every day. As if trying to remember a dream, no one could quite pin-point exactly what that big yellow ball in the sky was, but after it was turned into a corporate money making scheme everyone remembered—the sun. (kind of like how no one would remember valentines day if it wasn’t a corporate scheme to sell chocolate, produce cavities, and improve the toothpaste industry (at this point I would like to add that toothpaste itself is a corporate scam—you don’t need it to clean your teeth)).
------------------------------------Fantastic-------------------------------------
Three nights ago I had a dream I was trying to sleep on an airplane with turbulence that could have out put the Pakistan earthquake to shame. Things were falling from the storage containers, women were screaming, children were crying, I was bouncing up and down and couldn’t manage to find my seat belt. Then I woke up and realized that I was not at 36,000ft going 600mph, no, I was in a trailer in a wind storm. The wind actually pushed the trailer about 2 inches—fantastic.
-----------------------------------Realization------------------------------------
I will never be a janitor. Ever again. Ever. On pain of a vacuumy, moppy death—so help me.
------------------------------------Mystery---------------------------------------
I live next to a chicken factory, truckloads of chickens go in but never come out. Where do they go? And if they do actually turn into chicken boob (a colloquialism for “Breast du Poulet”, which is French for “Chicky ala Dead”, which is upper class way of saying, “Chicken Breast”), what kind of systematic killing machine has some carnivoreistic crazy scientist developed to kill thousands of chickens within the space of hours—a mystery on par with microwave ovens and library ladies-why are they still walking when they died 50 years ago? We’ll answer that in our next edition of "Old Peole: Useless to society or good for making cookies out of?"
-----------------------------------Scary------------------------------------------
Old single lady syndrome—I thought this happened only in the movies, but apparently not; they talk to themselves and their pets constantly, they do not let the pets leave their sight on pain of being reprimanded and slapped. Snoopy—they drink my milk when I am gone. After suspicions of said thievery, I preformed a controlled test which involved a lady, my milk, and my absence. My hypothesis was proved when the milk had less volume upon my return. Left over phobia—ladies such as this periodically throw away my left over food for concern of food poisoning. Stingy—in order to save money, some ladies have been known to turn the boiler off and claim that it is broken—scary.
------------------------------------Boring----------------------------------------
Today in Chapel I had an epiphany—worship sessions have not changed their songs since I was in 8th grade. Its like a musical testament to Saint Monotony. Anabaptist Theology—it’s a class, but it shouldn’t be. The locals refer to this class as crap-abaptist crap-pology due to their lower intestinal reaction upon entering the classroom.
------------------------------------Amazing--------------------------------------
This week I have seen the sun every day. As if trying to remember a dream, no one could quite pin-point exactly what that big yellow ball in the sky was, but after it was turned into a corporate money making scheme everyone remembered—the sun. (kind of like how no one would remember valentines day if it wasn’t a corporate scheme to sell chocolate, produce cavities, and improve the toothpaste industry (at this point I would like to add that toothpaste itself is a corporate scam—you don’t need it to clean your teeth)).
------------------------------------Fantastic-------------------------------------
Three nights ago I had a dream I was trying to sleep on an airplane with turbulence that could have out put the Pakistan earthquake to shame. Things were falling from the storage containers, women were screaming, children were crying, I was bouncing up and down and couldn’t manage to find my seat belt. Then I woke up and realized that I was not at 36,000ft going 600mph, no, I was in a trailer in a wind storm. The wind actually pushed the trailer about 2 inches—fantastic.
-----------------------------------Realization------------------------------------
I will never be a janitor. Ever again. Ever. On pain of a vacuumy, moppy death—so help me.
------------------------------------Mystery---------------------------------------
I live next to a chicken factory, truckloads of chickens go in but never come out. Where do they go? And if they do actually turn into chicken boob (a colloquialism for “Breast du Poulet”, which is French for “Chicky ala Dead”, which is upper class way of saying, “Chicken Breast”), what kind of systematic killing machine has some carnivoreistic crazy scientist developed to kill thousands of chickens within the space of hours—a mystery on par with microwave ovens and library ladies-why are they still walking when they died 50 years ago? We’ll answer that in our next edition of "Old Peole: Useless to society or good for making cookies out of?"
Monday, February 06, 2006
post marital medusa
Some of the most unhappy looking people I’ve ever seen in my life are married women between the ages of 25-32. It’s like someone gave them horns and a spiky tail as a wedding gift. These women have typically stopped participating in the following list of female social norms: wearing make up, smiling, having manners, smelling good, and being fun at all. I can understand that once one is married one can “let go” and “do what you want”, but this is ridiculous. I know one such post-marital Medusa(or PMM for short) that works with me occasionally in the cafeteria. No such single person funeral procession has ever been seen but by this woman’s forlorn frown and uncivilized manner, when she looks at me my friends, pure evil. Just yesterday when cleaning the cafeteria at 7:00am, tunes blasting to encourage my eyes to stay open, this PMM barges in late to work, walks straight to the stereo and turns it off. This may seem of no consequence to you who do not clean floors for a living, but a janitor without a jig is like Paris without love. Under normal circumstances I would say something but for fear of this PMM’s snake-like paralyzing look nothing was said. I thought married people were supposed to be happy, but I suppose that happiness is directed only to one person leaving all others out. Thus, the PMM’s spouse is diluted to thinking that she is nice to everyone while little does he know that she is in fact the present day incarnation of Medusa herself. Maybe I should call up some spiritual Bible school people to help me cast this demon of post-marital Medusa while she’s not looking.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
pistol and ball
There are no happy seasonal events (save for that debauched tradition of Valentines Day, which is no tradition at all other than to fatten your loved ones up so you can convince them to go on a diet with you later...a cunning scheme ladies), there is constant grayness, dankness, boredom, and a thick sense of molasses in the air. Indeed, the cursed molasses of the doldrums is nigh and what action have we but to run for the coffee shops...only to arrive with soggy shoes. In the last month I have seen the sun twice, each time a momentous occasion; children danced in the streets, drivers complained because they had misplaced their sun-glasses, and I went out and read Moby Dick in that hallowed sunlight—its wisdom echoed to my soul. May this be an encouragement to you my Northwestern countrymen and Lower Mainland friends.
"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially when my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for a pistol and ball."
And so I head for the sea tomorrow, be it rain or blazing rain, I hope a trip to the sea will awaken my soul and dry out my spirits.
Kyrie eleison
"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially when my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for a pistol and ball."
And so I head for the sea tomorrow, be it rain or blazing rain, I hope a trip to the sea will awaken my soul and dry out my spirits.
Kyrie eleison
Monday, January 30, 2006
McDonalds artillery mount
Forgive me friends, I do not mean to talk about the same thing every blog but this I cannot keep within myself any longer. But 1 day after I composed my previous post the bicycle war reached its apex. One unsuspectingly rainy night at a late hour, I was biking to my trailer when in front of my face flew a McDonald's cup full of water. Thrown out the window of some merciless young city-slickers' car for comical pleasure and a good stroke of his personal ego. But yes, I laughed inside for even though he had no doubt aimed for my head, he missed by naught more than ten hands. Unsuspecting further attacks I laughed and shook my fist at the young "yahoo" but as I did so another barrage of fully loaded McDonalds cups, this time from more experienced artillerymen, came careening through the air, closing fast upon my dry position. Still shaking my fist and rejoicing, out of the corner of my eye I saw the fateful words "im loven it" etched in red on a white paper cup. No sooner had I noticed the cup than I felt the sensation of a million water molecules slowly and tortuously finding its path down my shirt and across my jeans. The rage of a thousands suns slowly arose in my chest and I gave the speeding McDonalds artillery mount the worst insult I could conjure. But alas, how futile! Surely little green car, we shall meet again. And when that time comes, I shall brandish my key and I shall cast revenge on your car in the form of a vandalous, paint-less scratch segmenting from trunk to hood. Then the innards of your car will surely fall out and I will feast upon the contents thereout, as my forefathers did upon your forefathers bones centuries ago, and it shall taste as honey to my lips.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
canadian white trash
As many of you know, I am by no means what you would call, an “adrenaline junky” or “an idiot bent on self destruction”, but it seems that a certain amount of masochistic risk taking must be involved if one is to become a good skier. Just a few days ago atop Whistler ski resort, I was faced with a decision that I believe will affect the rest of my skiing career. The choices concerning my decision on whether or not to attempt a double-black diamond were as follows: 1. To heed my primal sense of self-preservation and establish myself as a platinum member of the “survival of the fittest club". (i.e. One cannot be fit if he is not alive) or 2. Heed my other cave-man desire to impress the female kind of my species, wooing them to myself by via impressive stunts, have them bear my babies and foster miniature versions of myself in order to abate a feeling of self-worthlessness and bolster my ego. Despite the fact that the only person I was skiing with was a fifty year-old man, I still felt the call of a man, yes, the call to go full fledged into the face of senseless danger. Thus, I stood hundreds of meters above the tiny specks of skiers below armed only with my neon purple and green, 1970’s, 195cm Elan skis, with straight edges as dull as a spatula, wondering how in blazes I would descend this rock speckled sea of deceivingly innocent looking snow, down back into the land of the living. The feeling is similar to that one feels when standing atop a 50ft bridge contemplating the meaning of jumping off into the water below—the feeling that these moments will define the rest of your life, and one bad move will mess everything up. But one hour later when I got to the bottom of that bad boy, I realize why I like skiing so much. It’s the same reason I like hitching, jumping off tall scary things (only under peer pressure of course), and talking to my sister-in-law; because I have a death wish written on my forehead (I love you candie!). Well actually, I do it because in those times one can feel life—it becomes a tangible reality of which none is wasted, it is something un-tame and unsafe. It breaks all logic and nursery rhymes we have been taught to uphold; it is a risk.
In other news, I have officially achieved the status of “white trash”. I am pleased to announce that I now live out of a trailer, and in order to live up to the stereo type, I also walk around in a wife beater, boxers, and carry around a can of beer as if it were my unborn child. I have even learned to ask my neighbors if they have any road kill I could have for dinner—despite my valiant attempts, a road-kill dinner has yet to be achieved.
One of my greatest joys so far in Canada has been biking to and from school. It’s actually quite ridiculous because no one knows how to treat a biker. When I ride on the road I get honked at even if there are no other cars on the two lane road. Either that, or what Michel Moor describes as “the friendliest people in the world” when referring to Canadians, (even on bible school campus Michel Moor is quoted more than the Bible and C.S. Lewis combined. I’m beginning to think that maybe there should be a Michel Moor Bible with his words in red—Canadians would appreciate that) give me a drive-by lecture, which consists of something like the following: “SIDE Waaaaaaaaalk!!!” Or a drive-by hint: they go out of the way to splash me by driving straight through a mud puddle right next to me—definitely below the belt. But when I go on side walks, other pedestrians treat me like some roaring military tank charging through at top speeds destroying everything as I pass. Children hide behind parents, parents behind telephone poles, adults will step into the bushes to let me pass. Other bikers will even stop, pick up their bikes, move to the side of the sidewalk, and wait for my tank to go though. It actually makes me self-conscious; do I have a scary face when I bike? Do I look like I’m about to steal a purse or small children? My friends here think I’m it some kind of macho man for biking 15 minutes to school. The concept is as foreign to them as busses, geography, tan-lines, and warm climates.
In other news, I have officially achieved the status of “white trash”. I am pleased to announce that I now live out of a trailer, and in order to live up to the stereo type, I also walk around in a wife beater, boxers, and carry around a can of beer as if it were my unborn child. I have even learned to ask my neighbors if they have any road kill I could have for dinner—despite my valiant attempts, a road-kill dinner has yet to be achieved.
One of my greatest joys so far in Canada has been biking to and from school. It’s actually quite ridiculous because no one knows how to treat a biker. When I ride on the road I get honked at even if there are no other cars on the two lane road. Either that, or what Michel Moor describes as “the friendliest people in the world” when referring to Canadians, (even on bible school campus Michel Moor is quoted more than the Bible and C.S. Lewis combined. I’m beginning to think that maybe there should be a Michel Moor Bible with his words in red—Canadians would appreciate that) give me a drive-by lecture, which consists of something like the following: “SIDE Waaaaaaaaalk!!!” Or a drive-by hint: they go out of the way to splash me by driving straight through a mud puddle right next to me—definitely below the belt. But when I go on side walks, other pedestrians treat me like some roaring military tank charging through at top speeds destroying everything as I pass. Children hide behind parents, parents behind telephone poles, adults will step into the bushes to let me pass. Other bikers will even stop, pick up their bikes, move to the side of the sidewalk, and wait for my tank to go though. It actually makes me self-conscious; do I have a scary face when I bike? Do I look like I’m about to steal a purse or small children? My friends here think I’m it some kind of macho man for biking 15 minutes to school. The concept is as foreign to them as busses, geography, tan-lines, and warm climates.
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