Pensive, Witty, Thought-Provoking Title

paralized for life

2010-09-22T19:04:00.001-07:00

Is a focus on the cold realities of life a less desirable state of existence than one focused on idealism and exuberance? For a life based fully on idealism will always be diced finely by the sharp knife of reality in the long run. But a life centered only on cold realities is like focusing on the shadow of a tree with such concentration as to forget that there was such a thing as the tree itself.

If neither of these extremes are desirable then what dose of each is a healthy mix so as to maximize life? Perhaps one should aspire to a 50/50 ratio, keeping idealism as a goal/social lifestyle while tending to necessary matters which reality requires. This would be in accordance with the saying "head in the clouds, feet on the ground", but is that even possible? Wouldn’t the feet walk off and leave the head in the clouds dismembering the body and leading to a medieval style torturous death?

To aspire to a 50/50 ratio is to aspire to discontent, restlessness, and unhappiness. It would be to declare war on yourself because one side of you would always be criticizing the other. For example, if you were feeling idealistic, you may go to a coffee shop, protest, or poetry slam; but you won’t be able to enjoy it because the “feet on the ground” side of you would be telling you to do something with a more practical ROI (return on investment) with your time. And the converse is true; while you are engaging in high ROI activities, the idealistic side would atrophy and groan louder each day with discontent.

So if the two cannot coexist equally, then perhaps an unequal ratio like 60/40 or 70/30 would suffice. This gives the head or feet veto power over the lesser, inferior counterpart. But, because life is a “choose your own adventure” book and the time traveler (you) are constantly at the center of an infinite intersection of crossroads (which in turn have an infinite number or crossroads branching off them), you cannot know the degree to which this decision—the head vs. feet decision—will impact your life.

It’s common for this fact to have a paralyzing affect on us time travelers. Its simple math: infinite unknown consequences of decisions + utter finality of decisions made (i.e. when you’re 40 you can’t change your mind about what you did when you were 20) = paralyzing.

I mean, how can one be expected to make informed decisions when there is no: 1) information about what will happen as a result of your actions, and 2) ability to change your mind without paying the consequences of changing your mind. No, all we have to go on is pure conjecture. But many times (and this is the worst of it) people find that the smallest, most insignificant seeming decisions of their lives have impacted their lives the most! MOST! How am I supposed to make decisions under these conditions! My decision to take out the trash seems fairly insignificant…BUT WHAT IF ITS NOT!?

How can I do anything ever again? But then maybe not doing anything ever again is exactly the kind of inconsequential seeming decision that means something crazy will happen in the future! But then if I don’t do something that I could have done, what great opportunity could I be missing? Or maybe that’s it, maybe I should stop doing significant things and focus on seemingly inconsequential activities because those are always the ones that people talk about as having the biggest impact!

I told you it was paralyzing.

So what conclusions can we draw? Maybe the lesson here is that a time traveler should buy himself a wheelchair because at this rate, I’m thinking I’ll be paralyzed for life.

personal brand management

2010-07-14T12:59:00.001-07:00

Everyone manages their personal "brand" to a certain degree--I will not disagree with that in the least. Personal brand management is the reason why kids don't want to be kissed by their mother in front of the class, why people don't show up at work naked, and even why people keep secrets from others--people avoid being seen negatively in the minds of their peers. Fine.

But when a business leader compares me to a retail store brand? When I am supposed to conform my external behavior specifically with the intent of portraying myself as a person I am not? Really? I have been told from leadership to follow these steps in managing my "brand":

1) I need to think about what words pop into other peoples heads when they think about me,

2) evaluate those words and ask myself, "do these words push me in the direction I want to go? What makes these people say these words?"

3) in the case that there are unwanted "brand associations" I need to readjust my "marketing strategy" in order to leave positive associations with those I come in contact with in the future. Areas of consideration include: how I dress, what I talk about, first impressions, types of words I use, the food I eat, the car I drive, the colors I wear (did you know that wearing blue buys you more subconscious credibility?), and about one thousand other completely irrelevant and shallow "perception management" items.

To my shock, the emphasis was overwhelmingly centered on displaying the external behaviors of an ideal business person instead of developing the substance of a person which is the catalyst for behavior. If there must be such a crude contrivication as a personal brand, then it can be nothing less than a consequence of who you are, and who you are should never be a consequence of your desired brand.

After learning about the importance of personal brand management, I became conscious of the reason behind the stereotype of the shallow and insincere business person. You know the person; the one with the extended beauty pageant smile and the strong hand shake who touts constantly his own accomplishments, who's eyes dart about the room searching for more important people to talk to even while in conversation with you, who takes your business card and sizes up your worth by your title and connections.

Perhaps that stereotypical business person is not to blame for such conduct as much as those leaders who propagate and disseminate the most certainly corrupt idea that ungenuine conduct is a necessary requisite to success. And if I am wrong, if this most perverse idea proves to be true and is ingrained in all business culture, then my ideas of standard business culture will be exposed as high minded idealism and I will not stand long in the presence of a newly perverse environment.

But to that business person who is genuine, who does not talk insincerely and determines of equal value both the person of high title and the person of meager status, he is not necessarily the business person who will go farthest and achieve the most in the short run. However, people are not easily deluded, even the best of social actors with the best personal brand and strong first impression will, in the long run, inevitably be exposed. And when the very carefully cultivated personal brand can no longer sustain the superficially yoked marriage with the true person, there will be a divorcing of the two and only the person, not the brand, shall remain.

But there are more tragedies that befall the ungenuine business person than certain eventual exposure. From close-hand experience I have seen the performances of these people and the act devours their souls, causing depression, isolation, and intense fear--fear that perhaps someone might find out and expose their duplicity. In this way the ungenuine may reap an increased degree of short term success but at a cost certainly more significant than I would care to bear.

Corporate Ladies

2010-06-29T05:17:00.002-07:00

Never was there so detestable a group of ladies as those who have spent their lives in a florescent office. Are you in an office with corporate ladies? No, I'm not talking about corporate hotties (the girls who walk around in high-heels, wear over sized glasses, and tend to look down at you with a look which simultaneously expresses disdain and self-righteousness...another topic for another day). But back to the original question: how do you know when the ladies in your office have achieved the status of Corporate Lady? Well, from my extensive office scouting experience I have been able to identify 4 tell-tale features by which one can effectively identify such Ladies in his office.

Does the suspected Corporate Lady in question manifest the following symptoms? Does she:

1) Incessantly cackle every 5 minutes in pitches which, in the middle ages surely would have been reason enough to determine her combustibility for fear that she may be a witch?

2) Begin every morning, Monday-Friday, speaking in overwhelming decibels about the latest great world calamity? Which (for Corporate Ladies at least) is always somehow traffic related? You'll be able to identify this symptom if, after listening to her rants, you would be forgiven to think that oil spills and wars were now surpassed in importance by new more important national crisis...the beamer.

3) Answer the phone the same exact way, every single time, in a sheer, high pitched, squirrely, and yes, witchy way? This happens multiple times per hour and they always say the same exact thing. I dream about her cell phones ring tone and sometimes find myself whistling it...

4) Have a general disdain for life? Corporate Ladies hate their lives...lets face it, if I was one of them I would too. Their skin is not bronzed by the gold of the sun, rather it sags and flabs in the rays of florescent lighting. Their hair does not lift and blow behind them in the salty air of the ocean or the dry air of the mountains, rather it hangs ratty and dull in an insulated artificial environment. They do not experience the world or have their mind expanded by education, rather, they repeat the same task over and over. And they have been doing this for 20 or 30 years! So when you make conversation with them at the water cooler what do they say? "Well, another day eh?" to which I respond, "yah, but at least its Wednesday so you're half way there", "yah, I could really use the weekend right about now though". Boo! No wonder you cackle so much, what a horrible life!

Life Anew, life anew,

2010-01-28T14:26:00.004-08:00

Dear friend. If you are reading this, you are most strange. Since most of my friends have passed the blogging stage, I figured that I had also. But I ask you, what is the use of having a blog if it is no longer in use?! NONE! Furthermore, since it has been an astonishing 1.5 years (an all time record) since my last update, I figured that I would update my zillions of adoring fans. But since the "adoring fans" are mostly the invisible people that I hear in my head, consider this an expression of my typically millennial fascination with narcissism.

How is this life anew you may ask? In but days I will embark on a journey so great and mysterious that I myself haven't a clue how it will affect me...its much like a frozen burrito must feel in that moment between when it is placed in the microwave and when it is turned on. It is a moment wrought with both anxiety and excitement, peace and torment. Especially because my "microwave" happens to be affecting THE REST OF MY LIFE VIA THE PURSUIT OF A CAREER...not that its a big deal or anything. And yes, many of you will submit that I am a sell out to "the man" sacrificing my free and individual self to the whim of some pompous elderly snob bent on making my previously free will bend to his purposes and will. Although I find it ironic that those who accuse me the most of being a sell out are extremely discontent in their jobs or unemployed.

Whatever, this is America, I can do what I want.

Panama

2008-05-25T13:00:00.000-07:00

Off to another great adventure in the jungles of Southern Panama. To the Darien, to the tribes, and beyond.

Lest we live no life at all

2008-02-26T11:23:00.000-08:00

It is times like this where superhero powers would serve not only as an extra accessory on the super belt--they would serve as an ultimate means of escape. These nights spent gazing out the giant windows of a down town coffee shop lead my wandering eyes up to the towering heights of skyscrapers--why cant I fly up to them? In a moment I imagine myself standing on the highest point of the tallest building in town--I am fearlessly leaning over the edge of the 80 story building with only one arm extended holding onto a lightning tower on my precarious perch. I look down on the streets below and feel compassion for my not-so-super-powerfully-gifted companions below. They, constrained by gravity and fear will never understand the true meaning of freedom and independence. Stuck in an oppressive system where they are required to barter precious hours of their lives for green pieces of paper that they believe have value. I wonder if its too harsh to say that they sadden me--its just that they resemble a busy ant colony or rat infestation--always going to and fro living out their dirty and hustled lives. They really have nothing to live for.

Looking down on the city from above I let go of my lightning rod and fall head first toward the street below; I close my eyes and grin before spreading my arms and feeling the g-forces enacting upon my body as I invert my decent and head straight for the starry skies above. The wind rushes through my hair and makes waves on my fluttering shirt and shorts--I continue my corkscrew ascent until the city is but a speck of light far below. Then I stop for a moment in the air. Where should I go? Ah yes, to the dessert. To Saudi Arabia, haven’t been there yet. I head straight for the ocean getting lower every minute until I am one foot above it--the wind from my body creates a concavity on the ocean water and kicks up spray all about.

Yes. Times like this when I stare out of a coffee shop window at night I regret being a mere human. The fact is, the closest I have come to having super powers was that one time I went off a ski jump and got 10 feet of air...and that one time I rappelled off a cliff with a plastic rope wrapped around my hand and didn't die--not a very impressive super-human resume. But wouldn't it be nice to know that there is something so completely different about you; some galactic secret known only by yourself that makes you stand out from the billions of people on this sphere. This just to have justifiable proof that you are unique, that there is no one like you. And those times that you feel like escaping to another planet, those times when your world gets too small and cumbersome, you just jump into the sky and go wherever you want. Independence, freedom, and cosmic uniqueness. No matter what people say, you are different, and that inner belief makes you strong.

So what do you do when you are proven completely average? There is no experience unique to you that have not been experienced by a large portion of society. Then what? Do you simply ingest your fate so fed to you by society, media, and friends? Do you lower your honor to the expectations of these sources of identity? We, being common humans seek camaraderie and acceptance from like-kind, so do we submit ourselves to the expectations of those whom expect, or are we internally motivated to be unique. It is important to remember that history easily forgets those conformant to societal expectations and cultural norms; while it immortalizes those persons who's relentless battle to change the world come to fruition as a result of their efforts--for better or worse. And so, as persons without super powers we must persist to live for a cause greater than ourselves, to be unique in this world of faces and numbers. I fear that if we do not we shall be swept away in the sea of history and die as one insignificant drop in an ocean of humanity. No, to live rightly, nigh die rightly, we must live for a cause worth dying for, a purpose bigger than ourselves.

Life must be lived for a cause worth dying for-lest we live no life at all.

An autobiography in short--for a class

2008-02-18T10:41:00.003-08:00

I was born in the Northern Island of Japan, called Sapporo. I was raised and spent most of my life in Tokyo Japan. I do not consider myself a person of permanent residence, and so I have resolved to call wheresoever I currently reside my home. Thus, I now live in CO. I am a professional student with a part time job in the Japanese tour-guiding industry. To juxtapose my name with marriage may cause involuntary gastrointestinal reflexes--please refrain from this topic in my presence. I am in this course to learn and to be prepared for whatever lies ahead. It is also a requirement to graduate...but I suppose that lies ahead as well. I expect to work quite hard in 5 weeks, I expect to become proficient in at least the basic concepts dictating lawful conduct as it relates to business activities.

Trip to Missouri

2008-01-23T18:52:00.000-08:00

Upon this great and momentous occasion that now is justifies this glorious piece of aesthetic writing, I shall commence with great pleasure this note. It was at a time approximately two-thirds through the dark, dreary semester that I embarked on a journey of the soul. Unlike previous journeys which avoided the residence of my passport as much as the valley girls which it produced, this time I embarked cross-country to the great and hilly state of Missouri. Much intrepidity marked my first impressions of this land for I had never before traveled within the limits of this land mass and I feared, as all men do, that perhaps this new experience would be one that is altogether undesirable and thus unworthy of being repeated. Yes, for me this is an expedition into the miry countryside of new experiences. Would it not be for my strong bias against the home of my passport I would have been less afeared as I was across the west of Europe and in many of my travels in the eastern portion of Asia. Notwithstanding all other trivial matters, I began the expedition an exact week before the advent of thanksgiving. Though the advent itself was a lighthearted time, ‘twas indeed a difficult to be of cheer given that my companion in travels, a man of relative stature whose bright blue eyes and pastel yellow hair rival Hitler’s archetypal erian man, had recently received news of his dearest friends looming death. So this evening we departed with heavy hearts, minds transcendent of mundane matters, and perhaps most notably a strong desire to begin our journey across two states into Missouri.

We embarked far later in the evening than was necessary at one hour to midnight. Although perhaps not a logical decision by any means, the late embarkation was an escape from normalcy; no longer were we tied to our regular abode—no, we were emancipated men escaping from the grips of university academia and embracing on a new adventure in the East. Conversations both meaningful and humorous held by the streaking lights of fellow oncoming night-goers characterized our late-night escape. Though by three-hours past midnight we both had a mind to get some sleep in order to better prepare for the next day’s travels. Seeing as we were people of meager funds and in desperate need thereof, we agreed on pulling off on a gravel road and sleeping under the stars. Though I have consistently been informed from a myriad of sources on Kansas’ lack of anything good and holy in its baron plains, this is where I first found an inconsistency; for the stars in Kansas that night were beyond what I had seen before. From one flat horizon to the next, the stars graced their flickering colors in such a way as to create a bubble of illumination that spanned horizontally of our position and rose clear up to the expanses of heaven above. Laying on one’s back and looking directly skyward, one could easily be forgiven for thinking that he was somehow transported into heaven itself. This and a brisk Northerly wind combined to create a beautiful and mystical ambiance under which to make our stead.

The following day began with a jolt as me and my fellow traveler were woken up to the sound of a lone vehicle speeding its way past our exposed abode. Each crunch of gravel under its tires was distinctly accounted for as the oncoming vehicle got closer and louder until the noise reached its climax just a few feet from our heads. We rose that morning cursing the early schedule of farmers but also to amazement at the flatness of the area upon which we stood. As a carpet, the green land rolled out in all directions around us speckled only by sparse trees and occasional dots of cattle clear until the union of earth and sky at the horizon. We resumed our journey across the green plains after a swig of water from our jug and the hesitant consumption of soggy, left over sandwiches—though we did not set out with high standards; we were in Kansas after all. Fortunately, Kansas did not cease to surprise us past that first night.

Kansas can mostly be described as a desolate wasteland—though not desolate in vegetation per say, but rather in sight worthy aspects; lest you consider cattle and endless fields a subject of interest. Note that I said Kansas consisted mostly of wasteland; this implies that it was not all wasteland and thus must contain some elements of interest or variety. Me and my companion Daniel discovered both of these anomalous points of interest in Kansas; another misconception dashed—that Kansas is void of all things interesting and worthwhile. In a dazed muse created by a combination of the endless droning of the engine and the constant blare of high pitched rap tunes, I spotted something unusual on the flat planes of Kansas—something not flat. This of course contradicted all previous reports of Kansas and beckoned to be explored in a more conclusive manner—Daniel agreed wholeheartedly and bolstered the idea by stating that he too had been contemplating a similar investigation. So in the middle of brown fields under a deep blue sky we exited the highway to discover the story behind this non-flat phenomenon. The terrain being as it was, we had not problem navigating to the structure, which, as we drew nearer began to take the shape of a five story high European-style cathedral. Upon closer inspection we saw that the cathedral, fashioned in true European style, composed of flying buttresses, ornate stain-glass windows, and even a bell tower and steeple. In Kansas this five-story behemoth had no contextual justification in the least. Perhaps in Europe among ancient brick-paved streets, hairy women, the German language, and a history of Catholicism, this cathedral would have been common place, but in Kansas? Not to mention that this large new-looking cathedral graced an all but abandoned, tumble-weed plagued Kansas town with a sanctuary that could accommodate triple the town’s inhabitance. So there we stood in front of the cathedral doors at the edge of an abandoned town, tumble-weed and brown leaves made eddies around our ankles in the desolate wind as we stretched our necks back looking up to the bell tower. As expected the doors were open and the true detail of the building was again seen on the innards of it what with the usual icons of this saint this and that, Mary and the baby Jesus, the alter, the art, the confession boxes; nothing too unusual—save for its location and size. After a complete and thorough inspection of the sanctuary and its graveyard (which was very nondescript and disappointingly offered no epitaphs and trite information of the bereaved) Daniel and I decided it was high time to continue our journey through this boring, yet occasionally curious state.

Trials in a semi-silent room.

2007-08-31T19:06:00.001-07:00

I am sitting in a room with no other sound in it but that of a frustrated middle aged man talking on his cell phone. Every word he says bounces around in the solitary silence of this study area. as a rough estimate i would say that 90% of everything he is talking about is completely self centric, and the other 10% is all his Californian valley girl-isims including "oh, my gosh" and "are you serious?" etc. all pronounced with a slight lisp. But you have to understand that this is not a normal "are you serious?" its the kind that you hear lame-shopping mall chicks saying when they discover that their favorite body works store just ran out of their favorite body butter. If I were facing this man I am convinced that I would have seen little scandalized hand gestures and rolling eyes. For the sake of all that is good in this world, you are a middle aged balding man! Please immediately desist your self-centered conversation or take it to the ladies room or where ever it is that you use facilities! To make it worse, he has been whining for the last 1.5 hours and venting the deepest laments of his shallow heart in a completely audible decibel level in this silent study area! In the midst of studies I cannot help but feel sorry for this deranged soul. After the first hour I began to doubt if there was anyone in the world who would actually put up with this kind of one sided phone conversation; there were no silent spaces in which another party could interject with soothing anecdotes of happiness and joy through trials.

Trials in a semi-silent room.

大統領

2007-07-08T06:38:00.000-07:00

This will be my second birthday in a row spent in the Japan Alps. Really nothing to complain about, in fact, its great. Today I had a chocolate cake covered in choco-peanuts (the best thing about Japan, in my oppinion). It read "Happy Birthday 大統領"　(president, thats what they call me)Not only that, but I had a Japanese style yakiniku barbeque (way better than American burgers and crap) and I was surrounded by sweet people. Tomorrow (which is my bearthday) I will be heading up into the Alps on a 3-day backpacking trip with the other staff at Northstar. We're going to eat Japanese noodles, scout some climbing spots, do some inniciative games, sleep in tents, I'll get some more experience guiding, and everyone will go home happy...unless someone dies.

Since last I bloged many things have happened: my brother Ryan got married at Takayama in Sendai (best place ever) I dont have any pics but my sister does. You can check her thing out at roberry.blogspot.com. It was pretty much the best wedding ever. A lot of work, but a lot of fun. And seeing the fam again is a rare treat. Why don't we live closer together anyways? I mean really; Colorado, Washington, California, Japan, and Oregon---not exacty right next door to eachother. But I guess thats how the cookie crumbled.

In other news, it looks like I'll be climbing Fuji a few times this summer, which will be great. All together I think this summers going to be one of the best.

outa here suckers!

2007-06-14T04:34:00.000-07:00

Alas my friends, the time is nigh for another “I’m leaving the country” post. The past six months have been spent living in America. Six months is a new record for time spent living in America since I was 13, and I have to say, the experience was…average. In retrospect there was much skiing, much working, much acquisition of worldly outdoorsy goods, surprisingly little time spent being a student (Community College seems to have made a whole new definition for the term “full time student”), a fair amount of time spent on familial engagements, and little time spent doing things with any manner of people that could be called “friends”. Unfortunate as it was, forgoing friendships and all things meaningful that I had developed in my life in BC was the only way to have direction in my life. You see, I have this thing; its like when your pants are on fire and your underpants are filled with red ants and lobsters—its like that. Only all the time. The burning drives me forward constantly so in reflexive action to the fire, red ants, and lobsters I run franticly forward in a randomized and erratic pattern. But in the process I seem to shake off many dear friends. And it saddens my heart greatly to shake off more again. There are three things that humans were never meant to experience: death, disease, and farewells. Unfortunately all are an inevitable part of our futile existences here on planet “Global Warming Will Kill Us All”.

Anyways, I’m off to Japan tomorrow (Thursday, June 14th) so I wish you all many babies and flowery cakes. I will be in Japan working as a guide in the Northern Japan Alps and Mount Fuji with Northstar Outdoor Adventures again. Should be a pretty good time. I’ll be in J-town until late August sometime.

On a lighter note I came up with an idea that seems to support reincarnation. Here’s the idea:
1. If a person hits his head, his memory can be lost or altered forever. He might not remember his name, how to do simple math, or even how to speak. He will not remember who he is married to, who his family is, nothing. He will have to relearn everything.

2. If a person hits his head, his personality can be altered forever. His wife will claim that she doesn’t know him any more, he will be more aggressive or less ambitious, the chemicals in his brain will have changed somehow so that the person you formerly knew as John is now gone and replaced by this new person.

Conclusion:
The soul has no memory or personality in and of itself. If memory can be altered with relative ease by inflicting damage on the physical brain, who would disagree that brain is the only part of a human that retains memory? And when that memory retainer is altered or ceases , there is nothing to fill in. Similarly, if personality can be altered simply with a hammer, does this mean that the death of the brain is the true end of a humans personality? In this argument one could conclude that the soul retains neither memory nor personality; it is simply that which is necessary to provide life, and that which leaves when the body ceases functioning. So if the soul leaves at the time of death (as seems obvious that it does) then where does this life-giving, but impersonal force go? Would it not seek out another creation to give life to? Hence, reincarnation.

Seems to make sense eh? It almost makes too much sense. I haven’t been able to find a counter argument yet. Let me know what you think though, I don’t like that philosophy at all and I want to be rid of it.

library skylight

2007-05-23T18:04:00.000-07:00

Sitting below a large opaque skylight in a library I was typing at a computer tending to my extremely dull homework. The skylight that spanned most the way across the library ceiling suddenly got dark and as though an angel accidentally stabbed his sward into the thin canvass of the heavens, the reservoirs from above gave way—each drop of which could easily be accounted for as I heard the deafening droplets assail the foggy skylight. The sound commanded my attention and I looked up. And I thought of you suddenly, are you in the rain? Where had you gone? People, when they go away leave at least some indication of where they are going, but you have departed in silence; silence that speaks in the rain and now deafens me. Do you rise with the sun in the east or glide on the waves of the air? Teach me, teach me how to live my life! A cold draft wrapped itself around my exposed ankles, had that draft always been there? I couldn’t remember. With as much might as with it first began, the deafening barrage of rain stopped, the skylight lit up once more, and I looked around the library expecting something to be different from two minutes ago. But everyone was busy with their computers focusing on some mundane assignment. No, nothing had changed. Nothing perhaps except for me.

paradoxical

2007-05-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

There are those people I occasionally meet who are paradoxical to me. We all know that horrible experiences screw people up; parent dies as a kid, abuse of some form or another, overdose of some form or another, and BANG you’re one messed up kid. Its typical for these people to live in gutters or just have a lot a baggage that they carry around. This is normal. But have you met those who have had horrible experiences (horrible enough to warrant a minimum of 10 years of gutter living) and yet somehow seem to over come? These are the paradox-gems. I have met only two such paradoxes (the first one I assumed was an anomaly, but the second time around can be no coincidence) who live with such joy that it literally blows me away. I stand and watch them astounded at their interactions, inspired by their love for people, dumfounded by their wisdom, amazed at their selflessness, and I am left mouth agape seeing these people in light of their past. What great hurtles were overcome and what great wounds healed for this person to stand in front of me now? Confounding. These incite my greatest curiosity and my most profound admiration.

Tell me, what do you know that I don't, what power do you posses, what hidden truths discovered? How do you smile with that glimmer in your eyes and wide genuine smile. Paradox, what has experience taught that you to live so richly.

Or could it be that deepest suffering is the cornerstone of truest life.

open hand

2007-04-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

I went out to the woods to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartanlike as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness out of it and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience...
- Henry David Thoreau

To experience life, it must be lived with an open hand. There is no sense in holding onto something tightly when it will be taken anyways. Instead we must live here, we must live today free of fear that limits our potential, free of burdens of yesterday. We must live life with an open hand for that way the adventure is greater and life the sweeter. Time should not be wasted holding onto that which is unholdible or protecting that which is to be taken at any time-catching the breeze is impossible. Haste, haste life and never forget its urgency and never become complacent. For now is all we have.

Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow, live today.

It is not a long life I ask, but a full one.

e-mail to a friend

2007-04-06T23:49:00.000-07:00

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Brent Potter
Date: Wed, 4 Apr 2007 00:09:25 -0700
Subject: My friend
To: Kim Manchip pinto_girl@hotmail.com

My dear friend. You are sorely missed.

You have been an inspiration, a light, and an example. I have stuck in my mind that game we all played in Leavenworth when we stood across from each other and looked in each others eyes in uncomfortably close proximity--conveyor belt style. I remember your eyes clearly. I recall a distinct memory of the light in them, of deepness, of wisdom acquired by experience. It was out of admiration that I made fun of you for washing old people's naked bodies--and to enjoy it! What humility, what desire to bring hope to hopeless elderly! And that is what I admire most about your life--no matter what you did, you focused on others almost to the point of fault. I knew with 100% certainty that no matter what kind of situation I got myself into, no matter how far down I fell, no matter what I did, you would help. And you did many times; you continue to through your memory. You would notice what people like me did not see. Its like that one time at Wendy’s remember? On our way back from some trip. We were hungry, smelly, and I was broke. You "lent" me money (though I did not ask and was in fact outside at the time) and you refused to accept repayment later. It was the same with using your car, and same with lending out equipment in the back country. It was the same with everything you had--you would give it out freely for anyone to use. I wont forget our experiences, swing dancing on the beach, cooking buddy's on trips (we made wicked food...but always too much), skiing, you making fun of my tight yellow goretex pants (you even made fun of them in your last email to me!), hot tub parties, Italian pasta at your house (again, enough to feed a small
country...and delicious), Humpy your miniature humping dog (strangely attracted to my and James' leg), your excellent songs (you never did give yourself enough credit for how good they really were), we were even on the same group for hell night I remember when we were both freezing and traumatized, huddling under the one sleeping bag after the medical drill; we told any story at all to get our minds off the cold.

You were there from my very first trip in OL through to the GOSE. And I'm there by you in the pictures still--frozen in time with blissful smiles live with cheery expressions. My favourite pics are the ones where we’re jumping off the cornice and the dancing on the beach at the Olympic Peninsula. Damn it Kim, you had the most beautiful smile that would shine with love on all people you would talk to; but not only a smile, a genuine desire to get to know, to genuinely understand and appreciate those you would come in contact with--with no discrimination. I am left perplexed, vexed, astounded at how it could be that you, Kim, so beautiful by all standards, someone who the world desperately needs should be taken in an avalanche whilst the rest of us commoners live on to live out mediocre lives. Goddamn it Kim! You were going to get married to James, have a family in BC; I was going to have a family god knows where, and our kids were going to play together as we hung out drinking coffee and pretending to be adults. My wife would talk to you about how stupid I was, and you would talk to her about how stupid James was. How can it be that we should be allowed to live and you are not? Perhaps heaven itself could not wait long enough for your scheduled arrival.

I remember one of the quotes you told me, "I am only one tree in a forest, yet I am still one tree". People are always saying that they can’t do anything to change the world, they don’t have the resources, the don’t know the right people, dont have enough money--BUT I am still one tree. Because I am a person--that is enough to make a difference. Another thing you would quote all the time, "Ask not what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive... then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." I've wondered Kim. I’ve wondered about why you were snowboarding up there that day, and how everything would be different if you had only taken the second helicopter and not the first. I've been wondering about the hazards of anything outdoor related and what good can come out of it. I've been thinking that maybe all these risks we take pursuing vain activities in the outdoors aren’t worth it when there’s so much wrong with the world. But you were doing what that quote said, you were doing what made you come alive and by doing so you made the world around you come alive. That was the experience for me, and no doubt those up there skiing with you. For one tree in a forest Kim, I don’t think you could have been done better.

Tears cannot express how much it saddens me to send this email knowing that it will go to your inbox never to be read. Instead it will eventually be deleted by your inactive account; its storage space to be recycled for a new hotmail subscriber. You've no idea how much I regret never sharing my admiration of you while you were still with us...though I am not yet fully convinced that you are not. You lived for others and never grave yourself enough credit for all you did. I will remember you Kim, your smile, our trips, your dog, the songs, the quotes. I strive one day to talk to people as you did and to genuinely love them as selflessly as you did.

My dear friend, you are sorely missed.
I anxiously await our next meeting, days or decades from now. I await the day when we will sit down for a cup of coffee and talk about the good old days while pretending to be adults.
How I wish you'd reply.
Your friend forever,
Brent

You can read about what happened to Kim here.

a funny joke

2007-03-27T15:00:00.000-07:00

A string of simple words is enough to completely expose goals as irrelevant and disarm ambitions--it is enough to expose the dream of modern society as the most dangerous joke ever to be entertained. And it is a joke.

We spend our lives yearning for more when there is happiness to be found in so little. We spend our lives clobbering over others attempting to prove ourselves in the social hierarchy; we belittle, we compete, and we go to any deceptive or honest means to obtain coveted superiority above another human. This is the American Dream. Are we content with the knowledge that there is so much suffering and that we, the fortunate few, the "brave" individuals we would all humor ourselves to be, spend our days flying off ski jumps, sitting in class rooms, or working in a cubicle?

When I was in elementary school I was taught about the horrible, horrible slave trade of the 1800's. I learned about the underground railway, people who risked everything to smuggle fugitive slaves to their freedom. When I heard the story I knew that had I lived in those days, I would have been part of the underground railway. I would have stood up for what I believed was right and put everything on the line to prove it. What my teachers forgot to tell me was that slavery is still happening, and that even bigger world issues exist. Even so, we turn a def ear to it in order to blissfully live out our lives. We dream of a future with a white house on a green filed, our kids running around chasing ponies, and two new silver cars in the driveway; one automatic transmission Toyota for the wife, and a standard Civic for the husband. The only sound to be heard during the day is that of lazy bumblebees flying around your nicely arranged garden and the laughter of kids playing on the trampoline next door; the sound of injustice so completely muted by distance.

But how can this be? In elementary school I would have called that person a coward, but he is not considered a coward who has his family’s best interest in mind. But is there any other word for the person who sees world issues and decides that it is too complicated to get involved with, or too dangerous? Who remembers those who stood by and watched the slave trade unfold in the 1800's? What teacher talks about the valiant father who decided to run away to the countryside and start a family instead of taking a stand for or against the slave trade? These people are not in textbooks, they are not remembered. They are forgotten not for what they did, but for what they didn't do. It is true that the opposite of love is not hate, it is apathy.

It makes me wonder what good is the person who risks greatly climbing mountains when all that is to be gained is ego, what lasting influence will a brave father have if he runs away from real world issues? Time and again, average North Americans chose apathy if it means that they can continue pursuing their version of the illusive American Dream.

If injustice is a threat, I wonder what kind of life-style we are trying to justify.

thats my sister!

2007-03-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

who is currently the most famous person in the WHOLE WORLD!!...or at least IN SALEM!!
Which, I am pleased to announce, means that I too am famous by association. I will be glad to give out my autograph but I only sign bodies...to save on paper of course. Its the green way of giving your autograph.

today

2007-03-17T23:48:00.000-07:00

Today
A gray and mournful day
The kind of which on funerals lay
This misty sheet of moisture fall
Down on gray and mournful all
Who, clothed in black and boring cloak
Are sullen, sad, and sunken folk.

Mortuary's dance and frolic whence
The sun is blocked and rain commence
For now does business swell and bloom
When the living sway and swoon
Down to hell if not first saved
By the dirt floor of a grave.

Be spared this fate ye living few,
Act with haste upon this coup
When arrows fall from high heaven,
When our enemy fastly beckon,
Deploy, deploy our sole defensive
Umbrellas bounce and spring to action.

Unyielding black umbrella's attempt
To hold the heavn'ly armament
But yet it is to no avail,
The troops begin to fail and fail.

Bodies limp and faces sleek
Gnarled limbs wet and bleak,
Die in the onslaught ever falling
Fast in sheets of dampness galling,
Out flanked, out numbered, umbrellas swirling
For their children and wives yearning,
The troops by the thousands succumb.

But what did that great warrior state,
If beat them not, then join them late,
And so we must if to survive
To drop all grievances aside
And ask our wet foe to befriend
Those who for years paved o'er their land
And on bended knee to plea
A thousand years of clemency
On one condition tis employed
If all umbrellas be destroyed.

giddy cavers

2007-03-08T20:57:00.000-08:00

And you people thought I was technologically impaired! Ha! Not only have I proven you wrong by posting a picture but also a movie! So I never want to hear about it again.

Surprisingly, claustrophobia was about the last thing on anyone’s mind—like the thing everyone knows is there but no one pays attention to…like babies. Caving is probably the most adventurous activity a normal Joe could pursue—the last frontier on earth that doesn’t require an exorbitant budget of those who desire to explore. Add in the beauty of underground geology, technical rope skills, and a good time with a few nutty cavers, and you’ve got yourself the vacation of a life time.

In comparison to their egotistical, global-summit-dominion motivated mountaineering counterparts; cavers seem to hold a strong camaraderie between each other. While mountaineers would rather boast about how many summits they’ve sacked in the Himalayas, cavers would be more likely to make fun of your mother over a pint. Maybe the main difference is that mountaineers climb mountains to feed their insatiable ego and cavers cave to discover the cave—not to prove something. I like that.

Tree: a study of gravities influence in its natural environment

2007-02-23T22:44:00.000-08:00

Today I had a gravitational encounter with an inconveniently located tree. The star of the act of course was gravity whose role was supported by an innocent skier caught in the grips of its accelerating power. The force of gravities acceleration combined with a nitwit skier's miscalculated turn-to-tree radius stigmatizations led to a rather spectacular collision with a tree. Within milliseconds the skier (me) was engulfed in a spiraling tornado of snow, skis, poles, tree limbs, and flailing body parts. The powder clouds were high enough to touch the hallowed heavens above. When the powder settled there was our hero (me), the innocent skier, lying prostrate on the snow with one still attached ski caught in branches of two different trees, and a ski pole bent at a 90 degree angle. Slightly ominously, a well meaning snow boarder comments on the "wicked spill" and asks if he can be of assistance, but given the red horns that stuck out of the good Samaritans helmet, I decide to graciously decline the generous offer. Figuring it was time for a rest, I limp into the lodge to make my legendary miracle healing concoction (or LMHC for short); split pea soup, Doritos’s, and a pint’a beer (all consumed separately of course). The effect miracle concoction, hastened by dehydration, quickly restores my sense of invincibility and I hit the slopes once more…but not for long before the pain masking properties of the LMHC fade and I feel as though I am 40 years old—on the brink of death.

In other news, I am headed out for New Mexico…you know its going to be good because its like Mexico only better because its new. I’ll be there for a week long caving trip. While caves may not the best place to get a tan, apparently they are the best place to get stuck and die. So I’ll do my best to accomplish one of the two things listed above. Which one could it be? You’ll find out if I never post again.

…A slightly ominous ending, but an ending no less

female insight #1

2007-02-19T00:18:00.000-08:00

It is uncanny the resemplance between the female mind and police surveillance cameras. Forget all the good stuff you ever did (assuming there was some), they only catch you at your bad moments--and replay it over and over. These go on your permanent record. Be it a misdemeanor or a federal offence, at any point in the future you are liable to have one of these police videos pulled out months, years, or decades after the transgression. This sudden reawakening of past sins leaves me perplexed because two-thirds of the time I have not only forgotten the incident, but that entire period of my life. For those of you who know me this will come as no surprise. You would think some money hungry tycoon would start advertising for memory altering drugs that would wipe out the "police camera" section of the female brain, I'll keep waiting for it to come out. But until then; for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death will me and my record part.

5 subjects

2007-02-15T23:57:00.000-08:00

Has it ever happened to you that in a flash of a second your ideas, values, priorities, and definition of meaning which, one second ago you valued so highly, are now exposed as utter silliness? One well placed sentence is all it takes to switch a world view completely.

I pledge allegiance
To the fact
That I will never live in suburbia.
And for the evil empire
For which it stands
One accursed barren waste land,
Indivisible
With long commutes for all.

Curious; in an unexpectedly interesting segment of class, we wrote down our three main priorities in life i.e. family self work. Then were told to write these three priorities in sequence of “most time I spend with” to “least time I spend with”. Oddly, when I compared the two lists, they were completely opposite of each other—the main priorities get the least time, and the least priorities get the most.

I enjoy astronomy class mostly because of the incredible understatements one can make about the universe. My professor does it all the time “so they discovered that the sun’s core is about 1 million Kelvin…ok? So if you get close enough to that, it’ll burn your marshmallow sticks and ruin your whole party for sure”.

I saw the stars tonight. I can’t remember the last time I saw them, or at least looked at them, but there they were; mocking human existence from their eternal perch. If stars had a consciousness I wonder what they who live for trillions of years would say to those whose lives rarely surpass 90 on a planet a 0.00001 the size of their own. No such deflation of the human ego can compare to that the heavens bestow in the minds of those who listen to the message of their voices.

best before august, 2009

2007-02-08T22:33:00.000-08:00

It is not uncommon for the recipient of an email to read "I miss you" at the bottom of a letter. This statement very unremarkable in terms of its common colloquial usage in the English language. Most perplexing to me is the new and peculiar placement of symbol to follow this common statement; namely, a question mark. So the complete phrase may read as follows: "I miss you?” The implications of this statement? Unknown. I have never encountered this use of a question mark. The first time I encountered this phenomenon I passed it off as a typo or one writer’s idiosyncrasy. But what of the second and third times I received this odd statement from different writers? Something is afoot.

Recently I have been making a hobby of studying good-byes. I find them interesting. An interest perhaps similar to the kind a doctor would have on himself if repeatedly broke out in seizures. After much thought on the matter I have deduced the phrase "I miss you?" is typical of a type 2 friendship. Let's expand the idea:

1. Type 2 friends are good buddies where the relationship is based on experience i.e. seeing each other every day, hanging out, coffee, etc.
2. But they separate and never see each other again
3. This leads to a lack of new experiences from which to base the relationship. There is old experience but this quickly becomes irrelevant in light of current circumstances.
4. Years down the road, both parties feel conflictingly as to the extent of missing their former friend (FF). With having none but past and irrelevant shared experiences to cite, the FF’s intellectually know that they used to like each other but no longer have any hard experience to prove this idea.
5. Hence, the statement “I miss you?” is a perfect encapsulation of an individual’s conflicting emotions, experiences and ideas in the context of an expiring relationship. Brilliant.

Here’s a thought; do relationships have expiration dates similar to that found on milk cartons? Except that this expiration date is based upon some cosmic calculation of random circumstances in that lead to an estimated date of relational termination. It would be funny to meet someone and then stamp their forehead with a “best before august 2009”.

exploding heads

2007-01-06T23:15:00.000-08:00

The clock struck twelve. The night was still. Only the sound of gently tapping rain could be heard on the tin roof in the intervals between surges of swelling surf on the ocean. In the placid silence something was awry, she could feel it somewhere down in her lower left pinky toe. Her steady hazel eyes examined the ghostly horizon lit only by the pale moon. At that moment perhaps the most extraordinary, history altering event took place.

Did you really think I was about to write a dramatic story? Ha! Oh man, gets me every time. You should’a seen the way you looked when you started reading that story. Brilliant. Anyways, I wanted to wish you all a happy Belated April Fools Anniversary. January 1st was the 8 month anniversary of April fools since April 2006, so I thought I’d do some “fooling” of my own, if you know what I mean. And just how many times can I mention “April” in one paragraph? Apparently a lot…and then some. But that’s no reason not to say “gotcha!” Haha!

Now onto business; exactly the nature of the very important business I have to discuss? It is either too classified to write in this entry, or there is none at all. Perhaps the unnamed writer of this entry who you assume to be, for all practical and experiential purposes someone named brent is actually a telemarketer in India eating kim-chi or whatever it is they eat in Africa. Suffice it to say, now that I have got you wondering why in the world you are wasting your precious (and as you continue reading) decreasing brainwaves on this literacy and emotional stability test, I am ready to disclose the thesis statement of this entry:

America. (which is actually a word, not a thesis…I got my poetic license yesterday alright? Get off my back). Now that I have been living here for almost a month I feel that I am a professional on the subject and following are a list of my most poignant, though be it provoking thoughts for some:

1. Variability.
Contrary to what many people would like to think about America (I too, was once one of these) Americans are not all the same. For example, overseas one will hear many people say all Americans are fat. CASE IN POINT. From my personal experience I can personally attest to you that in fact, not all Americans are obese. Would you like to rebuttle by saying that the majority of Americans are fat? I have no idea. And I would suggest that unless you have some verifiable facts under your belt, neither do you so we should end this discussion now.

2. Political diversity.
Overseas or across the border many people equate Americans with Bush fanatics. Its like the eagle on the cover of each American passport is a testament to one’s undying love and commitment to A. Bush and B. blowing up the rest of the planet that is not owned by Bush, stealing their oil, plundering natural resources, and enslaving cheap labor in Asia. I am pleased to announce that not only are there the kind of people in America who do not like Bush, but there are other kinds of people too. WOW. I know, Heads are probably exploding even as you read this.

Which is why I will leave this entry here. Stand by for the next edition of exploding heads.

a study in Christmas rage: the international conspiracy of Christmas

2006-12-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

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.

god save the queen!

2006-11-29T12:33:00.000-08:00

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.

live?

2006-11-01T22:28:00.000-08:00

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.

secret memory monkey

2006-10-26T12:41:00.000-07:00

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.

sucker punch

2006-10-23T15:15:00.000-07:00

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…

love and cheerio's

2006-09-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

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.

College Dropout

2006-09-22T19:30:00.001-07:00

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.

on account of america

2006-09-03T15:20:00.000-07:00

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.

ok, ok. you got me

2006-08-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

I play the GUITAR

2006-08-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

...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.

a philosophy of babies

2006-07-28T06:21:00.000-07:00

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

i wish i was a baller

2006-07-18T05:51:00.000-07:00

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.

yarigatake

2006-07-06T07:51:00.001-07:00

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.

babies?

2006-06-30T08:08:00.000-07:00

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.

state plainly

2006-06-24T05:14:00.000-07:00

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.

Shin-ShimaShima

2006-06-21T07:21:00.000-07:00

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.

stand-by 101

2006-06-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

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.

peculiar...

2006-05-28T14:11:00.000-07:00

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.

office lady!

2006-05-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

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.

my personal hero

2006-05-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

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.

Another Day in Portland

2006-05-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Covert Wedded Opperatory Intelligence--Moscow

2006-05-04T00:02:00.000-07:00

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.

summer!

2006-04-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

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.

work:

2006-04-17T16:21:00.000-07:00

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.

sock sleeping

2006-04-11T09:13:00.000-07:00

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.

how the tables have turned...

2006-03-23T23:45:00.000-08:00

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

Banzai! for the matrimonial conjugal betrothal of a dear wedded one

2006-03-21T08:56:00.000-08:00

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.

two ultimate truths

2006-03-12T21:43:00.000-08:00

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.

arrogus insecureum

2006-03-07T07:58:00.000-08:00

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.

muse

2006-03-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

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...

consequences

2006-02-21T18:00:00.000-08:00

"Avalanches are like the STD's of backcountry skiing, they make you shudder and say 'mmm...maybe not'"

breast du poulet

2006-02-16T13:06:00.000-08:00

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?"

post marital medusa

2006-02-06T10:06:00.000-08:00

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.

pistol and ball

2006-02-02T21:00:00.000-08:00

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

McDonalds artillery mount

2006-01-30T21:01:00.000-08:00

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.

canadian white trash

2006-01-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

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.

toilet paper hitler

2005-12-31T01:14:00.000-08:00

Man, I've had it with being poor. I’ve had it with the straightjacket triangle of college-cafeteria-dorm life. It’s like instead of having a shoulder angel, I have a shoulder Hitler always denying me everything ever. And then there's those girls who insist on going out to eat and when I courteously decline they ask why. ALWAYS ASK WHY. When I inform them that it is due to my lack of funds they insist on paying. In my naivety I used to resign myself to allowing others to pay for me but no more. NO MORE! What? Do they think I have no soul? That I would kindly agree to prostitute my soul to their capitalistic Satan spree? I THINK NOT So I look around and see "nice cars", people living in houses with "two bathrooms", or just a “house with a roof”, wearing "name brand cloths", with "real jobs", and "hook up's" well there’s one word I want to share with you people: SCREW YOU!!! So what if, instead of using note books I use toilet paper from the janitor room that I sneak out every day after my crappy on-campus-job-because-the-blasted-Canadian-government-won’t-let-me-work-off-campus-
even-though-they-have-a-worker-shortage-and-declining-population-rate. SO WHAT? So sue me; I use toilet paper for socks, notes, decorations, band-aids, head turbines, heck, I hardly have enough to toilet paper to use for its original application! Now whenever is I use toilet paper I think of my shoulder Hitler oppressing me, laughing at me because I don’t have the funds to contribute to his socialistic, anti-Semitic, epicenter of global hatred and domination via capitalism!! (Or S.A.E.G.H.D.C. for short) I hate mooching off friends for rides, food, and above all I detest that look of sympathy from that one girl. That look of pity that says "you poor soul, you cant afford to eat in Wendy’s so I want to give you money but I know you'll hate it, but I think I'm going to try and get away with it by ordering 2 meals without him knowing, and then I'll give one to him and he'll have to eat it!! muha...muhaha...MUHAHAHAHAHA!!! MY PLAN FOR WORLD DOMINATION HAS COME TO FRUITION!!" It’s a nice thought, and maybe it’s just my pride, or my strong conviction not to attune myself to a subconscious mental philosophy of people=food=free=manipulate=no real friendship at all (a tendency I have noticed among the poor ones at college), but if someone does this, it’s just awkward. How can a man face himself the mirror the next morning after having a cute girl buys him a meal at Wendy’s?! Its like the 17 year old store-worker girl this summer who insisted on giving me, a 20 year old a ride home every day instead of letting me walk the flippen 20 minutes home. And what is it about America that makes walking out to be such a travesty? Is it not ironic that the same people who insist on organic foods, yoga, and rigorous daily exercise compete to get the closest parking spot possible to Costco's main entrance? And then as soon as they see people loading groceries into a car that is potentially pulling out the spot they've always dreamed of, they wait in the middle of the road with they're blinker on, meanwhile blocking all traffic behind them. Its just walking, its not going to kill you America. Good lord.

rant raving human

2005-12-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

Humans are so complex and unknowable in every aspect all I can do is watch and be amazed. Just one glance can break a friendship, one misspoken word is mulled over and influences the rest of a ones life. With old friends I encounter a deep reservoir of emotion that is never talked about, never mentioned. It could be that with past friends, because we are no longer a part of each others lives, there is no need to mention past mistakes or misspoken words-after all, if you're only there to see each other for a few hours, whats the use of rectifying a past discrepancy? So the past simmers and burns inside each of us as it permeates deeper into our being until one day, when we're 80 we don’t even remember what caused us to become bitter vengeful senior citizens in the first place. This is how old friends draw apart, how families separate with age-blunt words are easily avoided when there is distance between two potentially conflicting parties. So each party talks about the other behind backs and amongst current members of our present lives, never with good intentions.

Human beings are extremely complicated; pressures, desires, conflicts, and peers pull us in every way possible until the individual hardly knows who he is any more. But the funniest part of human nature shows exactly as the peacock does; show your finest feathers and impress each other-make the other think that you are better than he is. In EVERY circle of humanity, this show-off aspect of human nature never ceases to surface. But why? To be normal is to be a failure-and every one, I would argue even self-actualized super stars know they are a failure on a deep level. So why live life in a constant effort to make others think you’re perfect? I know several middle aged people who are so insecure about the cleanliness of their house that they can barely breathe in it without ruining something. To these people I suggest a vacation at a concentration camp-surely they would have far less cares in a jail cell then they have now in modern suburban America.

So which is better, to escape or to embrace society? Or perhaps a combination of the two? This is the great conflict in me, on one hand worldly wisdom demands I find financial security, plan for my future, and get a house (who says we even need a house? Why not live in a not-house. It’s like there’s some kind of social convention that demands people to get a house—and perhaps that is what the media is, a social committee that passes laws on how one should act, look, and feel). On the other hand my Christian background demands I live according to “Gods will”-an abstract concept that can be manipulated any which way according to the desires of the Christian. OR “God’s will” may also serve as a Christianized euphemism for “fly by the seat of your pants”-this ensures an adventurous journey, though unfortunately, according to worldly wisdom, not one that necessarily leads anywhere (no doubt a highly debatable sentiment). Finally, the idea that “you don’t need to know what you’re doing with your life yet”. A fine proposal except major life decisions as the apocalypse have come, and at least some philosophy by which to live by must be lived by.
I’ve had it.

queen regina elizabeth

2005-12-23T23:12:00.000-08:00

In my post modern suspicion of truth, I have been proud to withhold judgment on every rumor I have heard pertaining to Canadians on the grounds that I have no experience by which to measure the integrity of such rumors. Well, now I do. And the rumors are all true. I know this does not speak for all Canadians, and before you go throwing hockey pucks and busts of her majesty Queen Regina Elizabeth II, I want you to know that I highly appreciate Canadians in more respects than I appreciate many Americans, but that could be due to the fact that America is and has always been the land of the boring as seen in exhibit "A"-My Life. But all past resentment aside, my story begins last week in Whistler B.C.

In spite of the ice, wind, and blizzard conditions, the first day of skiing with my benevolent Canadian friends was normal. That night however, I witnessed something foreigners rarely see. Two old friends from the North met after a year of separation: one who, up to this point I considered a platinum member of the status quo, and the other, an old friend who came down to visit. We, or rather, they sat at the table for hours reminiscing about their home town-population 1,000. It was interesting to see these two Canadians vocabulary go beyond my level of understanding into a new language which consisted of extraordinary words like "skidoo's" and "silviculture" upon inquiring as to the meaning of this mysterious word, in what became the first and last time I would disrupt their conversation, I discovered that "silviculture" meant "the study of trees" in Latin. I say this became the last time I would interrupt their conversation because, as my new northern friends career is forestry, the next 1.5 hours were spent imparting every detail involved in the science of silviculture--which can basically be summed up in "I measure how many trees grow in a 100m radius for a living". After my new northern friend felt he had explained his job sufficiently, he turned back to reminiscing. Apparently he had killed 4 moose the other day and was transporting the raw meat on the roof rack of his "vehicle" for 9 hours in order to keep the meat frozen. Another thing I have noticed about Canadians is the use of the word "vehicle". Why not just call it a truck or car? Where I'm from "vehicle" is an essay word fit only for English class and equal in frequency of use to "compact disc" or "cellular phoning device".

After hours of reminiscence, my northern friends ask where I'm from. When I tell them that where I come from it reaches +40c with 100% humidity in the summer-I am met with the same blank look they must have seen when they talked about ice fishing in -40c weather. All I can do is chuckle at my futile attempt to explain my city of 38 million people to two northerners from a town of 1,000 who have never gone overseas, never experienced weather exceeding 15c, who are deathly phobic of nakedness (a cultural difference I didn't realize until it was too late. Lets just say Japan is a very open country) and whose yearly highlight is hunting season. But much to most Canadians disbelief, as I have never experienced weather below -7c, never hunted, never lived in a small town, or heard of silviculture, I determined that there was only one thing we had in common--which could only be done in a pub, over a pint of cypress honey lager, while watching skidoo's on a big screen TV.

the homeless way

2005-12-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

In my recently inspired intellectual collegial blossom, I have devised a controlled test to discern where one lies on the Homeless-O-Meter. On the scale of 1 to 10, 1 being a princess and 10 being a beggar on the street, this test will place you according to your natural "knack" for homelessness. Also, while taking this test, keep in mind that what I have called the "Homeless Way" is not determined by your present circumstances, rather it is your natural inclination to, or your lack of natural detest, for the homeless ability. Answer the following questions honestly.
Your answers may be recorded for future costumer quality assurance.

1. The thought of sleeping in a dumpster is exciting
2. When standing in the cafeteria line, you determine who you will befriend based on if they look like the kind of person who has his own car. (Among those who walk in accordance with the Homeless Way, this tactic is referred to as the "Eagle Tumnus" maneuver. Because it requires the eyes of an eagle combined with the innocent friendliness of Mr. Tumnus, but seasoned with unsuspecting ulterior motives)
3. You classify your weekly swim as a shower because the pool water is chlorinated
4. Attaining the status of "beach bum" is part of your 5-year post graduate plan
5. You spray paint your tent camo so it can be less easily recognized in neighborhood parks
6. You have long conversations and much in common with people who sell mysteriously acquired products in city parks
7. Homeless people invite you into their homes
8. Small foreign children throw rocks at your tent for no apparent reason
9. After school banquets, you go around with a plastic plate asking for left overs
10. By experience, you know what days and times give you the maximum potential for hitch hiking

If one or more of the above describes you, you have type H (Homeless) tendencies. If all of the above describes you, it is likely you are living out of a cardboard box. If none of the above describes you, go back to your castle you little princess and sleep on your mattress of oppression, flip on your light switch of evil, open the door to injustice, put on your crown of snakes, and your shoes that trample on the heads of the righteous. Eat your food that soon turns to ash as you wither in the wheat fields Gomorrah, may your children turn into pillars of salt that season my potatoes for breakfast. That you might have have eternal jam between your toes while dogs lick your bare-feet, may hair be always in your eyes as you live off weight-loss granola bars and Diet Doctor Pepper as you and your forefathers have, and you forefathers forefathers have.

b.y.o. suicide pill

2005-12-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

You came to do what is a culturaly accepted thing that upper class college people do. Half the people at your table are too busy digging their noses into each other to notice your existence, the other half are awkwardly wishing they could do just that. And whats so fun about these Christan parties? You just sit. and sit. and wait for your turn to go get food. Then you come back, try to fit all the food on the plate into your mouth in small bite sized pieces (preferably without leaving anything hanging out of your mouth) and all this while making a tremendous mental effort not to put your elbows on the table. When trying to engage in polite conversation across the table, you find that they have only a vested interest in each others faces. In vain, you scrutinize their faces to see what could be so interesting-nothing comes up. Their conversation? Non-verbal...apparently all they need to communicate can be done through the spiritual gift of touch.
And you sit in black pants and a blue tie secretly spying on other tables to see if they are as boring/awkward as yours. Having graduated from Junior high, you suspect that your table is the exception but apparently not. All around little awkward Junior highers dressed up as college people engage in monotonous, teeth-wrenching conversation.
And sit. no dancing. no good music. Just the remnants of a good meal on your plate. And wait for something to happen. When nothing does, you can only aspire to theorize the reason for "Christmas banquets". The theory is as follows: Girls like to dress up. Girls like guys dressed up. Guys like girls. Desperate bible school guys will go to any lengths to have girls link arms with them. Suck-up guys dress up for pretty girls = Christmas banquet.
Some one please tell me what part of sitting all night and blankly staring at other people is fun? Why not go stare at a brick wall instead? Its cheaper. Heck, why not just get a grand piano and repeatedly beat yourself over the head with it instead!@#$ You'll get the agony done all at once instead of dragging on! HEAVENS TO BETSY MAN! Are "banquets" the funnest activities that can be done on a bible school campus?!@#

hell night

2005-12-08T17:31:00.000-08:00

I think I can honestly say that I have never held such a deep, loathing, consuming, hate for any one I have ever met than for my leaders in outdoor leadership. But this hate is a very subtle hate that has been sired into my brain at such a deep level that I barely even realize I hate them-its more of a sensation; I look into their eyes and know that I should hate them even though I don’t hate them any more. As a soldier who is reluctant to relate his stories from the battle field because he knows that even after telling the story, no one will really understand what happened, so I feel in regards to hell night. But in the interest of not having to tell the same story over and over to everyone who asks about it (thank you family) I will write the story once and for all.

In review, many of you know that I am majoring in outdoor leadership at Columbia Bible College. My professor for this course has been through the military, police, and the UN (and owns a furniture business) and thus is slightly...militaristic in personality.
Preface: On Wednesday, my group of 15 first years is briefed that our mission for Friday will be a fairly typical search and rescue day hike activity--so bring lunch.
Disclaimer: Everything in this story is set up, the events, the people, everything was a big act.
The story begins.

Friday, 4:00am: every one ready to go at meeting location

Our group is split up into four groups, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, and Hotel. We are forced to line up in our groups while a man dressed in military garb gives us our briefing. We are to stand feet shoulder breadth apart with our hands held behind our back, and refer to him as "YES PETTY OFFICER!!" (He was actually a petty officer in the British army). When in doubt, say his name and you'll get off the hook. And for goodness sake, NEVER make eye contact with the petty officer, or smile, such things resulted in many pushups. Each group is marched under "yes petty officer!"s supervision individually to receive one sleeping bag and one sleeping pad per group. We are then marched into the "transports" and drove 30 minutes to be dropped off at an unknown location on the side of the road. 10 minutes pass before team leader radio's us our orders. Hike to the top of the mountain. A fairly simple and even fun objective accomplished in 4 hours.

9:00am: upon reaching the summit, we receive information that there are people that require first aid 10 minutes down the path. After they are tended to, there are injured people 10 minutes down the path again. After they were tended to, etc etc. 6 hours later, after being yelled at by every leader (there were 3), massacred by our first aid subjects (there were 7), and being made a failure in front of our peers, we were ordered to our next assignment.

3:00pm: one member from each team was taken and told to get lost. Our objective was to find the missing member and monitor/record his/her vitals for an indefinite period of time. After the person was gone for a while, the remainder of the team set up a search and rescue plan to find the missing subject.

4:00pm: We found our missing team member. We monitored vitals in 15F or -7c weather in a foot of snow with only our day-hike gear.

8:00pm: over the radio we are told the day is over and now we need to reassemble and start down the trail.

9:00pm on our decent, our teams "happen" to run into a hysteric, panicking woman screaming "where are my friends, I lost my friends". While one team representative attempts to calm her down, the rest of the teams organize an impromptu search and rescue mission. We split up into our 4 groups and disperse down the highest probability trails. After 45 minutes Golf, my group, finds the two "missing subjects". The subject is hypothermic, has a spinal injury, and also happens to be on a very steep grade.

10:00pm. Echo is set up as operation control. Because the satellite phone is "mysteriously not working", Foxtrot is assigned to hike down to the car to make communications with Abbotsford rope rescue team. Teams Golf and Hotel are assigned to tend to the patients.

3:00am Saturday: rope rescue team, which is actually the juniors and seniors from outdoor leadership program, arrive and set a pulley system to get the subject off the steep grade.

4:00am: patient is off the grade and ready to be stretchered out by our teams. After going down the path 500m (a long distance to carry a stretcher) we discover a cliff on one side of the trail, we turn around and stretcher her out 8k to the nearest evacuation area.

5:00am: It was about now that people started swearing at eachother.

10:00am. after a night of walking with 3 people on each side of the stretcher, in 1 foot of fresh snow, in -10c/12f weather, on bouldery terrain, with no food (I had a bag of peanuts for the day), rest, water breaks, and 6 hours of stretcher carrying, we reach evacuation area. We are told that we are 3.5 hours behind schedule for the days activities, but will carry on to our next assignment which will consist of 6 stations. The first station is to take a one hour exam. Separated by 10m, we sat down on our packs and took the exam. To this day I have no recollection of what I wrote. Words would make sense individually, but when put together as a sentence, it would not compute.

11:00am: test completed, we found out that there are no more stations and that the stations were a lie to stress us out. We begin our hike down the mountain.

12:30am: reach cars in parking lot.

1:00pm: after 33 hours of go time, we arrive home.

In conclusion, I’m glad petty officer wasn't hiding behind trees yelling at us even though the leaders were. Lots of what happened that night was hilarious, lots of what happened sucked. Some of it sucked so much that people have been having nightmares about it. And I now distrust my leaders and yes, on a deep level hate my leaders more than I’ve hated anybody before-well, except for my ex. She was a cow.

BrenTopia Travels Inc. -Fashion Division

2005-11-28T00:21:00.000-08:00

I am pleased to announce the first addition to my wardrobe since the year of our lord 2003. As many of you know, due to the new European travel restrictions, BrenTopia Travels Inc. based out of Carnforth England, was forced to layoff hundreds of cloths, leaving them ownerless, jobless, and dejected. This economic “downsizing” caused what many economists have deemed “a downward spiral” in the BrenTopia Fashion Division of BrenTopia Travels Inc. While initially, BrenTopia Travels promised that it would only layoff apparel, soon after it proceeded to layoff shoes, accessories, books, and yes, even toothpaste. The riots caused by unemployed apparel eventually drove BrenTopia Travels Inc. out of Britain and on to mainland Europe where it set up head quarters in Shladming, Austria. In the true spirit of riches to rags, the BrenTopia Fashion Division found itself downsized to the following list of latest fashion gear:

Sweatshirts: 1
Jacket: 1
Socks: not enough
T-Shirts: 3
Shorts: 1
Pairs pants: 3
Boxers: 3
Pair shoes: 1
Hats: none
Formal anything: none
Hygiene equipment: toothbrush
Other Hygienic tools: none
Books: 3 (down from 7)

Yes, there was only one word to describe this struggling business: compact. Using their weakness as its strength, BrenTopia Fashion Division was the first to claim that its entire wardrobe (consisting of net gross approx 15$US) could easily fit into one 50-liter REI frame pack. However, after almost 8 months of facing constant rebuke from fellow competitors in the fashion business, the unthinkable happened. In a storm of Shekinah glory and pearly doves, 7 (a holy number) shirts and 4 sweatshirts floated down from the heavens and were graciously donated to the “Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too” fund—a fund founded by BrenTopia Travels Inc. itself. Who could be the messenger of such charitable donations? It came in that vast reservoir of apparel, that masterful fashion Houdini, Justin McNanfelt. O Sacrum convivium, ave Maria, sancti amos deum, Alleluia. Amen.
Thanks be to God.
If you too would like to donate to the Brent-is-a-Starving-Child-Too fund, send cash, check, money order, or Cows* to: brentsastarvingchild@feedthechildren.com
*Cows may be used as currency only for those who do not reside in 1st world nations. Holiday blackouts, restrictions, and meaningless government inspections/visas apply. Cows must be worth at least 2 live virgins.

please remain seated

2005-11-26T10:49:00.000-08:00

Musings on an airplane to Chicago
When I was young, I used to look forward to airplane rides as much as I used to look forward to going to amusement parks. They were exciting, dangerous, and cool looking. But in my more recent history I have come out of my idealistic love for airplanes and the truth of the matter is disillusioning. My many pilgrimages on to the “aero-plane” have convinced me that they are actually a form of torture designed to punish our technologically advanced society. Indeed, it is a true irony that the very technology we esteem so highly inflicts itself upon us spreading like the bubonic plague. Most people don’t realize this until they find themselves walking through metal detectors without socks, holding up their pants because uniformed people made them take thier belt off. This we hail as modern innovation? Back in the 1600’s walking places with pants at one’s shoeless feet was not considered proper, but now in the 21st century, this is not only common practice, but something we have been brainwashed to think is a “good thing to keep bad people out”.

The real form of torture comes not when you're waiting for the plane for 2 hours, or eating airplane food (which can be used as a flotation device incase of an emergency) no. The real torture my friends is babies. I am convinced the reason weapons aren't allowed on planes is for the protection of crying babies and their blessed parents who caused the little cuties to come about in the first place. Heck, I know if I had an AK-47, crying babies would no longer be an issue on planes.

the smell of pot

2005-11-15T23:56:00.000-08:00

In all my travelings, hitchhikings in Europe, nights on the floors of air ports, and train travels there is one kind of person I can always trust to help me out. The pot-head. Today I thought I'd be adventurous and do something people don't even speak of around here, bike a long ways for non-recreational reasons. Destination: Trinity Western University. Distance: 17.33mi. Estimated duration: 33min by car (or "45min by bike". Who makes up those estimations anyways? Have they ever biked?). In all my bikings to airports, camps, and cities in Japan I have never undergone such a grueling bike ride. Fist, what's with the people that drive by and honk their horn? Is it an encouraging "keep on going"? or is it a, "get off the freaken road!"? As the honking went on, and after one mysterious motion in sign language depicting an upraised middle finger, I chose to believe that the honking of the horn was indicating something along the lines of an encouraging thumbs up.

After 1.5 hours of cars and trucks whizzing by so fast that their wind almost knocked me into the ditch on several occasions, and after 1.5 hours of biking on a road THAT WOULD NOT STAY LEVEL! (I used to think that the term "valley" meant a flat area of land, but now I see that it actually means "an area of land that is not a sharp pointy mountain"-an unusual occurrence in Canada. So unusual in fact, that they get over excited and think they have a valley. Well I think they need to visit Tokyo) I finally arrived at TWU sweaty, tired, and traumatized. The visit, scary. TWU looks like a daunting prison; it even has a little security post in the middle of the lanes on its driveway-just like military bases in Japan. By the time I was about to start biking back, it was dark and I didn't want to. And why has no one in this bloody country heard of trans-city buses? WHY?! Abbotsford is just one city away, you'd think they could afford a flippin bus!!! Despite the lack of trans-city buses, I decided to take a city bus as far as possible and then bike the rest of the way. Unmentionable thing #2 take a bus. And I tried to, but when I went up to put my bike on the bus bike rack, the bus driver honked at me (rude honk #5 of the day, not to mention at point blank range) and told me they can't put the bike rack down at night. So the bus drove off and it began to rain.

Upon girdling up my loins, sticking my chest out, and flipping the bus off after it left (sorry mom), I began the ride back. And after being honked at again I pulled off into a gas station to ask directions. The lady behind the desk couldn't believe that I was going to bike back in the rain at night, and after telling her about the honks, and the finger, I passionately proceeded to tell how I should be honking at them! THEY ARE THE ONES polluting the atmosphere THEY ARE THE ONES contributing to global warming THEY help Middle Eastern "terrorist" countries get rich! Heck, Saddam Hussein’s probably making prophet/liter gas sold! I SHOULD BE HONKING AT THEM for contributing to the axis of evil!! And I told that store lady how next time I go biking I'm going to bring an air horn just to spite cars! And I told her how if I had a car I would be driving it so they should shove their horns up their ear canals and shut up! Then after receiving a "maybe I should call security" look from the lady behind the counter, I walked out. And on the other side of the door, a beat up-looking SUV with a trailer and a guy hanging out the passenger door speaking the beautiful words "dude wanna ride? I heard you in the store". I proceeded to get in the truck and, after noticing it smelt kind of funny, listened to my savior talk about his relationship with pot. Apparently they are doing quite well together. The whole truck smelt of it.

It’s always those people on the fringes of society that are the most helpful. Maybe because they have nothing to lose, as opposed to rich Christians who's car seats might get dirty by picking some on up off the street. After the experience, I am a firm believer in people, not rich people, but normal people.

north face corset

2005-11-13T16:13:00.000-08:00

What is called the "outdoors industry" seems to be just a bunch of insecure people who, because they have no particular skill in normal society, escape to the outdoors in order to stop that tingling feeling in their stomachs of inadequacy. They immerse themselves in the finest gear and brands-and by these standards hinge the value and popularity of each outdoorsman. When not outdoors, the outdoors man must flaunt various brands and attitudes in order to convince himself that he has worth; this can be done by demonstrating the following: north face soft shells, nalgine bottles complete with token beaner (attached to your belt loop), hair length, and the ability to belittle other less qualified outdoors people. As much as possible talk about how skilled you are and stay as far away as possible from being tested if what you say is actually true-this may reveal imperfection = inadequacy = no identity. Some sacrifices must be undertaken to prove that you actually do have a skill—you must wear as much outdoor gear as possible (preferably North Face and vibrum soled boots) even when ridiculously unnecessary and impractical. Fortunately for us, corsets are no longer in style in the outdoors industry, or else we'd have to be wearing those too.

Sometimes I think I expect too much from people.

brentagorium theorem

2005-11-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

It seems I have stumbled upon a great travesty in this world. And the travesty is this: if one wants money, it seems you have to do the things you don’t want to do (i.e. work a sucky job). If you do the things you want to do (i.e. work a sweet job), you won’t get money. but if money = fun then perhaps its worth doing things you don’t want to do in order to facilitate doing the things you want to do in the future.

Another mathematical money theorem I have developed (which in Latin is called the “Brentagorium theorem ", similar, but unlike the Pathagorium theorem which was developed by the famous mathematician, Pathog, which is Latin for "The feeling, as of sympathy or pity, so aroused". May his soul rest in peace) goes like this: the more money you have, the more money you have. The less money you have, the less money you have.

And to all you college kids out there who have your parents paying your way through college-a special note: blessings, trinities, and halo's be upon your heads my children, for your end is surely just around the corner in the form of my fist. Some may wonder what may have aroused these feelings in me. Well let me tell you, the other day I was griping as usual at the cafeteria food (not because its bad, just because its the cool thing to do) saying that I cant believe I'm paying money to be ripped by the monopoly that is the caf (a semi-intellectual and original complaint I thought). So the kid I was talking to replied by casually, leisurely, nonchalantly stating that, "But I don’t mind cuz my parents are paying for it anyway”. In fact, he doesn't mind, because it is not him who pays for the food, but his parents-and the same for all his classes! And that my friends, is called natural selection. Some people have rich parents and some people have rad parents. Naturally, I have selected the latter.

kingdom of blog

2005-11-09T16:32:00.000-08:00

A time is coming and has now come when the condescending voices of my siblings shall no longer ring in my ears, when past acquaintances will not ridicule me in their blogs, no longer will they have an excuse not to know what is happening in my life! No longer shall you roll in cesspools if ignorance and fecal matter! NO! the time is coming and has now come when dandelions like little giddy children on the swings do play, when grand piano’s fall on the heads of the teletubbies, when the beer flows like wine and babies no longer cry on airplanes! YES! I…AM…BLOG! Fear not oh little ones, fear not, uncle brent shall be to you no harm. Of fear be thou not, for mine is the kingdom of blog for ever and ever.
And in other news, as many of you know I am in a program at college called OL (which is short for Outdoor Leadership). Its basically a major at college where we’re taught to be out door guides, we do all kinds of 5 day and 1 day trips with activities ranging from canoeing to ski touring. So last week my team and I (alpha team) which consists of 8 people went out on a canoe trip-and nothing really worth mentioning happened until the last night. Its always the a night.
The preface: my tent was a tarp in the shape of a pyramid, it had one pole up the middle and the rest of the tarp was pegged down with chopsticks (the night before I made sushi for dinner, and as we forgot the tent pegs, chopsticks seemed like the most logical course of action). The problem: the last night we had the most freakish windstorm I’ve ever encountered. The wind would first come from behind-like clockwork we could hear it blasting through the trees in the distance speeding its way over to us. And when the wind finally hit, it would effectively turn our pyramid, chopstick held, one-pole tent into a parachute-that is, it would have-save for the desperate efforts of the tents inhabitants yelling and holding down various corners of the tent as tree branches rained down on us. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Then we would put the tent back on its chopsticks, pray the storm was over, and fall asleep. Now so far there has been nothing freakish-no. but the freakeshness was that 5 minutes later the wind would come again except this time from the opposite direction. And we did the usual routine of holding down the tent, yelling etc. and then falling asleep for 5 minutes until the process repeats itself over and over. After about 10 of these cycles I was done with it. I decided to steal real pegs from the leaders tent to replace our chopsticks with. At about 1:30am I drag myself out of the pyramid tarp, and commence the night walk over to the leaders tent. Preface: 1. We had a camp fire the night before, which was still going because a team member was tending to it. 2 This member is EXTREMELY jumpy 3. This person spent a considerable amount of time in the US army. 4. Freakishly windy nights make people jumpy. Problem: 1 I approach this person from behind 2 I don’t know that he’s extremely jumpy 3. Without the intention to startle, I whisper his name 1ft behind him. Freakish occurrence number tow: He turns around and starts socking me in the face. Oh no, not just once, multiple times, and he did not desist after the fist 10 seconds, nor did he desist while I was yelling at him reminding him of who I was and that we’ve known each other for 2 months. After about 15 seconds of this he finally snaps out of the trance apologizes, pats my back and walks off. I’m left standing mouth agape, wondering if what just happened happened. Later he “jokingly” states that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife on him. A good one! MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE A FREAKEN COMMEDIAN FOOL!