the (post-) Xmas party

The small kids crowded the steps; it's where you'll see me and Cat.

Really, I love the people I work with. And I love the fact that I live with the ones I love the most. I never would've thought, six months ago back in Dayton in a whole other world... Wait, no, scratch that. We're past that. Wednesday night the three stores came together at Rock Bottom Brewery where we enjoyed generous amounts of free food and free rounds of beers, courtesy of Rock Bottom and Bob. I had two glasses of their Brandy Tripel, one of the most alcoholic beers they serve (it's up there with my first favorite, the Bourbon Barrel, and the Scotch barrel is quite potent as well). After the first I was pretty tipsy, and after the second I was all but gone. Dewenter came by with his new girlfriend Kara, and it was so good to see him: it's been a couple months. Kassie drove me home in my car, and back at the house everyone came together for the after-party. We had two hookahs going around--"Plum" and "Melon Blue"--and did a White Elephant Gift Exchange where the parameters were anything alcoholic or coffee. Emily got my California Crush, a red wine concocted by Dave Matthews; it was $10 at Target, and I don't know if the whole "Dave Matthews" bit makes it good or bad. Probably depends on your take on Dave Matthews. Bob brought in a crate of red wine leftover from wine-tastings for the (hopefully) up-and-coming 1215 Wine & Coffee Bar. 

All-in-all it was a great night with great people, and once again I'll emphasize how blessed I am to be surrounded by friends and family at home and at work. Here we all are again, just 'cause I have two pictures and don't know what to do with the second:

Oh, and Cat took all these pictures, not me.

the 26th week

Monday. Cat was quite the little ball of spunk at work today, and Brandon came by to say Hi. He's been overwhelmed with all the chaos at Godiva, but he said he'd be coming back around again once the holidays wind down. I ferried Mandy to class and back, and I spent the evening just hanging out and watching TV. Blake and Amos went out to see a friend at BW3s, and Brandy stopped by for a bit with her pal Aaron. He has the craziest laugh. Here's a noteworthy: I got to bed at a decent time. And another noteworthy: Ams did all my Christmas shopping for me, I just have to pay her back. How awesome is that?!

Tuesday. Work went well. Training was cancelled, and later in the evening Rob, Amos and I porch-squatted with some pipes. Another quiet evening just hanging out with the housemates, nothing exciting to report. That's usually how it goes once winter comes along: no one wants to go out, we just spend our time hanging out in Blake's room or crowding the sofas watching television.

Wednesday. I threw out my back at work, an old high school injury re:visited. It took me half an hour to walk three blocks to my car, I kept having to stop and take breaks on benches along the road. I hit up C.V.S. for drugs and then crashed for a noontime nap (since Cat covered the 2nd half of my shift). Andy came over for a little bit, and then Mandy and I went and got groceries. She was being super protective the entire time, didn't want me doing anything to exacerbate the pain; and then she kept slamming the brakes on the car, which hurt my back, but it was funny. Kassie came over to roast some coffee, and we smoked plum hookah with Rob and Amos. Before bed I called Mandy K. and we caught up: her chaos and my monotony. We talked for an hour and, yet again, it felt like only ten minutes. 

Thursday. My back felt much better today. I was able to work my entire shift! We were superbly slow, and we spent the first half of the morning mostly just dicking around. We closed the salad bar early so I was home by 2:30. I went to The Anchor to do some writing, and I hung out with Blake, Amos, and Mandy for a while. Blake had his friend Danielle over, and I got lots of writing done. I actually feel really good about Act III so far. Mandy and I closed out the night trying to watch A Clockwork Orange. But we only watched the first half because it's a super messed up movie. I could handle it as a novel, but not as a movie, when you actually see what's happening. Oh: my New Year's Resolution (as if I were actually going to make one) is to get serious about getting fit. Like seriously. But brownies with funfetti icing are just so damned good!

Friday - Sunday. Just read the post before this, because I already recapped all of it. 

Now I'm going to get off here and get ready for the Tazza Mia Christmas Party.

It should definitely be a good time, not least because it's going to be at Rock Bottom.

christmas celebrations

an awkward Christmas picture,
 a family tradition

The Eve of Christmas Eve. Sadly 600 wasn't closed, and I got off work around 4:00. I went back home, and Amos and I putzed around while I waited for Ams to come home from work. When she did we went up north to New Carlisle--dubbed "Bogtown" from here on out, due (obviously) to the countless bogs in the area. We celebrated Christmas with Dad's side of the family, and though Ams and I were too late to miss lunch (by about six hours), we did partake in some amazing waffles and crisp bacon. We did a White Elephant exchange, and that was fun: I came out of it with a wrought-iron turtle, but I've already lost it. When Ams and I got back into Cincinnati, Jessie and Tony were at the house, and it was good to see them. Rob and I smoked pipes on the front porch before we went our separate ways. The mild weather allowed for midnight front porch times.

Christmas Eve. Jessie and I got breakfast at The Anchor, and I changed things up and got biscuits and gravy. We went to Carew afterwards for coffee. Jessie told me, "You're going to find a great girl someday, and you'll make a great husband, I just know it." That warmed my heart, it really did. And the best part was that it wasn't like I was fishing for such a compliment. Back home I did some writing for a bit, and then I headed up to Mom and Dad's for the night. They were gone for a little while so I went on a drive and sat outside the shut-down Spring Valley Starbucks and smoked my pipe and remembered those days. I'm so damned nostalgic, you'd think I had a fetish for it. "You moved forty minutes away and basically got the same kind of job, and you make it sound like some life-changing event." My defense: I love myself and I hate myself. When Ams rolled in we had a delicious homemade dinner--chicken in the crock-pot over steamed wild rice and buttered rolls--and the four of us spent the night together (five, if you include Sky). It was certainly a delightful Christmas at home. There's something about being home that just makes me feel at peace; I remember when I moved home following all the craziness with Sarah G., I felt peace when I lied down in that bed. It's home, I guess. Sleeping in my room only fostered my nostalgic weaknesses, and I fell asleep remembering simpler times that really weren't any simpler. 

Christmas Day. No white Christmas this year, and I was totally cool with that: it's pretty to look at, but a nightmare to drive through. When I woke up I returned to Cincinnati and had eggs and toast for breakfast, and when Ams showed up a couple hours later, we jumped in her car and sped down to Lexington. Everyone was in town, and we had a fully-stocked bar, and I made a few cocktails for people that I remembered from my old drinkin' days, at least until Jesse and I made Aunt Susan a cranberry vodka with about ten ounces of vodka and a splash of cranberry juice. Best part is that she drank it all (after about seven shots prior) and then put another one down. The woman can drink like a trooper, and hold her own more-so than most. "You're so sweet," she said, "I wish I knew someone I could hook you up with!" Ha. Uncle Bill made another non-traditional Christmas dinner: shrimp ravioli, mozzarella-stuffed meatballs, rustic vegetable soup, and broiled chicken with an orange glaze. Ashley brought bourbon fudge, and it tasted too much like bourbon for her, so (of course) I loved it. Bourbon's definitely a weakness. Grandpa got his gift and left without saying bye, but no one was surprised. The last couple hours were spent smoking cigarettes and drinking beer on the front porch with Jesse, Jared, Ashley, and Bill; and then Ams and I returned to Cincinnati where Rob announced our house almost burnt down in an electrical fire. Awesome.

on writing (IV)

Amanda as a zombie!

My creative prowess comes and goes in spurts. I would liken it metaphorically to the ebb and flow of the tides, but tides themselves can be measured, and the spurts in my creative energies can neither be charted nor anticipated. Let me put it like this: for almost all of December, I haven't touched my zombie serial novel. And then in the past two days, I've written sixty pages. When the switch is turned "ON" I can't stop writing, can't keep my hands from the keyboard. Hours and hours will be spent doing nothing but writing, smoking my pipe in moments of anxiety, and I become completely consumed in this other world. When the switch is turned "OFF", I prefer focusing on more educational and educational projects (like my 1 Peter commentary "thingie", dubbed as such because while it's not a commentary, it's also not a devotional, or bible study, or anything like that: it's the blending of all sorts of things into a sort of compendium of sorts on 1 Peter; but enough about that). The point of all this is that I've been advancing in the zombie story, and I'm liking what I've got so far.

Act II? It's a little shaky at times. Ams has read through most of it so far, and her critiques and concerns largely drive the shape of the story. Some people will tell you that changing up the story in lieu of one person's critiques is a bad idea, and it is. But I respect my sister, she reads a similar style of literature, and she much prefers story-driven tales than character-driven ones. That last part's important, because I want this story to be story-driven rather than character-driven (as you find, for example, in "Dwellers of the Night"; which you can't actually find, because I've discontinued it for a while now). Her critiques have helped shape the work for the better, and if I thought otherwise, I'd stop asking for her input. I'm pretty sure that when it becomes available to the public, she's gonna get one helluva shout-out, probably recognition as partaking in the evolution of the story. That'll be cool. All this aside, she likes Act I more than Act II, and while she couldn't really give me a reason why, my own analysis of the two acts shows what, I think, that reason is: it's a matter of narration.

Act I takes place over a series of a couple days, and Act II takes place over a couple months. The narrative style of Act I (which is about the same length as Act II) is, as I prefer, far more detailed and congruous than Act II. Because it happens in such a short amount of time, I was able to go into as much detail as I wanted without worry about taking up too much room; in Act II, which had so many more different scenes than Act I, I couldn't delve into as much detail or it'd run an extra 50-60 pages, and that wouldn't be cool. Act I is more congruous simply because all the scenes are interconnected over a series of days; Act II is written in an almost kaleidoscopic-snapshot feel, a series of short-&-sweet vignettes. At the foundation of it all, however, is the fact that Act I is more story-driven, because Act II is more about bringing to light the various characters and subplots to be extrapolated in the further acts. Act III is back to the story-driven mode, and I'm so excited about it so far, and anxious to hear what Amanda thinks. I really think she'll like it as much as she liked Act I, if not more. Honestly, I'd love to go back to Act II and fine-tune it for the ninth time; but I can be a narcissistic perfectionist when it comes to writing, and I'll get stuck in a rut and never get out. One of the prime lessons any seasoned writer will tell you is that becoming bogged down in editing and revisions is one of the worst possible things you can do; you'll become consumed by the process, often losing sight of the over-arching story, and the end result is a spiraling story going nowhere. I've forced myself to accept Act II as is and go on to Act III, and I'm thankful I've made that move: I'm trying to get 6-12 books out of this thing, I can't spend half a year on a third of the first one.

One other "writing update": when it comes to the plot-line of the story, while I know most of its skeletal structure, I'm really wrestling with what to do at the end of Act III. The original plan was to not even have the first major zombie outbreak happening until sometime in Act III of the second book (around 450 pages into the story as a whole), because there were lots of things I wanted to do between then and there both to shape the story and open a window to a different perspective than most zombie literature. The end result would be hardly any real zombie action for the first two books, and I don't want readers getting tired of not seeing any zombies in a zombie apocalyptic (I'm hearing Jeff Goldblum's echo: "So, are there are dinosaurs in this, uh, dinosaur park?"). Coupled with all this, the reality is that I can't wait (quite literally) to get into the meat of this zombie story. I want to get to that part of the story, and my blood boils in my anticipation. Through this wrestling, I've been considering revamping the plot, accelerating the zombie outbreak and then opening that different-perspective window in the sixth or seventh book. This would change a lot I've planned out, but it may be a wiser (and more fun) choice overall. 

Rob just made a chemex of some Ethiopian Sidamo, and it's one of the best Sidamo coffees I've ever had. Fruity without an overpowering citrus. I'm on a tight schedule, so I'm not going to look over what I wrote, scanning for grammatical errors and the like. If you find some (and I'm sure you can), just get over it: I'm human, just like you, and pretty stupid most of the time. 

Oh: and Merry Christmas Eve.

times square duel

This is one of those videos that starts off looking super dumb and then turns into something pretty cool. Your first thought will be that it's a trailer for a movie or video game; that's not the case. This past Tuesday, 100 Star Wars fans gathered at Times Square and filmed a choreographed "show" celebrating the launch of an online Star Wars RPG. I'm not a big Star Wars fan (I like the movies, but I haven't seen them in years), nor a gamer; but this video is pretty awesome and I think you might enjoy it.

wrapped in piano strings

Another song by Radical Face: "Wrapped in Piano Strings". He's such a good songwriter, his lyrics are beautiful pieces of poetry, and the music's mellow yet quickened. My favorite line:

     "Few words could open me, 

          but you knew them all." 

six months later

Six months ago to the day I packed up my car, and after my second-to-last shift at Spring Valley Starbucks I drove down to Cincinnati and started unpacking. It all happened so fast, it really did: everything was going along at a monotonous pace, and out-of-the-blue, like lightning from heaven, I had a different job and a different home and, in so many ways, a different life. I'm thinking that maybe most change is like that, happening fast. A series of coincidences come together and the end result is a titanic shift in life experience that seems to happen all at once. I say "seems" because half the time we don't know things are changing until well after the fact. All this to say that, being the nostalgic sorta guy I am, a post commemorating the 6-month mark should come as a surprise to no one.

I've been perusing old posts from that time in my life (although very recent, it does feel like a lifetime ago), seeing how much has changed not just around me but inside me. Some of these changes are good, some of them are bad; I just don't know which is which. Many of my fears surrounding the decision to move to Cincinnati came true. As predicted, Jessica put no effort into the friendship and then we both said "To hell with it" (though, for me, it didn't come as too much of an option). Unpredictably, Carly, too, stopped putting effort into the friendship. Losing the two of them--who played such large roles in my life in Dayton--fostered my mental distancing from those days, and for a good long while I suffered the loss of those friendships. But I got over it (as is always the case), and it wasn't too difficult: this new life down here just kinda swept me up, and my consistent visits to Dayton shortened as did the days, and with the advent of the cold autumn I was no longer making trips up there unless due to necessity. Not all my fears came true, however: I feared that I wouldn't get along with the people at Tazza Mia, but turns out we get along great and hang out outside work on a regular basis. I really have been blessed to (usually) work with people I like, and the Tazz was no exception. Like a half-remembered dream my time in Dayton faded, and though I am thankful and happy to be where I'm at now, working with people I like and living with people I love, that doesn't mean I don't miss those earlier times.

And why shouldn't I miss them? When I reflect on those times, I only remember the good things. That was back when "life was good", or at least that's how it sometimes feels in hindsight. What we often forget is all the bad stuff littering those moments in our lives, and at times I go back to my old journals and read through "happier times" to see that they weren't so happy after all. I remember them as happy times, but that's because our brains tend to trivialize negative memories ('cept for trauma) and bloat good ones. All this aside, when I think about those times, I don't think about the bad stuff that happened. I think about smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and playing Mario-Kart with Dylan and Tyler; I think about how we'd go out to bars and restaurants just because it was something to do; I think about how my hardest decision was whether to smoke Marlboro Skylines or Pall Mall Reds (which were both equally cheap; Skylines had just come out and were thus at a reduced price). I think about swimming at Carly's apartment, and driving around Springboro with her. I think about how we'd go to parks and climb trees, how we'd go to bookstores and get sushi. I remember Jessica, too, but the feelings are no longer there; we'd run errands after work, or hang out at her apartment and drink beers and watch "How I Met Your Mother," and we'd always write jokes to each other and stick them in each other's lockers. She had my old Starbucks barista photo tacked up in her shift locker, along with a note I'd written her a while back. 

Now Dylan's so far away, and I miss him like a child who misses his thumb (that'd been eaten off by an alligator). I really took that simile way too far. I don't even know if Carly and I could have an actual conversation not dominated by mere pleasantries, and honestly, I think I'd just be bored hanging out one-on-one with Jess. My friendships with those two were circumstantial, and my friendship with Dylan... Well, it's not going anywhere, despite him jumping ship on America, and I worry about him daily. I'm also super jealous that Mandy and Ams get to talk to him daily (through an app on their phones), but I can't because I'm the cheap-ass with the lowest-grade phone.

the 25th week

It's me. As a zombie. Not real life.
Well, I guess that's half-true...

Monday. A month and a half of Food Prep begins now. I spent the entirety of my day ('cept for work) hanging out with the housemates (plus Andy, who might as well be a housemate). We took zombie pictures and watched TV. I like the fact that I live with so many great people, especially my sister. Really, I'm proud and thankful that we have the friendship we do, and whenever I'm telling people 'bout myself, I always speak highly of her and boast about the relationship we have. Although I'm not one for "counting blessings", she'll nevertheless always be at the top.

Tuesday. Mandy was freaking out about her graduation speech, so I wrote her a damned good one, with help from T.J., and in thirty minutes flat, no less. "How fitting that the guy who wrote half my college papers is now writing my graduation speech." Living vicariously through Amanda Hoos? Check Yes. And then whimper for what has become. In thanks she treated me to Melt in Northside, and Ams joined us. It's this hole-in-the-wall vegan joint, super trendy with the menu written out on a blackboard. I had their Joan of Arc with herb-roasted red potatoes, and then we got bubble tea from Clifton. I spent the rest of the night hanging out with Amos, and Rob roasted some amazing coffees for the coffee tasting tomorrow.

Wednesday. Let's just suffice it to say that after work today, I may not be able to eat muffins for a week. The coffee tasting at the house went really well. Rob unveiled three coffees: a Colombian microlot, and then a Guatemalan and Kenyan geisha varietals. "I never thought we'd have this many geishas in our house at once," Amos said. I didn't hate the geishas, loved them, actually. You can taste why these beans cost twenty bucks a pound unroasted. Cat, Amos, Nick, Kassie and I smoked strawberry hookah, and then I took Cat to her place downtown and then took Kassie to her place in Clifton. She invited me inside for a bit, and we hung out for a little while, and we had great conversation. She's one of our best baristas, and it's sad to see her go: she's launching off to Portland here in a bit to expand her coffee experience. 

Thursday. It's been warm out, but a cold front swept in today, cold and misty rains blanketing downtown in a dripping fog. Cat and I are trying to throw together a 600 Vine Christmas party: beer, hookah, let-come-what-may. The house was quiet this evening and played some "Skyrim": it's good, but I can only play it in spurts. Mandy graduated from Lindsey Wilson today--SHOUT-OUT!!!--and she said the speech went really well, got lots of compliments. I'm not surprised: I wrote it and she gave it. We make, in her words, "an unstoppable duo." I grabbed dinner at The Anchor and spent the last bits of the night hanging out with Amos, Ams, Rob and Brandy. Her voice is all ragged and worn from one hell of a sickness. "I coughed up blood yesterday. Can I have a hit off your cigarette?" That's probably not a good idea, but yes. Also, we all discovered, much to our dismay, that Mandy's more afraid of bedbugs than we thought... Like, seriously.

Friday. Tyler came down around 5:00 and we spent the evening hanging out with Blake, Amos, and Mandy. Rob joined us for a trip to Chipotle (although I suspect it may have been his idea?), and when we got back we watched through Season One of "Frisky Dingo" yet again. Tyler and I fell asleep in Blake's room, him on the bed and me in the chair with my head thrown back. Yes, exactly like a beast, as you should expect.

Saturday. Rob made a chemex of Guatemalan, something amazing to wake up to. Amos, Tyler and I got Indian. Andy was going to come but got a flat tire. After Dusmesh we went shopping in Clifton. Tyler headed home, and I spent the rest of my Saturday hanging out with Blake, Andy, Amos and Mandy, and Mandy and I made a midnight-run to Kroger. Or at least it felt like midnight, you never know with dark settling so early. It very easily could've been around six or seven, I'm not sure.

Sunday. Mandy and I hit up U.C.C. for church, and then I went downtown to Carew for some coffee courtesy of Gina, and then I ran errands all over western Cincinnati. I had Subway for linner (dunch+linner... I meant lunch+dinner. Been doing that a lot lately, maybe it's a tumor?). Andy came over for a little while, and that's always good. When I first met him in 2007, I didn't like him. Jessica C. (not the more recent one) had strung me along for a good while, and then dropped me for no good reason and fixated her attentions on him. Jealousy stained my opinion of him. Once he got the shaft, too, she ran off with some guy and married him, and they've got a baby coming quite soon. Now Andy and I are good friends, and we agree: stay away from those Jessica's!

L/4/D

This is a fan-video revolving around the "Left 4 Dead" zombie-shootin' franchise. Andy showed it to me, and though the ending does get a little weird (with shout-outs to various characters from different video games), I think this video's pretty cool.

barton hollow

I'm not a fan of country music, but the southern, blues feel to this song shouldn't, in my opinion, label it as such. And, also, I don't know anyone who would dub The Civil Wars as a country group. Their songs are more folk than country (in my opinion), and they're super good.

going old-school

We were told God had a plan, and I knew what his plan was for me because he showed it to me through the words of other people and through my own desires. John Eldredge wrote a book about how our heart's innermost desires reveal to us God's plans for our lives. It's funny, isn't it, how God's plan for us is all about what we want? Which is strange, because the God whose plans are in alignment with our desires has apparently changed his mind since the days of the bible; I look at what God had planned for people like Abraham, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and I don't want that. Forced to leave my homeland? Not allowed to marry, drink, or party? Forced to walk around the city naked for a good long while, and then you're paid for all this by getting sawed in half by a king who unraveled everything you worked for and stained your name throughout the nation? Yeah, none of that's appealing. So tell me what I'm missing when you tell me that God's plans are intricately connected to our own desires. 

All this aside, it doesn't take long for us to realize that things aren't as simple as we thought, and as life unravels with misfortune after misfortune, blessings sprinkled in here-and-there,  we begin to question what we've been told. Some might say, "Hey, wait, you have a pretty bleak outlook on things. Wouldn't you say it's the other way around, that life is filled with blessings but sprinkled with misfortune here-and-there?" No, I wouldn't and won't say that, because even though I have it great with nothing but my first-world problems, the reality is that our own entitlement doesn't negate the fact that the vast rest of the world is born, lives, and dies amidst squalor, despair, and absolute hopelessness. 

The idea that God doesn't have a plan for us, and that God isn't going to give us the rose-garden experience we want, that's a hard idea to swallow. On the one hand it opens the door to freedom; but on the other hand, the uncertainty of everything can be overwhelmed. We use destiny, fate, and "God's plan for our lives" as a crutch: when life turns to shit, we tell ourselves that there's always a rainbow after the storm, daybreak after the night, and that this is all part of the plan, and God's going to bring it all together and give us the frosted-picture-window ending we've always wanted. It's easier to do this than to face the seeming reality of things, and all along we're praised as resilient, faithful, dutiful Christians because we're making it through things all right and "trusting God" the entire way. Never-mind that we're just engaging in that psychological trick called cognitive dissonance, best equated with the picture of an ostrich sticking its head in the sand and denying the world raging all around it. 

It's frightening being on the other side of things, it really is. A long time ago I abandoned the idea that God had some specific blueprint for my life, and then a bit later I abandoned the idea that because I'm a part of God's people, my life would eventually become what I always wanted it to be: a loving wife, having some children, doing ministry in a small church somewhere. I believed that's what God would give me, but I came to learn that such "trusting" is truly childlike, and not in the good way like you want. 

on doubt

We doubt about all sorts of things, but only sometimes are we willing to admit it. It's frightening to be absolutely free of doubt, because that shows that you are nothing more than an arrogant fool who assumes he has it all figured out. Doubts reveal that we're not sure about things, and being unsure of things can only happen when we're wise enough to know that (a) we don't have everything figured out, as well knowing that (b) most of what we "know" is probably wrong. This sort of humility is good, and the doubts that arise shouldn't be viewed, I think, as "necessary evils." Doubts arise amidst the earthquakes of colliding worldviews, coming to life as we wrestle with things much larger than ourselves. Doubts shouldn't send us scurrying fearfully into the shadows but, rather, listened to: these doubts tell us so much about ourselves, about the ways we view the world, and doubts should be listened to, wrestled with, and allowed to do their proper work. 

Dove-tailing into the realm of Christianity, Christians who have doubts about anything related to the faith shouldn't be dismissed as fools lacking faith (as many people will do) but acknowledged as reasonable, thinking people wrestling with real-life issues in the real world. This kind of wrestling is a good kind of struggle, the struggle that makes us wiser, smarter, and, ultimately, more humble. Half of Christianity is the "renewing of the mind" (lofty language about how conversion to Christianity is a conversion to a radically different worldview, and conforming to Christ is possible only if our worldviews are reshaped and tweaked by the gospel), and the journey of this renewal involves the clashing of worldviews, and in this friction there's earthquakes, and these doubts are a good and necessary part of that experience. Jesus didn't scold Thomas for his doubt but invited him to investigate it for himself; the appropriate response to doubt, I think, isn't brushing it under the carpet or pretending it's not there, but facing it for all its beauty and ugliness and tackling it head-on. 

the 24th week

Monday. So much rain! Route 50 was flooded by the time I got home, cars tire-deep in rainwater collecting in the dips and depressions. At the intersection of Grand and Glenway, choking white smoke blinded cars, and it was a Grade-A hot mess. Andy and the girls made puppy chow as a welcome home gift for Blake and Amos, who got in around midnight. My dinner: oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, honey, a splash of milk, and glazed walnuts, almonds, cranberries and raisins thrown in for good measure (their the "sprinkles" of the oatmeal world). Mandy, Ams, and Rob put up the house Christmas tree. I took pictures and hung a few ornaments, nothing worth including myself in the effort. The tree looks great, very cheery. I made Mandy hit the floor laughing because of a fake outburst of excitement in lieu of her authentic burst of excitement. When Blake and Amos came home, with Isaac on their heels, we crowded in Blake's room and they sported off their tattoos: Amos got a "Mother" tattoo inspired by pirate Smee, Blake got a compass, and Isaac got work done on his covenant sleeve.

Tuesday. I hit up The Anchor for breakfast and worked a long close with Amos. Things are getting crazy with the holiday right around the corner. We trained on manual tamping, something I haven't done since the Hilltop days. So many memories from the Hilltop, it feels so ancient. Memories like when Mandy covered my early shift so I could try and nurse a hangover, and then working her shift while still completely drunk. It was a wretched mess. When Amos and I got home, we hung out with Brandy Rae, and when she left, we shot zombies. Ams and Mandy went to Dayton to have dinner with Mom & Dad, so it was a quiet night, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Wednesday. The flags outside 600 were at half-staff, and it was confusing the hell outta me, and then I remembered Pearl Harbor. It's the anniversary. I gave Mandy a ride to class and she gave me lots of great music: US Royalty, The Civil Wars, Radical Face, and some others (like the new Black Keys album!). And Rob gave me the entire Led Zeppelin discography. I couldn't be happier. Jake came over for a little in the evening, and come nightfall Mandy, Ams and I raided leftover lemon pie from yesterday, a parting gift from Mom.

Thursday. I went to The Anchor for coffee and O.J. and closed shop with Amos. We hung out with Mandy in the kitchen when we got home, and she made some lemonade pie for Amos. It was tart, but certainly not as tart as last time. Yeah, real exciting day.

Friday. Work was easy, and the house was quiet all night. I went to The Anchor for a little bit late in the evening to break up the monotony. Two calm and quiet nights in a row, certainly nothing to be upset about. Breaking the stereotype of 24-year-old guys, my preferable night remains a calm and quiet one at home. Not that I don't like doing things, of course; but, at the least, I have no qualms with spending a weekend night inside snuggled up on the sofa watching WWII in H.D.

Saturday. I went to The Anchor to do some reading, and then Rob, Andy, Amos and I got Indian. It was extra delicious today. I headed up to Dayton to see Joe for a doctor's appointment (see previous post). I then went and got my hairs snipped and then joined Mom and Dad for a trip to Tipp City to celebrate Grandma B.'s birthday at this candlelit, wine-toting establishment called Harrison's. I snuck to the bar and stole a shot of bourbon. Mom joined me. My entree was bourbon-glazed salmon paired with cornbread. Afterwards we went to Uncle Brian & Aunt Julie's for dessert, and I held Grace. The only infants I've ever held are my cousin's, ha. It was cool, albeit terrifying. Something so fragile in arms so classic. I rolled back into Cincinnati around midnight. The shocks on the Celica are freezing again, so that makes driving fun: it's like a roller coaster!

Sunday. Mandy and I hit up U.C.C. for church followed by a pit-stop at Carew downtown for free coffee courtesy of the dashing Hartman. Rob and Mandy went up to Dayton, and she let me borrow her camera so I went around to various parks (Mount Echo on the westside and Eden Park on the eastside). I spent the afternoon playing with her camera and hanging out with Ams, and soon the house was abandoned as people went to see different people, and I watched episodes of "Bones" with Rob and had some Little Caesar's before forcing myself away from Blake's room to sleep. 

12.11.11

CHICKENS 

     DON'T

          CLAP!!!

a doctor's visit

After an amazing lunch at Dusmesh with Rob, Andy, and Amos, I booked it up to Dayton and met up with my doctor, who happens to also be an elder at my home church and a friend. The clinic was closed but he unlocked the door and we went to a room, and he checked up on some stuff I've been concerned about. (1) My heart, since I've been having chest pains and chest tightness, shortness of breath, dizziness, etc. We both came to the conclusion--more-so he than I--that it's mostly stress-induced and exacerbated by the heavy amounts of caffeine I intake on a daily basis. He said it's nothing to be concerned about, and the pain with the double-skips is unfortunate and annoying more than anything. He said I could go on some meds to stop the pain, but it's not too big a deal since I know it's not a problem. And (2) I had some strange pains in my nether-regions, and he checked those out and said they were in tip-top shape and that the pains were probably due to hypersensitivity. So, all in all, a clean bill of health. It's relieving, it really is.

After all the medicinal things were out of the way, we spent a good hour just catching up and talking about all sorts of things. Back when I lived in Dayton we'd meet up for coffee or hit up steak-houses, and he and Dad are like best buds, so he always hears things about me through the grapevine. He asked how things were going with me spiritually, since we've always enjoyed such conversations, and I filled him in on some things that I've been "coming to terms with", so-to-speak.

1) The majority of my Christian life has been spent believing that (a) I was called to ministry and (b) that unless I did ministry, I'd be forsaking my calling and thus forsaking God. It was a very legalistic strain-of-thought, and when I came to realize that not only was I unsure about my own desires to go into ministry, some of the most basic elements of pastoral ministry would be overwhelming for an INFP like myself. Couple that with the fact that I want to get married one day, and with ministry marriages already strained by ministry, the effect could very well be exponentially multiplied for a guy like me. Realizing, too, that I have had a skewed perception of vocation and duty to God, I've found myself with deepening desires to really pursue God and work for his kingdom in whatever way I can. At the same time, having gotten a bachelor's in something I may not end up doing is a scary thought. So right now I'm wrestling with what I want to do with my life, and within that, how I want to serve God's kingdom doing what I'm doing.

2) Tying into the first "hot topic", for the longest time I believed that God had some sort of blueprint for my life, some orchestrated plan that would unfurl perfectly. Call it destiny, fate, whatever you want, but I believed in it lock-stock-&-barrel. But a little critical thinking, spurned by varying experiences and conversations and meditations over the years, drew me to the conclusion that there is no scriptural evidence for God having any sort of plan for every person. Critical thinking also led me to surmise that, chances are, there's no divine plan for my life. With all that said, I could no longer cling to the idea of Destiny as a source of strength for changing my life and figuring out what I want to do. While that was years ago, today I'm still overwhelmed with the freedom that I have to do what I want with my life (within bounds, of course; genocide, as an example, isn't a legitimate option) while honoring God in that life. I'm 24 years old with a degree under my belt that may never be used, looking out upon a vast world with no solid idea about what I want to do with my life (though I have some thoughts on that, perhaps for another time). 

3) Also, I'm wrestling with how the idea of "God's love" fleshes itself out (or doesn't flesh itself out) in our world, and what that tells us either about God, ourselves, or the world. It's difficult to look the world's horrors in the eyes and to be forced to ask, "Where is God?" But when we look at it hard enough, we won't be forced to ask the question, it'll just happen naturally. While on the one hand the implications of this can be read in a negative light, I think the fact that our gut instinct isn't to accept such things with peace of mind but to demand an answer of the one who can change things, tells us something quite positive. Regardless, the questions arise, and the questions demand an answer, even if no answer's to be found or given. All I know is that it's humbling to know, in a Western world where we're told that God has a special plan for us, that we're unique and special, etc., that there's no partiality with God: there is nothing but circumstances separating me from the 90% of the world living in suffering, despair, and fear. That could easily be me, and the fact that it isn't doesn't say anything about me but about the environment I was born into. All this to say that I'm struggling with how to understand God's love without trivializing the horrors of the world coupled with the absence of divine help as thousands upon thousands are slaughtered without rhyme or reason. These are real things that need to be addressed, and I'd much rather address them than stick my head in the sand and to pretend that everything's quite all right.

welcome home

When Mandy gave me their music, I thought with a name like Radical Face they'd just be super weird. Turns out I can't stop listening to them. It's like Band of Horses all over again: go in with the assumption that you'll be turned down, and then end up listening to them over & over. This is the second song on their album "Ghost", and the entire album's worth listening to. Okay, welp, that is all.

our xmas tree!

Yesterday we put up our Christmas tree. And by "we" I mean Ams, Mandy, and Rob (though I did hang a good number of ornaments, and contributed with senseless picture taking). Although a few posts ago I quipped about how trees shouldn't be indoors for more than two weeks, I can't deny that I love walking into the house at night and seeing this guy all lit up. It's peaceful and serene. Mandy and Ams even put Christmas lights in the living room window facing the street. It's quite pretty.

And for anyone who sees fit to criticize the fact that I said "Xmas" instead of "Christmas", read this and learn. The use of "Xmas" in the place of "Christmas" isn't hacking Christ out of Christmas. This isn't some age-old battleground in that ongoing "culture war" where Christians fight for Christmas, or at least it shouldn't be. I remember when people got all hot and bothered by the use of "Xmas," and there were campaigns and such to get it banned. I'm not even kidding. We Christians can be pretty stupid. It's just an abbreviation, that's it, folks. Nothing to get riled up about. It's first use came about sometimes in the late 1700s, the -mas coming from the Old English word for "Mass," and the X isn't actually the English letter X but the Greek letter Chi (which looks like an X). This is important because our English word "Christ" begins with Chi when it's written in Greek. For the last 1000 years, might we add, the English language has been abbreviating the word "Christ" and things with "Christ" in it (like Christmas), not in the attempt to remove Christ from these things but to make it damned easier to write. Seriously. Who likes writing out "Christmas" over and over, especially when it comes time to send out the snail-mail Christmas cards? NO ONE LIKES THAT. And they didn't like it 1000 years ago, either, so they started abbreviating stuff. It carries on to this day, because we're lazy and we can get carpal tunnel in our wrists, so we do damage control. The point of all this being two-fold: (1) "Xmas" is no better or worse than "Christmas," it's just an easier way to write it, and (2) don't make accusations without researching what you're upset about. It should be common sense, but we do it all the time. All those people who got into a hoopla over Xmas didn't look like loving and devoted Christ-followers; they looked like sheep blindly following whatever they were told without stopping to employ some much-needed critical thinking. 

the 23rd week

My first real rosetta. It's not the prettiest, but it'll do.

Monday. With Thanksgiving Break over, I put in a solid 9 hours. I dreamt about my friend Mandy K. In the dream there were zombies running around and we were in a car someplace headed north. And that was that. After work I went to The Anchor for coffee and did some writing. When I got home I watched "The Walking Dead" with the usual Monday night crowd (Blake, Amos, Brandy, Ams, Mandy, and sometimes Andy). The rest of the night was spent just hanging out and drinking coffee.

Tuesday. At training I poured my first rosetta. It was pretty exciting, and almost entirely a fluke, but it paid off and I started cranking them out. Later in the evening I talked to Mandy K. She updated me on her life and I did likewise, and the conversation lasted about an hour, but it only felt like ten minutes. That's usually how it is with her.

Wednesday. Bonbonerie (a Cincinnati bakery) delivered us a basket of goodies; I was particularly fond of the iced sugar cookies in the shapes of Christmas trees and frosted windows and even in the shape of Santa's head! After work I ran some errands in Florence, and then I went back to work for a mandatory store meeting. You know how those go. I took Emily to her car afterwards, and gave Tiffany a lift to her mom's (since she lives right across the street). "You're the only one at work who doesn't get grumpy sometimes," she said. I told her, "That's because I internalize it." And then I let loose in my nightly journals, and afterwards I feel quite better. I picked Mandy up from Cincy State, and she taught me how to make the best oatmeal I've ever had, with brown sugar cinnamon and walnuts. 

Thursday. Woke to a blanket of frost, clear skies, and warm weather (50 degrees). Birds were singing and a car wrecked itself into a house off Wilder. I did coffee and O.J. at The Anchor before a decent close with Amos. Today I was "officially" certified as a barista (5 months late simply because, well, we forgot about it). Isaac came over after work, and I started watching HBO's WWII in HD. It's incredible. 

Friday. I went to The Anchor before closing with Stephanie; Amos wasn't there because he, Blake, and Isaac went to North Carolina for the weekend. When I got home I hung out with Amos, and when Mandy came home she joined us, and then Andy stopped by and hung out with us, too. They made a Kroger run and threw together puppy chow made with nutella. Dinner was spaghetti with homemade garlic bread, and we watched "Frisky Dingo" and "Archer" and then half of us (me and Mandy) passed out on the sofas by 11:15. We're partiers, that much is for sure.

Saturday. Andy and I got Dusmesh for lunch, and then Tyler came down from Dayton. We made a Chipotle Run (I just had oatmeal for dinner), and then got U.D.F. ice cream. Andy came over and we made coffee from Maui, and we all hung out late into the night.

Sunday. I made a Hawaiian-Costa Rican blend coffee upon waking, and Tyler, Ams and I had lunch at Rock Bottom Brewery. I had the nachos and their new scotch ale: so good, quite potent, and I got more than a little buzzed. I ran into Cat on the street, and then we got free coffee at Carew, courtesy of Hartman and Gina. Well, Ams and Tyler got coffee; I just had an iced soy chai. Tyler headed home, and I ran to Clifton for a bit and then spent the cold and rainy evening listening to Bill Calahan, burning incense, and relaxing in my room. Once night fell it was still raining and misty, with the streetlights glowing like orange orbs suspended in the drizzling fog. "It's creepy," Mandy said. Yes, Mandy. It was.

t-minus 25 days

Ok, not really guns, but maybe that's what
makes this super awesome.

It's already December. The fifty-degree temps don't help to hone that point in (I wore just a sweatshirt today!). It's almost been six months since I moved down to Cincinnati. I think of my time in Dayton often, as I'm a nostalgic sorta person, but Cincinnati definitely feels like home now, and looking back on those days is akin to looking through a tattered scrapbook filled with yellowed and curling photographs. The memories, they feel so ancient sometimes, like I'm looking at a different place through the eyes of someone not myself. Time just keeps trucking along unabated, and already we've seen Thanksgiving come-&-go, and Christmas is right around the corner. Like, literally, it's around the corner (figuratively speaking, of course). I've been having to come up with Christmas gift ideas left-and-right, it's like I'm a little kid again, but for the life of me I can't think of anything that I specifically need. I've been putting more value on experiences than material possessions lately (which I think is a good thing), so I've been reduced to asking for Amazon and Target gift-cards, the dry humps of Christmas gift ideas. 

Christmas is in full swing downtown. Even before Thanksgiving, the Square was decked out with Christmas lights in the trees and a towering pine tree strung with lights. Once Thanksgiving passed, other places started following suit. Now there's lights everywhere, Santa Clauses ringing their bells for charity, even the homeless people have changed their cardboard signs ("Merry Christmas" instead of "God Bless", though some of them say "Happy Holidays" with a fish drawn in the corner, small so as not to offend the Jews but visible enough so as to appeal to Christians), and I think I can assume Christmas music is flooding most of the radio stations, though I wouldn't know because my radio doesn't work in the cold. I really don't know how I feel about the holiday season, I really don't. I know if I were epileptic I'd hate it, especially at night; but since I'm not, I don't know how to pinpoint my "feelings" towards the holiday season. Much of it, I'm sure, is apathy: I just don't care. I'm all about celebrating Jesus' birth, don't get me wrong, but the whole cultural Christmas atmosphere is just nauseating sometimes. And I'm not talking about "consumerist culture" or anything hip like that; I just think Santa Claus is boring and reindeer are stupid, Christmas lights usually aren't pretty but tacky, I don't think trees should be left indoors for more than two weeks, and most Christmas music is akin to having a hacksaw shoved into your ear and jacked around. It's cold, everyone's pretending to be happy, and though it seems the world stops for a day, it doesn't. Whenever the 26th comes around, I take a deep breath of relief, knowing that I have a solid 11 months before the hype starts all over again.