a cold & rainy evening in Dayton

The last several days have been nothing short of a whirlwind, but a whirlwind of the best kind. On Wednesday morning Dylan returned to the States from his Peace Corps duties in Mozambique, and we didn't waste any time: Thursday night (the first night we both had free) I drove up to Tyler's place after work, and the reunion celebration began (during which the photo below was taken). We had two full days of hanging out, and now I'm house-sitting Mom and Dad's place in Dayton through Sunday, and on Monday Dylan and I are hanging out again. It's so good to have him back, and the best part is that there's no awkward "Hey you've been gone a long time..." followed by social adjustment: as always, Dylan and I just picked up where we left off, and we caught up on each other's lives, sharing our girl stories and talking about music and making ridiculous jokes like we used to do when we lived in Dayton. It's weird to think that we hadn't seen each other for almost if not over a year. So much has changed, and so much has remained the same.

Best buds since 5th grade. Gotta love dem Yosick Twins.

I'm going to finish this iced soy caramel macchiato--my favorite Starbucks treat--and then head back to the house to continue plowing through "The Procyon Strain: Book One" while playing The Black Keys over the stereo-system. Oh: I heard The Black Keys on a classic rock station tailored to those in love with Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Pearl Jam, etc. That pretty much made my drive up to Dayton.

a warm & sunny afternoon in Cincinnati

I wrote an entire post on how much I like Lana Del Rey's music, especially "Born to Die" and "Video Games." But then I accidentally deleted a couple paragraphs. I'm not rewriting any of that, because I simply don't care, and writing about music just isn't something I do well. Suffice it to say that I really like these two songs, and you might, too. Her voice is haunting and effortless, I think that's what I like most. I tried getting her music videos onto this blog, but playback isn't allowed for copyrighted content. So I'm going to just show you something wholly unrelated to Lana del Rey, although I still think you should check her out. 

Both are video shorts, and I know the first one won some type of award. 
The second one is of interest only if you've played the video game Portal.

the 43rd week

This is what I woke up to Sunday morning.
Literally. Not figuratively-speaking.

Monday. I woke to wind and rain, and I worked out and went to The Anchor before closing 600 with Emily. After work I drove down to Crittenden in Kentucky for a grill-out with the usual Monday Nights Crew: Blake, Amos, Ams, Andy, John, and Brandy (Isaac sometimes joins us). Blake grilled some amazing burgers topped with grilled portabello mushrooms (and crisp cooked asparagus on the side). We played with the dogs and went crickin' down at the creek behind the house, and the sunset turned blood orange and we played some F1 racing before people started trickling out. I stopped at a truck stop before getting on the highway and bought some Nyquil and chugged it, since I've been staying up later and needed to be up at 5 A.M. the next day, and within the hour my body was shutting down, and I was staggering around like a drunk. I haven't used Nyquil as a sleep aide since the Dayton Days, and the amounts I took were far more than my drug-weaned body could keep up with.

Tuesday. I woke groggy for an early morning, hungover from the Nyquil, only to realize that I didn't open till Wednesday. So I went to The Anchor for a couple hours and sought to sober up with coffee, and then Amos and I closed shop. He had to stay late to do some managerial duties, so I jetted to Northside and hung out with Gabe and Emily for a bit. The highlight of this cold and windy night: a grade-A feast of toast and bowl after bowl of Rice Krispies. The snap, crackle and pop is like crack to me.

Wednesday. Tiffany and I opened, and I went over to The Hilltop after work to try their new bee's knee's cappuccino, their effort to draw people away from the sweeter coffee drinks to the basic staples. It was delicious, and I entertained Tiffany's kids for a little bit in Student Life. Kids can be a lot of fun sometimes. I took a nap and went by Brandy's place off Vine Street before a trip to The Anchor followed by a long and winding drive up Sycamore Street to a run-down bar called Milton's. That was a fiasco, and I spent the rest of the evening hanging out with Ams, who will be spending a long weekend in Portland with Rob & Mandy. I'm so jealous. 

Thursday. Amos and I went to The Anchor before closing down at 600. We were slammed right at close, and that sucked. Being store manager, Amos is expected to get his manager's duties done while closing, which means that when we close together, I'm essentially the other closer. It's getting frustrating, for both of us: for me, because I'm doing the vast majority of the work; and for him, because he hates the fact that I'm doing the vast majority of the work when his responsibilities also include closing. We're hoping something from higher up will bring an end to the chaos. In brighter news, Luke--one of the roasters across the street at Rock Bottom--is our new roaster. He's part-timing at the brewery and behind the roaster, and he's a pretty cool dude. Having an actual roaster, rather than the company's president doing all the roasting, should help lighten some of the chaos (if only a bit). It was a pretty low-key night and an early bedtime preceded by a heart-warming conversation of sorts with my favorite Wisconsinite. 

Friday. After opening with Stephanie I jetted up to Tyler's place in Centerville. We got dinner at Wendy's and spent the evening playing MW:3 and watching BBC Life while chowing down on fried ice cream. We smoked cigarettes on the porch and the warm weather gave way to slashing rains and billowing winds, and it grew cold and we talked about Dylan coming into town this next week and how awesome it's going to be for the three of us to hang out again, just like old times. He'll be down in Cincinnati next weekend, and I aim to go up to Dayton once or twice more to see him before he heads back across the ocean to Mozambique. Tyler went to bed around midnight, and I sat on the porch in the cool and listened to the rain and then stayed up till 3:00 A.M. playing video games, watching Workaholics, and hammering Tyler's pantry. 


Saturday. The warm and tingling spring-like weather we've enjoyed the last several days has been replaced with gray and cloudy skies and cold autumn-esque rains. Tyler and I got breakfast at Scrambler Marie's, and I demolished a hefty portion of potato fries, a massive garbage omelette with three meats and four vegetables and two cheeses, as well as a stack of massive whole wheat toast and a pot of coffee. We parted ways, and back at the house I fell asleep for a good couple hours and then spent the evening hanging out with the housemates. Ams is having an amazing time in Portland, and Mandy shot me pictures of them together on the beach. I'm so jealous. 


Earth Day. I woke earlier than anticipated and went to The Anchor and finally finished scripting the last three chapters of Book One. Now all I've got to do is write them. Can I finish the book in a week? An ambitious thought: it could really swing either way, and I've no real incentive to get it finished than to plunge through another portion of The Quest (I love how it's in capital letters now; an evolving semantic). I went by the Verizon Wireless store to get a new charger, and I attempted to flirt with the sales rep and I think I succeeded, because she laughed and it sounded genuine rather than frightened. I'd consider that a win in my book, even if her first impression of me was me coming through the front doors hurriedly zipping up my pants (the zipper falls down, it's not my fault). Andy, Amos and I got Dusmesh for lunch, and I spent the afternoon napping and writing, and Blake joined the three of us for a trip to The Anchor where we dined on coffee and breakfast foods (well, they did; I had their pork tenderloin sandwich). We hiked over to Brandy's for a bit and visited with her, Aaron and Erin. It's easier to differentiate the two when it's written out. We drank beers and looked through old scrapbooks and perused Brandy's library of sorts. We relaxed back at the house, and I rounded out the night hanging out with Blake in his room listening to Damien Jurado tracks courtesy of Hot Sauce Waugh.

somebody that i used to know

happy holidays

the 42nd week

tentative dust jacket cover for my zombie story.
it looks like I got face-fucked by a bird's talons.

Monday. I woke early and finally got a much-needed haircut in Hyde Park, and I went to The Anchor and toyed around with my zombie serial novel The Procyon Strain. I didn't go in to work till 2:00, so I spent the early afternoon lounging around and hanging out with Blake, Andy and Ams. I closed with Emily, and afterwards I tagged along with Amos and his dad to the Red Green One Man Show at the Taft Theater. I used to watch the show when I was in high school, crowded around the Williams' big-screen with Pat D., Chris and Lee. I don't think Amos enjoyed it very much, but I enjoyed it for its nostalgic elements (you know how I am). Also, Red Green defined me (and Amos) quite well: success is defined by having a place you can go with a roof on it and a place you go to do stuff and get paid. Nailed it.

Tuesday. I went to The Anchor before another solid close with Emily. Nothing exciting happened this evening: a chill night with the housemates, playing video games and watching "Frisky Dingo." Ams ordered Chinese and I went on a frosty run to Wendy's.

Wednesday. The Anchor was unfortunately crowded (and surprisingly so), but my little booth in the corner was still available. Ha. My booth. It's gotten pretty ridiculous. How was the evening spent following closing shop with Amos? Other than fighting off the frigid cold and splicing wind, I did some writing and C. Isaac came over for a hot minute. His visit was the highlight, everything else dwindling in significance. I'm literally straining my brain in the quest for something we-- YES! Josh came over, and we researched involuntary manslaughter just in case one of us hit a kid. Our neck of the woods can get pretty hairy at times, especially with summer on the doorstep.

Thursday. Ana couldn't come in this morning, so I went in early to cover her shift. After work Blake and I went to C.C.U. and collected tree leaves to identify the trees around us. This was an impromptu adventure, yielding a variety of maples, some oaks, and a lonely blue ash. We went by the Hilltop to get drinks, and I caught up with some people I'd known in college (going on three years now, *gulp*). I told Blake, "It's so weird that so many people I know live not an eighth of a mile away from me, and I'm never over here." Claypole Avenue stops after our driveway. We joined Ams and Andy for dinner at The Anchor, and Andy played C.C.R. and Damian Jurado on the jukebox; it's a new tradition.

Friday the 13th (2 of 3*). I had to jet up past 275 to pick up some product. The place was located in a HUGE warehouse stocked with non-perishable food items and encircled by a towering razor-wire fence. Yes, bookmarking that on my GPS for the impending zombie apocalypse. Blake had his wisdom teeth taken out, and so he was pretty out of it. I spent most of the evening working on my zombie story.

Saturday. Andy, Amos and I got Dusmesh for lunch, and Andy went to work at Carew and Amos and I made not one but two trips to Clifton. Amos made this Classic President proud. We went to The Anchor later in the evening, drinking coffee and eating dinner. I wrote a good twenty pages. When we got back, C. Isaac and Josh A. were over, and we smoked hookah in the living room. The evening's twilight is best encapsulated in a phrase repeated not once but twice by two people to me throughout the day: "We tell no one of this." It sounds so mischievous, but I assure you: it's more classic than anything, something you'd expect at this house. 

The Titanic Centennial. The R.M.S. Titanic sank 100 years ago in 1912. Thus: the centennial. But I'm sure you got that. I slept in till 10:00 and woke to a warm, sunny day. I did laundry, ran to Carew for some coffee, and hit up Kroger for some groceries: eggs, bread, cereal and milk. I don't know why I always buy breakfast foods, but it's a shared trait in this house. When everyone rolled out, Andy made pancakes and I made eggs and toast, and Amos brewed us up some old Mexican chiapis. Even with its age, you could detect the chocolaty, graham-cracker taste. I'd forgotten how much I loved it. The afternoon was pretty low-key: I cleaned my room, ran some errands, and did some scripting for my zombie story. I went to The Anchor for coffee and to do some writing (only three more chapters, an epilogue, and then I'm done with the first book), and I was exhausted when I got home: creative writing can be quite draining. I colored a picture of a Styracosaurus and worked out to the tunes of Led Zeppelin. Andy, Amos and I grabbed Chipotle for dinner, and that was an adventure all on its own (and all because they ran out of chicken, thanks to one person ordering like 15 chicken burritos). People were not happy. Amos and I climbed onto our roof and smoked cigarettes and watched the sunset. 

* The first Friday the 13th was in April, and the second will be in July. Also: Jesse and Mandy closed on their house on the 13th of January, and Jared and Ashley did it on the 13th of April. 

journal entry - 4.14

Maybe the reason I can’t seem to find peace & contentment is because, quite simply, I’m a koala whose native land is ocean’s away, and how content can a pilgrim be far from home and alone in his wanderings? There’s more to it, I’m sure, but not less. As much as I try to forge some path going somewhere, and as much wrestling is involved in such forging, there remains that consistent thread running through it all. It’s what I want most, more than anything, and though I’ve tried to get rid of it, I just can’t. It’s always there, burning like an eternal flame, and peeling back the layers, what do you find? A beast imprisoned, rattling its cage and seeking to be free? No, you find a koala with a weak heart and fallen eyes, a wounded creature whose captivity has bled its resolve to fight. Peeling through the weathered journals I’ve kept for almost 13 years, I can’t deny that that which enflames my heart and crushes it at the same time, the desire clinging to my bones like a parasite, is the overarching dream of falling in love, getting married, and sharing my life with someone. 

A simple life with a simple love for a simple, old-fashioned girl. 

There it is, laid out for all to see, the most innate—dare we say primal?—desire of my heart. While I may be unsure of everything else, this much I know: for better or worse the deepest longing of my heart is to love and be loved, to find a helpmate, a life partner, a wife. “It is not good for man to live alone.” Countless heartaches, betrayals, and back-stabbings litter my pursuit of this, and skepticism runs deep. But skepticism may, in the end, just be an attempt to mend broken bones, my way of wrapping the wounds in gauze. This skepticism may be nothing more than some cerebral attempt to kill the dream because dreams “dead & gone” just don’t hurt as much. All I do know is that, for better or worse, hope’s stronger than skepticism, and I don’t want to be cynical. I want the cynicism to break, but I dare not let go for fear of detaching myself from reality and plummeting headfirst and with abandon into that chasm of hope, a chasm so deep that there may be no escape. In the end, skepticism may just be some fabrication, a coping mechanism of some sort, something I’ve built in my own heart and head to put up fences and hedges around hope to keep it from spreading like kudzu, to keep it from getting out of control. As much as cynicism may strangle life, its potency is nowhere near that of a hope dismantled.

Day by day, month by month, and year by year, it becomes increasingly clear to me how hope may be such an empty enterprise. I want hope, I really do. I want to hope someone will see my worth and want to share their life with me, but it’s quite simply the case that I have no reason to hope for such a thing. Over the past seven years, I’ve dated 10 girls, and none of them saw a reason to stay. To me, that’s telling. As much as I may want a life of loving and being loved in that way, I know there’s no guarantee. Life simply doesn’t give two shits about the desires of my heart, and despite how well I’ve treated women, how I’ve respected them and cherished them, I still look like I’m 14, and (from my experience) girls would rather be used by a tall, dark, and handsome fellow than be loved and valued by a guy like me. Maybe wisdom is found in the cold acceptance of the bare facts, and the bare fact is that there’s no guarantee, no promise, that I’ll ever be loved like that. I used to believe, in a childish manner, that God would make it happen in due time, that he was concerned about my romantic aspirations and I just needed to be patient till he catered to my wants and whims. It’s a good thought, a comforting thought, but that doesn’t make it right. I wish I could believe that I had someone working behind the scenes for my own benefit, because it’d make things easier; but the problem is that I tend to think about things too much, and I can’t in good conscience buy into that anymore. I’m stuck in this stagnation, and I could be 40, 50, 60 years old writing these same things, and I wouldn’t be surprised.

But, then again, maybe it’s all perception. I’ve “dated” ten girls, each of whom saw something of worth in me. And if I’m honest, I’ve ended a good number of those ventures for various reasons, and in the process I’ve broken several hearts. I’m not proud of it, but neither am I ashamed: it’s a facet of dating. But girls have felt cheated, and at a loss, when I’ve called things off. Point of all this being, things may not be as hopeless as they seem. Yes, I look young; no, I’m not “tall, dark, & handsome.” But assuming all girls want what I’m not is ridiculous. Not all girls are attracted to the same “type”, and nor are guys: I’ll pass over the skinny, bleach-blond, suntanned chick for a cute, fun-sized girl every time. I like ‘em bigger, that’s just the way it is. And I’m confident not every girl wants a stately, chiseled, and exotic man; some may very well be in the market for a cute, funny, romantic guy, and that’s where I’ll be found. Dylan told me that I shouldn’t let my past affect my future, and I think he’s right. Yes, disappointment and disillusionment have checkered my career in this arena, but it’ll take only one change of fortune to shatter the cynicism taking root in my heart. It’s never wise to make a universal rule out of personal, individual experiences, and though hope may threaten to extinguish, I remind myself that life remains unpredictable, and though tomorrow may prophecy misery, there may be a fresh wind, a new light emerging with a new dawn. And so I’ll keep hoping, I’ll keep pressing on. My life may be marked by disappointment, but often overlooked is my own steadfast determination to keep going, to not give up, to keep the hope alive. I hope one day to connect with someone in that way, to love and be loved like that, and I’ll keep pressing on despite the encroaching darkness threatening to crowd out every ounce of light.

Am I stupid for wanting this, foolish for longing for a simple life with a simple love for a simple girl? Maybe, it’s quite possible. We koalas aren’t the sharpest. Be it stupid, foolish, blind, what-have-you, it remains nevertheless what I want more than anything, and that’s something to fight for. At times the hurt’s so great there seems no way out, and at times the defeats are so debilitating that I’m left crippled and nursing my wounds for a time. But always—always—I get back up and Keep Going. This hope’s too ingrained into the fabric of my being to be discarded, tossed away, dismantled. I’ve tried to do all that, I really have: but trying to kill this hope is like killing off a part of me. When’s all said and done, I’d be less of a person for it. I’m damned persistent and resilient, and I’ll try again, and again, and again. And maybe, somehow, that desire of my heart will be fleshed out in real life. I’ll stomach these disappointments, tend my wounds, try to learn a lesson or two, and Keep Going. Really, what else can I do?

on the road to the quest

This "quest" for the justifiability of the Judeo-Christian worldview isn't spawning as if in a vacuum. I'm not intellectually bored, craving some sort of scholastic stimulation. There's a reason I am here, and in seeking to determine the reason(s), I must be wary of the trap: "What caused X? Y or Z?" It's been shown, in every field of professional study, from cosmology to biology to ecology to psychology, that there are hardly ever single causes with single effects. As much as we'd like to live in a world as simple as that, the reality is that we don't, and trying to ascertain those things that have brought me to this point is challenging and humbling: I may have ideas, but in the end these reasons may or may not be legitimate. Perhaps time will tell?

Nevertheless, I've been trying to figure out precisely why I'm here (or at least trying to gain a decent vantage-point on the whole thing), and I believe that those things with which I wrestled for so long--namely, my hesitancy to embrace vocation and my difficulty in trusting God--are derived from deeper concerns regarding Christianity's validity. My hesitancy in plunging into my vocation may very well have been due to my own concerns regarding the truth of what I believed, and I didn't want to go down a life-path, in such a leadership role, with such uncertainty shadowing my every move. Personal doubts running in tandem with, and feeding off of, these uncertainties were enabled to grow, swelling into major barriers against trusting God with a growing conception of a deistic divinity. 

Depression, disappointments, empty prayers and a silence from the divine drew me first into, for a time, perceiving God as some cosmic sadist. But love and beauty would not exist if that were the case; they'd be anomalies at best. Seeing that the rain fell both on the good and the wicked, and that blessings come on both the righteous and perverse, and that one's opinion of God didn't affect the currents of one's life but, rather, simply shaped one's perception of it, I became increasingly convinced that God, if he existed at all, wasn't too involved in our world, if at all. The godless are no less fortunate than the religious are blessed, and both fall victim to the same tragedies, misfortunes, and joys that life has to offer. Statistically-speaking, one's friendship with God has no affect on the contours of one's life, but only on how we perceive our lives from the inside looking out. Where the religious see God's hand, others call it luck, fate, or destiny; whatever your take on it, neither can be verified. And seeing that we see God's hand in our lives best through hindsight, it became increasingly hammered into my mind that God was either simply not there or just didn't care. And though this is selfish, I think it makes sense: "Why devote yourself to God, why strive for him, why trust in him when he seems so apathetic, disinterested, and uncaring?"

Wrestling with my hesitancy to both trust God and go into ministry, I sought to deal with these issues, and made significant progress, before it became clear that these uncertainties, these doubts & concerns regarding the justifiability of the Judeo-Christian worldview, put a stop-gap between the wrestling with these personal hesitations and coming out on the (hoped-for) other side. I tried for quite a long time to dispel these doubts, to talk myself out of them. I kept telling myself "I know it's true, I know it's true" as if I were trying to convince myself of that fact. Perhaps lying at the heart of all my wrestling, and perhaps standing as the launching-point for this quest in the first place, are these personal doubts about God's involvement (or lack thereof) in our world. If God is involved, that's great. But if he's not, then what the hell is the point? Yes, this is something to look into, and I plan on it; but I don't want to bite off more than I can chew. I have what could be a very long journey ahead of me, and I must be patient. I'm sticking with the top-down approach of cascading assumptions because if, for instance, the assumption that God exists isn't justifiable, then this whole issue is rendered mute, and we have an easy explanation: "God doesn't seem involved simply because there's no God to be involved." If and when I get to the point of trying to understand how God works (or doesn't work) in our world, I know I must be conscious of an egotistical perception of God, of God orbiting around us rather than us around him; and I know much of this might be due to my inability to grasp the cosmic and far-reaching scope of God's plans that, quite simply, would go on with or without me; and it'd be wise to look into my assumptions about what God's love for me means, assumptions about what God cares about, assumptions about how he is--or is not--involved in our lives.

Asking how I got here is one question; asking where I want to go is another. Here we have the tension between End Goal & Desired Result. The End Goal is determining whether or not the Judeo-Christian worldview is justifiable in light of the evidence. The Desired Result is, if I can be quite honest, rejuvenation: I want the gospel to be true, I want the Judeo-Christian worldview to be a justifiable one, I want to come to have a fresh love for God and renewed direction and purpose. But I can't force myself to believe something that doesn't make sense, and though C.S. Lewis writes that he believes in Christianity because everything else makes sense by it, I am not yet to that point. Much of Christianity doesn't make sense to me, and I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile the paradoxes without doing logical gymnastics to justify my own desires. I honestly hope one day to get back to where I was: passionate about the kingdom, head-over-heels for God, energized by purpose. I want an end to this stagnation, this wandering, this emptiness. But passion can be misplaced, and maybe purpose is something we just need to create for ourselves, and being head-over-heels for something doesn't automatically validate it. Perhaps those days--and that person--are dead and gone, to never be resurrected or glimpsed again. 

"the quest" book reviews (1 of 3)

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written anything substantial regarding this so-called Quest of mine, so to spark your memory, the Quest involves seeking to determine whether or not the Judeo-Christian worldview is a justifiable worldview. I’ve structured the Quest so that I examine the key assumptions of Christianity to see whether or not these assumptions are themselves justifiable. If too many assumptions become unjustifiable, then the whole thing spirals down like Dominos. The first assumption, obviously, is that God exists. “Is this a justifiable assumption?” That question’s propelled me into this gauntlet of books, and as of now I’ve got three under my belt. Here I want to give little reviews of the books I’ve read so far:

  

The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Honestly, this wasn’t the best book to start off. It’s a national bestseller, popular to the masses, so I thought (and this, I think, was a good assumption) that it’d be a good launching-point. Not only until later did I learn that while popular to the masses, this book isn’t so well received among many scientists, especially among atheists. That should be telling. He litters good science with pseudo-science, draws conclusions where conclusions shouldn’t be so hastily drawn, paints up religion in such a grotesque way that even many atheists are made uncomfortable by it, and he advocates un-provable theories that cannot be justified by science. All this aside, there’s lots of great material in the book, even if Dawkins’ own agenda colors the picture at times. (Making judgments of a person’s character based upon a book is a bad decision, and as it turns out, Dawkins is quite a likable and respectful fellow, and he’s brilliant in the realm of evolutionary biology). The first half of his book focuses on the probability (or, rather, improbability) of God. He takes the line that the need for God is statistically negligible, and that since God is rendered optional, why must we assume him to be there in the first place? Again, assumptions drive his conclusions as much as they drive ours. My favorite part in this section were his excellent points made against Intelligent Design and Creationism, and he did a sweeping survey of the evidences of evolution, especially in the human body. Sadly, however, in the second half of the book, his condemnations on the pseudoscience of Creationism seem to be cast off when he starts advocating theories with no substance in scientific or cultural studies. His ranting against religion (or, rather, a caricature of religion) becomes long-winded and tiring to read, and he demonstrates his shocking ignorance of some of the basic tenants of not just Judeo-Christian theism but theism in general. So, to sum it up: the first half of the book was pretty decent, but it went quite downhill after that. The book would be perfect if I were looking for the agenda-skewed manifesto of a materialistic philosophical naturalist hell-bent on turning the world against theism. However, when it comes to taking an honest look at the issues, I’d have to give it a C (and did I choose that letter-grade with absolutely no forethought? I sure did. That’s how invested I am in these books reviews).

The Dawkins Delusion by Alister McGrath. This book is written as a response to Dawkins’ The God Delusion. McGrath writes that the first half of Dawkins’ book is, essentially, a materialistic interpretation of the world grounded in the un-provable and thus unshakable assumptions of philosophical naturalism. Dawkins advocates this view as if it were the only legitimate option, and he rings in a parade of scientists who are also atheists. Because Dawkins’ book weighed such evidence heavily, McGrath parries back, focusing on the relationship of science and religion. He points out that there are other viable routes of relationship that are embraced by scientists, even by atheists. He writes on pages 45-46, “[Nature] is open to many legitimate interpretations. It can be interpreted in atheist, deist, theist and many other ways—but it does not demand to be interpreted in any of these.” Dawkins wants the world to know that atheism is the ultimate sign of intelligence and freethinking, and that anyone who isn’t an atheist is just downright mad, delusional, ignorant and idiotic. McGrath wants the world to know that there are many different ways of interpreting the world in an intellectual way, philosophical naturalism and the Judeo-Christian worldview both being justifiable in this sense: both can be held by intellectuals and make sense of the data as it presents itself. As Dawkins drew forth in parade fashion scientists denouncing religion, so McGrath cleverly draws forth a parade of atheist scientists denouncing Dawkins for making a mockery of atheism and trying to pass off pseudo-science as valid hypotheses. The second half of McGrath’s (short little) book is a dispelling of many of Dawkins’ and inaccuracies and misrepresentations of the major world religions, especially Christianity (since that is McGrath’s position), and he includes a stinging rebuke from Michael Ruse, a distinguished atheist philosopher, who wrote to fellow atheist and writer Daniel Dennett, “What we need is not knee-jerk atheism but serious grappling with the issues—neither of you are willing to study Christianity seriously and to engage with its ideas—its just plain silly and grotesquely immoral to claim that Christianity is simply a force for evil, as Richard [Dawkins] claims—more than this, we are in a fight, and we need to make allies in the fight, not simply alienate everyone of good-will.” McGrath’s little book was far better than Dawkins’, and he lucidly and without being mean (a refreshing change from The God Delusion) challenges many of Dawkins’ assumptions and conclusions while defending his own worldview (and assumptions) from Dawkins’ attacks. And McGrath doesn’t write that those who don’t share his opinion are idiots, so that kinda makes me like his book more.

God Is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens. Hitchens is an atheist I respect: he underwent water-boarding to protest its use as torture, his closest friends were thinking religious folk, and he faced his death with a cold courage rare to find these days. Hitchens brings far more to the table than Dawkins does, and his points against theism are far more challenging. While Dawkins’ book read like an atheist’s version of Edwards’ Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, reading Hitchens feels like sitting at feet of a wizened old man beside a cackling fireplace, smoking an alabaster pipe and sharing his wisdom drawn from years of travelling, experiencing, and thinking. He travelled the world and had more experiences with religious folk and religion than anyone I know. While writing about how most of his good friends are religious, he doesn’t miss a beat in condemning religion as a force for evil in the world. Like Dawkins, he advocates the end of religion and the uprising of Logic and Reason to trump all superstition. Unlike Dawkins, he doesn’t seem to believe that all religious folk are fundamentalist nut-jobs with off-kilter moral compasses, and he writes fondly of religious people, both throughout human history and in his own life, who have been forces of good in the world. Many of his arguments are mirrors of Dawkins’ when it comes to the relationship of science and religion, and he’s of the position, too, that science, in discovering the way the world works, has pushed God to the margins and thus made God not merely optional but also ineffective: hanging onto God is something done out of nostalgia, or fear, or because of a psychological weakness rendering us unable to live in a world without an unseen crutch. Because of this, many of McGrath’s points against Dawkins can be drawn in as rejoinders to Hitchens’ arguments. For anyone interested in the tenants of atheism, and in reading a damned good portrait of it (and anti-theism, as well), then this may be an interesting starting-point.

Although it’s tempting for me to start sketching out some conclusions drawn so far, I want to be careful of drawing conclusions too early. I’m not even halfway through the first assumption! I need to be patient, patience is key here. So I’m going to fight the urge to draw conclusions, and I’m going to fight the urge to convey my current thoughts, hypotheses, and conjectures regarding the subject, because these thoughts may very well change come the end of all this. But I promise to give decent feedback on this first assumption, whatever that might be, when the time is ripe (that is to say, when I’ve gotten through all the books on schedule).

on writing (VI)

It's been over a month since my last "writing update". Much of my writing time has become encumbered by The Quest, and though I've written (and stand by) The Quest being far more compelling, the simple fact of the matter is that every bone in my body itches to write, and I couldn't hold myself back for too long. I'm thinking it's best if I switch-hit between The Quest and my writing, exercising the right brain for a while and then giving it a break to make the left brain do most of the work. I'm nearly done with the first four (of eight) books I'm scheduled to read to tackle the first assumption--the existence of God--and when I finish the fourth, I'm going to put The Quest on pause and try and knock out Book One.

Yes, I'm still working on it. Because it's the first of a series, it's necessarily going to take much longer to compose than the others. The first book sets the pace for all the others, in the sense that it's structure will become the structure for all the others. It's the template, you could say. Much of the slowness in regards to writing Book One isn't because of how long it is (a whopping yet measly 250 pages) but because of the wrestling I've been going through regarding the structure. I've scratched the parallel story set in the future, because I think that while it worked with 36 Hours, the 2nd Edition, it would serve only to clutter the story and confuse the reader if drawn out over six books. Eliminating the parallel story pulled Book One in its first draft from around 300 pages to 200 pages, which I prefer (shorter books for a serial are always better, in my opinion), and this gives me considerable more freedom when it comes to the plot-line for the rest of the book.

Much of my concerns regarding Book One was the lack of "zombie action," to put it in simple terms. I originally sought out to try and write a realistic zombie story following the basic paradigm of disease spread. To my knowledge few books or movies do this, or do it well. But I've found that doing this through a serial may not be the best route, since the zombie spread would most likely be slow, and in order to make things go according to what could be a potential (hypothetical) zombie spread, the first hard-hitting zombie encounters wouldn't take place until the third or fourth books, and I've only got enough patience to write six. That's not a worthwhile sacrifice. I've decided to indulge my appetites and cut straight into the action: I'm taking the story from character-driven to story-driven, and I'm going to accelerate the zombie spread. This means that by the end of Book One, I'll be where I would've been at the beginning of Book Three. I'd be lying if I said I'm not excited about describing Cincinnati at the heart of a zombie outbreak.

So that's where I'm at right now in the writing process. I'm itching to have this book done, and hopefully I'll have it finished within the next couple weeks. I've made deadlines for myself and failed countless times before, so we'll see what happens.

the 41st week

I've been REALLY sucking at updating this blog. Sometimes the only thing keeping me accountable are these weekly recaps. I don't plan on forsaking this blog forever: several posts are in formation, just be patient with me as I seek to be patient with myself. The upcoming posts could be quite weighty, so I'm trying to word everything as best I can. Okay, here's the last week:

Monday. I finished Christopher Hitchens' God Is Not Great at The Anchor before closing shop with Amos. When we got home he lit a fire in the backyard from the refuse dug out of the flower-bed (Andy and Ams planted flowers sometime last week), and Isaac came over and we sat around the fire 'till sunset. I made nachos and some chamomile tea and talked to Cat before bed. She ran off to North Carolina after her last day last week, and going from seeing her five days a week to not at all is pretty weird. Somehow I miss that little Asian Islander. 

Tuesday. Emily and I closed together, and we went back to her place in Northside for a bit and hung out with her fiance Gabe and they're pal Kelly. Pat D. came over later in the evening, and we drank beers and played Mario-Kart and watched the 412 2003 V.M.A. DVD: hilarious or humiliating? I'm not sure which. Those days are so long ago, an entirely different life with different faces and places, different values and convictions and beliefs, different views and aims and goals, different hopes and ambitions, different fears and insecurities. Back then I assumed that by age 25 I'd be married, maybe have a kid, and be working at a small church somewhere. I thought it was a good assumption, and I had God working behind the scenes to make it all come together. Just goes to show that things change, and any prophesying regarding the future is as much guess-work and wishful thinking than anything else.

Wednesday. Tiffany and I opened the store, and I went in early to make sure the patio got set out, and I stayed late to make sure the closers (Amos and Brandon, who's with Tazza Mia full-time now) didn't get stuck with our tasks (as tends to happen). The evening was quiet: drinking some beers and hanging out with the housemates. Andy and I shared some of our shared frustrations with Tazza Mia, and we talked about how when you get a new job, you think it'll be perfect in every way, or at least you'd like to hope that'd be the case. But every job has its frustrations, though I'm not sure that's a good reason to just let come what may.

RED'S OPENING DAY (practically a holiday in Cincinnati). Amos tagged along for my habitual pre-work trip to The Anchor, and when we drove downtown, we found the place a hot mess. Downtown was swarming with red, traffic was backed up, everyone was honking, pedestrians couldn't figure out how to use the cross-walks, and country drivers confused in the city kept backing up the intersections. Parking was jacked up double, too, and that sucked. After work I drove up to Dayton to see some old pals from Spring Valley: Jessica C., Abby, and Mandy M. Annie, who has run between several different coffee shops between Dayton and Cincinnati, joined us, too. I had an Irish coffee and two tall drinks of Guinness before we bar-hopped out to Lucky's across the street. I ordered another beer but was feeling quite drunk, so I offered it to Abby and she gladly accepted. Jessica showed me her place afterwards, it's super cool. We smoked cigarettes and caught up for a while, and I got back down to Cincinnati around 2:00 AM. I'm really glad I got to see all of those people again, especially Jess. Reconnecting tends to be a fun thing to do.

GOOD FRIDAY. I still felt queasy from last night's drinking (I don't drink a lot, so a decent amount of alcohol ravages my system), and I took the edge off with coffee and cigarettes at The Anchor. I went to Mount Aries for a bit after work, it's always good to get out of the city and into the woods for a while, and then I drove up to Centerville to see Tyler in his new apartment behind Archer's. It's a kick-ass place. We sat on the deck and watched the sunset, and we spent the night watching Workaholics and playing video games. We called it a night early, around 12 AM, but I was okay with that: my body was still recovering from last night.

Saturday. Tyler and I went to Scrambler Marie's by Spring Valley for breakfast, and when I returned to Cincinnati Ams, Andy and I went to the Museum Center at Union Terminal. Andy wore a Tyrannosaurus skull for a head, we marveled at the giant sloth, and we went caving. "It's so crazy they built this museum on top of a cave!" I got my socks wet and let Andy and Ams do most of the exploring: I didn't want to get turned around deep in the labyrinth. After spelunking and exploring Cincinnati in the 1900s, we had a picnic out at Rabbit Run Park. Blake went to Tennessee for the weekend, and Amos spent the day with his parents. I spent the evening hanging out with Ams and Andy, and Amos for a bit, too, when he returned.

EASTER. The Anchor was crowded, since a lot of local restaurants were closed, so I didn't stay too long. Mom, Dad, Ams and I went up to New Carlisle to celebrate Easter with Dad's side of the family. As expected there was a fantastic meal that left me bowling over with a swollen stomach. I retired downstairs and accidentally fell asleep. Cate woke me wanting to be read a story, so I played with her for a while and we tried to teach her how to play catch, but she's only three so it was pretty slow-going. She did learn how to teach catch, by way of imitation, but the actual act of catch remains yet to be grasped. When we got back to Mom and Dad's house, Ams and I headed out to see Tyler, and we watched B.B.C. Life and had Wendy's for dinner. We got back into Cincinnati around 10:30 and called it a night not a few minutes later.

There's that. Now: what should you be expecting on the blog this week? I'm going to try and be super diligent, and we'll see if we can't wedge a three-post series on The Quest, a casual mentioning of my current zombie adventure, and (if I'm super diligent) some reviews of the books I've been reading on this so-called quest: The God Delusion, The Dawkins Delusion, and God Is Not Great. Let's see if I can't pull this off. Here's to hoping (but not too much).

laundry room

I spent much of the other night doing nothing but lying in bed and watching this show. The Avett Brothers are phenomenal. Just saying.

spot.on.

the 40th week

This picture was grabbed from my Facebook home-feed.
Check out that ridiculously purple lightning!

Monday. I went to The Anchor before closing with Amos. It was slow, so we were out by six. The record-breaking heatwave has passed, and the weekend's storms have made it actually feel like spring. It's nice. No one came over tonight, so we housemates played it solo: Andy made French toast and we watched "Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll," a series of informational videos designed to educate young Christians on the secular evils of our world. Lessons learned: (a) Sex is fun! But so is bungee jumping, if you do it right! (still not sure what the take-home point is). (b) All drugs will kill you. Except marijuana, but weed always leads to ODing on something else or just plain-old wrecking your life. And (c) Bands like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and Jethro Tull are windows for the devil (which explains a lot in regards to my life). 

Tuesday. After work (and, of course, The Anchor) I went Clifton for a while, and I spent most of the evening just hanging out with Ams and Josh in her room. Yeah, superbly exciting. 

Wednesday. A long-ass day. Did some writing at The Anchor before a ridiculously busy close and a meeting running long past sunset. Amos and I didn't get home 'till pretty late, and we played video games for a bit before he retired for his double tomorrow. I hung out with Ams when she came home from seeing the Beauty & the Beast pageant in Dayton. In the middle of the night I woke and threw off my covers and threw shit around my room, and I woke up both Andy below me and Ams at the front of the house. Oh, just a night terror. Fucking hate those. I'm just glad I get them only a couple nights a year. 

Thursday. Jess, a friend from the Starbucks I used to work at close to a year ago, popped into the store today to say Hey. It was so great to see her, and I'm looking forward to *hopefully* hanging out with her and some other Starbucks pals next Thursday. It'd be great to see those guys again. After work I spent the evening hanging out with Ams and Andy, and we played Black Ops and watched Dale & Tucker Vs. Evil, and ate Domino's pizza. "Basically," Andy said, "this movie is what it'd be like if Blake and Amos were hillbillies." He pretty much nailed it. I'd consider a solid day.

Friday. After a snappy close with Amos, I secluded myself in my room and blasted Adele. No, I'm not lying; and I even declined an Anchor invite to do so. Some strong storms with purple lightning rippled through come nightfall, and I sat on the front porch and smoked cigarettes and just watched the lightning and felt the thunder in my chest.

Saturday. Dad came down from Dayton and we switched the Celica into my name, and I finally renewed my driver's license (only a month late). We hit up Carew Tower for coffee, and then I hurried to Dusmesh for lunch with Pat D. I hadn't seen him for quite some time, and it was so good to catch up over steaming plates of Indian cuisine. He jetted off to Dayton and I returned home for the ritualistic post-Dusmesh nap (naps have become quite special, seeing as I've lost three since switching back to full-time baristas in lieu of Ana's ability to work full time). I got coffee at The Anchor and did some more reading (still trowing through Hitchens' God Is Not Great). Amos and I had Rally's for dinner, and I went out for a midnight drive through Eden Park and back. 

APRIL FOOL'S DAY. Dandelions sprouted down the street overnight, and the front tree's leaves are filling in blood-red. Blake and I went downtown to the Tazza Mia in Carew Tower, visited Gina and Hartman. He got an iced sweet beard and I got an iced latte. All the housemates went to The Anchor for dinner, and I had the western omelette with wheat toast and home fries slathered in onions and cheese, all of it washed down and polished off with coffee and cigarettes. Andy put C.C.R. and Damien Jurado on the jukebox, and we sang to "Ohio." I spent the evening continuing through Christopher Hitchens' God Is Not Great, and then Blake and I sat on the front porch smoking American Spirits watching midnight storms lighting up the night. "What's with all the purple lightning lately?" Probably has something to do with Ohio's fuck-show of a weather system.

newspaper gown

I can't think of a better way to kick off the new month than with another incredible song by Damien Jurado. This is either a reflection on my lack of ingenuity for blog posts or my borderline man crush on Jurado and his voice. I'm really not sure which.