halloween '12

All of us at work (minus Brandon) dressed up for Halloween. Tiffany went as a gnome, Jake wore a mushroom cap, and James went as an owl. Ana dressed up like a cowgirl but somehow ended up looking like Pocahontas. I went back to the Old Days dressing up as a Starbucks employee (ironic, seeing I co-run an independent coffee shop that competes daily against The Man). When our owner, Bob, came into the store and saw me, he rushed over thinking I was just wearing the Starbucks apron as a legitimate apron. The owl at the register and the Indian making salads didn't seem to tip him off that I was in costume, and he came around the bar saying, "No, no, Anthony, no." And then he realized it was a costume and loved it. "It's irony," I quipped. Irony indeed. 

the 70th week

WINTER IS COMING

Monday. I worked 6:30-2:30 and went to The Anchor right afterwards to study The French & Indian War. Isaac came over around 5:30 to fix some keish, and we gathered in Blake's room with Andy at our side and watched the first episode of this season's The Walking Dead (neither he nor Andy had yet seen it). When John, Brandy, Amos and Ams made it over (and Blayne too!), we huddled up in Blake's room and watched the second episode of The Walking Dead. It was pretty good, and I'm pretty sure they're still doing character set-up since (a) we get a totally new take on Rick, (b) Machonne didn't show up once in the episode, and (c) the behind-the-scenes interviews with the writers/directors boldly stated this season would be less of the "All in the Family" plots of Season  2 and more of the shoot-'em-up Texas Ranger that we see in Season 1. People filtered out, and those of us who remained watched football and "Shaun of the Dead" and ate peanut butter ice cream and Combos.

Tuesday. Amos and I opened together. Brandon was awfully sick, so we were down a person, and the usual early-week craziness was only multiplied. Still, I'd call the day a success. I listened to some Band of Horses back home before going to The Anchor and reading up on the Jumonville Glen fiasco where Washington all but started the first true world war, and Fort Necessity where he suffered the only surrender of his career. At 5:45 Ams picked me up and we jetted north up 75 to Red Robin and met up with Mom & Dad for dinner. My immediate family's so close, we have great relationships with our parents, we're absolutely blessed.

Wednesday. Brandon was still sick, but thankfully Amos came in to help us out. I got out late and went to The Anchor and read about Braddock's catastrophe while drinking coffee. The evening was spent reading, and Andy and I drank some shiraz, ate cookies, smoked hookah, and watched 30 Rock.  "Australians don't know shit when it comes to beer, but they make some damned good wine."

The Last Warm Day of 2012. I did Food Prep today covering for Ana, another crazy day. Brandon was still too sick to come in, and we were slammed for both breakfast and lunch. I spent the majority of my shift running from the counter to the kitchen keeping things together. I chilled out back home before going to The Anchor to read about the British victory at Fort Beausejour, and I treated myself to a western omelette, wheat toast, and homefries with onions and cheese. As only irony would have it, a group of old men smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee spent a good part of their dinner talking about the Revolutionary War and, you guessed it, the all-but-forgotten French & Indian War. I need to to be part of such a group when I'm that age. I packed up my things and went to the Loth House to round out the night playing MW3 with Amos.

Friday. This was one of those weeks when Friday deserves to be celebrated. I went to The Anchor and kicked off the weekend reading about the Seven Years War in Europe. The evening was spent hanging out with Blake, Ams and Andy, eating pizza (Digiorno, and delivery!), and watching "The Goonies." Ams spent the last two days with Mom, Grandma M. and Aunt Teri: they got a hotel downtown and went to see Disney's Treasure Cove on Ice (or something like that). The weather-dude said yesterday was the last warm day of the year, and that today's 53 degree weather is the warmest day we'll have over the next week. Awesome. -.- (it's an emoticon...)

Saturday. Sleets of rain fell all night, and the morning was cold and dreary, wet and bare. The winds had shaken all but a few leaves off the trees. The poor tree in our front year looks mangled and weak, and just down the street a tree fell and trapped two cars in its branches. I went to The Anchor to warm up with coffee and to read about the Battle of Fort Bull in 1756. Andy and I went to 1/2 Price Books, and I got two kickass ones: one about The French & Indian War, another chronicling the day-to-day events of the Civil War in a streamlined manner. We joined Blake & Ams for lunch at City Barbecue--ribs, hush puppies, and baked beans with brisket--and then I went over to Amos' to play some MW3. I picked up some tubs of ice cream from UDF and Blake, Ams & I enjoyed the spoils while watching Ugly Americans on Netflix.

Sunday. I had McDonald's for breakfast, ran some errands, picked up coffee at Carew (a soy pumpkin brown sugar latte) and went to The Anchor to read up on the Iroquois Confederation (there's a fascinating story and a twist to American history). Mo and I got dinner at Rock Bottom (Rocktoberfest & brewery nachos!), and I rounded out the night watching the movie "Black Swan" with Blake and Ams. It definitely wasn't what I thought it was, it was super messed up, and it's a phenomenal movie.

Also, it sucks only having a SKELETON CREW at work.

Subtle? No?

a 47-minute post

It's exactly 8:00 PM as I write this.

It's strangely warm out, so the space heater's quiet.

Mumford & Sons is playing. "Babel."

Cause I know my weakness, know my voice, and I'll believe in grace and choice.

And I know perhaps my heart is farce, but I'll be born without a mask.

My right tire went flat outside the Loth House some few days ago. I pulled it up into the driveway, which is really nothing but a patch of grass. The rain came down in torrents, and I fought against the mud and rain and managed to get halfway through the agonizing process of switching out the flat with the spare when the muddied earth gave way and sent the car on a jolting rock back, nearly crushing my foot. I cursed myself, went around to the driver's door, pulled up on the emergency brake for the second time around. Ams discovered me, brought Brandy and John to behold the spectacle. Much to everyone's surprise, I successfully fixed my car. Though I must say, these back-and-forth expeditions to coffee and reading at The Anchor probably aren't best for my poor Celica.

"The Anchor's going to kill me," I told Ams yesterday as we were stuck in traffic on our way to eat dinner with Mom & Dad.

"What's that?" she said. "How's it going to kill you?"

"Not me. My car."

But the trips are worthwhile. The Anchor really is a highlight of my day: work's over, the evening's settling in, the skies are growing dark, and I'm warm in the low light surrounded by nautical imagery, sweeping (and wonderfully tacky) murals, and models of 18th century warships. The coffee's hot on cold fingers (note: I must buy one of their mugs off of them when I leave this place; and if they won't sell, believe me, I'll steal. The Anchor is that sentimental). 

Over the last several weeks, I've been studying the American Revolution. It's a fascinating story, it really is, and most people don't have the faintest idea about it. Some people think they do, but recent scholarship has shown some up as false some of those very things we've oft been taught in our high school history classes. The war's so far removed, and so overshadowed by the Civil War that has left such an engraving on our culture, that what most of us know about it is contained in quips, aphorisms, and scattered facts void of substance and context. That the events of 1775-1783 have all but faded from public consciousness is the fact that a vast majority of the battle sites haven't been preserved: memorials may commemorate the events, but the memory is forgotten: apartment complexes cover the field the British marched up on their assault on Breed's Hill in Boston, and a pizza restaurant sits where British soldiers fell mangled and bloodied in heaps. 

Studying what led up to the Revolution is fascinating in its own right. Take, for example, the French & Indian War, where the ignition of the world's first true "world war" came from the brash recklessness of a young George Washington, who "accidentally" attacked what looks to be a French diplomatic party. The world war that ensued, The Seven Years World, involved all the major world imperial powers, and many of the characters prominent in the American Revolution tasted war for the first time on the North American frontier. Daniel Morgan, Horatio Gates, and George Washington all participated in the 1755 Battle of Monongahela (another participant was the British officer Thomas Gage, who would become Washington's mortal enemy during the Siege of Boston). Britain won the laurels of the war, but not without incurring a vast amount of debt. Because Parliament was already taxing the shit out of the English people to try and pay for it, they decided to add taxes for extra revenue to their British colonies, whom they had "protected" from the French & Indian during the War; never-minding, of course, that the vast bulk of the fighting force in North America had been colonials. These taxes lay behind the whole "No Taxation Without Representation" bit that would blossom into a fervor for independence.

Day-by-day I'm studying the French & Indian War, and I'm plowing through it and finding myself enthralled by the great stories and events that really happened but have been all but forgotten about. Take, for instance, Washington's defense of Fort Necessity in 1754:

Psyche. The French's allied Indians charged the British forces, and the militia broke and fled back to the fort (something, sadly, militia tend to do). The British regulars remaining with Washington were vastly outnumbered and under fire from the Indians hidden in the thick trees, so they had no choice but to flee back to the fort where they made a defense in a rain that poured so hard it flooded the trenches up to the men's waist who fired into the rain while their dead comrades floated beside them. Washington surrendered the fort and was allowed to leave with honors. It was the only time he surrendered, despite countless defeats. It seems the shame of surrender, and the great loss it did to the British stronghold in the area, remained engraved in his psyche when he took over the Continental Army 21 years later.

All during the drive to Red Robin where my family and I would dine on burgers and salads, I couldn't stop thinking about the Native Americans, their brutality and tactics in war. It's definitely an interesting read, and sheds a different color on such things as Pocahontas and the settling of Jamestown. 

Dad asked me, "Have you decided what you're going to go back to school for?"

"Not yet," I said.

"Well. What do you like to do? What're your interests?"

"I tried going to school for what interested me. I don't want to make the same mistake again."

But the rut I find myself in now isn't because I went to school for something that interests me. It's because I went to school for something I don't want to do, at least not now. I went to school to become a minister, and to put it in my own words from back then, I was going to get married, have a family, and work at a small town church in Colorado. People sometimes ask what changed. I'd like to think I've grown up a little more. And what I mean by that is, "How in the hell do we expect someone to know what they want to do when they're eighteen years old?" It's so young! We're still growing, still developing, our personalities are still forming, so much is going to change over the next four years by the time we're to graduate, and our personalities, desires and such continue evolving and taking shape well into the latter years of our twenties. Maybe a reason so many people aren't working in their fields (including, might I add, my own parents) is that at 18 we think we know what we want to do, but we've still got so much evolving to do that it turns out, some years later, we don't want now what we wanted then. And I can say, with a guiltless conscience, that ministry isn't something I want to do. I don't want the pressures, the fire-fighting, the squabbles, the territoritial pissings, all that drama. I like to read, to study, I like to teach, but I don't want to be that guy who has the entire needs, burdens, and gossips of an entire community thrust onto his shoulders. I can barely deal with my own shit, why should I presume to be able to help anyone else get their ducks in a row?

All this to say, I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do, the course my life will take. I've realized that with a bachelor's degree I'm more than halfway to a career. I can get my Master's in just about anything. The future's open. My own distaste for vocational ministry coupled with the guilt-sodden conviction that it was the only thing I could do to please God, has kept only so many doors open. But now it's like the door's been opened wider, and I can take a step out in whichever direction I please. It's a liberating feeling, really. 

the 69th week

makin' it rain, food prep style

Monday. I opened with James, a crazy day unrolling new menu items: foccacia bread, new sammies, new bakery items. It'll be an easy adjustment; first days generally suck. After work I went to The Anchor and read up on the Treaty of Paris in 1783. John, Brandy, Amos & Ams came over for the first Walking Dead: Season 3 Monday night party. SWAT and gaseous zombies, right on.

Tuesday. Amos & I opened, a hectic morning ripe with drama. I went to The Anchor for a bit after work, and then I jetted up to Northside to hang out with my friend Lea and her son Jack. We went to Rock Bottom Brewery and then grabbed hot caramel apple ciders from T.M. across the street. I went over to Ams' afterwards, and we hung out in her room till pretty late, and then I made my way back home and crawled into bed and promptly passed out.

Wednesday. I covered Ana's F.P. shift today. It was a slow day, a nice reprieve from the chaos of the last two days. I went to The Anchor after work, and Isaac and Josh came over later in the evening to brew some beer, and I picked up Dusmesh for dinner: chicken jalfrezi, vegetable samosas, and nan bread. 

Friday. Sarah and I opened together, and after work I took a long-ass nap before going over to the Loth House to hang out with Amos, Ams, John & Brandy. I got a flat tire as I was getting ready to leave and got all sopping wet and muddy changing it out in the pouring rain. I rushed home, changed clothes, showered, cranked up the space heater, and lie in bed reading till I could stay awake no longer.

Saturday. I slept a phenomenal ten hours and utilized the newfound energy to run some errands in the morning, and I celebrated actually getting stuff done with some Subway and "30 Rock." Isaac swung by and we hung out for a while, and I took a nap and went to The Anchor to study up on the French & Indian War before jetting up Vine Street to the Loth House, where Amos, Brandy, John and I hung out late into the night. A splitting headache accosted me and I headed home, took some meds, and chilled out with Blake, Ams & Andy before bed. We watched the movie "Spinal Tap." It's hilarious and frightening.

Sunday. I woke and went to The Anchor to do some more reading on the French & Indian War, and then Ams and I went down to Carew and visited Sheffy and Isaac at Carew. We hung out for a bit back at the house, and the afternoon was spent researching 18th century warfare. Isaac came over a little later in the night, Andy had a few too many drinks, and we crowded Blake's room and watched the Bengals vs. Steeler's game. Steeler's won, of course. 

on historical fiction (II)

It's been close to three months, but I've finally finished the fourth and fifth books on my "Shaara Reading List": Rise to Rebellion & The Glorious Cause. The first covers the events leading up to the siege of Boston, focuses more on the politics and culture of the day than the actual war. The only "bloody" events covered are the Boston Massacre, Gaspee Incident, and the skirmishes at Lexington & Concord followed by the British catastrophe at Bunker's Hill. The Glorious Cause is epic in its scope, seeking to cover the extent of the war following the Continentals. The book covers a span of seven years (1776 to 1783), focusing on such battles as New York, Trenton & Princeton, Brandywine & Germantown, and then Monmouth Court House; and when the war turned south, attention turned from Washington to Nathaniel Greene and his "foraging war" against Cornwallis, focusing on the battles at Cowpens and Guilford Court House. The end of the book followed the siege of Yorktown and Cornwallis' surrender, and the Treaty of Paris in 1783 where the Americans were granted their independence. The next book on the list is Gone for Soldiers, all about the Mexican-American War. I wish Shaara would've written something about the War of 1812, an extension of the Napoleonic Wars; but he just shoots forward to the war that prepped the nation for all the shit that went down in the 1860s. 

And what of the other two books? I've been getting into the Revolutionary War (or, rather, getting back into it), and these two books were read in tandem with Shaara's fiction titles. The Glorious Cause (not to be confused with Shaara's fictional work of the same name) is a long-winded examination of the Revolution, paying most attention to the events leading up to the war and those events following it. Although much of the writing is drab, there are some excellent chapters on the nature of the British and American armies as well as the experience of civilian life "on the home front." The second book, Rebels & Redcoats, follows the course of the war and retells it from diaries, journals, and battlefield reports written by those involved in the campaigns. I enjoyed it far more than the other: my main interest isn't on the politics but the fighting. The politics of the time are best served as background music, in my opinion. 

the 68th week

It's definitely not the prettiest.

Monday. Work was uneventful and rather slow. I hung out with Blake and Amanda for a while after work, then did a spot of writing at The Anchor before jetting over to the Loth House for a party commemorating Amos finally having his own room. This party consisted of moving Brandy's things into Erin's old room and playing video games with Blake, Amos, and Andy. Ams came later in the evening, bearing homemade puppy chow (made with nutella!). I forgot my baggie of deliciousness at the Loth House. Something you should know about me: if you ever want me to hold onto something for you, just don't.

Tuesday. Thoughts of distant things consumed me at work, and after a bout at The Anchor with coffee and N.T. Wright, I spent the evening at Amos' yet again, hanging with a bunch of people who headed over for Missy's birthday party. We grilled hot dogs, enjoyed cake pops, stuffed ourselves on crock-pot dishes, and played Catchphrase. I'm plowing through an old crate of skunked beer representing different ages in American history, left outside for over a year due to John's carelessness. I told Tiffany, "Most parties I go to have beer pong and kegs, lots of drunk people, but Tuesday's party, it was mostly older people, some married folks, a kid was there, and it was much more subdued, and casual, and relaxed, warm and inviting. I like that." She laughed, said, "We're getting old." *SIGH* I do believe those college days are behind me: I used to be able to take fifteen shots of Woodford Reserve and be quite fine, but now I have two beers and feel like I'm going to get sick. Ams jokingly says that I'm just like an old man. She's right.

Wednesday. Work was chaotic: a line of customers to the far doors by 7:30, and 20% higher sales than the past month of morning rushes. After work I listened to some Damien Jurado and went to The Anchor and read up on Greene's "War of Posts" in the Carolinas culminated with the American "victory" at Eutaw Springs (they didn't hold the ground, but the British were whomped). I fixed a delicious chicken quesadilla for dinner. [That was the plan, but someone tossed my tortilla wraps]. So instead I ordered Dusmesh for dinner (shahi korma, samosas, and paneer bhatura), and then Andy & I rounded out the night watching The Avengers. 

Thursday. I did F.P today, covering for Ana. Brandon lamented, "I don't like you doing F.P., we need you on mornings." The top-down hierarchy at T.M. is changing, and we're all waiting to see what happens. With Amos drifting to roasting, the "plan" of the last six months or so is suspended. Alex told me he got some great feedback 'bout my barring. I don't have the prettiest latte art (it's that Michael J. Fox style I've got about me), but my espresso and milk steaming is practically a template. Multiple customers have told me I make the best drinks. (But, honestly, Amos is far better; but he closes and thus doesn't make as many drinks) I unwound with some reading on the front porch before coffee and N.T. Wright at The Anchor. I headed to Ams' after, got snagged in traffic from the Reds game (where they lost the division, or something like that). We played with Roxy, watched "Sherlock," and ordered LaRosa's. It was a good night with my li'l sister.

Friday. I worked 6-1:00 and then did lunch with Dad and Grandpa & Grandma B. who came down to visit me and see where I work. It was good catching up with them, and I'm glad they didn't get lost in downtown Cincinnati (it almost happened). I took an accidental 2-hour nap when I got home, and then I went to The Anchor and drank coffee and let work fade from my mind. I went over to Amos' later in the night: he has the house to himself since John & Brandy went to Nashville with Blake and Missy. We played MW3 till late in the night, and I returned home to an empty house, did some reading, and went to bed.

Saturday. A warm, cloudy, rainy day bench-marked by not one but two trips to The Anchor: the first time to wrap up my Pastoral Epistles study by N.T. Wright, the second to read up on the Siege of Yorktown. Sandwiched between these two monumental events, I took a nap and did lots and lots of reading. Reading, reading, reading. Such seems to define my life as of late. Also, Andy returned home bearing the gift of Chipotle, and we feasted while watching a ridiculous "horror" movie about vampire slayers.

Sunday. I went to The Anchor this morning, and then Andy & I hit up Dusmesh for lunch. We haven't gone together for quite some time, but both of us have made repeated trips on our lonesome. A.J., one of the main waiters, asked Andy, "Did you guys have a fight or something? You never come together anymore." No, just wildly different schedules as of late. We took a plate down to Carew to the enjoyment of Isaac and Amos, who were working; I ran some errands, took an accidental nap, and went to The Anchor yet again for coffee and Revolutionary War history. The evening was spent at Amos', watching football and playing PS3, with Isaac in his usual position stretched out and passed out on the sofa. The rest of the night went pretty well, and I'm looking forward to the next week. That's a surprise in itself.

the saga continues...

on nostalgia

Andy spent much of last night listening to David Bazan podcasts. He reported Bazan as saying that nostalgia is, essentially, a handicap. It soaks up the enjoyment from our lives and twists the facts of the past, making bygone history into but a caricature of those actual days. The proverb goes, "Don't dwell on the past, for those days were really no better than these." The rose-colored lenses of nostalgia always remembers the good over the bad, painting a skewed portrait, making it easy to cling to the past in return for an obliviousness to the present. Nostalgia's like thrusting your oar into the riverbed to keep the kayak from going forward while the current flows on its merry way. The scenery in that spot may be beautiful, but there's more to be seen downriver. Too often I find myself focusing on the past, yearning for the past, as if it were any better than the present. It wasn't. Succumbing to the seduction of nostalgia isn't just putting on rose-colored lenses but also throwing on blinders: we run the risk of missing out on opportunities and adventures presenting themselves in the Here & Now. Now let's see if I can take this to heart and make it real. 

a dream for us

'Cause what I feel inside that I don't want to hide
It's you that got to me and it's what I want to sing.
'Cause I've got a dream for us running through my mind
Sitting on the beach looking at the sea.

And we're old and tired and time has made us smile now.
As we go on, can't do a thing, people and their pain.
And we're not the only ones, there's hundreds on the shore.
Looking out to sea, but it's just you and me.

If the day never comes, I'll sink beneath the tide.
Will you still be with me or disappear?

from The Anchor

This is a rambling post, void of substance or thought. Just a forewarning.

I'm at The Anchor. Drinking coffee and bundled up in my hoodie. I love autumn. It's already getting dark out, and after I post this, I'm heading home. Blake's in Nashville for the weekend. I don't know where Andy is. I may get some Amos time tonight. We'll see.

I accidentally took a 2-hour nap after work and dreamt that I was, well, at work.

So glad the weekend's here.

I've spent my time at The Anchor today doing 2 things: (a) updating my blog, and (b) researching Master's degrees and graduate certificates.

You may notice that 2008 has few if any blog posts. That's because I foolishly switched over to xanga during that time, primarily because my blog was stalked by an ex whom I didn't want to bear my soul to. So I switched over to xanga, only to be stalked there yet again. Eventually I switched back to blogger, but the gap remained. Because this blog is far more than just "something I do", but also a chronological retelling of my life for nostalgic purposes, I've been taking many of the posts from my old xanga account and reposting them here. Thus over the next few weeks, 2008 will be littered with posts written during my days dating Karen, interning in Minnesota, and befriending people like Jessie Myers (now Heckenmueller).

Regarding the Master's degrees, I've been looking into some more online universities. I've found several offering degrees in American Revolution and Civil War history. As tantalizing as that sounds, I just can't seem to stomach getting another degree with little practicality. Looking through the courses, I'm seeing, however, how much I'd excel: it's all research and writing, which is my forte. Maybe that's why I cruised so easily through C.C.U.? There are some "graduate certificates" (the younger and much less useful sibling of the Master's degree) in these subjects, and they're far cheaper. It'd be another thing to tack onto my resume, and it's all done online. So, yes, that's tempting. 

There's a couple in the booth across from me talking about witchcraft and how to cast spells of protection. It's creepy and unnerving.

I told Dylan out in Africa, "I don't really want to do vocational ministry, and the struggle now is figuring out what 'living the Christian life' looks like outside the pale of vocational ministry." It's a challenge, it really is. I've been finding that I've interpreted the nature and scope of devotion to God principally through the lens of vocational ministry, the result being a categorization of Christian devotion dependent upon how much one does for God; and those who make a career out of ministry are intrinsically closer to God and more pleasing to him. That's absolute bullshit, and the seeds of such a conviction are nothing less than the birthplace of a crippling legalism. I've found, ironically, that putting "vocational ministry" (not to be confused with ministry per se) has inspired a greater desire for prayer, for reading scripture, for continually realigning my life with the cross. The burden of having to know everything has been lifted, and I've been finding great rewards in slowly savoring the scriptures like southern molasses rather than trying to gorge myself in the pursuit of some ministerial career. I think this is precisely what I've needed: freedom from that crippling legalism, freedom to simply be a child of God as a child of God.

I just had a craving to read about the French & Indian War.

It came out of nowhere.

winter is coming

The days grow shorter and the nights longer. What kind of winter will it be? "Winter is Coming," but as to its nature, who can say? I've found it's best to accept broken dreams rather than to try and stitch them back together. Though dreams that have broken seem unbearable, and while the pain feels like it'll never grow old, that's hardly ever the case. Tiffany and Eric have been going to Life Spring Church, and they ran into my ex, Courtney. She's married and has a beautiful kid now. At one time the thought of that, the pain of betrayal and the loss of the one whom I wanted to be the mother of my children, was enough to drive me to tears. I dreamt about her wedding as a nightmare, and each Father's Day made me feel sick. But I don't think about her anymore. And the thought of her happy, wholesome and living out her dreams doesn't make me squirm like it used to. I'm happy for her. Jealous, to be sure, that her dreams came to fruition. But that's an entirely different thing. I feared that by losing her, I lost everything, my entire future. But that wasn't true. I've found it best to accept that people move on, going in different directions. And I've found it best to be thankful for those friends you do have, rather than to agonize over the ones you've lost. Pay attention to the ones who care for you rather than craving the love of the apathetic. 

My writing has been hit-or-miss as of late. It's not that I don't want to write, or that I've come down with a nasty case of writer's block. It's that damned guilty conscience following me around. It's that legalism that made me abandon a career of paleontology for one of ministry. (But, as it turns out, a degree in paleontology is just about as worthless as one in biblical studies; religious degrees flood the market, but no one cares about dinosaurs enough to pay a paleontologist) I've found that I determine my devotion to God in accordance with my involvement or pursuit of vocational ministry. A genuine devotion to God cannot be without making a career out of the thing, and any attempt to "do what you love" becomes nothing short of heartless rebellion, putting my own desires over God's. Of course, I can attack this legalistic thinking from several directions, and I'd never dare surmise someone's faith in God in accordance with whether or not they've made a career out of ministry. It isn't that I feel guilty for writing in and of itself; it's that I feel like by doing something I love, I'm inherently doing something that God doesn't want, and I'm thereby in fault before him. Never mind that nowhere in the bible do we find such a strict legalism, and that nowhere in the bible is the quality of one's character measured up against his or her ministry involvement (or lack thereof). Maybe that's why I'm stuck in this limbo-esque place: I can't stomach doing what I want, but I can't stomach vocational ministry, either. So I'm stuck squarely in the middle, being tugged back-and-forth, squirming in the web. 

the 67th week

where my budget goes to die

It looks as if the Claypole House will be my residence for a little while longer than anticipated. Blake told the landlord about our plans, and he lowered the price for us if we could stay through the end of the year. So we're sapping it for all its worth.

Monday. On Monday nights, a whole bunch of come over and we just watch movies and hang out. Tonight was a party with Blake, Andy, Isaac, Amos & Ams. John and Brandy were at the hospital waiting for John to become an uncle (he did). Tiffany told me her kids love me. Lennon said, "He played Legos with me and listened to me and talked to me like I was a real person!" The Wisconsinite caught up, and I went shopping with her. Virtually, of course.

Tuesday. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going in the mornings is an iced soy mocha with a hint of vanilla. This morning was one of those mornings. I got out around 1:45, just in time to get snagged in traffic around the Convention Center, where Michelle Obama gave a speech. Presidential elections are coming up next week, the main contenders being Romney and Obama for a second term, and I can hardly believe it's been four years since I sat in my car in the parking lot behind Restoration and listened to Obama's victory speech. I think he'll snag it again. I went to The Anchor this evening. "You really love your corner booths, don't you?" Linda quipped. Yeah, we're all on first name bases. Coffee and N.T. Wright, a great way to spend a rainy afternoon. The skies were clear by the time I left, and I sat on the front porch and read up on the "battle" at Newport and the Six Nations War in Indian country. I picked up some Indian for dinner from Dusmesh by Cincy State: chicken jalfrezi, vegetable samosas, and bhatura bread. I feasted at Amos', and we watched "Freaks & Geeks" and played MW3.

Wednesday. Tibbles and I opened together, a rare treat: since she's become our baker, she hardly ever works counter shifts. Her baked goods--butterscotch scones, blueberry muffins, pecan tarts & pumpkin bread--have been the main culprit behind my 15 pound weight gain. That, and tubs of ice cream from the U.D.F. down the street. The "3 for $10" deal is just too good to justifiably pass up. I spent the late afternoon at The Anchor, and when I got home I sat on the front porch and smoked my pipe and read about Stony Point back in July 1779. I picked up Indian yet again: chicken tikka (cooked in a Tandori clay oven in herbs, spices, & yogurt), chicken nan, and (duh) vegetable samosas. Andy & I spent the evening watching "Freaks & Geeks" and I curled up in bed and read 'bout the Fall of Charleston to the British.

Thursday. Work was chaotic, Tiffany and I both in bad moods. Her, because USFoods messed up her order for the second week in a row, and mine due to well, you know, the Usual Suspects. Tiffany said, "Your bad moods are like my good moods!" I hide it quite well. Years of practice. Coffee made me feel better at The Anchor, and I found a website where people who read my old book 36 Hours were posting all sorts of comments and reviews, phenomenal reviews. That also made me feel a bit better, knowing people--actual adults!--were reading my book and loving it. One woman said her husband yelled at her for burning their dinner: she got so wrapped up in the story that she forgot she had food in the oven and filled the whole house with smoke! Once upon a time this would feed the desire to make a career out of writing; but I've spent too much time chasing after unrealistic, wish-filled pipe dreams. Maybe that's the source of today's gloom? Pipe dreams. A lot's happened over the past year, and in the journey my perspective's been tweaked a decent amount. Life's short, and it's best spent focusing on those things that truly matter. One dream I fear to be pipe-ish(?) is that of a loving marriage, that commitment and companionship through life's good and bad, of being a father and knowing that love that goes beyond anything I've yet known. Such daydreaming led me to figure out my budget for ulterior motives, but sometimes craziness can make a little sense. After The Anchor I had Dusmesh for dinner--this time chicken shahi korma with the usual trimmings--and I got to talk with Mandy K. for a good, long while. And over Skype, at that! So good to see her face-to-face, even if only digitally. You take what you can get.

Friday. Bob brought us pumpkin beer to be enjoyed before the lunch rush. I wonder if the reason Bob allows, and sometimes even encourages, drinking on the job is because he knows how much stress we have to deal with? Bottom line: by the time lunch rush was over, and after a pumpkin ale and a bit of the red ale Kolsch from the multiple growlers stashed with our milk and o.j., I was feeling quite tipsy. I went over to Carew to see Emily and Sheffy, and then Isaac and I met up at Rock Bottom. Luke was there giving us samples of some new brews, and our beers were comped. I could barely get through one, having not eaten anything all day, though Isaac was afire. When I got home I started feeling queasy, and I lied down and took a 2-hour nap. I woke feeling better, and hanging out with John, Brandy and Amos at the Loth House till quite late at night definitely took off the edge.

Saturday. I woke early and went to The Anchor, enjoyed with coffee and N.T. Wright. Breakfast burritos for lunch while watching some of Season 2 of The Walking Dead. I spent the morning and afternoon reading about Benedict Arnold & West Point, Banastre Tarleton & The Swamp Fox, the guerilla warfare in the Carolinas and the British victory at Camden and their tragedy at King's Mountain. Much of this reading was done at Carew, where I visited with Emily and Sheffy, and sipped on a cappuccino. Blake and I went over to Amos' later in the day, and we played video games, celebrated Erin's departure, and grabbed dinner from The Anchor: goetta omelette with cheese, hash browns with onions & cheese, wheat toast and a pot of coffee (the latter shared between the three of us). The rest of my night was spent at Ams', hanging with her and Josh and watching "Sherlock". 

Sunday. The Anchor was crowded this morning, and very loud, so after a bout of coffee and N.T. Wright I headed home. Andy announced a Dusmesh trip with Amos, so I tagged along and afterwards we played MW3 at Amos'. After running some errands I went to The Anchor yet again--4 times this weekend!--and sipped coffee while reading about Morgan's victory at Cowpens and Greene's defeat at Guilford Court House (a composite of which was used for the "final battle" of The Patriot; York came as a sort of narrative epilogue, seeing as the movie's villain Tavington, based on Colonel Tarleton, whose loyalist troops brought everlasting shame to his name, had been killed by Benjamin Martin, based on a composite of Marion, Sumter, and Morgan). The quiet evening was spent hanging out with Isaac and Blake, and we watched an old movie by the Cohen Brothers and I bought a few more books for my "Winter Reading" collection. 

back to The Quest...

Much of what is found in the anti-theism movement dubbed “The New Atheism” says very little about the existence (or, rather, non-existence) of God. One of the most cutting arguments presented against religion and belief in God is the awful practices of many religious people. Choose your religion, and you’ll find examples of atrocities done in the name or religion or in the name of God. The Crusades, the Salem Witch Trials, terrorist attacks and the bombing of abortion clinics but scratch the surface. In light of this, it seems obvious (we’d be led to believe) that religion, and belief in God, is a pretty awful thing. Human beings become victims of God, or religious programs, and the best thing we can do is shed the chains of those bound and goad them into the freedom of Enlightened thinking. The argument doesn’t so much present human beings as evil and doing evil things, but human beings as decently good, chained by religion, and thereby doing evil things. The argument’s flaw is that it proves too much: if humans are the victims of religion, then why not of ideologies as well? Take any political ideology in the past 200 years, and you’ll find barbarism in its adherents. I’m at a loss as to how anti-theists can point to evil religious people and blame religion but somehow preserve non-religious ideologies from being stained by their evil practitioners. The evil acts people do in religion, I think (and psychology would agree), point to problems within humans more-so than in the faiths they profess. Do certain religions, or interpretations and misreadings of religion, advocate violence? Certainly. Some religions, and branches of religion, rightly fall under judgment. But the nature of human beings and the critique of religion must operate not on such a generalized basis: “Religious people are mean, therefore God doesn’t exist.” Condemning humans for their evil makes sense; condemning religion, or parodies of religion, that advocate evil makes sense; but a generalized condemning of religion, and an outright denial of the existence of God, all the while preserving the sanctity of humans in light of their victimization by religion and theism, simply doesn’t make sense, especially when the argument simply ignores and pushes aside all the beautiful, wonderful, and good things done in the name of God and religion. The most outspoken anti-theists have come under fire from their secularist comrades for their blatant disregard of all the good that’s come about because of religion. The New Atheism paints a portrait of religion and belief in God that’s one-sided at best, and the whole argument fails to say anything about the existence of God. Even if we were to foolishly concede that religious convictions and belief in God make people evil, we still haven’t said anything about whether or not God exists, and we’ve said still further nothing about his characteristics. The argument only works insofar as the buck can be passed: people do evil things, and in the name of religion and of God, and these people stand condemned. That is a valid argument. 

This isn’t to say that the New Atheism doesn’t bring uncomfortable things to the surface; but simply because something is uncomfortable doesn’t necessarily make it problematic. There’s much to be learned by dialogue between theists and atheists, but so long as the pool is so muddled by the logical fallacies, extreme prejudice, and straw man assaults on either side, we’ll be doing nothing but treading water. A very good case for the existence of God can be made, but in my own studies the most convincing proof is that of the Cosmological Argument. To put it simply, the cosmological argument understands that every effect is preceded by a cause, and you cannot have a cause without an effect. The interplay is like that of a change, but the interplay could only get started by an initial cause not actuated by anything outside itself. Follow the history of cause-and-effect events far enough back through history, and you’ll come to the Original Cause. That this argument is solid is attested to by its fierce opposition in the New Atheism camps. The only way out of the conundrum is to call into question physics itself, and this route’s been taken. String Theory and Multiple Universes, relatively new ideas that call into question everything we ever thought we knew about physics and the way the universe works, have come into vogue. But despite their popularity (a popularity mostly restricted to a few ambitious physicists and hordes of mainstream science pop-culture fans), most of the world of physics finds them laughable. One physicist commented that if people were to stop talking about these theories, they’d simply stop existing. There’s no real evidence, the ideas are largely founded on improvable assumptions and conjectures, and they pose more troublesome questions than they answer. But they’re the only way out of the Cosmological conundrum (unless, of course, you’re like some who advocate the existence of the universe to aliens; but the classic “argument against regression” so often imposed against theists easily comes into play). There are many more arguments for the existence of God, but my own desire to be brief rather than to write a 150-page book render dealing with them all a matter left to those far more learned than I. 

At the offset of the Quest, the blanket question cast over the Judeo-Christian worldview was, “Is this worldview justifiable given the quality and quantity of assumptions required to hold it up?” I’ve focused on what I believe are the three most crucial assumptions: the existence of God, the nature of God, and the historical resurrection of Jesus. Assuming that God exists is, I think, a justifiable assumption, if not more-so than that of atheism. Theism answers many of the questions we have about the universe, creating a coherent framework for understanding why things are the way they are. Atheism must not only wiggle around all sorts of things (such as the Cosmological Argument) but must also concede its own assumptions: the material world being all there really is, for instance. Naturalistic atheism can’t concede the existence of anything beyond the physical world, and the result isn’t just a scrapping of things like God, angels, demons, and ghosts, but also of consciousness, conscience, morality, virtue, and not least love. Much of atheism’s strength in recent decades has precisely been an attack of these things, relegating them to nothing more than biochemical, material processes in the brain. God’s existence says nothing, of course, about his character. We can’t simply point to the Cosmological Argument and say, “Look: we’ve proved that the Judeo-Christian God exists.” All you’ve done is warrant good reason to believing that something, or someone, of a caliber that we’d call “God”, lies behind the origin of the cosmos. This “God” could be just as capricious and violent as the pagan gods of old. Ascertaining the character and nature of God is, perhaps, something best left with theologians and philosophers. At the same time, we can look about the universe, at its intricacies and beauties and frightening displays, and see that it looks like a sort of mixed bag, a God with brilliance matched only by his mood swings. Here is where the argument from morality comes in: we can look at all the good and bad within the world, at all the good and bad within us, and we can say, “This God seems to be a melting pot of characteristics, both good and bad.” But our own revulsion at the bad, and our own praise of the good, points to something beyond the mere portrait of the world. There is within us a deep-seated disgust at what we call “pure evil” and much praise of what is “good”, with a lot of mixed feelings in the grayer areas. New Atheists, attributing morality to nothing more than brain impulses, simply can’t find a way to explain why we feel the way we do. The very systems of evolution seem to imply that in a world such ours, the survivalists would be the ones able to shut down those elements of the brain. But what we find is a continual, if not growing, revulsion to evil and praise to what is good. That this is universal tells us something more about the hidden secrets lying in human conscience; and that its imperfect tells us something about the way we work. The Judeo-Christian worldview, conscripting humans in “God’s image” and simultaneously in the image of evil speak to this condition of morality, as well as to the depths it can plunge. We are moral creatures, even if we deny it; we are repulsed at evil and in praise of what is good; we crave relationships and love and things like loyalty, fidelity, sacrifice and selflessness. There’s something quite wrong with the human brain if we are nothing but material creatures subject to natural selection and evolution; it’s a surprise we’ve gotten as far as we did. As I wrote back in May, I believe that the world we live in points not to an uninvolved Original Cause but to a creator who cares deeply about his world. If God is capricious, then why is there such things as love, justice, and a repulsion at evil? Deism seeks to skirt the problem of God’s character and the muddled sense of our world by shoving God to the far backwaters of the cosmos: he created us, then stepped back, and let it unfold without the slightest concern in the world. But, again, how can deism account for beauty, laughter, altruism, the human craving for relationships, our love of art and literature and music, not to mention those things like virtue, selflessness, sacrifice and justice? If God weren’t so bad to be evil, if he was simply disinterested and apathetic, there’s no reason for our world, despite its ugliness, to look the way it does. We must make sense of both the good and the bad of our world, and any philosophy or theology must make sense of both, and Christianity, with its declaration of an active God striving to rescue an evil-saturated world, does precisely that.

Is the assumption that God is GOOD a good assumption? Yes, in light of all this, I think it is. Pointing to evil people who do evil things in the name of God or religion as an argument against the character of God only backfires: we’re back to asking ourselves the question, “But why the hell do I care about it?” When it comes to condemning Christianity as an evil religion, as the New Atheists like to do, we’d do well to pay better attention to biblical scholars, historians, and the actual religious text itself. Reading the works of atheists like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens when it comes to the character of Christianity and the God of the Old and New Testaments, I found myself no more than irritated: not because they were making good arguments against my religion, but because their arguments lacked no substance. Fiery rhetoric, rather than good exegesis and historical consistency, is the tool of those condemning Christianity as an evil religion. I find it sad, if only because of my beliefs, that such a portrait of God’s love and desire for justice as we have on the cross has become the epicenter of an attack against the one who seeks to heal his battered and bruised creation; but that is a personal, rather than intellectual, sadness. The New Atheists make no solid argument against Christianity as an evil religion, and thankfully, in less volatile passions, other atheists can concede that Christianity truly is a beautiful religion, even if they don’t ascribe to its premises. My readings of the New Atheists along with leading theists, coupled with lots of pondering and meditation, reinforced my belief in the existence of a good God. 

“Is belief in God a justifiable assumption?” Yes. 

“Is the assumption that this God is good a good assumption?” Again, Yes. 

The third assumption, that Jesus truly did rise from the dead as attested to in scripture, is also a good assumption (but that will have to wait for another time). Confronting some of these looming doubts has brought me a fresh wind, so-to-speak, in my devotion to God and my desire to be a part of what he’s doing. Thomas was skeptical, and Jesus invited him to get hands-on with his doubt, face it head-on, and the result was his gasping expression, “My Lord and my God!” I’m thankful I didn’t let these doubts fester any longer than they did, and I’m encouraged to face other doubts that may rise in my life. There are, of course, still some doubts that are more emotional in nature that need to be faced; but I’m confident that in facing them I’ll learn more about myself, about the world, and about God, and that I’ll find myself more deeply devoted to him and his enterprise.

gettin' ready

best enjoyed with McDonald's breakfast burritos. and friends.

Netflix just made available Season 2 of "The Walking Dead." Thus in anticipation of Season 3 starting later this month (the 14th, as I've been told), I will most likely be found plowing through these episodes over the next month, watching them all over again. And, if I'm lucky, zombies will haunt my dreams.

revampin' my budget

A few days ago while at The Anchor I took the time to work on my budget (and, no, I wasn't inspired by Dave Ramsey). I have a tendency to be frivolous when it comes to my money, and a lot of that, I think, is because I don't place a whole lot of value in it. I don't have any sort of "love for money," as some people do, and while that's a good thing, it can be a double-edged sword. With my coffee in one hand and my spreadsheet in the other, I tallied up my bills and expenses over the span of a year and contrasted that with how much I actually make each month through Tazza Mia. I've found that I can live off tips throughout the week (gas, parking, foodstuffs, etc.) and if I don't dig into my paycheck for anything except those bills (and some miscellaneous spending, always gotta budget that), then I can save up about $10,000 over the next year. 

I told the Wisconsinite that while I like Cincinnati, it's not someplace I expect to live forever. Truth be told, I'm a country boy at heart. Although Cincinnati's a pretty "green" city (if you look at it from the air, it looks as if it's wedged into a sweeping forest), I want to be where the tree are large and looming, where the woods are thick, where the roads are barren for miles. I want small town living, something akin to Gilmore Girls, where my Anchor trips become trips to the only diner in town. What struck me so much about Wisconsin was its pristine beauty, the same beauty that grabbed my heart during my internship in the backwoods of Minnesota. Hiking through the Gorge several weeks ago, I felt a certain peace, even the presence of God, amidst the unkempt woodlands. When I sleep at night, I don't want to hear sirens but the crickets, the wind in the trees, the scattered raindrops dappling across the broad-leafed maples.

In a year I can save up $10,000, and that's just staying at Tazza Mia. If I were to stay in Cincinnati another three years, to the ripe old age of 28-29, I could save up about $30,000. If such a time comes and I don't have anything really holding me down here, why not stake out and try living elsewhere? Why not plunge into the countryside, get a job, save up money, buy that nice little cottage with a walk-around porch that I've always dreamed of? I've been fond of saying that my life's been marked by disappointment after disappointment, but even more-so, I see now, it's been marked by the relentless efforts to bring about change. I'm not content sitting on my ass. Resignation, though something that always seems to threaten in my colder hours, isn't something I can invest into. I'm a risk-taker, a dreamer, a man driven by hope. And so I've decided to start saving up money, for maybe one day I can move out into the country, be under the stars, among the woods. I could move north, or to the east coast, or to the west coast, or even up into Alaska, a land that holds my heart in a vice. 

dusmesh (x3)

This week has been a good week, and not least because I've enjoyed Dusmesh India not once, not twice, but three times, and three days in a row at that. I have Robert Hoos to thank for this new-found addiction. Joe wanted me to put on fifteen pounds, and I've done him one better: I've put on twenty, due mostly to free Rock Bottom meals, Tiffany's baking at Tazza Mia, and (of course) Dusmesh. The time to curb the weight gain has come, it's time to level out and maintain. But I'll be damned if I won't be enjoying Dusmesh on a regular basis. I simply can't tear myself away. Below is a picture of Thursday's dinner: chicken shahi korma, vegetable samosas, and onion nan. Enjoyed while watching "Freaks & Geeks". 

just looking at this picture makes me salivate

lover of the light

In the middle of the night I may watch you go.
There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown.
There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown.
But I'd be yours if you'll be mine.

Stretch out my life and pick the seams out.
Take what you like but close my ears and eyes.
Watch me stumble over and over.

I had done wrong, so build your tower.
But call me home and I will build a throne.
And wash my eyes out never again.

But love the one you hold and I'll be your goal.
To have and to hold a lover of the light.

Skin too tight and eyes like marbles.
You spin me high so watch me as I glide
Before I tumble homeward, homeward.

I know I've tried, I was not stable.
And flawed by pride, I miss my sanguine eyes.
So hold my hands up... Breathe in, and breathe out.

And in the middle of the night, I may watch you go.
There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown.
There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown.
You may not trust the promises of the change I'll show,
But I'd be yours if you'd be mine.

So love the one you hold and I will be your goal.
To have and to hold a lover of the light.

a koala-t macchiato

No, I didn't design this.

But I need to learn how.

It'd be my trademark drink.

the 66th week

If all goes to plan, these weekly recaps will be ground to powder come the end of October. The house search continues, and the time frame's winnowing down. Andy's decided not to move with Blake and me, is moving back in with his parents to save up money for the next step in his life. It's a commendable decision. Blake and I have been looking for 2-bedroom apartments and houses all over Cincinnati, and we've found a couple decent ones in Norwood. The waiting game's commenced, and now all we can do is hope to hear back. I've got enough money saved up to cover all the expenses, so the financial burden is virtually kaput. The Claypole House has been kind to me, but it'll be refreshing to embrace some change.  Now: the weekly recap of my 66th week at the Claypole House. 

Monday. I woke at 1:55 AM, misread the clock at 6:55 AM, and thinking I was 25 minutes late to work, I bolted out of bed, threw on some clothes, and ran out the front door to my car before realizing it was only two in the morning. 4 1/2 hours later I started my opening shift, and after work I went to Amos' for a bit, and then he came home with me for Blake's birthday party. By the time we got back to Claypole I had a splitting headache (seeing as I hadn't had any coffee that day, and, yes, I work at a coffee shop), so I retired to my bedroom, popped some pills, and slept for an hour. The last edges of the headache were swept away with a quesadilla and birthday festivities. I didn't know most of Blake's friends, so I kept with Ams and Brandy. The people thinned out, and the usual Monday Night Crew--Blake, Amos, Ams, Andy, me, and John & Brandy--crowded Blake's room to round out the night.

Tuesday. I spent the rainy afternoon after work sitting on the front porch reading historical fiction, and I went to The Anchor and did a good amount of writing. I spent the evening hanging out with Isaac and Andy and treated myself to Chipotle for dinner and pumpkin donuts for dessert.

Wednesday. I didn't go into work till 11, so I got some breakfast burritos for breakfast and did some reading at The Anchor before work. I went straight to Amos' once we closed the store, and then I went back to The Anchor to finish out my reading regarding Burgoyne's northern campaign in the American Revolution: his drive at Albany, the conquering of Ticonderoga, his defeats at Bennington and Bemis Heights, and his surrender at Saratoga. I love American Revolutionary history paired with coffee, toast and eggs. The quiet, cold night was spent reading on the front porch, listening to the crickets and the distant thunder.

Thursday. I worked an enjoyable 7:30-2:00 with James, Sarah, and Tiffany, and after work I finally bought the new Mumford & Sons and Edward Sharpe albums. They're phenomenal. I did dinner at The Anchor--a cheeseburger, fries, and cottage cheese with club crackers--and spent the evening on the front porch yet again, listening to Mumford & Sons and reading up on Valley Forge and France's entrance into the war following Gates's victory at Saratoga while drinking Barefoot Moscato from the bottle. I've officially been promoted to Shift Leader/Assistant Store Manager at 600 Vine, and thus the wine was celebratory in nature. I also got to talk to Mandy K. for a bit, and that was good as always.

Friday. I worked 6:30-1:00 and kicked off the weekend with some more Valley Forge and some moscato on the front porch. I went to The Anchor for coffee and started a bible study by N.T. Wright on the pastoral epistles. I ran by Brandon's place up Vine Street and then Andy & I went to Eric & Tiffany's for a fire, pecan tarts, Kenyan coffee and good conversation. Lennon showed me his new Lego sets and all his self-portraits on Tiffany's phone, and Adler kept running around in the dark with her light-up shoes, catching slugs and naming them all "Louisville Slugger." Pat D. came over around 10:00, and Ams joined us and we all hung out in the living room and shared gut-wrenching laughter, as usual. It'd been so long since I'd seen him, weeks upon weeks, it was really good to catch up.

Saturday. I went to The Anchor for coffee and had breakfast burritos for brunch while watching "Land of the Dead." I spent the afternoon reading about the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse before grabbing dinner at Rock Bottom: brewery nachos and chicken quesadillas paired with their Oktoberfest beer. Brandon came over later in the night, and he played with the tacs on our tac-board and we stood outside in the cold smoking cigarettes and talking shop.

Sunday. I went to The Anchor and spent the afternoon reading The Glorious Cause on the front porch. The autumnal weather is perfect for it, but soon my reading will have to move indoors with the onslaught of winter. "I'm going to start calling you 'Anthony the Literist," our neighbor and N.T. professor Jamie Smith quipped, "because you're always out there reading on the front porch." Blake returned from a family reunion in Paris, and I took a nap and, after yet another bout at The Anchor, I spent the evening over at the Loth House playing MW3 with Amos and hanging with John & Brandy. John had some awfully skunked "Colonial Times" beer that I've been digging into. "It's so old, it's like it was made to be enjoyed at Valley Forge," I quipped (though the recipe was established in 1799, quite a while after the winter of '77-'78).