Looking Snazzy, as Always.

Yes, I could have written a 4,000 word end-of-the-year extravaganza post about all that 2008 has meant to me and all that I've seen and observed in the lives of others but seriously, who has time for that? I have a party to get to and you probably do too, so lets get down to the good stuff: resolutions.

I only have one big one and thats to read 35 books in 2009. This may not seem like a big number, I know, but considering I've only read around 30-40 books since I graduated high school (four and a half years), it is kind of a big deal. I'll be doubling my reading material from that period in less than a quarter of the time. Who said you do your best learning in college? I was just warming up.

Rules:
Book means it is a REAL book, not a booklet, children's book, etc.
If it's a guide book (Discover Sweden, How to Chew Custard) I have to read 2/3 of the book and skim the rest before I consider it "finished."

If you can think of anything else, post it in a comment.

I'm sure I have some other little resolutions lying around but they mostly deal with personal hygene and aren't very interesting anyway.

Bring it in with style, you know Yogi Bear would.

Jefes de Jefes

I decided to do a picture-stravaganza post to show off the cookies I baked for my family this christmas. As a disclaimer, the "creepy klan greeting" cookie comes in response to a rolled up holiday greeting from the KKK that we got in our yard on 24th. Apparently the Klan is alive and well (and still creepy) - gotta love Johnston County. I don't know what's creepier, their racist freaky hood wearing antics or the fact that they knew we were white. How did they know that? A very un-merry christmas greeting, indeed.

Took a Little More of What I Take for Granted.

After a nice productive streak, it's always a little disheartening to realize you haven't written, not just in a day or two, but in days. I don't know what I'd do without a place like this to write. I remember this summer before I'd stared this blog and after I called it quits back at WilmingSloan, I would find myself itching to punch keys and publish something but I had nowhere to do it. Every so often I just feel the need to write and I guess with all the hustle and bustle of the season, that urge just hasn't hit me lately.

Excuses aside, I had a wonderful Christmas here with the family. Tomorrow I'm going to spend time with dad's side of the family and they're always an entertaining bunch.

But all of that isn't what I'm here to write about.

My mom asked that I clean my room instead of buying her anything for Christmas. Now, I'm still living at home so cleaning my room would be of benefit to me as well and you may be thinking, "Aw, Nathan's mom is trying to help him save money at the holidays." That may be partially true, but I assure you that money played little into her request. You see, my room hasn't received the attention it deserves for, oh, probably four years. In that time I've piled junk from everywhere else I've lived (a dorm, two apartments, and 4 summers at Caswell) into the floor until there was barely room to walk or, (how does one say it?), live in dignity.

Over the course of four grueling days I have finally cleared and rearranged it into a very cool and livable space. In the process of cleaning I hooked up my old and miraculously still working NES, mostly out of nostalgia. Surprisingly, I found the first Super Mario Bros. to be quite entertaining all these years later. Now I know what must be done.

Let me explain to you something: I played this game religiously for hours upon hours though most of my childhood. Starting in Christmas of 1989 when we first lucked out by getting one from Santa, my sisters and I put that system through the truest test of operability. In all that time, I'm sad to report that I have never - never - beaten the original Super Mario Bros. That is about to change.

I hereby declare, on this day, that I, Nathan Sloan, shall conquer the ultimate challenge of my childhood armed only with a rectangular grey controller and a pink book titled, "How to Win at Super Mario Bros. Games," (which I believe was published in '93 or '94). I will beat the original Super Mario Bros. and when I'm done, I'll be sure to share the glorious victory with all of you in a triumphant blog post.

Until next time, remember to push vigorously with the plunger handle and release suction every 4-6 seconds until the clog has cleared.

Yes, it Looks Absolutely Horrible

Mall-ventures

We took our family trip to the mall today and absolutely killed it. I'm so tired right now I could collapse into a heap, (and I think shall as soon and I'm done writing this).

At some point during our adventure we passed an Orange Julius, and being keen on their "Strawberry Sensation" smoothie, I asked my parents to wait while I got one. Before I could get in line I heard a weak, strangly accented voice call out to me from some unknown direction.
"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask ju something?"
I looked around. This encouraged her and she spoke again, in a more confident tone.
"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask ju something?"
"Huh?" I mumble, finally locking eyes with a short, dark-skinned girl at a kiosk next to the O.J., "What?"
"Can I ask ju something?"
I walk up to her.
"Are ju shopping for a gift?" she asks, pulling me in closer to the kiosk.
"No ma'am. I'm actually looking for a smoothie, I'm not shopping for anyone right now so I'm afraid I won't..."
"Can I just ask you something?" she interrupts.
"Sure."
"Let me see jour thumb," she says, putting down a tray of lotion samples and picking up a strange, multi-colored block.
"Um, ok."
I give her my thumb without thinking, (it's funny the things you'll do when asked by a stranger with an overly happy expression on their face). For the next minute or so she takes to buffing the crap out of my right thumbnail, yapping incessantly and pausing only to show me the different colored sides before explaining what they do. I nervously look over my shoulder from time to time and catch glimpses of my family waiting in a huddle with annoyed looks of their faces. I try to keep my cool. In my mind I have picked out a polite but firm declining statement which I will use as soon as she releases my hand.
"Are ju ready for dis?" she asks, still buffing.
"Oh, am I ready?" I ask, "This is going to amaze me, then?"
"Um, jes," she says, laughing.
"Should I be sitting down for this?" I ask.
She stares at me for a moment, obviously completely confused.
"Ha, jes. If we had a place here, you sit on it."
Finally she stops buffing and reveals my nail. In silent horror, I observe its new, absolutely glasslike sheen.
"An ju know how long this gonna last?" she asks.
Please say a few hours. Please say a few hours...
"This gonna last three weeks," she continues, "and dis is our cuticle lotions, it makes jour cuticles more healthy and better looking like dis."
She applies the oil to my thumb and picks up the package containing all of the products.
"Now," she continues, "I want ju to look at both tumbs side-by-side. Everything I just use come in dis package. You know someone you could buy dis for?"
Still in a mild state of shock, I'm looking back and forth at my normal thumbnail and the reflection of neon lights from kiosk signs in the other.

Eventually I pried my way out of her shiny grip and procured a smoothie for myself, but not before giving my parents a good laugh at the site of my nail. I sipped and walked on, wondering how awkward the whole situation would have been if I were missing a thumb.

Why isn't the word palindrome a palindrome?

Bandages and Brillo Pads

Illistration of McKinley's Assassination. Check out the guy behind the president. If I could caption him according to his expression he would be saying, "Sweet Gravy and Potatoes!"

Ain't Gettin' Any Younger

Today is the birthday of one of my dear Caswell friends, (who shall remain nameless so as to protect her anonymity), and it's a very special birthday at that, because it's her 18th. I asked her if she planned to buy any smokes - then I realized that on my 18th birthday I did not, myself, go and purchase any smokes. This disappointed me.
My next thought naturally went to birthday anniversary #21, during which I did not celebrate by purchasing alcohol. I am left with only two age/legality milestones ahead of me and I don't foresee either of them going down the day of, now that I think about it. At 25 I can rent a car, (talk about a killer way to celebrate), and at age 35 I can be president.
To date, the youngest president to have served is the great Teddy Roosevelt at the ripe age of 42 - a feat accomplished only because old Will McKinley got a couple of caps popped in him that September. Looks like I missed out on one of the little joys in life.

Kangadoo: The poo of a Kangaroo.

Echo

EchoPrayer

So, I don't know about my other Christian brothers and sisters, but speaking for myself I know that my prayer life often slacks. Sometimes it slacks for long periods. Sometime it slacks for such long periods so as to become, for all intents and purposes, non-existant. Now, I'm not talking about blessing the food around the table or mumbling something incoherent as your head hits the pillow and finishing it with "amen," I'm talking about diligently praying for the things we say we're going to pray for.

Even in the times when my prayer-life has been at it's strongest, (usually periods of intense emotional/physical struggle or life transitions), it is still, at best, unbalanced, (me, me, me, oh yeah, and George's thing too I guess), or just all around poorly organized.
"Nathan, have you been praying for 'X'?"
"Uhhh, (frantically search my memory until I realize that I haven't thought about it since so-and-so first brought it up), no. No I haven't. Sorry."

I've seen friends, usually girls, use these cutesy prayer journals to write down all of the prayer requests they can think of. This is their reminder and it allows them to journal on how their prayers have been answered, which is cool. I've often told myself that I'm going to start one of these, but I never have. Firstly, because I forget to go to the store and buy one to get started, but also because I can't imagine remembering to take it with me everywhere, or caring enough to open it and work on it like a bookkeeper for a small business. It would be super unorganized and end up in a box full of failed attempts at pen and paper journaling, which is already about to burst at the seams in my attic.

With online journaling, however, I have been immensely successful. If only there was an online service which allowed me to make a list of prayer concerns, organize them by date written, flag them as answered when appropriate, journal on them or on my prayer-life in general, and, (most importantly), send me random or scheduled reminders via email or text message so that I'd have no excuse for not praying. That would be just the ticket!

If you even partially agree, then you should check out Echo, (www.echoprayer.com). It's a web-based tool that does all of the above and probably even more. Best of all, it's free and you don't have to install anything - just set up a private account and you can access your prayer list from any device with the internet and a web browser.

I just discovered it today and in no time I had over 20 specific prayer concerns that I put on my list and set reminders for. It's cool for getting your prayer life in order, but a neat side-effect is that in detailing the specifics of my prayer concerns, I have had my eyes re-opened to a lot of ways I can be be more participatory in people's lives. For instance, if I write out "Johnny's Temper Problem" and put something like, "Pray that I would have the opportunity to have meaningful conversation with Johnny on the topic," suddenly, I am reminded of the fact that I can make a difference in his life if I pray about it and take advantage of our time together. Just an example, but that has been my experience.

Nothing works, however, if you ignore it and I'm sure this is the case if you ignore the reminders sent to you, but hopefully I will have discipline enough to stick with it. This is no excuse for being lax in keeping your thoughts heavenward on your own, but if you stink at it, maybe it will help start the habit.

Fuller's Earth

I've been reading a good deal of Sherlock Holmes recently, (which may be why my language tends toward the 19th Century British as of late), and I have to admit, that's some good stuff. I mean, it's nothing to go nuts over, but if you want to sit and relax and read a good story, Doyle's short narratives are just the ticket. I've also taken to noticing a number of similarities between myself and Mr. Holmes, a few of which I shall relate to you here.
-Holmes lives on 221b Baker St. in London: I live on Maple St. in Four Oaks. What do baker's often use to sweeten their creations? Maple syrup.
-Holmes' best friend is Dr. Watson. My favorite family practitioner is Dr. Stanley Watson at Horizon Family Medical.
-The famous deerstalker cap of Holmes was not ascribed to him by Doyle, but by the illustrator of the stories, Sidney Paget. I, too, have had hats falsely ascribed to me by illustrators.
-Sherlock Holmes is famous for his cold logic. I am capable for using logic, even when it's cold outside.

Sseltniop is pointless spelled backwards.

Both Sides of the Crazy Isle

The Lot of Them

I decided to clean out my life - quite literally.

Earlier today I made an inventory of all the crap I have lying around which could be stored or, better yet, sold.
After several hours I emerged with a list and in no time had the lot of them posted on Craig's List.

Among the items, I placed an ad for my old Lava Lamp which has spent the majority of the past six years in a closet in my room. It is a basic, average looking lava lamp with yellow lava. I never got attached to it.

About an hour after it was posted a lady replied asking me if the lamp was still available. I told her it was. Afterward I went upstairs to find the thing and see if it still worked. I plugged it in next to my laptop a few hours ago and went away.

I must confess that as I write this I can imagine no reason why I would ever wish to part with so lovely a piece of work as this lava lamp. The happy blobs of yellow keep making there mesmerizing circuit again and again, like egg yokes moving in slow motion. It's almost like some sacred dance of illuminated spirit - rippling, splitting, and joining together in endlessly fascinating ways.

...

Yeah, this freaking thing has to go.

If I had five arms I'd label them alphabetically. My favorite would be Arm-E.

Peel You Like Balaclava

Judgement Day.

One of my friends had a dream about hell-fire and brimstone. To this I asked, simply, what is brimstone? I have no clue what this damning mineral is that rains down from the pulpits of angry evangelists the world over. We always hear about it, but when we picture it, what do we really picture?

Spurred by this conversation, I found myself turning to none other than Wikipedia for the truth behind the mystery of brimstone.

It's sulfer.

How anti-climactic is that? My imagined brimstone was way cooler than stupid black grainy crap. I imagined something much more like limestone, light in color and more pleasing in texture - unless, of course, you are being pelted incessantly by it for eternity. Just imagine all the colorful fossils that would be flying through the air. A billion year old snail here, a 250 million year old fern there. So much cooler than the stuff we mix in our highway pavement.

Rooty-Tooty Fresh and Fruity would be excellent right now. IHOP it is.

Ginger Bread Mouse

It is time for the part of the blog where Nathan acronymizes his name.

Nationalistic
Amiable
Thought-provoking
Hearty
Apple-bottomed
Nifty
Independent
Endearing
Loam

Soft-haired
Limited by nothing.
Oscillating
Anti-establishment
Nomad

Worse for Wear

Cold Paranoia

Today I spent a good deal of time at the ministry center by myself working on a personal project for a family member. I used the ministry's iMac because my laptop would take off as if propelled by solid rocket boosters and explode into the ceiling if I pushed it that hard. About five hours into my solitary task, I realized I had fated the end of my evening to particular displeasure. I parked about a mile away and didn't have anyone to take me to my car. At 7:30, it was already dark and freezing outside. Not wanting to whine to anyone and put them out for a ride, I resolved to "suck it up" and make the 20 minute walk.

Have you ever been in a situation where you are so paranoid about something bad happening, that you play out all the details of what you would do in your head? As I walked though frozen streets, scattered with leaves and graced only by dim lamp light every hundred or so paces, I imagined every possible scenario.

In the first, someone puts a gun to my head and says, "Give me your wallet, NOW!"
I hand him my wallet with a cool confidence that would make James Bond wet his pants, and the thief, now even more on edge, runs away.

My next one threw even me for a loop. The man puts a gun to my head, but this time he yells, "Get in the van!"
My imagination thinks faster than I do, apparently.
"What if this were to actually happen," I wonder, "what would be the safest thing to do?"
After all, who knows where I'd be taken if I went in the van? I could be sold into slave labor at a creepy doll factor in east asia, or worse. Eventually, this is what I came up with.
"No, I'm not getting in your van and let me tell you why," I say, looking him squarely in the eye, "because if you shoot me every cop from here to Cary and back through downtown will be combing this neighborhood within minutes, looking for you. They'll find every bit of evidence they need and you will live in fear of the day they come knocking on your door. Now, on the other hand, if you put the gun away and drive off, I have nothing to go on - I can't every tell what you look like - and you will have committed a much lesser crime. Not tonight, my friend."
"GET IN THE VAN!" he screams, pushing the barrel of the gun into my forehead this time.
"Listen, you still have a chance to make it if you leave now," I say, "better yet, park your van and walk with me. We can chat about whatever is bothering you. I may even be able to help"

At this the criminal is so taken aback that he declares me a lunatic, gets back in his van, and drives off.

In the last scenario, I entreat a vanless villian to take my iPod as well as my wallet, then ask him if he will walk with me to my car.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, perplexed.
"Well, I mean, it's dangerous out here," I reply, "and no one would mess with me if I was walking with you. Besides, you've already got all I have, which isn't much since I'm a ministry intern."
He walks with me, we talk about God, then I shake his hand and say, "Thanks, my name is Nathan."
In a moment of absent-mindedness, he responds with his name and vanishes into the shadows from wince he came. I am left with the decision of whether I want to turn him in or let him go. This is a very tough moral dilemma.

Back in the real world, I am walking and staring at the ground while thinking all of this. Ahead of me, headlights cut through the darkness and the idle purr of an engine approaching slowly creeps through the air. My heart-rate quickens, but I try to quiet my nerves. Probably just someone not sure of where they're going. But the car continues past the turn and I look up, directly at the faceless soul behind its bright lights. At twenty yards the vehicle begins to roll off course and towards the curb, right next to me. Gone is the unbreakable nerve of the fantasy Nathan and all of his clever one-liners. All I can do is keep walking forward. Maybe they're lost and need directions. Just keep walking. At least it isn't a van. Just keep walking. Why hadn't I payed better attention? Walk. Walk. Don't look at them.

I can't resist.

The car goes into park and hums a lower picth as I pass. With near-bated breath I turn to look at the mysterious person next to me on the empty street.

A girl. Two girls, both in the front. Two, kind of attractive girls, in fact - and they're averting their eyes from the strange figure passing them in the night. I take twenty or so steps and regain my mental composure.

Figures. This is why I'm hopeless with women. They tend to terrify me from time to time, in more ways than one.

And now to enjoy a Double Stuffed Oreo.

A Buttery Canvas Like No Other

Sold! Materialism's Finest Hour

This is taking a lot of guts for me to admit, so I hope you all appreciate how honest I am being with you. When I'm in line at the supermarket or at some other discount supercenter, I often allow my eyes to wander onto the cover of one of those fashion or gossip magazines for women. Honestly, I think everyone does it. Sometimes, I'll even pick one up - but it's hopeless to try and find an article before it's your turn at the register, even if the family in front of you appears to stocking their fallout shelter. Until today, these magazines have only been a passing curiosity, but that changed this afternoon when I walked into my sister's apartment at lunch with nothing to do for a few hours. There, conveniently situated in an apple box next to her comfy armchair, rested this month's copy of Vogue magazine.

I feel I should stop here for a moment and make a few concessions to be fair. First of all, I have nothing against Vogue magazine in particular. In fact, I applaud them for their fine journalistic practices - such as featuring beautiful women on their covers. I will never fault a magazine for recognizing and taking advantage of what I believe to be some of God's finest work, as long as it is done tastefully and with respect for those women. Seriously, though, they print some fine examples of journalism and art. Secondly, I realize that I may not be the most qualified person to make judgments of a magazine's intentions when I'm clearly not in the people group that is being marketed to. I am a dude and, at the end of the day, I must admit that fashion falls somewhere after preference of popcorn topping on my list of personal priorities. I could make the argument that my opinion holds a certain desired objectivity given my apparent status as an outsider, but I'll give detractors the benefit of the doubt.

Here was my experience and discovery process, related as accurately as possible.

Jennifer Aniston is a striking woman, and on the cover she is wearing a striking red dress which accentuates certain of her striking features. This is the kind of image that must make women think something along the lines of, "Oh, she's so pretty," and makes men look at the magazine in the first place. Behind her head in large type is the magazine's name, VOGUE. It is prominent, being the second thing I noticed, but it artfully takes a back seat to the lady in red. No matter what insanity may exist in the space of the cover, its strong but quiet presence is always there, holding things together.

Four different features are advertised in type around the subject with a fifth, (BONUS!), feature advertised as a banner in the top left. This is pretty standard from what I've seen. The formula seems to be a pretty person surrounded by four features of the magazine with either a banner or starburst emblem serving as the eye-catching bonus article. In this case the banner reads: "EXTREME BEAUTY The Three-Minute Freeze for Younger-Looking Skin." Who can ignore that? In my case it was easily ignored in favor of the red type announcing the cover story which read, "JENNIFER ANISTON 'What Angelina Did Was Very Uncool.'" I love it when celebrities use popular slang.

With mild shame, I admit a certain compulsion to then comb through page after page until I could find what "uncool" action Angelina had taken against the lovely Aniston. I'm not even a celebro-stalker and I was tempted. Unfortunately, finding the article, or anything specific for that matter, proved no easy task.

Have you ever lifted one of these magazines? They are surprisingly hefty - much like a baby cousin you attempt to hoist at Thanksgiving after not seeing for a year. "Woah, kid needs to lay off the yam soufflé" The majority of this bulk comes not from insightful and keenly written exposés of fashion, beauty, and celebrity life, as you might expect, but from paying advertisers. When it took me a full minute to find the first of a series of widely separated tables of contents, I started watching the clock. I wanted to time how long it took an average, reasonably intelligent person to navigate to the eye-catching cover story. Over four and a half minutes later, I found it. Along the way I was treated to a number of ads which are worthy of some notation. Here is as complete a record as I could manage in looking back.

-347 pages total, 207 of which were totally dedicated ad space.
-38 two-page spreads.
-11 mulit-page serial ads, the longest of which was a series of 14 pages for Gap.
-25 Ads for jewelry or timepieces (super expensive stuff).
-28 Ads for fragrances (I got a mild headache from the mixed scents).
-8 Naked people. Mostly Jewelry and Fragrance ads. I guess if you aren't selling cloths, why feature them at all?
-29 people whom I personally believe would look ridiculous if they were in public. Note: this does not include the 8 naked people.
-3 ads which are set in some sort of bizarre fantasy world.
-2 Flyer insert ads.
-1 Fold out ad
-1 series of Nordstrom ads featuring a girl with gigantic hair.
-1 Guy wearing a tuxedo with flannel shirt.
-1 seriously unnerving image of Paris Hilton as a fairy.

It may come as no surprise that 59.7% of the booklet was purely ad space, but what did surprise me was the way in which their features and ads have evolved in co-habitation. For instance, if you were lucky enough to have opened the magazine randomly to one of the feature pages, chances are, it would take you a moment to figure out what you were looking at. All of the lengthy articles and photo-features have been moved to the very back of the book, where they are, amazingly, nearly uninterrupted by single page ads or inserts. If you open to the more valuable front and middle real estate, however, your feature sections are harder to distinguish from the advertisements and they come only once every 3-5 pages. The ads look like the main content, and the main content looks like the ads. Of course, who's to say the ad's aren't the main content? The evidence would certainly suggest such.

Feminist and non-feminists alike have recently taken to acknowledging the way these fashion magazines and tabloids give women a false sense of self-image. I agree. I think I saw two women who would be classified as overweight for a model. One was in a Dove ad, (they have built their campiegn around featuring 'real' women), and the other was artistically featured as a part of the background composition in a Dolce and Gabbana spread. Every other woman was deathly in need of a cheeseburger and/or photoshopped more than a UFO hunter magazine. The collective image of women is, in fact, unrealistic and unhealthy.

Yet they are still popular.

The image thing is legit, but I'll tell you what bothers me even more. Greed. Materialism. Vanity. Blatant consumer propaganda. Perhaps the best example of this is a 4-page ad series smack-dab in the middle of the magazine printed on thick, easy to stumble upon, paper. These are the type of ads people pay the big bucks for. The entire series is, essentially, gold worship. The company is Only Gold and, well, I suppose they really want you to like gold. Three pages are of women just hanging out with their fancy gold jewlery on. The messages on each of them read, "Only Gold is Treasured," "Only Gold Radiates Warmth," "Only Gold is Divine." Divine? The last time that was said of gold was when some people fashioned it into the shape of a calf, or something like that. Regardless of your faith, I think we can all agree open worship of physical matter is foolish, at the very least and a tragedy of mankind at worst. Picking on the gold ad isn't exactly fair, though. This is the same message echoed throughout the publication.

In fact, I challenge you to find more than 3 or 4 pages in succession that aren't promoting some sick level of materialism in one way or another. Speaking of which, how about the Aniston article? Well, it runs several pages with a relatively low picture/word ratio, which was a nice surprise. If you are hoping that it provides a much needed respite from the allure of the glamours life, however, you are sadly mistaken. Nearly the entire first page is devoted to descriptions of Jennifer's 10,000 square foot home, complete with expensive crap that even Anistion doesn't understand the meaning of. All of this uncalled for, vain and materialistic influence - this message of complete and extravagant false need - all of it from the simple curiosity of what Angelina did that was so "uncool." If you're still curious, I'm not going to tell you. It only costs $4.99 + a pit of lies.

Money and a Passport

Seething

There are few things in life that I can say, unapologetically, that I hate. Miracle Whip is one of those things.

Somewhere in the mind of a slightly demented Kraft chef there formed this idea for a mayonnaise substitute. I can respect those who do not like mayo, but when they reach for the Miracle Whip in its stead, I give them a stern and disapproving glare. My own sister is one such person, a champion of "the whip" and bologna in particular. When I tell her that I cannot tolerate such blasphemy of condiments in our home refrigerator, she asks what is wrong with it. Let me name the ways.
1) It's a cheap, dirty imitation of a condiment that is real and much better in its natural state.
2) It's proprietary. Only Kraft can make it. I don't trust proprietary condiments.
3) What some refer to as its "tangy zip," I refer to as it's "nausea-factor."
4) I can't prove it, but I think it's at fault for our current economic downturn.

The bottom line is this. Miracle Whip is the Elvis impersonator of sandwich spreads. It takes the worst of mayo's career and parades it around in diamond studded leather jackets and smells funnier than it should. No one likes an intrusive and annoyingly inaccurate Elvis impersonator, am I right? Maybe that will help those of you that don't share my distaste to understand the feeling I get when I see Miracle Whip.

Horror.

Why can't Black friday be followed by rainbow Saturday? Rainbow Saturday is when all the crazy-awesome sales would be.

This is Your Last Defense

A stamp is forever.

I went to the post office today and noticed that if you want to buy more than one stamp from their vending machine, you must purchase "forever" stamps.

First of all, this is a blatant lie and the American public should not tolerate it. Forever stamps CAN NOT POSSIBLY last forever. They are made of paper and biodegradable for heaven's sake. Besides that, I'm sure they won't even be considered legal postage in a mere 80 years. To make my point I have decided to purchase a small number of these stamps and save them to use in 50 or so years. Someone in the "Postal Service of the New Republic of Americanus" will get it and be astonished that anyone would actually use such a treasured artifact of North American history in an attempt to mail out a bill.

Also, they may wonder why I don't use my thought processor chip to send the bill automatically when I think about needing to pay it. Then they will realize that in the modern age of intelle-transporting letters and goods, there is no reason why his job or the Postal Service even exists anymore. He will lobby in the Congress of the New Republic for reform in the communications sector to cut wasteful spending such as keeping a useless post office open when we can beam our packages telepathically and also fry a chicken via a similar use of technology. The motion will be approved and it will be named the Nathan Sloan Initiative to Dismantle Obsolete Governmental Services, or NSIDOGS for short. To commemorate my great achievement they will release a six piece commemorative set of stamps - which they will quickly recall and destroy a couple of days later. What an ironic mistake on their part!

If my sandwich had feet I'm sure it would run but thankfully it's incapable of defending itself in any way.

Mini-Universities

Yesterday I was perusing blogs online and ran across the blog of Death Cab for Cutie bass player, Nick Harmer. He seems like a pretty cool fellow even outside of playing in one of the most amazing bands ever. Apparently, he has been swept up into the fashionable world of tilt-shift photography. Tilt-shift faking in Photoshop is a technique that you use to make full size photos look like incredibly detailed scale models. Intrigued, I spent some time miniaturizing a few locations that I've been this year. Here you see the campus commons at UNCW and UNC's football stadium. Aren't they cute?
Original photos are the handi-work of Joe Blanchard.

Sunburn in December

So this may be a bit politically charged, and if so, I apologize.

Recently there has been a big to-do over some comments that some NC State students painted on NCSU's free expression tunnel. From what I can gather, they put up some nasty, totally ill-spirited comments about President-elect Obama right after the election. Something about "getting rid" of him I believe - just insert several racist remarks and you get the picture.

Now, good old Mr. Government got involved and determined that not only were these boys not posing a real threat to the soon-to-be-president, but they were totally within their legal right to be racist idiots. Imagine that, a place where people are free to be anything, even complete and total jerks, so long as they are all talk and draw the line before infringing on other's rights.

Well, there is now talk that the NAACP and a member of student senate (among others) want to have the boys expelled in spite of their clearance with the government and an official written apology to the university at large. I'm not stupid, I know that had to apologize but come on, they didn't do anything deserving of expulsion. The sign outside of the tunnel clearly states "Free Expression Tunnel," I know because I've seen it many times. If you'd read some of the other highly inflammatory things I've seen in there, you'd know that it's generally understood to be a place where you can say anything without fear of censorship and punishment. I am not in any way condoning the poor taste and hateful belief's of these individuals. I think it is really sad for them that they're so limited in their ability to appreciate and love people who are different from them, if you want to know the truth. My biggest fear is that through incredibly unpopular free speech such as what these boys voiced, we will bit by bit chip away at our constitutional freedoms. I may hold some ideas that are very unpopular someday, and so may you. Isn't it nice to know that we can always say what is on our minds regardless of who doesn't like it?

In summation, I just don't want to see NC State and other universities, places that are known as the breeding ground for new ideas and free-thinking, become a stagnant and sterile environment in the interest of not hurting someone's feelings. I can't help but walk by now and, in my mind, read the sign as the "98.7% Free Expression Tunnel." That would be a tragedy.

Slurred Speech and Raisin Bran

Mountains of Snowy Cakes

This morning I woke up at 6:10 to the sound of my phone alarm and half crawled, half collapsed on top of it about 7 seconds later. For a split second, I thought my life was over; then reality set in and I staggered into the shower.

By this point I'm assuming that Joe and his wife must have already taken their showers. I hopped in and soaked myself just as the shower head squeezed the last drops from the water heater. I finished up in two minutes and jumped out shivering like a paranoid chihuahua. It was going to be one of those days.

I layered my clothing because today was pancake day - the day when we serve free pancakes to hungry students on campus for three and a half hours. I knew the high was 40, so I was not hopeful, but any joy in my heart soon faded as I walked outside to find heavy flakes of snow drifting all around me.

"Surely Joe will realize that no one will want freezing cold pancakes in the snow," I thought, "he'll cancel like any sane person."

To my horror and disbelief, I watch as Joe virtually skipped to the car with glee. Then, for the next hour, I grimly waited for someone to state the obvious, that we had to reschedule. No luck. The colder and more miserable I felt the more Joe acted like a character in an old Disney movie, complimented with a singing chorus of woodland creatures. I hope I'm not alone in this, but when people are overly happy in times like these, it tends to irk me even more.

Todays lesson: even when you think your day sucks, realize that nothing is written in stone. I didn't want to go out there. I didn't want to be cold - just being honest. I didn't complain openly about any of this but I certainly wasn't an overly cheerful servant either. Most importantly, I got over it.

Once we got out there the snow stopped and my layers held in strong. Before I knew it, I'd forgotten about myself and was busy taking in the event. It's always a lot of fun to get reactions out of people when you harass them about taking your pancakes. Favorite lines that we yelled to the crowd were:
"Free Pancakes, get them while they're free!"
"Free Pancakes, if they were any freer, we'd have to call them freecakes!"
and
"This is not a pancake mirage. These pancakes are absolutely real and waiting for you!"

I sincerely hope that days like today will rub off on me and I'll take their memory to my bad days in the "real" real world. Even if it's a little obnoxious when your down, optimism can do good things.

Al's terra-cotta smells like hazelnut and mud.

Calcified Mittens

What's up, Doc?

I've been sick. Furthermore, I have been since May of 2007 because every 6 weeks or so, I seem to get sick again. This has been a major problem for me as I seem like a sickly old grandma to all of my friends who have watched it happen time and again. Finally, after my latest bout, I decided it was time to pay the family doctor a visit.

When I got there I was surprised with how quickly the nurse took me back into my little room. Usually I spend about a half hour in the waiting room reading up on everything from last year's summer edition of "Ducks Unlimited" to "what you can do about your fibromyalgia." Unfortunately, once she shut me up in that little closet I fell into the wasteland known as - the doctor is busy, (aka: he's in the break room and really doesn't want to get up right now but he'll be there in 30 minutes). Long story short, I waited nearly 25 minutes on one of those uncomfortable doctor's bench/bed/i have no idea what they are, things. It was not pleasant. For the entire length of time I had nothing to do but memorize the flyer on mammograms, (EVERY YEAR AFTER 40 LADIES!) and listen to the crinkling noise the paper sheet underneath me made every time my weight shifted in the slightest.

Hark! What noise doth emit from the room with the nurses' desk? I believe it to be none other than the doctor himself!

He came in and was his usual friendly doctor self. I like this guy most of the time. After our exchange on how life was treating us, I proceeded to spill my entire theory of never getting better after that horrendous sickness in May of '07. My speech was epic. Certain rehearsed lines were delivered with considerable gusto. He squinted and made a half-frown. In about 30 seconds he obliterated my story and informed me that I had a chronic allergy problem. Basically, I will have to take Zyrtec every day of my life like a birth control pill.

I don't know if this will fix the problem but in the very least, maybe I will be able to relate better to women who are attempting to avoid pregnancy. I'm not sure how that benefits me, but I'm looking for a sunny side over here.

Sadly, Chamomile is a flower, not a delicious meal expertly camouflaged to protect it from hungry predators.

The Envy of up to Three Towns

Tonight we helped the homeless and I discovered just how much of a homeless poser I am. When people ask me where I'm living I usually say something like, "Wherever people will let me," or, "from sofa to sofa," or, "up at the Hotel California." After the requisite blank stare I explain that while my permanent address is with my parents, I'm sort of 'homeless' because I have no regular schedule or place where I'll be sleeping from day to day. If I said that in front of an actual homeless person they'd probably slap my four dollar latte right out of my hand and all over my Weatherproof jacket, (and rightfully so).

We went down to Capital Square, (the name I just invented for the block on which the old capital building stands), and stood outside for about 30 seconds. Soon someone told us that all the homeless people did what anyone in their position would do on a night when it's below freezing outside: they went to the shelters. There we were, a bunch of do-gooders with no one to accept our goodies. Actually, Betty from the shelter happily took all the coats, blankets, and plush over-stuffed kittens - of which there was a surprising amount. We all huddled in a mass on the sidewalk and three people prayed. These were not your typical "it's cold we need to get out of here," or "I'm really thinking about how good this chicken smells," cursory prayers; they were the full-on "elderly Baptist pastor at the end of his best sermon of the year" type of prayers that seemed to go on forever. With every second that passed, the biting cold of the wind made me long for the marginally warmer, yet windproof car.

On the ride back I couldn't help but think about how much it would stink to actually be homeless, but also wonder how people end up there. Are they really just that bad at making decisions? Are the handicapped? Are they all addicted to alcohol and other substances? Why aren't they at least homeless in Miami? It is so cold, but I am happy to know that there are so many organizations out there which are already helping them. God is good but he could be do so much more if we would let Him.

If a Boston Cream Pie got into a fight with a New York Cheesecake, the aftermath would be ugly...
yet delicious.

Line of Best Fit

It has been nearly three months since I started working with CCF in Raleigh. Something doesn't seem right about that. Normally when there is a perceived time discrepancy it is because I feel like the time has gone by faster than in actuality, but with CCF in Raleigh I feel like I've been here a lot longer. So much has happened in just three months, and from the looks of the ministry schedule that we went over this morning in our staff meeting, there is so much more to come before the semester is over.

I'll spare you the boring and overly detailed recap of everything thrilling or, in the very least, noteworthy and condense it down to an incomplete list of realizations I've had thus far:

1) I've realized that it is quite possible to keep in touch with people who live more than two hours away by seeing them one or two times a month and making use of facebook.
2) I've realized that NCSU, while fascinating to me as a mega-institution of our state, is certainly not the place I should have gone to school. I was much better suited as a UNCW student.
3) Caswell people have a way of sneaking up on you no matter where you go.
4) Books really are the gateway to learning - the trick is finding books that you're interested enough in to fully engage mentally.
5) Table Tennis is almost frighteningly addictive.
6) Relationships with people will almost certainly make you less productive in your personal pursuits.
7) No ice cream is better than ice cream from the cows of NC State's Ag department.
8) The "Old Capital" is still used by the Governor and Lt. Governor.
9) Home is a luxury.
10) When you leave a place and come back, it's going to be different. So just enjoy the new 'way' that it is.

I'm also quite sure that I'm growing a good deal in my walk with Christ, but seeing as how I'm still in the middle of this period of growth I'm going to hold all comments on it until a later time. It's been really good so far, though.

Fall and the Fallen

Breathing in that wonderful fall air! I Just got back into Raleigh from a weekend in Wilmington. It's never quite what I'm expecting when I go back there, but it's always really nice. I hung out with Jacob, who I hadn't seen since this summer. I went to Carolina Beach and talked to a lot of my CCF friends for a while around the campfire before retreating back to the warmth of Jacob's apartment in Wilmington.

Funny story.

I get back in and ask Jacob where I can sleep.
He says, "Uh, the couch, or one of my roommates rooms. I don't know how Brian would feel about it, I don't think he would care, but I know Wayne wouldn't care. They're both out of town for the weekend.

Wayne doesn't really have a bed, it's just a floor mat with some sleeping bags on it. I push his sleeping bag to the side, throw all of my junk down on his floor, and spread my sleeping bag over the mat. At this point I'm pretty exhausted so I think it took me about 5 minutes to fall asleep.

I wake up to a banging on my door. I roll over and through bleary eyes I can see light in the room and someone entering. Under his breath he is muttering to himself things like, "Ugh, this is so weird. What the..., this is weird." I blink a few times and realize that this is not Jacob.

"Hey, man. What's up?" I ask.

"Uh, Hey," he responds.

"Wayne, I presume. Sorry for taking over your room," I say.

"Yeah man. I came in late last night," he says.

I feel my stomach sink. Jacob said he wasn't coming back. STUPID! Why did I listen to Jacob?

"I must have come in at, like, one in the morning," he told me, "I was like, 'what the hell? There's someone in my room.'"

He isn't angry, but I can tell he is still upset. I apologize again. He doesn't seem to hear me and continues with his story.

"Yeah, I had a girl." he says.

My stomach sinks a little more.

"And to top it off, Jacob's door was locked," he continued, "so I had to go outside and beat on his window to wake him up and find out what the hell was going on."

"Dude, you should have woken me up," I told him in my best nonchalant and innocent tone, "I'd have moved out to the couch for sure."

At hearing this, almost all of his irritation seemed to melt away. He told me it was "straight" and we ended up spending the morning playing video games and talking. The whole time his girlfriend slept in a lump under some blankets. I never saw her, but every once in a while she'd breath funny or shift around.

This is why you never sleep in your friends roommate's beds - unless you want to get to know them under awkward circumstances.

My Official Concession

My fellow Americans,
I am writing to you in the early hours of this morning, November 5th 2008, to make my concession of defeat to my former opponent, President Elect, Barak Obama. I would like to thank all of my supporter in this race who put their faith in my leadership for years. Yes you, (the one person who voted for me), are my rock and I can say with complete sincerity that is has been a tremendous honor to run in this historic election. Despite our differences, I encourage all Americans to look past those things that serve to divide us stand behind the man who will soon become our executive.

To my friends who have spent sleepless hours worrying about the outcome of this election, I extend a challenge. A challenge to truly "ask not what your country can do for you." May we never forget that true change happens on the streets and in the hearts and minds of the people of this nation. You can vote for a person because of the beliefs they hold and the legislation they support, but that legislation can never make a person see murder and injustice, pain and persecution, hunger and desperation in the way that our relationships with one another can. Look around - where you see injustice ask yourself in what place it truly exists. Does it exist in a law book, a policy, or a war? Is it written on mere paper, or is it written on the hearts of the people who live in the house next door or work in your office? My friends, it is time to talk to those we disagree with and just as importantly, to listen. Only through talking, listening, and loving will true change for the better take root.

Goodnight and thank you!

-Nathaniel Sloan
Omega-3-Free-Radical-Party candidate for President

Sandy Man

Earlier today I got a phone call from what sounded like the least enthusiastic student at UNCW asking if I would like to donate to the alumni fund. I graduated less than 6 months ago, boy do they start early. I tried explaining to the fellow that I lived on cracker's and my parents soy milk and that a $150 donation just wasn't in the cards. He then pushed a smaller donation with all of the enthusiasm of a disenchanted dairy cow in his voice. I listened patiently then thought this.

"I enjoy shrubs"
"Excuse me sir?"
"Yes, I think the landscaping is my favorite thing about my experience at UNCW, the shrubs in particular."
"Yes sir, we have a full-time crew of profess..."
"In fact, what if I told you that I'd be willing to donate $2,500 as long as you can guarantee it will be invested in shrubs?"
"I don't think I can do th..."
"I would like it to be called 'The Nathaniel Sloan Shrub Garden for Student Relaxation,' and I would like it to be situated somewhere along Chancellor's Walk."
"Um."

The conversation ended quickly.

Lone Some

If there is one thing I hate, it's being lonely.

If there is something that I hate slightly more than that, it's feeling like I'm wasting my time.

These are two seemingly unrelated things that I've managed to draw a correlation between when I more than likely have no business drawing it. Nonetheless, it's done and now I think about it often.

Today I woke up. I stared at myself in the mirror and patted my belly a couple of times before hopping in the shower. When I came downstairs I reclined in a chair and read facebook and wikipedia in the hopes that someone or something would pop up and give me the stimulation of interaction that I need. Here I am at the end of the day and I feel that I've accomplished absolutely nothing of real worth, (ironically, I voted today).

Two years ago I was stricken with depression and grief when the girl who was my whole world dumped me like a sack of moldy, annoying potatoes. I realized that in placing so much emphasis on her and away from friendships, I had neglected to procure new relationships or sustain my old ones. Out in the cold with almost no one to turn to, I was forced to get creative. I had to distract myself from the depression, distract myself from the loneliness, and move on.

Naturally, I became a guitarist. Not just an annoying, sit in the back of the room and play indiscernible versions of 'Freebird' kind of guitarist, but a, (kind of), real guitarist: The kind people wouldn't mind listening to. Ok, maybe that's a stretch - but it was a feat for me. Also in that time I wrote creatively and came up with new ideas for videos and movies that I would later attempt to make. I did a lot, and not only that, but what I made was uniquely mine. All of this happened because it was all that I had. A strange person in a newly foreign land.

Moving on has seen me change in a lot of ways. Most obviously, I've become more centered in my faith in God, though out of necessity not my own pious superiority. I've made new friends and become a relative master at getting people to at least pretend to enjoy my company. If you give me a warm cup of coffee, I can cradle it with smiling eyes and chit-chat about anything - linoleum floors if that's what you're passionate about. A few years ago this would be unheard of. Little by little my heart healed as I filled its vacancies with swams of new people.

The thing about people is this: they are time consuming. I go weeks at the time without playing guitar. My other pet hobbies barely get off the ground before I send them, smoldering, into a pile of rejected dreams. Most importantly, I'm not making something of myself the way I always hoped I would. I've traded the power of pain, which led me to make and do so much, for the security and comfort of people. I don't have to get creative anymore because I don't need distracting. I have friends now!

And I'm thankful.

But I can't get this out of my head. Maybe I need to be uncomfortable again. Maybe being really unhappy, submitting myself to that loneliness that I've tried so hard to escape - maybe that's the only way I can become the man I need to be.

Maybe it's time to be a foreigner again.

Whisp-o-whirl

Greenville has this run-down/built-up vibe to it. It is one of those places that I love when I know I shouldn't - like a guilty habit. If the whole of North Carolina were a body, its dirty hands are here. Don't get me wrong, there are good people here who will someday hold jobs in medicine and education, but to me it's just a little slimy: A place I'd never want to live, but couldn't live without visiting.

It's a little past ten when JaySun and I walk out of a convenience store on Evans St. The air has finally gotten cold enough that the warmth and comfort of a pipe is agreeable, so we have decided to take advantage of it. With a new white lighter in hand, we are ready to look for the best place to smoke. Taking short, quick breaths we hurry back across Evans and onto campus. Thinking of our recent exchange with the clerk in the convenience store, I laugh.

"What? What's funny?" JaySun asks.

"It's just the way you said it," I answer, "It was like - I was asking him what made the Bic lighter 20 cents better and you were really listening hard. He said that the plastic was thicker and it had this guard on the striker and then when I looked at you."
I started laughing again. JaySun, still slightly bewildered, starts laughing with me.

"I think it's just how you came off like you couldn't believe we were discussing it in such detail," I say, "especially when you sheepishly said, 'Well - I guess we'll get the nicer one.'"

"Ok, whatever," he says.

As we walk past the library, I notice the little television screens are working on the face of the clock tower for the first time when I've been there. JaySun assures me that they only show random garbage and aren't worth stopping for. I keep watching them as we pass. He is probably right. A little further on, they have these columns that sound semi-muted chimes as you pass through them. We stop and do a brief dance on each side of a column setting them off especially well. Amused, we set our attention on the campus commons, (or "cupola plaza," if you prefer), in front of us, looking for the perfect place.

"How about over there," I say, motioning to the cupola in the middle of the commons. Apparently, it is a double size replica of the cupola which sat atop the university's first building, Austin, which burned. Now the replica squats disembodied on the lawn, a beautiful, if somewhat awkward addition to the campus decor.

"Nah man," he replies, "that thing gives me the creeps."

"Why?" I ask.

"I don't know man," he says, "one time I was out here and there was a group of people in a circle all dressed in black with a fire in the middle doing something. It was creepy as crap."

I pause for a minute and accept this with a shrug, "We can at least use its lights to pack our pipes by."

"Ok, whatever," he says.

I notice the eerie quality that the the lights at the cupola's base lend the structure as we make our approach. Reaching into my canvas bag like a Christmas stocking, I feel around for the familiar shape of my pipe. I hand JaySun a small one that I carry as a backup. The wind picks-up just as I drop in the first scrappy tobacco leaves. Luckily, I hear it coming and manage to keep it from claiming any. A short time passes and I ask for the lighter. With a couple of flicks it sparks to life and soon we are both producing white-grey puffs that rise and dissipate in the wind.

"You want to go over there?" he asks, indicating a lone bench a short distance from the cupola.

Noting his eagerness to escape the monument, I agree.

The night is cold but our bench is colder. Bars of metal are curved to form its seat and back and they must have been designed to win the battle against my body heat. I put the mild discomfort out of mind and refocus my attention on making smoke rings.

"Did you see that one?" I ask.

"No, hold on," he answers before tilting his head back to attempt a few of his own. He claims to have produced a couple. I am skeptical.

After a while I lean back and look to the small patch of sky that we're afforded through all the waving branches. Several twinkling stars are visible in spite to the city's best efforts to conceal them. From nowhere, I have one of those moments of deep contemplation. For instance, when I started smoking pipes, I did so to have insightful conversations with my friends. Instead, we always end up talking about tobacco or how the smoke tastes and I seldom feel wiser. I wonder why our conversations rarely go deep. Taking in the sky and its vastness I consider the paths that are before me and the choices I have to make, each with its own fast-approaching deadline for consideration, and I wonder what I'll be doing in a year. I look at the buildings and I think of all the visits I've made to friends at ECU. Some of them are good memories and some of them bad, but when I blend them all together they make a smoothy of sorts that I wouldn't mind drinking again from time-to-time. I wonder how long I have before I don't know anyone in Greenville anymore. Because I'm getting older. Because they have all grown up and moved-on. I wonder if Greenville's dark shadows and shifting leaves will ever be real again - or if will I pack them into a dusty, old cardboard box and store them in my mind. Just a memory. In time I'll push it further and further back, stack new boxes on it and cover it up.

"Can I have the lighter?" JaySun asks?

"Huh? What? Uh, I don't think I have it."

"Oh, do I have it?" he asks, fumbling through his hoodie pockets, "Yeah, here it is."

Our pipes are dying and we keep re-lighting them. I take one long final pull and tap the ash out on the sidewalk.

Five Dolla

I went to Greenville this weekend.

On the drive home I had this brilliant story I was going to write up that was going to be a joy to read. Unfortunately, I arrived home almost an hour later and I am much to tired to actually write it.

Hopefully I'll get around to it tomorrow....
or sometime soon.

Novel Idea

Earlier today I got the idea that I should narrate my life in Biblical style. I don't know why.
Here is the past week of my life as written by one of the authors of a Biblical era book.


And it came to pass that the one who was responsible for shooting the video went to the land of Chapel Hill to continue his work. When he arrived, those who went with him led him around the campus of UNC. There were many people upon the grounds of that campus, and they marveled at their own existence. Nathan filmed them saying,
"Surly this footage will show the people of North Carolina that the time has come for them to support CCF."

It was not long before Nathan and his coworkers returned to Wake County where there was much work to be done. There was good food and the smells of the wolfline in the air. Nathan grew weary of Raleigh and rejoiced at the prospect of revisiting Chapel Hill, for he thought -

Raleigh is busy and urban
my life could use relaxation
other places are more suitable for this.

The day following, he did just that.

On the next day he slept.

On the first day of the next week, Nathan rose and spoke with his parents saying,
"I must leave tonight, but I will return Wednesday and I look forward to seeing you then."
He then left an returned to the land of Raleigh where he stayed for a number of days playing ping pong, working at a computer and talking to people about the things that came to his mind.

Some Notes on Reading

When I graduated college I decided that in order to make it as a successful writer and intellectual, I was going to have to start making myself read constantly. I didn't have a problem with this as a student because my professors made sure I had enough literature in front of me at any given time, (whether or not I read this literature in it's entirety is information I shall choose to keep to myself).
Perhaps you've noticed the little box at the upper right side of this blog that says "Currently Reading." I ripped this idea off of my friend, Jaysun's blog and decided it would give me a constant reminder to keep reading.
Perhaps you've also noticed how those same books have been on the list for quite a while, especially "Life of Pi." I started reading Life of Pi at my friend, Jeff's, recommendation. I've heard from him, and others, that it is a very good book. Unfortunately, I found the entire first section incredibly boring. I don't like the writing style and I can't get into the whole "incredibly brilliant young boy" aspect of the story. It just seems kind of lame. People tell me that the point where I'm at right now is right where it gets interesting, and I'll either verify or discredit this for myself in the coming weeks, but the problem is that I just can't seem to make myself read it lately because of how disappointed I was with the first third of the book.
As far as the other two books go, Jesus for President is really cool but I have to read it on a schedule with the rest of CCF staff, and Good to Great is a book of Joe's that I can only read when I'm over at his house.

Maybe I should stop writing for a while and start reading.

P.S. My sincerest apologies for what I consider to be one of the most boring posts I've ever published.

Shutter-y

In the past week and a day I have been to UNCW, Topsail Island, East Carolina, back to Raleigh, and ended today in Chapel Hill. I've been on the road shooting this video for CCF for quite some time and as you might imagine, it's kept me busy enough that updating my blog has been a no-go. Thankfully, the dry spell is up and I have been nearly divinely inspired with an artistic vision to share with the world.

I just don't know what, exactly, it is yet. Rest assured that when I do, it will be well expounded upon in a post on this blog. In the mean time I'll write a little haiku about UNC Chapel Hill.

everyone walking.
the campus is somewhat nice.
Lenoir is tasty.

Other than my overall sense of arrogance increasing by 78% while I was there, I don't have much to report. The shoot went well and I can't wait to get into the editing room and see it all come together. I just wish it wasn't going to make my head hurt as much as I know it will.

Tell Tale

This past Friday Jefe came into town and we played kickball with CCF, then I played football with them for a brief while, then we went to Pullin Park. It was a lot of fun, I'd never been there before. Afterward, Jefe and I went off on our own for a little tour of the heart of Raleigh. We went to the old Capital building where Jefe, upon discovering that the governor's office is still located on the first floor, went into the echo-y stone Rotunda area and said, "O Mr. Eaaaaaasly." Fairly amusing, guess you had to be there.

I had to use the bathroom and so I used a really old one in the lobby. This set my mind in motion. I should use the bathroom in every Capital building in the country. That would be a fantastic life goal.

Saturday I watched the Wolfpack beat ECU, much to my father's dismay and my great joy.

Now I'm back in Raleigh at the ministry center gearing up for a LONG video production period for CCF.

Running Out...

I'm running out of money. I have enough to get me through the month of October, but after that, I have no clue what I'll do to support myself all the way through May. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, I'm open.

Please note: I no longer do professional panda artwork.

Golden Age

Happiness comes wrapped in a frilly white dress accessorized with a veil, a bouquet and a bow on back.
It is almond eyes, glazed with tears of love peering at you from across an antique pulpit.
Happiness is the love that has sealed the marriages of a growing number of my friends and acquaintances. It is the love the will seal many more, now engaged or soon to be. It is the happiness that, for whatever reason, I lost and some other man gained, (and who can blame him?). Happiness, it seems, is just not in the cards for me.

To avoid the obvious temptation I am having to be melancholy and depress everyone, chiefly myself, I will now change the focus. Why is marriage the way to happiness? Sure, having someone is a wonderful thing, but can our happiness not come from something altogether higher? I think that is my case. I won't ponder what, exactly, is in the cards, but I hope it's fantastic. The longer I'm in the post-graduate limbo zone, the more I see myself moving further and further from the American dream. Good thing my kingdom isn't America.

Smelly-Faced

There are some things that you only contemplate while drinking a glass of English Breakfast tea while kneeling down next to your neurotic chihuahua so that she will finally nibble her kibble and eat her supper. Our dog, Maggie, is as sweet as she can be, but she's nervous about everything, including eating by herself. I made myself a plate of steamed veggies for supper and she cowered in the corner just like she always does when anyone is in the kitchen and not paying her attention. I noticed that her food dish was still full when I finished and then I remembered that she likes company when she eats, so I squatted down next to her with my tea and waited for her to start eating. It took a few minutes, but it gave me time to stop and consider what dogs should really be eating. It can't be fun for them to have that dry, tasteless dog food every day. I reached up and grabbed a piece of broccoli. She gave it a few sniffs and, almost reluctantly, began tugging the leafy parts off of the top. Then she pretty much devoured it.

Moral of the story: give your dog some broccoli every now and then.

Before Time Runs Out

David Sherrill, my friend and coworker at Caswell, brought this list into work one day this summer and I asked him to send me a copy of it for my blog once I got back. I'll hold any commentary of my own, it speaks for itself.

List of Things To Do Before Death or Loss of Senses

1. Streak during a professional sporting event
2. Wrestle a Water Buffalo to save a small child's life
3. Survive a shark attack to obtain a really cool scar
4. Build my own plane and learn to fly it
5. Catch a world record Marlin
6. Live in Alaskan wilderness for a year living off the land as the mountain men did
7. Raise Wallabies in Montana on my Turnip Farm (Run a Turnip Farm)
8. Become a Master Hibachi Chef
9. Move to New Zealand for a length of time
10. Build a Log Cabin with hand tools
11. Fly fish in Russia for Brown Trout
12. Base Jump off the Oak Island Bridge
13. Become a Master Cobbler and Silver Smith
14. Ride a Chariot drawn by four White Italian Stallions
15. Build a Dug Out Canoe with hand tools
16. Build a Rocking Chair
17. (if rocking chair and log cabin complete) Sit in hand crafted Rocking Chair on Porch of Cabin built from the sweat of my brow and widdle wood and read books for a solid month...
18. Go through an entire coloring book without coloring outside of the lines
19. Sleep in a Hammock which is hanging from the Statue of Liberty's Torch
20. Raise a Pet Lobster (he shall be called Thaddeus)
21. Find a nice girl and get Married ??????????????? maybe
22. (If not Married) Live in Mongolia with Mongolian Tribesmen learning the ways of the Nomads for 2-3yrs and write a book on my experience...

David Alexander Sherrill

Good Effort...

I have discovered the point at which you know you are athletically inept at whatever sport activity you are attempting. It is at precisely the moment when someone says "good hustle," usually in response to your fowling up a play miserably. This occurred to me the other day when I played Ultimate Frisbee with some of my new NC State friends on the Intramural fields behind the gym. Everyone I played with had played before, and of course I hadn't. As if it weren't enough that I was audibly panting like a mad cow after just five minutes of playing, I made the embarrassing mistake of fumbling a "frisbee touchdown" pass and falling - nay, crashing across the field after tripping up on my own feet.

I appreciate the good sportsmanship of my teammates who managed to remain encouraging while at the same time avoiding passing to me whenever possible. When, finally, they were left with no options but me, (because no one would waste time guarding me), or throwing it to another guy, which would make it obvious that they were avoiding me, they would painfully weigh their options and pass to me. Their semi-good faith was rarely awarded, as I most often managed to fumble even these open, easy passes.

I need to find some frisb-losers to play with.

We Can Work it Out

John Mayer made me reevaluate my life. Ok, that's a wee bit of an overstatement, but going to see him in concert at Walnut Creek this past Wednesday did make me think about how much I've been slacking on my guitar practice, and about a time in my life when John's music was my soul's song. More on that in a minute.

I got a call from JaySun Webb about a week before the show, asking me if I wanted to go with him. His sister and her friends are the type of girls that melt over that kind of thing and they needed a fourth person to get the discounted ticket price. I was hesitant, but in the end I sucked it up and decided to go. The past 3 summers I've thought about going to see him when he comes to Walnut Creek, but every time I've been working at Caswell. I guess I felt like I owed it to the "Nathan Sloan" of years past to go see him since I never could before.

My "fanliness" toward John Mayer is a strange animal. It constantly changes, like the tides. One month, I may think he is the most amazing musician on the face of the planet - the next I brush him off as an arrogant, albeit rightfully so as far as musicianship goes, prick who could use more than a little voice training. In high school, my friend Matt introduced me to "Heavier Things" and I really liked it. Then I grew slightly ashamed of it's regular rotation in my car stereo. I finally packed it into a thick cd case, which got thrown in the back seat and mostly forgotten over the next few years.

It wasn't until Continuum that I really went crazy for his music. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I had just broken up with a girl, I was miserably lonely, and I had it stuck in my head that I should become a guitarist. Songs like "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" and "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" quickly became my songs - so easily relatable to the girl problems in my own life. "Heart of life," "In Repair," and "I'm Going to Find Another You" became my anthems. There are two things that make an album great - the fact that it is well written and produced, and the perspective of the person listening to it. A lot of it is in how your emotions vibe with the emotions of the person who wrote it. In the case of Continuum and myself, every single song was good, and most were outstanding.

The style of John Mayer's playing was also a new inspiration to me. When I finally got an electric guitar, it was a Fender Stratocaster, and I'm not ashamed to say that it wouldn't have been had I not loved that album so much. I took guitar study seriously for the first time. In six months I went from playing nothing at all to reading simple music and playing songs that I heard on the radio. It kept rolling and rolling, finally ending when I did the ultimate, (although not the ultimate, ultimate) and learned how to somewhat play his song "Neon." If it were not for John Mayer and my broken heart, I would certainly not be a guitarist today.

What hit me at this concert was how I'd forgotten this debt. In the past year my interests have strayed to other bands and other activities outside of guitar playing. I've put down my six-stringer for days at the time in the interest of goofing off with friends, playing video games, and pursuing other hobbies, (of which, there is a new one every month). Thankfully I recently sold off my xbox to get a new all-tube Fender amp so that's one distraction down, anyway. Since going to this show and being reminded of that time in my life when the blues pulled me through, I took my Strat to a guitar shop last week and it is still there, being set up so that it's ready to play.

My Wife

I'm very sorry to be that guy but today I was watching HGTV and "Get it Sold" came on. The host is Sabrina Soto and it is her job to stage the spaces in a home so that it will sell more quickly. It is my job to make her fall in love with me. I know it sounds crazy but she will absolutely be my wife no matter what.

Of course, I'm not that crazy. She does, however, make me listen a little more intently to how I should stage my home should it ever go on the market. Good job, HGTV, for picking a host that isn't a scary old woman or a man of questionable orientation.

P.S. If you start watching the show and steal her out from under me, I will kill you.

Long Way Home

I'm still uneasy with the traffic in Raleigh. It's almost been a week, but I guess it is going to be one of those things that takes a couple of months to fully adjust to. It's not so much the people, I don't believe. It's more the sheer number of people and the way everything is laid out. This place is massive, and there is no one spot on the road that makes it more apparent than the spot I'm about to drive up on in a few seconds. Western Boulevard slides across the bottom of State's campus like a fat kid at an ice rink. The walls of brick soon give way to a rare patch of trees and after you pass everything with "Pullen" in its name, you know you're almost there. It's my favorite spot so far - I'm driving by it right now. Just before the Saunder's St. exit the trees disappear and reveal the biggest little skyline in the world. What a view.

I jerk the wheel to steer myself back onto the exit ramp. Obviously, I'm still in that slightly giddy and naive state of mind. It doesn't take much distraction on unfamiliar streets to land you in a heap of trouble. I'm taking the long way home toward Garner because Mom and Dad said the cheapest gas was in this direction. This is only the second time I've really paid for my own gas. My parents have been good to me, maybe too good. In any case, I'm adjusting to life outside of the nest and so far everything has gone well. I eat subs from the sub shop next to the ministry center purchased with my own money and I burn my own fossil fuel going to and from home. This is a big step.

What the crap! That guy nearly merged into me. Stupid white van and your stupid banged up, spray-painted side panels. Ah! There is 440. The gas stations are supposed to be on the other side.

...

It does feel a little weird to be on a college campus and no longer be a college student. By weird, I mostly mean that it makes me feel old. Not a bad old, just a regular sort of old. The freshmen this year look like high school kids. One day they'll practically look like 4th graders. I'm prepared for this. What is cool is that I still get to walk among them. I exist on campus, (and across Hillsborough Street in the ministry center) for the sole purpose of making the name of Jesus better known. I eat when I need to eat and I sleep at whomever's place I can fall asleep at. Several of the perks of college life - mostly the stuff you get to do between classes - are mine for the taking, all without a GPA floating somewhere in space over my head, scowling at me with its angry old man scowl. Not half-bad.

What is half-bad are the lines at this gas station. I'm going to have to circle around several times just to find a spot. There is a guy just parking in the back and he looks like a urban cowboy. That's a little unsettling. All this over gas that's 10 cents cheaper than anywhere else? We're a funny bunch of people. Every morning, adults rolling out of their beds mumbling something about needing coffee before stumbling out the door and zipping down the interstate in an effort to earn some little keep in the world. Sure, there are the joys of family, HDTV, poker night, shopping with the girls and what-have-you, but ultimately, what are we as individuals really working for? What is the business of our existence? Is it really all in fighting the small battles - getting the cheaper gas on the other side of town and going home satisfied that we have stuck it to the man for the day? I'm just poor. Maybe thats why we do it, we all feel poor. I may not have much money but I don't have a few other things either.

...

Speaking of money, I just hit $41.99 when my car filled up and clicked the pump off. How often do you get that close to an even dollar when the pump clicks off? Oh yeah, back to the few other things that I don't have. I don't have a house payment, a wife, a long-term job or anything else that would tie me down to a particular location or a particular schedule for life. I'm an open vessel for God to use, (most of the time, I believe this), and the paths He can take me on are as varied as the roads leading out from the heart of this state. For now, I'm taking the one that leads back to Four Oaks because I have laundry to do. Who knows where I'll call home tomorrow.

Snazzy New Shoes

Tomorrow I start my job in earnest. I'm excited.

Today I went to target and I had to go to the bathroom while I was there. In the stall I couldn't help but notice what was the most poorly drawn Swastika I have ever seen. If you are going to graffiti a bathroom stall with stereotypical bathroom stall graffiti, at least do a good job of it.

Capital "R"

Today is Thursday and I'm feeling like it's the last day before the next chapter of my life. Tomorrow I will be helping Joe Blanchard, my boss at CCF and friend from college, move into his new home with his wife Lindsey. On Saturday I'm going to be on campus at State helping the freshmen move in. Starting next week I'm on whatever regular schedule my regular schedule ends up being. This is exciting.

One last note on Caswell. I left the gates for the last time on Tuesday. Strangely enough, it wasn't the saddest parting I've ever experienced at the end of a summer - I think I'm just happy to have something other than school ahead of me for once. We had a service on the pier that was almost dreamlike. I'm not sure the sun has ever played more beautifully across the inlet before. While talking to some staffers later I joked that it was God's way of saying "good job" to us for the summers work. I'm not sure if he's actually pleased, but I sure hope so.

From there I thought I was going to Wilmington to spend the night with my good friend Jacob Jackson, but upon phoning him just before the bridge I discovered he was in Tennessee on a mission trip. Luckily, I had already made arrangements with my old roommate, Jefe. We hung out, ate mexican, visited Bryan, and burned tobacco on his deck. In short: it was just like old times. I woke up yesterday morning and began the rainy voyage home.

Coming into Four Oaks and not knowing when I will leave again is a bit surreal. Obviously I'll be bouncing around in Raleigh from place to place, but Four Oaks will be my "official home" for who knows how long. I went straight to my Dad's office, because I knew he would more than likely be there. He was. I was greeted with his wonderful fatherly hug and I felt at home again instantly. My diploma had come in at some point over the summer and we set about framing it in his conference room. Now it hangs on the wall in my bedroom. I just look at it sometimes. I visited Elizabeth and my nephew Ryan yesterday afternoon, but Ryan was passed out hard the entire time I was there. I'm sure there will be other opportunities to play with him in the very near future.

Mom wants me to clean out my room, so thats what I'll be spending the rest of the day doing. I suppose I owe them at least that much for putting a roof over my head. Looking out the window at the old pecan trees that surround my house and not knowing what the next week will bring is a fantastic feeling. It's good to be home.

When I Grow Up...

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Last night I watched Cast Away and Tom Hanks says something at the beginning and the end of the film that is something to the effect of time being a precious commodity and how wasting time is a sin that we can't afford. Of course, the message of the film is something more along the lines of slowing down and appreciating what you have - but I feel a sense of urgency that, for some reason, I'm not acting on. I'm about to finish up another book by Don Miller, I mentioned it a couple of posts back, but I just got back from his website and the experience he had on which the book is based took place when he was 21. TWENTY-ONE!!! I'm already half-way through 22 and I'm still not sure what to do from here. Then I start to think even more about it and a lot of the artists and writers that I admire really got things cooking when they were younger than me. Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie was writing music in a band before he got out of college and I'm still trying to plunk out songs written by other people in a quiet room by myself. I'm not saying that I feel like I have to be a famous writer or musician to be happy or anything like that; I just mention those things to point out how I sometimes get the feeling that whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing, I'm getting behind on it. I wish there was a big neon sign somewhere with an arrow pointing the way.

You Were Always on my Mind

As I look at the coming end of the summer, I'm forced to reckon with the likely end of an era. The end of my tenure at Caswell. Though I'd love, (and do let me repeat, LOVE) to work here full-time, I really just don't think that's in the cards for me because job openings here don't just grow on trees. Well, most of the time they don't. I feel safe calling my time at Caswell an "era" because it really has been quite a long time. Over the past six summers people back home and from school have just stopped asking where I'll be from late May to early August. I'm all grown up now, supposedly, and it's time for me to pay grown-up bills and work grown-up jobs. That being said, I do find it a bit of a coincedence that my internship with CCF ends in May. Hmmm, what to do then?

I'm going to devote the lionshare of this post to a man whom I am sure to have inspired but one that has, from not-so-rare-occasion to not-so-rare-occasion, inspired me as well. Someone who is long overdue for recognition in my writings. That man is JaySun Webb. For starters, take his name. It is really spelled Jason, but he seriously insists on spelling it JaySun. Now I can't think of it any other way. That should tell you something about him. He may not come off as much when you first meet him, but he is the biggest dreamer I know, and unlike most people, he isn't easily discouraged from this habit.

When I tell people about the nature of JaySun's "big-dream" personality, I usually tell them something like this. He is a guy who has the most unrealistic aspirations for himself, more than anyone I've ever met before. In the year I've known him I've heard about his novel that he hopes to get published, his desire to start a rock band even though he did not have any idea how to play an instrument at the time, nor a real desire to sing or do anything else that would contribute to a rock band. He has wanted to be an actor and, at the same time, a filmmaker - going so far as to pitch story ideas to me. He has schemed an online store from which to sell his creative material and considered writing for semi-major magazines.

To most people, this seems like someone who has too many dreams and not enough sense to pick just one to follow. It seems downright foolish. But that's the beauty of JaySun and the beauty, I believe, of all succesful people. They are all foolish enough to believe that it's possible. When you aren't foolish enough, you'll definantly never make it. I am convinced that someday, somewhere, the name of JaySun Webb will be known for something. I'm still not sure quite what but it will because he really believes in himself. I only hope that a little of that drive has rubbed off on me.

JaySun. Don't forget me when you're big.

JaySun's Blog

My Laptop

A few weeks ago I was looking for some information online about how to fix something on my laptop when I ran across an article on how to change the color of the Apple logo on the back. I'm seriously considering it. I think green would be a good change of pace. I've had this iBook for over four years now and it's beginning to really show it's age. I can remember when I got it at orientation for UNCW - my parents brought it down to me and it felt like Christmas in July. Back then, Apple computers were even more rare and trendy than they are now. It's only been since the rising popularity of the iPod that sorority girls and the like have picked up on them. O my GOSH - they're SOOOO CUTE! It was still a time when only graphic designers and film nerds wanted Apples. I say this because I remember the looks I got at orientation staying in Graham Hall. Dell had this deal they'd struck up with the school, and all the other kids were hauling around there stone-grey slabs while my bright white Apple shone through the crowd. Strangers would actually stop and ask me about it because it was a serious novelty.

I love this horrible piece of trash. It has had it's fair share of problems, thats for sure. When I got it, the internal wireless card was shot so I had to send it in to get a new one. Thankfully I'd gotten the three year warranty, something that more than paid for itself. The little rubber feet fell out every summer at Caswell because I rest my laptop on the 2x4 shelf on my bunk and when I pick it up I always forget that they hang over and pop off. By the end of the summer I hunt around on the floor to find them. This summer I just bought new ones off of ebay. A rubber stopper on the top of the monitor ripped off one day when I was playing with it. The hard-drive started having issues after about a year, but I just kind of ignored it. Finally, last May when the warranty was almost up, I decided to make use of it one more time and they replaced the drive. The speakers are under-powered and they now sound more like metal vibrating on a dashboard than whatever I try to play though them. The internal microphone clicks in a strange pattern ever 20 seconds or so - making it impossible to record anything that doesn't annoy the heck out of you upon playback. I've replaced the power adapter twice and the battery once, (one of those cheap batteries that was made in China and is obviously violating several patents). The plastic outer casing scratches if you look at it sideways, I swear - and to top it off, I dropped the thing on its side off of my desk chair last April and the monitor doesn't line up with the base when I shut it anymore. This means that the latch doesn't catch and it the top just kind of bounces around.

In spite of all of this, it has still outlasted and will continue to outlast the hunks-o-garbage that all of my friends bought their freshmen year. I can do just about everything I need to do on a day-to-day basis with relatively little slowdown. When I think of all the good that has come of this laptop - all the writing, the research through school, the friendships that I've made or kept up with over long distances, the tickets to shows and concerts that I've bought - it really dulls the sting of all the things I just listed. When I decided to start this internship with CCF one of the things that struck me a few days later was that I was going to be stuck with this dying laptop for at least another year. I want to be able to edit movies and photography and do complex web authoring, etc. etc. That is the kind of professional work that my tired old iBook now shuffles through at best. I crunched numbers and re-crunched them only to find there was just no way out. My compensation won't be able to touch the price tag on a new one of these bad boys. I was seriously bummed about it.

I'm reading a Don Miller book called, "Through Painted Deserts." One of the central messages of that book seems to be an anti-commercialism/anti-materialism one - a message I more than need to embrace. In one section, Don recounts when he and his traveling companion, Paul, are at the bottom of the Grand Canyon preparing for the day-long hike back up. He is utterly exhausted in every sense from the hike down and through the canyon, very little food, and a near sleepless night in below-freezing conditions. After dreaming of decadent breakfasts the days prior, Don finally comes to the point where he agrees with Paul that a bowl of raisin bran would be the best thing in the world to him.

"You know," Paul begins, "it's funny. Two weeks ago when we talked about things we wanted or our aspirations, we would have talked about houses or boats or cars. Now that we've been on the road for a while, everything is reduced to a bowl of cereal." Paul develops a smile as he stands straight again. "Isn't that just beautiful? Cereal. There are people in this world who are killing themselves because they want more and more of nothing. And the only thing you and I want in this world is a bowl of cereal. That just show you how the things we think are important really aren't important."

My laptop really isn't that bad after all.
What have you blessed with?