The End

The end...of BLOGGING?

No, not quite - but today does mark the end of my official internship and thus the end of my Raleightivity. It's been a really good 9 months or so - but I have no clue what I'm going to be up to after the summer is over. Stay tuned for a new blog once I settle things out with my life. In the mean time, I suggest you grab a Twitter account and search for Nathan_Sloan. It's kind of like following my blog, only usually much less interesting. I'm sure I'll post here or there on this blog before I officially retire it but I just wanted to give you all (all 2 of you) a heads up. Thanks for reading!

Pollen - nated

There are few things as beautiful and absolutely reassuring as a day like today.

Amidst constant talk of poor economic climate, it's ironic how something related to our physical climate can make people forget their heavy woes - money, family, jobs, etc. For one beautiful sunny day, the only thing you really care about is going for a walk or taking a ride with the top down.

My friend Matt is a cool guy. I'm really thankful to have friends in my life like him - and I'm blessed with friends from every season of my life. Matt is one of my last remaining friends from the high school season and we're still just as comfortable hanging out as we were nearly 8 years ago when we first met. In a time when everything in my life seems uncertain and insecure, it's nice to go back to Benson and wander into Matt mad laboratory of a basement and talk about nerdy movies and stuff that only we think is cool.

I left Matt's house around 11 PM and started the 15 minute drive back to Four Oaks under a clear, star-studded spring sky. Music blasting and crisp air swirling past my face from an open sunroof, I replayed memories of the similar trips I've made so many times before. A younger man with no less of a plan. Sometimes life in this crazy and imperfect world is truly beautiful.

Show me the ....

Actual Picture of Death Cab playing in Davidson, NC on my birthday - 2009.

"Amazing still it seems
I'll be 23
I won't always love what I'll never have
I won't always live in my regrets"
Jimmy Eat World

I. Can't. Believe it. This just doesn't seem real that right now I'm 23 years old. I know that sounds dumb to everyone else but this is my blog and I hereby give myself permission to sound dumb on it. Truthfully, though - I'm getting older and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Funny thing is, by the time I figure it out, I'll probably be 25 and struggling to come to terms with that.

I'm not sad to be getting old. Just sad to say good by to the people and places of my late teens and early 20's. I know that in reality, they've been gone for a while now, but these anniversaries and their numbers force us to come to terms with such.

And not only the past, but the future as well. So many of the people I look up to and admire the most were already flying by the time they were my age. Here I stand with paper wings taped to my arms and a confused expression on my face. I have a long way to go before I bloom into whatever God has made me to be - or at least it feels like it.

No girl. No job. No house. No Roots. No idea.
NO IDEA.

...of where to go from hear.

But thats ok. Good, even.

Yesterday, my old roommates Jeff and Bryan and Caswell friend, JaySun, joined me for a Death Cab for Cutie show in Davidson, NC at Davidson College. The college is Beautiful - if I had been wealthy enough, smart enough, and perceptive enough, I would have gone there for the landscaping and architecture alone. We made our way to Belk Arena and then found four of the most AWESOME seats totally vacated right in the middle. We took them and the rest is history.

I usually write a lengthy review of shows that I go to, especially one's like DCfC, but this time I'm going to save it. I was able to bootleg (shhh!) the whole show, so I hope I'll always have a digital record of what it was like (complete with dumb conversation in-between songs with my friends). The last time I saw DCfC was at about the same time in 2006 - so I can say that they've come a long way and now have so much material that their full set and encore is over an hour and thirty minutes long!

What a birthday. Thanks to everyone who made it as fun as special as it was.

For now. I have some work to do on those wings of mine...

Sure-Fired

I thought it would be fun to start April off with a brilliant craigslist find that Joe ran across today. Here is the listing as it appears in full:

Iphone 3g 8gig - $200 (Durham)
I'm selling my Iphone cuz it was left in the shower didn't get wet but the steam got in the screen.
And it looks foggy only asking 200 no charger no data cable The phone is in good shape.\

I'm going to forgive a few things here right off the bat - namely the poor spelling, sentence fragment, and the fact that "I" is capitalized in iPhone. Beyond that let us consider what he is offering.
It's an iPhone with a moderately to severely water damaged screen, no charger, and no USB cable. Assuming you would like to buy one that did happen to function correctly, (for instance, a brand new one) you would pay just $199. That's right - with a service contract, AT&T will actually sell you an iPhone for less than Mr. Shady's water-damaged special. I suppose we shouldn't really worry about the damaged screen, though. After all, it's not like the screen is a part of the phone or anything, (?) and according to his listing the phone portion of the phone is in great working order (though you may have some trouble confirming this if the battery is dead because there is no way to charge it).

Ah, America!

Hardly Breathing

I'm going to start a video production company that does quality commercial work at an affordable price, but only on the weekends. I'll call it "Nearly Professional Videography."

I'm going to move to New York and break into the publishing industry from the ground up. Some day I'll work in a high-rise building and live in a townhouse overlooking some trendy urban park.

I'm going to be a missionary to New Zealand and spend a year there sharing Jesus with a country that would largely rather forget about him. When I'm done, I might decide to settle in there for a good long while.

I'm going to study law and work at a local (to my home) practice for the next 15-30 years.

I'm going to apply for Teach For America and start a long career in education by jumping into the grittiest urban education systems in the U.S.

I'm going to run for state congress while I'm still in my 20's and with my victory, seek a long career of public service.

I'm going to move to D.C. and - do whatever I can do in D.C.

I'm going back to school.

I'm going to become a college professor and wear tweed suits and bow ties.

I'm going to write the next great American novel and market it myself.

I'm going to eat more Indian food.

I'm going to become an amateur photographer.

I'm going to become a craig's list hawk.

I'm going to learn to write music that people other than myself can enjoy listening to.

I'm going to make wise investments and use my money to help people.

I'm going to find my true love.

---

I'm going to look back on this and think, "So that's what I was going to do..."

I Am Art Official

Earlier today I had the great pleasure (slight exaggeration) of eating at "I heart NY" pizza on hillsborough street. While standing in line I wondered why some businesses and rooms are welcome to be qualified as "parlors" and others arent. Your house can have a parlor, and if you serve pizza you are certainly welcome to call your establishment a pizza parlor. The same is true for ice cream, you are welcome to make it a shop or a parlor at your discretion. I've even seen smoking parlors in cigar and pipe shops where all the old men go to talk about the boat the just bought (that they actually can't afford) and laugh at silly Democrats. Troubled, I returned and quickly took to the dictionary for some answers; here is what I found:
PARLOR(n)
1.-DATED a sitting room in a private house.
-A room in a public building for receiving guests (mayor's parlor)
-A room in a monastery or convent that is set aside for conversation.
2.-A shop or business providing specified goods or services.
and lets not forget
3.-(also milking parlor) A room or building equipped for milking cows.

So under the guidelines set out by definition 2, any shop or business that provides a specified good or service may then call that shop a parlor so long as it is accompanied, first, by an adjective describing said goods or services.

Thats right America, the floodgates are open for this great nation to be covered in hamburger parlors, Lamaze parlors, and the ever-exciting insurance parlor. As for me, I plan to opening a didjereedoo parlor next week. Stop on by and kick it Aborijinal style with me.

I always think of bread when someone wears loafers.

Scotch Tape and Cigar Butts

New York City is - in a word - amazing. I spent the past week there for CCF NC State spring break as we went out each day serving the people of the city in a variety of different ways. I couldn't possibly cover everything that I've thought about and experienced in the past week - but I can talk about one of them that is pretty simple.

Freedom from the internet. I went almost a week with no email, facebook, nothing. Funny thing is, I kind of liked it. I would encourage anyone who reads this to take a few days off and see what I'm talking about because it's pretty refreshing.

Also refreshing - Malta. A Latin-American soft drink that I discovered thanks to Jon when we ate at "Munch Time USA" in The Bronx. Tastes like liquid horehound candy.

Do Solmnly Care

Ok - I'm really creeped out by facebook ads. If you'll remember a couple of posts back I talked about needing to upgrade my wardrobe to be more adult and professional. Today I got on facebook and in the sidebar is one of their targeted ads which reads: "Bored of Trendy Jeans? Maybe it's time to upgrade to better fitting men's trousers."

AHHHHH!
They are watching us. Sound the alarms! The British are coming!

Blind-sided by a Yeti

So I've recently become mildly obsessed with becoming a proficient songwriter. This is especially unnerving if you've ever heard me play a guitar. I started almost exactly two years ago and, though I've come a long way, it is painfully obvious that I have a long way still to go. In spite of this, I grow weary of rehashing tired, old exercises and playing my own versions of songs that Death Cab wrote nearly 10 years ago. It is time to take my first steps into a larger, and slightly more intoxicating world. To help me on this journey I have been reading interviews, listening to songwriters, and buying up literature on the song writing method as if it would go out of style in the absence of my patronage. One such volume is "The Frustrated Songwriters Handbook" by Karl Coryat and Nicholas Dobson. It's an interesting read and I consider several of their "radical" methods to be incredibly useful in digging raw material out of the darkest, most misunderstood depths of your soul. Of course, there is a ton of polish that must be added to make that material into listen-able media, but it looks like Dobson stumbled into a cool way of overcoming creative block.

In one section of the book he offers up a mini-exercise to get in the proper mindset for holding a composition session. It is called "The 3-minute Burn," and, as the name implies, you do something for three minutes and burn it afterwards. In this case, you set a timer and give yourself three minutes to fill as much of a page as possible with stream-of-consciousness writing. After the three minutes, you glance over the page, copy any tidbits you like to a new page, and burn the original. No one will ever know that you wrote it. This is incredibly therapeutic and has helped me overcome my perfectionist nature. Wanting everything I write to be brilliant has meant that I haven't done much writing lately.

I encourage anyone (even those of you that don't think you're creative) to try the 3-minute burn - partly because you'll discover that anyone can accidentally strike gold and partly because it's fun to watch paper burn. To close out this post I've published a few of the "tidbits" that I took from my first three 3-minute burns below.

One that got away wasn't worth it anyway
Sunny sides and almond eyes aren't anything until they die
Solemn or not, here you come
Harmony hates to tell its own story and who am I to say it should?

There were a few others. Given, nothing here is brilliant, but considering they came without concious thought behind them and in about nine minutes - it excites me.

Goody's Powder is just plain fast.

The Collegiate

There was a time when looking like a college kid was the most admirable thing in the world. I think it was around 10th grade. I'm finally realizing that such a time has passed for me. As my friend JaySun recently pointed out on his blog, we hung out a week or so ago and had a discussion on the pressures to "dress your age" and to "look your age" in general. It wasn't until this year that I finally felt the adult world begin to scratch its nasty claws against my skin in a beckoning motion.
"Come on Nathan," it says with raspy voice, "It's time to grow up - you know all the cool kid...err...adults are doing it!"
I am succumbing, mentally, to the need for an updated wardrobe and a more authentic, clean-cut look. Soon it will be time to say goodbye to my beloved band t-shirts. The graphic T's that I proudly purchased as a college sophomore no longer have a place upon my marginally harrier chest. Wearing trendy Converses and jeans with ragged cuffs is endearing to 17 year-olds, but there is a better way to go now.

The problem is that I can't afford that way yet. I want a new suit - that's WAY out of my price range. When I walk into stores like Banana Republic my head nearly explodes - but alas, the sale items are never in my size. To be able to flip the pages of J. Crew and deck myself out in 3 or 4 new outfits that say, "Hey, I'm a 20-something casual," would make me gleefully happy - but it's just not in the cards right now. So what's a boy-err, man-err, man-thing-ish, to do?

I suppose I could take care of the hair issue. Longer hair does have a tendency to make you look like a high school senior - principally one who is far too into Magic:The Gathering and will endlessly assert the immortality of certain moments in Led Zepplin's 1977 tour. The simple step of lowering the old ears and adopting a 1960s fatherly 'do will make me look a lot more mature. I can also endeavor to shave more often than once a week. Maybe even every day! All of this adds up to a guy who looks more like a real-world professional than a class-skipping buffoon. Of course, with all of this said, I'm wouldn't be ready to toss out the hoodies and T's even if I did have the cash. There will always be a dark spot in my closet, (and my heart) where the awkward college boy will be given his time.

Gingerbread houses are a rip-off in real estate investment.

Nothing to Say for Myself

These days are spent in rigid adherence to my calendar and daily planners. The new semester has begun and thus the last 5 months before I am, once again, jobless. 2009 has a nice ring to it already. Sure, it stinks in a lot of ways to not know where I'll be or what I'll be doing by the time the clock strikes midnight for the first time in 2010, but in a lot of other ways it's liberating. I'm not pinned down. I'm still in that in-between phase. A floater. A literal world of choices in front of me. I hope I don't read this in 20 years with remorse for having chosen the wrong path but, then again, if God stays a firm fixture in my life I can't imagine Him not making the most of whatever situation I find myself in.

It would seem that 2009 could be the "big" year.

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.