Fractured Fractals

After being forced to constantly turn my friend Corey down, I finally made it out to a park in Chino Hills where he and some friends play inline hockey.  While it’s about a 30 minute drive, it was well worth the trip.  Of course, it was hot and muggy, we only had one goalie, and I got sniped on a breakaway, but it was really fun to get back out there.   However, the one thing that kept frustrating me was my inability to finish.  I would execute a nice little toe drag (of sorts) approaching the goal, but I couldn’t elevate the puck to save my life.   I’m still a decent skater, and I can defend and pass as well as anyone else we played with, but I never have been all that great of a shooter.  I am great, however, at falling on my butt.  Only did it once, but it was absolutely unassisted, and my elbow still hurts a little.  Thankfully I was wearing gear, so no chance of my killing myself or anything.  We weren’t exactly playing to kill, either.  (as long as you don’t count my wrist shot that tagged the goalie in the face.  Masks are our friends.)

Now I get to start another week.  Last week was one of my harder weeks to get through in a long time, and I hope this one is better.  Attitude adjustment, right?

Also finished reading The Shack this week.  I’m still formulating my opinion of the whole thing, but I have lots of little reactions to some of the prose.  The phrase “Thomas Kinkade of Literature” came to mind more than once.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Thomas Kinkade.

Go team.

Raising the Bar for Anti-Corporate Protest Songs by People Who Have Suffered Losses at Their Hands

According to this, United has, after seeing the video, decided to remunerate the dude for his loss.

Coming soon — obligatory man-bashing!

Because really, the material is not only closer to me, but much more plentiful.

Fire works

The following is two things:  A backlash from reading too much Sayers, and an incredibly delightful bit of verbally misogynist hopscotch.

Peruse.

- – - – -

If equanimity be king and commonality supreme,

Then earth itself leaves me disgusted; the existential sheen has rusted.

For if the chauvinist cannot demand a meal piping hot

Of the hands of his fair lass, marriage time has surely passed.

I dreamed a dream of days gone by and seasons past in which the I

Trumped the We most every time and silenced dear Evangeline.

For if the pig-head man can see a lure within matrimony

Suffragettes must yet be suffered to keep filling man’s bare cupboard

With sundries, meats and fatty foods to better alter dour moods.

If man hath no baseless dominion o’er the fairer sex of women

Then few and far between shall be men possessed of wives-to-be.

(How often must this concept vex she who seeks to marry Rex!)

And down must go her expectations of the status of her station,

For though man certainly knows not of how to serve or prepare aught

Yet there remain these obligations for she who will pour libations

Of her dignity and grace on altars of white wedding lace.

We do not say it’s fair to her or that these duties are deserved

But we admittedly say little with our mouths stuffed so with Skittles.

Dating Myself

And now, as promised:

Amy and I carpooled up to the Bay Area a couple of weeks to go; each of us had a wedding to attend, and that allowed me to meet up with John in Fresno (which was actually a good thing, despite the abundance of evidence to the contrary) after the weekend.  Eric and Julia’s wedding (which, with apologies to Julia, I still think of as “Eric’s wedding” so as to continue lamenting his exodus from bachelorhood) was nice, although the wedding party didn’t get to eat first at the reception, which took away about 3/4’s of my motivation for being in the wedding party at all.  Of course, it was special being involved and it meant a lot and BLAH FREAKIN’ BLAH.  Eric, if you’re reading this, you owe me food.  Or the feeling of being first in line to get food.  I don’t care if we have to run down to Hometown Buffet so you can push some people out of the way — I didn’t get all gussied up and shove a flower in my lapel just to sit around while all of your old, stinky relatives scarfed all the good food.  Besides, how am I supposed to set fire to the dance floor on an empty stomach?  By the time I was considering a third slice of cake, most of the songs were already over.

You did right with the recessional music (YOUR OWN ECONOMY JOKE HERE FOR $49.99) though.  I felt like a decorated wookiee walking back down the aisle for only the second time in my life, and I have you alone to thank for that.  Growlf!  (Growlf! is Wookiee for Bark!)

Highlights of the weekend:

-My suggesting that all the guys be careful using the low-flow toilet in Chateau le Hippie on Friday night, and Jeff promptly unloading a barrage of Drano-proof goodness upon it the following morning.  At least he bought them new towels.

-Cameron’s and my receiving a standing ovation for I Dreamed a Dream at some random Karaoke place in Napa.  There was some oddly stiff competition/really disturbing people.

-The hike through the forest of Endor.  Personally, I wouldn’t have minded some speeder-riding stormtroopers, especially when we got to the poison oak.  At least Alex survived to leave his shoes with me.

-Eric’s tasty presents that he made himself.  It was extra cool people Luke and Cameron’s got broken in transition.  Schadenfreude, or something like that.

-Cleansing my body with Alex outside the Spears’ living room window.  It’s less creepy than it sounds, but probably a little creepier than you might hope.

Summarily, it was a fantastic weekend.  Good people, good reasons to celebrate, and fond memories.  Eric, if I could ever choose a friend to get married twice, it would be you.  To Julia both times, but I do want another weekend like that.

* * * * *

Camp was wonderful.  My cabin was filled with largely docile 7th grade boys, although they were very “squirrelly’ (as Mrs. Hill put it) the instant I left.  Put that many jr. high boys in a room, I guess one shouldn’t be surprised.  Seeing Don, Susie, Tom, Marti, Craig, Ruth and everyone was exhilarating, and Renae and Marlyse helped make green time a rather emblematic color for the other, lesser teams.  Night games were all right, though the band and Daniel did their best to siphon off all the fun/fodder for their own amusement.  That’s probably been a dominant element for the past decade, though, so I supposed my complaints are largely groundless.

I’m never sure how to treat the emotions of kids that age, though.  I realize that encouraging a solely emotive attitude towards their lives will do the kids little to no good (at best) in the long run; however, I also have a lot of trouble figuring out what is sincere and what is, knowingly or not, affected sentiment after chapels and such.  I tended to look at the times I had to lay into the kids for fighting or breaking the rules as the more prominent instances of solid direction, but perhaps I’m completely overestimating the effect of situational discipline on kids.

It was very surreal to see the same dynamics among the campers  six years after I was last there.  Watching the awkward conversations with girls and the midweek apathy come like clockwork, I was relieved to see that my experience was much closer to the norm that I had thought at the time.  In fact, I had a pretty darn good one, all told.  The Friendship House is still a bastion of card games, but now it’s infested with hipster children playing Relient K sing-along.  Are you kidding me?

Pastor John was very effective, I think, at driving his points home.  I also discovered that Pastor Stuart was not the person I remembered, which is, I think, a good thing.  The after-hours conversations with the big people were really special, and I fully expect to return next year.  I also expect next year to be harder, as everyone seemed pleasantly surprised at how “great” this week went.   The first one’s always free…

* * * * *

If freedom isn’t free, why are we giving ours away so liberally today?

Love this song

In continuance of my anecdotal prodigality (I should be struck for that sentence) I choose to post the lyrics to one of my favorite songs.

This World, by Caedmon’s Call
There’s tarnish on the golden rule
And I wanna jump from this ship of fools
Show me a place where hope is young
And a people who aren’t afraid to love

This world has nothing for me and this world has everything
All that I could want and nothing that I need

This world is making me drunk on the spirits of fear.
So when he says who will go, I am nowhere near.

And the least of these look like criminals to me
So I leave Christ on the street

This world has held my hand and has led me into intolerance
But now I’m waking up, but now I’m breaking up
But now I’m making up for lost time

Photo Opt-outing

One of the funnier things about social networking sites (you know who you are, Mark) is peoples’ proclivity to remove pictures of themselves that they think look unseemly.  In general, I have seen girls do this much more than men, but I’m ok blaming societal expectations for that tendency, but the phenomenon itself is kind of weird to me.  I mean, aren’t all pictures part of who you are?  I guess I can understand not wanting to post pictures that portray your engaging in illicit activities or something like that, but I don’t see how someone can justify untagging a picture just because it doesn’t make them look attractive.  Unless you see Facebook as a dating site, in which case you have more problems than I care to address here.

No, really, I’ll post interesting stuff about my summer soon.

I’m coming, I’m coming

This would’ve been a great time to give a whole “past 10 days” summary, but instead I got shoved outta the nest and into the workforce again.  I’ll give y’all some vittles before long, chilluns.  (is that offensive?)

See you laters

Impromptu Dodger game tonight, and we saw Kemp win it with a single in the bottom of the 10th, after a weird sequence that ended up being a Loney GIDP.

I will now depart for 12 days.  I am going to be a burden on some people, and an answer to prayer for others.  Look out world, here comes my vacation?

Oh, and happy birthday Juel.

Verte

I wanted to see her on Friday

To take a trip to Because

To eat crunchy food in the crunchy sunlight

While enjoying the savory breeze,

And we did.

Fridays are best served crunchy

Though butter makes them more acute

But they are still great

And the waitress may have outdone the sunshine today.

Talking to her means severance

But not from anything static and motionless

Because motion, whether centrifugal or reactionary,

Is the only way bodies gravitate.

I came back the next morning

But the waitress was gone,

So she did not serve me tea.

Although I have discovered

That waitresses make great mothers

But terrible wives

Contrary to

My prejudices.