To those people who know me: No, that title is not just a ploy to get you to read this and boost my blog's stats. (Though, I s'pose it worked). To those of you who don't get it: I'm "never" wrong. Thus, the title of this post would seem very ironic.
But I'd like to be practical and honest right now. I'm only human, and I do make mistakes. Lots of them. My hope is not to remove all trace of mistakes in my life, but to have a collection of experiences from which I can grow and learn. And with each misstep I take, I want to be able to say "I learned from that, and this is how I've changed to make myself better". Here's to hoping.
Just this evening, I had a lengthy conversation w/ V about life, work, and wedding-related things. There came a point where she asked me for input on something she's dealing w/. This happens all the time, and I appreciate the fact that V shares these parts of her life with me. I s'pose she'll "have" to do that when we're married, but I like that we're practicing for that now. It's good that she feels safe enough to ask for my opinion or input when she's confused or just wants a sounding board for her ideas. However, I'm prone to serious fits of chauvinistic stubborness; I can't help but sometimes think "That's really dumb. If I'd had a say, it'd've turned out way better." Overall, I'm pretty good at silencing that arrogant voice in my head, but not always.
Suffice to say, that little voice said a few choice words which really hurt V. She responded in kind w/ some hurtful and frustrating things of her own - our words are powerful. We were quiet for a long time after that, but I wasn't worried. This time, I knew I was right. A lot of the time, my conversations w/ V end in some kind of [deserved] apology on my part. I'm a dude, and an insensitive one at that. I'm just thankful that I've the wherewithal to see my mistakes for what they are. But not this time. Oh no. I even thought to myself:
"Aw yeah. Not this time, bro. No. This time, you got it. Hold your ground. You are not apologizing."
Seriously, I had this one. There was no way V had the philosophical high ground. She'd crossed a line, and I let her know it. She didn't even argue the point. What more of a flawless victory could I have?
The catch: My qualm w/ V and her spiteful backlash at me weren't on the same page. V lashed out at me in frustration. Me? I'd acted out b/c I felt that her situation was her problem and "dumb"; she'd gotten herself into this mess; she could get herself out. The situation worsened when we both got mad at each other, at which point I's just content to let her stew. But as I lay on my bed - stubborn silence stretching tenuously betwixt our phones - I remembered something I'd once said to V (and have since continued to tell her).
In comforting V, I've always told her that I'd support her. But everybody says that, right? I meant those words as a life-partner would mean them: I'd always have her back. No matter what happened, no matter what problem she was dealing with - no matter how dumb I thought it was - I would be there to help her through it. It didn't mean I'd say she was always right; that's not helpful. But I would be there to talk w/ her, comfort her, and let her feel safe when she felt that nothing or no one else could. That was my promise to her.
There's a saying I heard a while ago. It goes "Be careful what words you say. If you forget them they may return to you in different clothes and you will have to buy them." While it made sense to me when I'd first heard it, this was the first time I'd really experienced it firsthand.
This was exactly the situation I'd vowed to guard her against. Instead of coming alongside her, I was standing on "the other side" criticizing her situation and washing my hands of it. Why? B/c I thought it was dumb and thus I didn't have to involve myself. After all, I didn't do this. If only she were more like me, she wouldn't be in this mess. Why was she so worked up, anyhow? It's not like these people were so important that they warranted such attention. She hardly sees them; why can't she just let them go? I wouldn't be so bent out of shape over this.
I wasn't prepared for these pitfalls. Never before had my desire to be right, combined w/ frustration and arrogance, built so solid a wall of hostility as a wedge between us. Criticizing her put distance between me and what I felt was a bad situation. It felt like helping her would be endorsing bad behavior. Really, I just wasn't looking at things the right way.
As it turns out, I was Johnny-On-The-Spot: V hadn't figured out what bothered her so much about this situation. I had to apologize to her and explain the mistake I'd made. I confessed that I'd done exactly what I'd promised I wouldn't, and we both realized that's what upset her so much.
I'm not sure what the take-away is for this. Obviously, I'm fallible. But more than that, I've come to a better understanding of what loving Veronica really means. There's a level of self-sacrifice to giving up my own opinions for her sake; putting her needs - to feel safe from personal attack - above my desire to highlight her mistake. That's what a relationship w/ someone means. (I speak here of a romantic relationship, but I believe close, platonic ones could stand to try this too).
That's what I want for me and V.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
In A Pensive Mood
Honestly, I really don't know where I want this post to go. But as I drove home this evening on the 680, I just felt...pent up. As if I had a lot of thoughts going through my head that needed to come out. I toyed w/ posting my tribute to homestarrunner.com, but decided against it: I'm not quite ready to share my thoughts on that one. But I've just gotta' say stuff about...something.
So I sit typin' on my lappy w/ anxious thoughts. But I don't really know why.
I had an awesome day today. Started w/ a lazy wake-up at around 11a this morning, followed by a quick pop-tart breakfast. Sat around my empty house and coded some stuff I couldn't get done at work this week. (It's alright, really. As weird as it sounds, this was actually stuff I'd been looking forward to but couldn't get to). It felt good to be a rest for a bit, even though I was still coding for work. It was on my time - my terms.
I guess the big highlight in the day was gettin' to hang out w/ an old friend of mine - Bobby - and his lovely girlfriend, Christy. It was really nice to see them and hang. There was beer, wine, and, you read right, tri tip. Do you know how long it's been since I had a good - let alone any - steak? Months! Man it was good. Paired w/ the unusual hot weather we're having up here in the bay and my good taste in beer, there was really nothing bad about this afternoon/evening.
As me and Bobby talked, I thought more seriously about my place here in the bay. Bobby graduated from Poly, lived w/ his parents for ~3-6 months, and then bought a house. Yes. A house. (The actual timing is probably subject to exaggeration on my part. But I think my point holds). Bobby was set on settlin' down in the Bay. Goodness knows, there're plenty of jobs for people like us around here. (We're both CSC majors).
But am I?
It's been 4.5 months since post-college life started for me: I've set down some roots in my local church; work's gotten better and I'm starting to integrate better w/ my colleagues to implement and help implement features; me and V are puttin' more of our plans and budgets together for the wedding (exciting!); I've started looking more seriously into apartments. All these things seem to be guiding me towards a more permanent situation, but it feels weird looking that far into the future. I've never had plans that far reaching. College was really the longest "permanent" thing I'd done on my own, on my terms and by my rules.
I mean, how often do you ask yourself, "Self, do you think you're ready to [relatively] stay put? Y'know, not move around too much for say, oh, 10 years"? Feels weird, doesn't it? It's just so...risky. Like taking yourself as example and assuming that, b/c you don't put 'the' in front of freeway numbers, everyone else must be the same: that's a preposterous conclusion for lots of reasons. If anything, your sample size (1) is way too small. You need more time, data, and analysis before you can draw any conclusions. (I'd totally skew your results).
Really deciding to stay here is like that for me. After not even half a year, I'm facing that kind of decision. Am I ready to stay put? Sure, I want stability and a good life w/ a steady job so that I can focus on what's important to me - building a life w/ V. It seems like a logical next-step. I just...I just need more time. A better feel for the life I have here.
Guess I gotta' let the thought mull a little while longer. I got a few more months before the wedding. But like lots of things these days, I've gotta' think on my feet while my life's happenin' around me. No time to sit still anymore.
So I sit typin' on my lappy w/ anxious thoughts. But I don't really know why.
I had an awesome day today. Started w/ a lazy wake-up at around 11a this morning, followed by a quick pop-tart breakfast. Sat around my empty house and coded some stuff I couldn't get done at work this week. (It's alright, really. As weird as it sounds, this was actually stuff I'd been looking forward to but couldn't get to). It felt good to be a rest for a bit, even though I was still coding for work. It was on my time - my terms.
I guess the big highlight in the day was gettin' to hang out w/ an old friend of mine - Bobby - and his lovely girlfriend, Christy. It was really nice to see them and hang. There was beer, wine, and, you read right, tri tip. Do you know how long it's been since I had a good - let alone any - steak? Months! Man it was good. Paired w/ the unusual hot weather we're having up here in the bay and my good taste in beer, there was really nothing bad about this afternoon/evening.
As me and Bobby talked, I thought more seriously about my place here in the bay. Bobby graduated from Poly, lived w/ his parents for ~3-6 months, and then bought a house. Yes. A house. (The actual timing is probably subject to exaggeration on my part. But I think my point holds). Bobby was set on settlin' down in the Bay. Goodness knows, there're plenty of jobs for people like us around here. (We're both CSC majors).
But am I?
It's been 4.5 months since post-college life started for me: I've set down some roots in my local church; work's gotten better and I'm starting to integrate better w/ my colleagues to implement and help implement features; me and V are puttin' more of our plans and budgets together for the wedding (exciting!); I've started looking more seriously into apartments. All these things seem to be guiding me towards a more permanent situation, but it feels weird looking that far into the future. I've never had plans that far reaching. College was really the longest "permanent" thing I'd done on my own, on my terms and by my rules.
I mean, how often do you ask yourself, "Self, do you think you're ready to [relatively] stay put? Y'know, not move around too much for say, oh, 10 years"? Feels weird, doesn't it? It's just so...risky. Like taking yourself as example and assuming that, b/c you don't put 'the' in front of freeway numbers, everyone else must be the same: that's a preposterous conclusion for lots of reasons. If anything, your sample size (1) is way too small. You need more time, data, and analysis before you can draw any conclusions. (I'd totally skew your results).
Really deciding to stay here is like that for me. After not even half a year, I'm facing that kind of decision. Am I ready to stay put? Sure, I want stability and a good life w/ a steady job so that I can focus on what's important to me - building a life w/ V. It seems like a logical next-step. I just...I just need more time. A better feel for the life I have here.
Guess I gotta' let the thought mull a little while longer. I got a few more months before the wedding. But like lots of things these days, I've gotta' think on my feet while my life's happenin' around me. No time to sit still anymore.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A Group Round of TGGEP!
Below are the results of a online, group session of TGGEP that I and a few friends played. There were a whole lot, and it was kind'f confusing getting all the ones we came up with to cooperate w/ the blog (there were some underlying HTML problems I had fun mucking around with).
Me
Me
NOM
Me
- Never Open Margarine
- No Other Man
- Not Our Mother
- New On Market
- Nefarious Orwellian Marxist
- Nothing's Obvious, Mister
- Nancy's Orange Marmalade
- Nasty Old Man
- Nom On Munchies
- Naked Oriental Manatees
- News, Olds, and Magazines
- Noodles, Often MSG'd
- Nerdy Olfactory Membranes
- Never Open Mouth
- Neurotic Ophan Music
- Nobody Organizes Mustard
- Now! Onward Mittens
- Nutella Over Muffins
- Nicaraguan Overlord Masters
- Non operational machine
- Non official magazine
- National office of Monkeys
- >Nutritional Offices of Manchester
- Natural Organization of Martians
- Sadly, V decided not to save these ones b/c I "didn't tell her to save them". So, you don't get to hear her thoughts on what NOM means.
ACTGM
Yes, that's right: There're 5 letters here. Josh chimed in and asked for a more challenging acronym. I have to say: more letters made for much more interesting acronyms. Gave you a lot more to work with. Furthermore, this one was randomly generated by my TGGEP program: I was quite impressed we got so much out of it.Me
- A Clever Trick, Game Master
- Another Cat Took Grandma's Mice
- Apples Can't Truly Grant Magic
- Anchor Caught? Try Grunting More
- A Crowd That Gives Money
- A Commercial's Theme: Got Milk
- Attorney Cried Through Gastrointestinal Maneuver
- A Cougar Trampled Grandpa Monte
- A Coagulated, Terrible, Gory Mess
- After Church, Tim Gets Malicious
- Always Check The Gorilla-Mouse
- Australian Comrades Totally Get Me
- Always Consider The GREP'd Movie
- Applications Can Trick Graduated Men
- Acting Casual Times Great Moments
- Assessing Commands Takes Giant Minions
- Applied Calculations Tempt Greed Money
- Assessing Crowns Tap General Magnitude
- Act Confused Takes General Mills
- Associating Coffee Taints General Monies
- Affirmed, Communist Telecommunications Got Marked
- Ask Connie To Get Marijuana
- Acting Coy Teaches Ghastly Manners
- Ahoy, Captain Teague. Got Milk?
- Aformentioned Cat Tried Gummy Mints
- Apple Chai Tea Guarana Mocha
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
My Bible Box
I got my current Bible back in 2009 when my Bible study co-leader, Melissa Montecuello, got sick of the fact that I didn't own one. (I'd lost my most favoritest Bible the year before, which had been a terrible blow. Buying a new Bible was like I'd finally given up on my old one). This one's a much nicer one than my old, paper-back and flimsy one. Y'know - nice, leathery cover; that satiny bookmark that's part of the binding; pages smell nice; the perfect size. To keep it looking nice, I decided to do what I'd seen others do with their's: I store and carry my Bible in the box it originally came it. It's a durable box that's nearly the same size as The Book itself, and its rigid feel actually makes it easier to carry and toss around. The front's even got this plastic window-like thing (I guess so you can be sure there's really a Bible in there); I put a slip of paper with a drawing of mine in it, which I get all sorts of comments about.
Overall, I'm pleased w/ my decision. The box's corners are starting to show signs of wear, but it's been 3 years; my Bible looks and smells like new!
Anyhow. That's not the point.
Last night, I went out to retrieve my Bible from my car. I'd left it there after Church this Sunday. I'd been too lazy/tired to retrieve it that night and felt that, if I had the energy to play GoW 3, I could muster the strength to get my Bible out of my car.
So I made the venture out. But b/c it was late, I's only dressed in my sleeping clothes: old athletic shorts and a tank. Not even socks. But again, it's late: who's gonna' care, let alone see me in the dark.
Y'know how your mind can play tricks on you when it's late or dark? Well, as I'm walking to my car, I could swear I heard rustling in the bushes in the front yard or in my neighbors yard. But it was also lightly breezy last night, so I didn't pay it much mind. After all, I'm in Livermore: what's gonna' happen.
Now, you've gotta' understand: here in Livermore, there are wild turkeys about. Yes: wild turkeys. They're dumb and get in the way of my car while I'm driving to work. And when you gobble at them, they'll actually gobble back. I've never actually seen a turkey fly up, but they must be capable of it: while I'm outside, I can distinctly here turkey-gobbles emanating from the taller, more expansive trees in the neighborhood; it's totally the turkeys. Seems odd for a turkey to gobble at night (they go to sleep like most other Thanksgiving birds, right?), but whatever. Even so, the gobbling seems a little...raspy. Maybe garbled's a better description. But to be honest, I'm not paying a lot of attention to the rustling bushes or the wheezy birds. I just want my Bible.
The Good Book was on the passenger side of my car, but I'd entered through the driver side. So, I climb on in and reach across the center divider to snatch it. As I'm in there, the motion-activated light for the porch flicks on, which was nice but a bit late: I'd already fiddled around in the dark w/ my keys. But as I'm gettin' out of my car, that rustling noise has now become more definitive than just bushes in the breeze: more like scraping against concrete. And that sickly turkey's still gobbling away, but I can hear it a lot better now. So, Bible-in-Bible-box in hand, I close my car door and make to go back to the house.
Bam.
Zombie.
Those of you who haven't talked w/ me at length about this must know: I'm a definitive expert on zombies. I've even read the book on zombie-apocalypse survival. After watching a particularly horrifying zombie-related TV show or movie, I may even humor myself w/ a pre-bedtime zombie-sweep of my dwelling. Just to be on the safe side.
To be sure: I've never actually believed I'd find a zombie. Even after assuring myself that all windows were closed, all doors locked, and all roommates not yet converted to the undead horde, the thought that lets me sleep well at night is this: there is no such thing as a "zombie". At least, not in the conventional, The Walking Dead sense. (There are, apparently, zombie-like states people can be put in). It's kind'f like someone afraid of ghosts: you get yourself to sleep by telling yourself that ghosts aren't real. But inside, there's that small spark of fear whispering "They're not...right?"
But now I've got proof ("living" proof, if you'll call it) staring right at me, and its turkey-rasping has gone through the roof now that it's spotted me. Dressed as I am, I don't have my trusty knife with which I could stab this zombie in the eye for a quick end to this undead threat. The door to the house is locked, and I don't have the time to fumble about to get the key ready. (That's how you get nom'd). Besides, I couldn't in good conscience leave this thing wandering around in the neighborhood. I had to think about the children: what would they do when they saw this zombie chow down on Suzanne or Frankie? No. I had to be a responsible citizen: To be a man.
It was time to nut up.
The horde may be an imposing force but, one-on-one, no zombie stands a chance against me. Armed w/ the intellect and knowledge I've gleaned from years of analysis and study, my choice of weapon and method of attack were clear. Short of a sharp weapon or firearm, a bludgeoning weapon is the next best thing with which to remove zombie threats. A few swift blows to the head w/ a hammer or other blunt object will do in a zombie. Their rotting corpse will not be as durable as a living human, so the force and weight of the impact need not be as great as if I were killing a real person. There was only one weapon I had at hand which could quickly dispense w/ the zombie.
My Bible box.
Solid and w/ edges sharp enough for the task at hand, the box was up to the challenge. I didn't even hesitate. I backhanded that walking corpse w/ The Living Word and gave it a swift kick, knocking it to the ground. But it takes more than that to do in a zombie. A person might be stunned or left unconscious by such an attack, but zombies know no pain or fear: I had to press my attack.
I quickly straddled the zombie's writhing form and let forth the full fury of Biblical judgement on my foe. Never before had so clear an illustration of righteousness been made. Truly, this was a holy moment. And just as quickly as it had begun, this battle for survival was over. I - alone and armed only w/ God's Word - had triumphed.
And this whole time, I knew my Bible was safe. Housed inside it's sturdy box, none of the undead's uncleanliness would mar it's surface. Sure, the box was quite the worse for wear and covered in all sorts of zombie bits. But that's alright: I can replace the box. That box served its purpose admirably and delivered judgement from within to the evils without.
I still haven't reported this incident to the authorities. I mean, who's really going to believe me? Chances are I'd face chargers for murder. More than likely, some activist group would rise up claiming I'd committed genocide against the only confirmed zombie to walk the earth. Disposing of the body and cleaning up the aftermath was work enough. (Suffice to say, I'm very thankful for my host family's compost pile).
It's all thanks in large part to my Bible box. My Bible is as good as ever. Even now as I read it in bed tonight, its pages are crisp, its edges unbent, its surface unsoiled. The thing that puts down the undead is also the core to my faith. Sounds like a good combination, wouldn't you say?
Overall, I'm pleased w/ my decision. The box's corners are starting to show signs of wear, but it's been 3 years; my Bible looks and smells like new!
Anyhow. That's not the point.
Last night, I went out to retrieve my Bible from my car. I'd left it there after Church this Sunday. I'd been too lazy/tired to retrieve it that night and felt that, if I had the energy to play GoW 3, I could muster the strength to get my Bible out of my car.
So I made the venture out. But b/c it was late, I's only dressed in my sleeping clothes: old athletic shorts and a tank. Not even socks. But again, it's late: who's gonna' care, let alone see me in the dark.
Y'know how your mind can play tricks on you when it's late or dark? Well, as I'm walking to my car, I could swear I heard rustling in the bushes in the front yard or in my neighbors yard. But it was also lightly breezy last night, so I didn't pay it much mind. After all, I'm in Livermore: what's gonna' happen.
Now, you've gotta' understand: here in Livermore, there are wild turkeys about. Yes: wild turkeys. They're dumb and get in the way of my car while I'm driving to work. And when you gobble at them, they'll actually gobble back. I've never actually seen a turkey fly up, but they must be capable of it: while I'm outside, I can distinctly here turkey-gobbles emanating from the taller, more expansive trees in the neighborhood; it's totally the turkeys. Seems odd for a turkey to gobble at night (they go to sleep like most other Thanksgiving birds, right?), but whatever. Even so, the gobbling seems a little...raspy. Maybe garbled's a better description. But to be honest, I'm not paying a lot of attention to the rustling bushes or the wheezy birds. I just want my Bible.
The Good Book was on the passenger side of my car, but I'd entered through the driver side. So, I climb on in and reach across the center divider to snatch it. As I'm in there, the motion-activated light for the porch flicks on, which was nice but a bit late: I'd already fiddled around in the dark w/ my keys. But as I'm gettin' out of my car, that rustling noise has now become more definitive than just bushes in the breeze: more like scraping against concrete. And that sickly turkey's still gobbling away, but I can hear it a lot better now. So, Bible-in-Bible-box in hand, I close my car door and make to go back to the house.
Bam.
Zombie.
Those of you who haven't talked w/ me at length about this must know: I'm a definitive expert on zombies. I've even read the book on zombie-apocalypse survival. After watching a particularly horrifying zombie-related TV show or movie, I may even humor myself w/ a pre-bedtime zombie-sweep of my dwelling. Just to be on the safe side.
To be sure: I've never actually believed I'd find a zombie. Even after assuring myself that all windows were closed, all doors locked, and all roommates not yet converted to the undead horde, the thought that lets me sleep well at night is this: there is no such thing as a "zombie". At least, not in the conventional, The Walking Dead sense. (There are, apparently, zombie-like states people can be put in). It's kind'f like someone afraid of ghosts: you get yourself to sleep by telling yourself that ghosts aren't real. But inside, there's that small spark of fear whispering "They're not...right?"
But now I've got proof ("living" proof, if you'll call it) staring right at me, and its turkey-rasping has gone through the roof now that it's spotted me. Dressed as I am, I don't have my trusty knife with which I could stab this zombie in the eye for a quick end to this undead threat. The door to the house is locked, and I don't have the time to fumble about to get the key ready. (That's how you get nom'd). Besides, I couldn't in good conscience leave this thing wandering around in the neighborhood. I had to think about the children: what would they do when they saw this zombie chow down on Suzanne or Frankie? No. I had to be a responsible citizen: To be a man.
It was time to nut up.
The horde may be an imposing force but, one-on-one, no zombie stands a chance against me. Armed w/ the intellect and knowledge I've gleaned from years of analysis and study, my choice of weapon and method of attack were clear. Short of a sharp weapon or firearm, a bludgeoning weapon is the next best thing with which to remove zombie threats. A few swift blows to the head w/ a hammer or other blunt object will do in a zombie. Their rotting corpse will not be as durable as a living human, so the force and weight of the impact need not be as great as if I were killing a real person. There was only one weapon I had at hand which could quickly dispense w/ the zombie.
My Bible box.
Solid and w/ edges sharp enough for the task at hand, the box was up to the challenge. I didn't even hesitate. I backhanded that walking corpse w/ The Living Word and gave it a swift kick, knocking it to the ground. But it takes more than that to do in a zombie. A person might be stunned or left unconscious by such an attack, but zombies know no pain or fear: I had to press my attack.
I quickly straddled the zombie's writhing form and let forth the full fury of Biblical judgement on my foe. Never before had so clear an illustration of righteousness been made. Truly, this was a holy moment. And just as quickly as it had begun, this battle for survival was over. I - alone and armed only w/ God's Word - had triumphed.
And this whole time, I knew my Bible was safe. Housed inside it's sturdy box, none of the undead's uncleanliness would mar it's surface. Sure, the box was quite the worse for wear and covered in all sorts of zombie bits. But that's alright: I can replace the box. That box served its purpose admirably and delivered judgement from within to the evils without.
I still haven't reported this incident to the authorities. I mean, who's really going to believe me? Chances are I'd face chargers for murder. More than likely, some activist group would rise up claiming I'd committed genocide against the only confirmed zombie to walk the earth. Disposing of the body and cleaning up the aftermath was work enough. (Suffice to say, I'm very thankful for my host family's compost pile).
It's all thanks in large part to my Bible box. My Bible is as good as ever. Even now as I read it in bed tonight, its pages are crisp, its edges unbent, its surface unsoiled. The thing that puts down the undead is also the core to my faith. Sounds like a good combination, wouldn't you say?
Sunday, April 15, 2012
DBL
Results
- Date [of] Birth, Literally
- Do Beagles Laugh?
- Dry Bagel Litigation
- Deposit Berries Liberally
- Dangerous Baby Luge
- Drinking Beer Licentiously
- Drown Boys' Luggage
- Destroy Boisterous Lady
- Darn Back-Lice!
- Doubtful, Beastly Lion
Examples
"The bakery's endured some pretty serious DBL lately.""Please deposit unwieldy children in DBL."
"Look at Scott DBL; so hot."
Friday, April 13, 2012
Big Blue Christianity
It's the deep end. You know: either end of the Christian sect who say that sex is evil or that you can heal fresh bullet wounds. As a white, male, twenty-something Christian who grew up in a white suburb in sunny SoCal, I've had the unique perspective of seeing both sides of the this spectrum. I've family who believes that alcohol corrupts absolutely, which makes it hard for me to sit down to a beer if I'm w/ them. My time with InterVarsity exposed me to a lot of people who based a lot of their testimony or life decisions on the experiences they had w/ God. With my position, I get to say "You're both crazy!".
My Christian walk has steered me more towards the more "right" (right = position, not "correct answer"). While this means a lot of things to a lot of people, the big sticking point for me is emotions: I don't put a lot of sentimental thought into my spiritual walk. This harks back to an extended conversation I had w/ a girl I knew (Melissa; I liked her very much) back in high school. She came from a Four Square denomination of Christianity. I'll spare you the details of what that means. But back when we spoke of the legitimacy of spiritual gifts, healing, speaking in [a] tongue[s], prophecy, etc., I had to take the time to develop an informed an opinion. Aside from my infatuation which drove me to talk more w/ Melissa, something she said at one point just seemed "wrong" and spurred me to study further:
"I don't know if I'm ready to ask the Holy Spirit for the gift of speaking in tongues."
No matter how hard I studied the Bible and tried to reconcile what she said, I couldn't find a theological basis for it. Afraid to ask God for something like that?! You could just ask Him for those kinds of things? She spoke of gifts present today that were prevalent around Pentecost and in the years following Christ's ascension. The further I and Melissa discussed this and other Four Square-centric topics, the more adverse I became to relying on feelings, emotions, or - more to the point - experiences to guide my Christian life.
(For those of you who know me up til now, you'll realize that things didn't work for me and Melissa. Despite the fact that we both were/are strong Christians, we were, ironically, spiritually incompatible).
This led to what many would see as a dry or passionless faith. I can't say that's an incorrect description. I guess I've erred on the side of caution, where caution is an inability to tie experience-based faith w/ what I've understood from the Bible. But even so, I see the things that "the other side" gets right. Much better than I do. It's what makes each denomination still Christianity; that's the important part I think people need to focus more on: we all have things we bring to the table that others could stand to learn.
For me, the thing to learn is a willingness to be open w/ others and w/ God. To actually embrace prayer and Christianity as an ongoing, involved relationship w/ God.
I live w/ an elderly, Christian couple in Livermore. Every morning, w/o fail, my host Grandmother (for she is) will ask "Ready to pray?" when she sees I'm nearly done w/ breakfast. This woman hardly knows me. She doesn't know my background; how much I dislike going deep w/ people I haven't developed trust for. She doesn't mind/care. Her goal is to maintain our relationship w/ God b/c her experience w/ it has taught her that God's desire for us to pray had reason to it. It's important. Many times, she'll say "They just need Jesus", or "Give it up to God", or "Just pray". Cynical comments aside, there's something in that I just can't grasp. I'm a pragmatist - A James-chapter-2 kind'f guy. Things suck? Buck up, kick down some doors, and make 'em right. Combined w/ only-child-syndrom (OCS), I've developed the sad tendency to exclude God from my problems. I get so caught up in fixing my life that I forget that God's all "I can help with that. Sure, you can be the one to do it all. But would you let me in on it so I can support you?".
For all my talk of being right, I'm not. (You know I'm right). I may have some things down, but that passion to have God constantly in my life is just...not there. I've set myself up to fight an uphill battle to strengthen my faith. I s'pose that helps me in the long run: nothing pushes you to be better than to know you've gotten something really wrong.
I'm not sad b/c of this. I'm glad that I take my faith so seriously and intently. If I can be a little too-passionless at times, that's ok w/ me. I pray my friends can see past that know I mean well; to interpret the Bible in the right way, regardless of what people may have experienced or felt one way or the other.
My Christian walk has steered me more towards the more "right" (right = position, not "correct answer"). While this means a lot of things to a lot of people, the big sticking point for me is emotions: I don't put a lot of sentimental thought into my spiritual walk. This harks back to an extended conversation I had w/ a girl I knew (Melissa; I liked her very much) back in high school. She came from a Four Square denomination of Christianity. I'll spare you the details of what that means. But back when we spoke of the legitimacy of spiritual gifts, healing, speaking in [a] tongue[s], prophecy, etc., I had to take the time to develop an informed an opinion. Aside from my infatuation which drove me to talk more w/ Melissa, something she said at one point just seemed "wrong" and spurred me to study further:
"I don't know if I'm ready to ask the Holy Spirit for the gift of speaking in tongues."
No matter how hard I studied the Bible and tried to reconcile what she said, I couldn't find a theological basis for it. Afraid to ask God for something like that?! You could just ask Him for those kinds of things? She spoke of gifts present today that were prevalent around Pentecost and in the years following Christ's ascension. The further I and Melissa discussed this and other Four Square-centric topics, the more adverse I became to relying on feelings, emotions, or - more to the point - experiences to guide my Christian life.
(For those of you who know me up til now, you'll realize that things didn't work for me and Melissa. Despite the fact that we both were/are strong Christians, we were, ironically, spiritually incompatible).
This led to what many would see as a dry or passionless faith. I can't say that's an incorrect description. I guess I've erred on the side of caution, where caution is an inability to tie experience-based faith w/ what I've understood from the Bible. But even so, I see the things that "the other side" gets right. Much better than I do. It's what makes each denomination still Christianity; that's the important part I think people need to focus more on: we all have things we bring to the table that others could stand to learn.
For me, the thing to learn is a willingness to be open w/ others and w/ God. To actually embrace prayer and Christianity as an ongoing, involved relationship w/ God.
I live w/ an elderly, Christian couple in Livermore. Every morning, w/o fail, my host Grandmother (for she is) will ask "Ready to pray?" when she sees I'm nearly done w/ breakfast. This woman hardly knows me. She doesn't know my background; how much I dislike going deep w/ people I haven't developed trust for. She doesn't mind/care. Her goal is to maintain our relationship w/ God b/c her experience w/ it has taught her that God's desire for us to pray had reason to it. It's important. Many times, she'll say "They just need Jesus", or "Give it up to God", or "Just pray". Cynical comments aside, there's something in that I just can't grasp. I'm a pragmatist - A James-chapter-2 kind'f guy. Things suck? Buck up, kick down some doors, and make 'em right. Combined w/ only-child-syndrom (OCS), I've developed the sad tendency to exclude God from my problems. I get so caught up in fixing my life that I forget that God's all "I can help with that. Sure, you can be the one to do it all. But would you let me in on it so I can support you?".
For all my talk of being right, I'm not. (You know I'm right). I may have some things down, but that passion to have God constantly in my life is just...not there. I've set myself up to fight an uphill battle to strengthen my faith. I s'pose that helps me in the long run: nothing pushes you to be better than to know you've gotten something really wrong.
I'm not sad b/c of this. I'm glad that I take my faith so seriously and intently. If I can be a little too-passionless at times, that's ok w/ me. I pray my friends can see past that know I mean well; to interpret the Bible in the right way, regardless of what people may have experienced or felt one way or the other.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
AFS
Results
- Aaron's Favorite Sock
- Alphabetical Fly Shocker
- Apples Feed Snakes
- Attack Ferry Ships
- Adaptive Furry Shorts
- A Fast Stop
- Already Forgot Something
- Attending Frank's Symphony?
- Ankle Feels Sore
Examples
"He's barely out the door and he's AFS."
"Fine. We'll make AFS at the next gas station."
[Via Text Message]
"Ran yesterday. AFS."
"Fine. We'll make AFS at the next gas station."
[Via Text Message]
"Ran yesterday. AFS."
Friday, April 6, 2012
Metalife
I was on campus again today. Even had my laptop-filled backpack and the same clothes I wore nearly every day for class (jeans + green t-shirt). But the feeling was...different. I didn't feel the drive of going class-to-class that I normally felt. Since this is an extended weekend for me, I just felt like I was on vacation. There was an atmosphere on campus back when I went to Cal Poly; my time was more precious. Intentional, maybe. I mean, there's the fact that I've gotta' go back on Sunday. But that's different.
I got to thinking: there's definitely something missing. That's a part of life I'm not going to get back. That feeling will never be w/ me again. Akin to that feeling of elation you get when you first realize "that girl" likes you back (romantically); how you feel when you first move into an apartment w/ your friends; your first day at work at an important job. It was very nostalgic, thinking about things that I've lost.
It got me to reflecting about other things that've come and gone - all in their own time, so I'm not bitter. With all this thinking, I dwelt a bit on - y'know, life 'n stuff.
As a basic rule, meta-X means "information/data about X". So, metadata is data about...data. For programmers out there, it's like a pointer to a pointer. For you Inception fans out there, it's like having a dream about having a dream (metadreaming, if you will). A more concrete example would be publication/summary/author information for a book. That info isn't part of the book itself, but is data which describes what's inside the book.
If this feels like a boring, philosophical lecture, I'm sorry. To help out, I include the following, entertaining anecdote.
Back in the summer of 2011, I and my friends took to playing DnD (that's Dungeons And Dragons for you more socially-adept people out there). We enjoyed imagining the dungeons and forests we explored; pretending to act like our character would act proved difficult and extremely humorous (esp. when our friend Orlando decided he didn't mind running over dozens of halflings as his very-large minotaur self). One of the great challenges we faced when playing was "metagaming", which translated to humanspeak means "playing the game as if it's a game". Since the point of DnD is to pretend you're in a real scenario surrounded by hordes of the undead (or other appropriate baddies), remembering that it's all not real can tarnish the fun of it.
For instance: the DM (Dungeon Master or narrator) spends 3 minutes describing your surroundings and 80% of that time is spent detailing the "lichen-covered wall to the south". As a player, you might say to yourself "Self, he sure did spend a lot of time talking about that wall. We should probably look there, as that's probably where the important thing is". As a strategy, that's probably a good one (similar to the SAT guessing strategy of always choosing the longest answer, as the longest one typically encompasses all that needed to be explained). But for DnD, it ruins the fun of figuring things out. Your character wouldn't think to himself "I spent 80% of the last 3 minutes thinking about that wall". That doesn't make sense. So you don't do it. But it's very hard to do as someone playing the game. It's a game. It's what you're supposed to do.
Of course, you've got to have some of it. My party once "metagamed" for a good 10 minutes about how to defeat this Lamia named Elsedri. (Our previous meeting w/ her had my minotaur lying on the ground bleeding to death for the better part of a 2-hour encounter). How many "squares" could we push her? What initiative did I need to beat hers? What if we all just roll dice at the problem and hope somebody gets a good one? As a real person in a dungeon, you wouldn't think in those terms. But b/c of the limitations (or blessings) of DnD, you've gotta' allow for it sometimes. (Those of you who wish to see this event unfold, check out this comic our DM drew. I'm the minotaur, ftr).
There. Now it was worth it to read this post. B/c ^^that part^^ was entertaining, right? At least, I hope it was.
Now, I can get into "metalife". By metalife (ML), I mean reflecting on life and choices I make as they affect some life strategy I have for myself; approaching life as life, rather than the concerns of the immediate present. I look at an event and step back and ask "Will this be a good thing for me, as a person? Will I be better off having experienced this?". I answer myself with things like "This seems like a worthwhile investment in my life. I'm sure it'll turn out well. This will be good for me." If it's not apparent, this amount to a bit of a dry life. There's a lot less spontaneity in it b/c I'm always thinking about how things effect me. I'm not saying planning's bad. I'm just robbing myself of the some of the fun of living.
I don't feel bad or downtrodden b/c of this. It just feels...weird. Who thinks about their daily life that way? It's like utilitarianism applied. (No, I'm not a utilitarian : P). This has become more apparent since I and Veronica realized that I don't have much of a social circle up here. At least, not one that's at-or-near my age. Last weekend, I had the choice of going paintballing w/ co-workers and their friends. When it came down to it, we had the conversation of "This would be a good way for you to develop your social connections w/ people your age". I mean, that's a very removed way of approaching life. It felt like I was maintaining some kind of project. Now, I had a great time at paintball (though my feet were ready to explode by the end of the day); I sincerely enjoyed hanging out w/ those people; the pain of getting shot was definitely worth it for all the fun we had. But some of that felt...tainted by the fact that I hadn't just chosen to go b/c it would be fun. Part of my decision was "I need to get out more. This is getting out more."
Maybe it's just the curse of being in an engineering-related field of expertise. I have to analyze everything to evaluate its worth as a design decision. But I don't have the perspective of non-engineers to query: I'm surrounded by like-minded people v.v.
Like DnD, some of this is inevitable and good. Putting babies and spikes is a great example: that's not a good thing to do in your life, so going down the baby-spike road wouldn't be a good decision. The inner conversation "Self, should we put babies on spikes?" would be a good one; after reflecting on that conversation, you'd get a "No!". Applying ML in this situation is great, b/c it'll save you all sorts of litigation fees when the families of post-spiked babies come after you w/ fancy lawyers and the law on their side. It's also a responsible thing to do.
I guess I just feel like I'm further past the line of "it's ok to abstractly think about this part of your life".
I got to thinking: there's definitely something missing. That's a part of life I'm not going to get back. That feeling will never be w/ me again. Akin to that feeling of elation you get when you first realize "that girl" likes you back (romantically); how you feel when you first move into an apartment w/ your friends; your first day at work at an important job. It was very nostalgic, thinking about things that I've lost.
It got me to reflecting about other things that've come and gone - all in their own time, so I'm not bitter. With all this thinking, I dwelt a bit on - y'know, life 'n stuff.
As a basic rule, meta-X means "information/data about X". So, metadata is data about...data. For programmers out there, it's like a pointer to a pointer. For you Inception fans out there, it's like having a dream about having a dream (metadreaming, if you will). A more concrete example would be publication/summary/author information for a book. That info isn't part of the book itself, but is data which describes what's inside the book.
If this feels like a boring, philosophical lecture, I'm sorry. To help out, I include the following, entertaining anecdote.
Back in the summer of 2011, I and my friends took to playing DnD (that's Dungeons And Dragons for you more socially-adept people out there). We enjoyed imagining the dungeons and forests we explored; pretending to act like our character would act proved difficult and extremely humorous (esp. when our friend Orlando decided he didn't mind running over dozens of halflings as his very-large minotaur self). One of the great challenges we faced when playing was "metagaming", which translated to humanspeak means "playing the game as if it's a game". Since the point of DnD is to pretend you're in a real scenario surrounded by hordes of the undead (or other appropriate baddies), remembering that it's all not real can tarnish the fun of it.
For instance: the DM (Dungeon Master or narrator) spends 3 minutes describing your surroundings and 80% of that time is spent detailing the "lichen-covered wall to the south". As a player, you might say to yourself "Self, he sure did spend a lot of time talking about that wall. We should probably look there, as that's probably where the important thing is". As a strategy, that's probably a good one (similar to the SAT guessing strategy of always choosing the longest answer, as the longest one typically encompasses all that needed to be explained). But for DnD, it ruins the fun of figuring things out. Your character wouldn't think to himself "I spent 80% of the last 3 minutes thinking about that wall". That doesn't make sense. So you don't do it. But it's very hard to do as someone playing the game. It's a game. It's what you're supposed to do.
Of course, you've got to have some of it. My party once "metagamed" for a good 10 minutes about how to defeat this Lamia named Elsedri. (Our previous meeting w/ her had my minotaur lying on the ground bleeding to death for the better part of a 2-hour encounter). How many "squares" could we push her? What initiative did I need to beat hers? What if we all just roll dice at the problem and hope somebody gets a good one? As a real person in a dungeon, you wouldn't think in those terms. But b/c of the limitations (or blessings) of DnD, you've gotta' allow for it sometimes. (Those of you who wish to see this event unfold, check out this comic our DM drew. I'm the minotaur, ftr).
There. Now it was worth it to read this post. B/c ^^that part^^ was entertaining, right? At least, I hope it was.
Now, I can get into "metalife". By metalife (ML), I mean reflecting on life and choices I make as they affect some life strategy I have for myself; approaching life as life, rather than the concerns of the immediate present. I look at an event and step back and ask "Will this be a good thing for me, as a person? Will I be better off having experienced this?". I answer myself with things like "This seems like a worthwhile investment in my life. I'm sure it'll turn out well. This will be good for me." If it's not apparent, this amount to a bit of a dry life. There's a lot less spontaneity in it b/c I'm always thinking about how things effect me. I'm not saying planning's bad. I'm just robbing myself of the some of the fun of living.
I don't feel bad or downtrodden b/c of this. It just feels...weird. Who thinks about their daily life that way? It's like utilitarianism applied. (No, I'm not a utilitarian : P). This has become more apparent since I and Veronica realized that I don't have much of a social circle up here. At least, not one that's at-or-near my age. Last weekend, I had the choice of going paintballing w/ co-workers and their friends. When it came down to it, we had the conversation of "This would be a good way for you to develop your social connections w/ people your age". I mean, that's a very removed way of approaching life. It felt like I was maintaining some kind of project. Now, I had a great time at paintball (though my feet were ready to explode by the end of the day); I sincerely enjoyed hanging out w/ those people; the pain of getting shot was definitely worth it for all the fun we had. But some of that felt...tainted by the fact that I hadn't just chosen to go b/c it would be fun. Part of my decision was "I need to get out more. This is getting out more."
Maybe it's just the curse of being in an engineering-related field of expertise. I have to analyze everything to evaluate its worth as a design decision. But I don't have the perspective of non-engineers to query: I'm surrounded by like-minded people v.v.
Like DnD, some of this is inevitable and good. Putting babies and spikes is a great example: that's not a good thing to do in your life, so going down the baby-spike road wouldn't be a good decision. The inner conversation "Self, should we put babies on spikes?" would be a good one; after reflecting on that conversation, you'd get a "No!". Applying ML in this situation is great, b/c it'll save you all sorts of litigation fees when the families of post-spiked babies come after you w/ fancy lawyers and the law on their side. It's also a responsible thing to do.
I guess I just feel like I'm further past the line of "it's ok to abstractly think about this part of your life".
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