we are ticking, truth and beauty bombs.

I am overqualified

2008-02-06T17:07:00.001-08:00

To: East Hills Animal Clinic
RE: Veterinarian position

I am writing to apply for the position of Veterinarian at your clinic, and I decided to forgo attaching my resume because we all know that education and job experience are certainly not everything. Animal care is about much more than that.

When I was a kid I had a cat; His name was Alawishus. Alawishus got sick when I was about 5 and the vets said they were going to have to put him down. Said he had the cancer. But even at the tender age of five years old, I knew that they were wrong. I knew they were all liars. They just wanted Alawishus to themselves, to hold him and cuddle him and keep him away from me. Because I was five years old and the only purpose, the only solace for men in white coats like the dentist and the doctor and now the veterinarian was to make me unhappy. They made my teeth hurt and put shots in my arms and now they wanted to take my cat.

I thwarted their evil plan. I may have been five but I was smart – brilliant even – and I came up with an equally smart and brilliant plan. I hid Alawishus. I hid him under my bed beneath my laundry basket because I knew that on television sometimes they put people in hospitals with bars on the windows for their own good, to save them, and Alawishus desperately needed to be saved. I kept him there for week as my parents searched and searched for him. I fed him Corn Flakes and gave him a toy truck to play with.

After my parents and the men with white coats stopped looking for Alawishus, I brought him out of protective custody. He was a free man now, my job was done. And Alawishus thanked me by dying. He went cold and limp and died, right there in front me. That son of a bitch. He thanked me, his healer and savior, by dying. It’s as if he simply wanted to spite me.

I was only doing it for his own good.

In any case, I am very good with animals. I have an innate sense of what is going on inside their bodies and souls and my judgment is unclouded by fancy medical degrees. I have healing hands. I can offer your patients solace and health.

Yours,
Josh Farwell

*yes, this was sent in to them. I have yet to hear a reply.

Still Fighting It

2007-12-20T00:22:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in the basement of my parent's house. My stuff is in boxes, and it surprises me how little of it there is. I move out in two and a half weeks, and I've never been more relieved in my life. I'm not really horribly excited or happy; I'm simply relieved to grow up.

I am facing the realization that, if I want, I never have to come back to this place. I can live where I want, with who I want. And in that, I feel that I can be whoever I want, too.

When I think about what I want my life to look like, I think about playing paintball through high school. I remember what it feels like to crash at 3 AM to wake up at 6, drive for a couple hours in my pajamas and a hoodie, and show up to some backwater field and play my heart out. Its the same feeling I get when I wake up at 4 AM to catch a ride to the airport, going to some place in the middle of nowhere. Its a feeling in my chest and my head. It's a mix of exhaustion and excitement and realization of unpredictability. I want my life to be full of these moments, moments in which I don't know where I'm going to sleep that night, or what I'm going to have to do tomorrow.

I have a craving for the new, the unexpected. Leaving my parents basement is my first step toward the life I want to live. It's been 18 long years, and I feel prepared. I know what I want.

Goodbye, bedroom. Goodbye, Mom and Dad. I don't know where I am going, but I know that I want my life to be full of those moments of exhaustion, excitement and and realization of unpredictability. Sometimes, it sucks to grow up.

But today, it doesn't.

--Josh

An Open Letter to Pastor Guy

2007-12-15T01:44:00.001-08:00

Hey Pastor Guy.

I stopped going to The Big Church around 4 months ago or something. You know this.

I don't call myself a Christian anymore. I hate hypocrisy more than anything, and I refuse to call myself something that I am not. The fact of the matter is, I tried for my entire life to be the person the bible and The Big Church said I needed to be. I wanted to be pure; I wanted to be a servant. I wanted to be righteous. But I wasn't good at it. For as long as I can remember, I have never felt like I was doing a good enough job. I struggled with pornography and self-image and grades for all of middle school and high school. I wanted to try drugs; I wanted to drink; I wanted to have sex. And I knew that was wrong. But I was never able to push those things out of my head. And thus, I was not a God-Honoring person.

And more than anything, I never felt comfortable in my own skin. I knew that the church said I was part of their family, and my friends at The Big Church and I always called ourselves "brothers". But I always felt like I was just being tolerated by everybody. That it was all some sort of facade. And since I didn't know how to define myself in Christ or in who I wanted to be, I barely tolerated myself as well. I always thought that was my fault.

The I left. I left church, I left Jesus, and I waited to see what my "family" would say. You know what they've said?

Nothing. I haven't heard a word from anyone but a few of my very close friends. Pastor Intern guy talks to me, and I think Worship Leader Guy sent an email. But no one else from my dearly beloved "family" has really spoken to me.

I know that some of you have something to say. Pastor Guy, I know that you have something to say.

Why on earth haven't you said it? Why haven't any of you said anything? Part of the reason I left was because I wanted to know if anyone in my "family" actually cared about me as a person. And no one has said a word.

I suppose that I, what with my pot-smoking sex-having pinko-commie-intellectual ways have no moral ground on which to judge anyone. And I never really had that moral ground, anyway. But isn't that silence against what you believe? It seems that I was taught to chase after people exactly like me. I was taught to be a light to people who needed Jesus and that God put in me in their lives so that he could use me to get to them.

But no one's come after me, Pastor Guy. Because I left The Big Church, does this pursuit exclude me?

I guess I just wanted to hear something. I want to hear that you're angry or disappointed or sad or something. The Big Chuch must have an opinion.

Why doesn't anyone care? Why are you silent?

--Josh

Death Trap: Part 2

2007-12-13T16:58:00.000-08:00

Chem 221: C-
FRiNQ: B-
Writing 121: A-

didn't fail everything after all.

Death Trap

2007-12-05T11:41:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm done. No more school till January. And not a moment too soon, mind you.

I just took my last final. I expect a D, because I didn't know my stuff. Hopefully, my midterm grades will balance out my grade in the class.

Throughout the term I have constantly asked myself why in the world I'm going to college in the first place. I really wanted to come here; this is the culmination of every hope and dream I've had for the last 4 to 5 years. I was waiting to get out of high school get on to "real education", where I imagined that everything I didn't like about school would somehow magically change.

It turned out to be a sham. The only difference is that I paid out my life savings for this. Now I'm broke, jobless, and frustrated. It's lucky for me I'm not a homeless dropout too; my dad is graciously paying my rent for a term down here in the dorms come January, and he's getting my tuition too. Good thing, seeing as I have about $350 to my name and no source of income.

It hasn't been all bad, I guess. My writing class was cool. Right now, I'm trying to get into a hard writing class for next term, and I really hope I do. It seems to be the shining light at the end of the dark, dank academic tunnel of doom that I registered for. I'm taking class I know I'm not going to like. I know they're gonna bore the crud out of me. Why am I taking them again?

I don't know. I really don't know. Have no clue. I'm taking 18 credits, and out of those 18, only 4 are ones I actually want to take. What is wrong with me?

I know I'm kinda being a whiner right now, but the rest of my life is kinda shitty too! What the hell? The friends I had in high school are now miles away, and many of them have all but forgotten me at this point. A few still call, and I'm thankful for that. But it's kind of disheartening to think that they all forgot me that quickly.

And meeting people here has been hard. Not living here means that whenever I am here, I hang out with my girlfriend. I simply don't have much else of a place to go. And dating has been just a mess for me. I'm so inwardly conflicted, that I can't enjoy it. I want to be single, but I want to be with someone. I feel like I need to have someone in my life, but at the same time I know I don't. What the hell? Why is this so complicated?

The sad thing is, I know that many, many people I know are going through this exact same thing. Everybody is fucked up at the moment. And that doesn't make sense to me. Why would we volunteer for this?

*sigh*

what happens when you've let go of the rope?

2007-11-15T17:26:00.000-08:00

I am so tired.

I honestly can say I have never been this tired in my entire life. I'm tired of everything.

I'm tired learning things.
I'm tired of writing.
I'm tired of paying for classes I don't want to take.
I'm tired of commuting on a bus for 2 hours every day.
I'm tired of asking myself what I'm doing here.
I'm tired of imagining a future.
I've run out of ideas.
I've run out of dreams.
I'm running out of time.
I'm running from myself.
I'm so tired of people.
I'm tired of girls.
I'm tired of being a feeling being that has to work through emotions. I want to be a robot.
I'm tired of not wanting to wake up in the morning.
I'm tired of smoking.
I'm tired of having a constant headache.
I'm tired of late labs.
I'm tired of my girlfriend's sister.
I'm tired of people being petty and stupid. I hate stupid people.
I'm tired of being disconnected from my college.
I'm tired of being alone, and having so many acquaintances and not many friends.
I'm tired of feeling dumb.
I'm tired of classes that make me feel like I'm in high school again.

I almost want to give up. I know I won't, and I know that moving here to campus will make a difference. I know that I can pick better classes. I know I can get more sleep. I know that I can make more friends. I know it's only two more weeks.

But I still feel so very, very tired. I can't cry, I can't collapse, I can't anything. I'm not sad or mad or even frustrated. I'm just exhausted.

Someone, please tell me that there's a purpose to this. I need someone to tell me again that I'm smart and funny and that I'm going to suceed. That my dreams can come true.

Someone, please tell me.

room 418

2007-09-27T14:33:00.001-07:00

“Fuck, dude. We are royally fucked.”

“Stop saying that. If you say that, it’ll be true. And we don’t want it to be true.”

“I’m just saying. We’re fucked.” I jiggled the pick in the lock a little bit. The third pin snapped back down again. Damn.

The trick to picking locks is to not think about it very much. All the books say you need to visualize the lock, to picture the pins in order from front to back as if the doorknob was made of glass. Then you’re supposed to solve it from front to back, starting with the first pin and moving along in order to the back pin. When I was learning to pick locks I used to do it this way; I spent hours painstakingly attempting to solve the lock the correct way. These endeavors never fared well for the locks, because eventually I would just grab a hammer and smash the damn thing until it opened. I’ve never been a very patient person.

“God, would you hurry up and open the fucking door already, man?”

“It would help if you’d shut the fuck up.” I felt two clicks, and at once the torsion wrench gave way. I let Smith through the door first.

“Ok. Good. Let’s hurry up,” he said.

We made our way down the corridor quietly, to room 418. We picked room 418 after observing this corridor for the past 3 days. This particular corridor was the boy’s wing on the fourth floor of this particular dormitory hall. Smith had hidden a small camera in the ceiling vent, and we watched for 3 days. We watched the residents arrive, and we watched them leave. We listened to their passing words. The guy in 418 was large, and he seemed to be a violent sort of person, the kind who likes to talk fondly about various firearms, and what he would do to “those damn Mexicans” if said firearms were in his possession. But, in truth, any of those dorm rooms would have been an adequate target; guilt becomes irrelevant when everyone is guilty. I really picked that room because I like the number eighteen.

I handed Smith the black bag that I had over my shoulder, and he hurriedly began to empty its contents onto the floor. I thoroughly enjoy watching Smith work with electrical things. His hands operate with a certain swiftness and assuredness; he seems to know exactly what he is doing, even if he does not. Before long, Smith’s device was assembled. I went to work on the door to room 418.

“Are you sure about this, man? I mean, we could get into deep shit for this.”

“It’s too late to be unsure now. Is it ready to go?”

“Of course it’s fucking ready. Just open the door.” I felt the last click, and the torsion wrench again turned. I removed my tools from the lock, and with my eyes asked Smith if he was ready. He nodded.

In one movement, Smith and I together pushed the door into room 418. Smith hit the switch on his device, and threw it into the room with unnecessary force. We then ran the fuck away.

I later heard that it was 3 weeks before room 418 was inhabitable again, and the inhabitant of this room was seeking psychiatric therapy. When this news was delivered to me, I felt like I should smirk, but I didn’t. Instead of satisfaction, I felt nothing, if for just a small twinge of grief, like a father who has to punish his child. I then told myself that I had no choice but to play my role.

And it seems that everywhere I go, there’s another fucking lock to pick.

the end of the beginning.

2007-09-04T11:30:00.000-07:00

18 years.

I was a baby once. I crawled and drooled and pooped and made funny noises and chewed on things. That was the beginning of things.

And time went by and before anyone knew it, I was a kid. We all were kids, all of a sudden. I was very concerned with things like recess and playstation and cookies and grandma's house. I waited all year for summer and day camp, and knew that my mom would always be at home with peanut butter and jelly waiting for me after school.

And more time went by, and I was a "young man". I never really understood what it meant to be a young man. I took it to mean that everyone expects you to grow up but they know you're not going to. It's like they set themselves up to be disappointed. All of a sudden there was long division and algebra and book reports and essays and lots and lots of homework. Who you sat with at lunch was a big deal. There was lots of sports and brand name t-shirts, a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends. And no one really cared about each other anymore.

The "young man" stage quickly turned into "ok, time to grow up now". Nothing was ever really different from being a young man, except there was more of everything. There was more homework, more papers, more books to read and presentations to give. There was more sports and cliques and boyfriends and girlfriends, all of them more places I didn't fit.

"time to grow up" turned into "grow the fuck up already." I ditched a lot of school to go play hackey sack with all the kids who are going to change the world someday, but at the time they smoked a lot of weed instead.

And now I've grown up, I guess. Somehow, I got to college. I work all day and save my money. I have a "plan for my life," whatever that means. My parents say they're proud of me. They say I'm going to do great at school, and that I'll do great at my job. I don't know if that matters to me. I do what I do because I want to. Somehow that makes it more rebellious, I suppose.

I want my transition into "grown up" to be abrupt. I know many people I've grown up with who are lingering around their pasts. They're going to college in packs, or staying at home. I cannot understand them. We grew the fuck up already, right? Just as we had to leave the ground and learn to walk, or leave the playground to learn long division, we have to ditch our pasts now. Right?

We grew the fuck up already. Just like our parents and teachers and culture told us we had to. It's time for us to leave them in the dust. I know I am.

Ice.

2007-07-29T23:24:00.001-07:00

I once met a man who changed my life forever, and I never asked his name.

I was sitting in a small, ramshackle room on the second floor of a rented building. Old wobbly school chairs lined the four plaster walls, and the floor creaked. Around me were 17 or 18 Albanian villagers and one pasty white engineer from San Diego; this was the Albanians' church, and the pasty engineer was Eric, my less-than-fluent translator.

Church service had started, and we had sung a few praise songs to an old, out-of-tune guitar and 17 or 18 pairs of off-beat clapping hands. We were sitting down listening to the pastor - a 30-something man with a weary but passionate look about him - speak from 1st Peter, when a man came in to the service late. He walked with this apologetic stoop; he seemed as if he wasn't sure if he had walked into the right place. The only open chair was beside me, and he sat down. Eric had pulled a stack of Albanian New Testaments out of his bag, and had began passing them around. I handed one to the man.

He took the bible, which I had handed to him upside-down, and opened it. He looked at it for a moment, closed it slowly, and handed it back to me with the same apologetic expression he had on when he walked in. I realized he couldn't read what I had given to him. I felt as small as an ant. And I looked directly into his eyes.

These eyes were unlike any eyes I had ever seen. Most people have eyes that are blue, or brown, or green. Their eyes have depth, and this depth has a bottom. Depending on the person, eyes can be bright or sullen, kind or calloused. This man's eyes were none of these things.

The core of his eyes were as ones forged of frigid, harsh steel, embedded in a spehere of fractured ice. Looking at them was like staring into an arctic sun, so utterly cold. I could see so many years of suffering in those eyes, and so much shattered hope. They were filled with these things, and they were bottomless.

My team returned to this village a couple days later, and this man came and found us. He wanted some of us to come to his house and pray for his mother. I wanted to come.

His house was smaller than my living room. His mother, wife, and two small daughters lived in this house, and they were there when we arrived. His mother was very, very old, and her sight and hearing had all but gone from her. His wife's teeth were askew, and she was completely deaf. When she communicated, she used violent hand motions and made puffing sounds with her mouth. I wasn't sure whether she was telling us a story about war and protest, or demonstrating a recipe for bread.

The man began talking with us about his life and family. He brought out a small photo album with pictures of his extended family, and his wedding. (everybody in Albania does this.) He began to tell us about how his marriage had been difficult, because of the challenges communicating with his deaf wife presented. He also said that he would never trade it, because even though it is so very hard, he loves her.

He talked about his daughters with a smile, telling us that both of them can hear perfectly. His daughters are beautiful, he says, and he is right. One of them is about six years old, and sits on his lap. The other is newborn, and is sleeping in the back room, which is about the size of an American walk in closet. He then speaks of his mother with a grim and joyless look on his face; she is dying, he says. His mother continues to sit beside him, smiling and talking to herself.

We gather around and pray for his family. I keep my eyes open, and I look at this man. His head is bowed, his knotted hands clasped together. I shed a tear for him.

And though this man may have forgotten me already, I will never, ever forget him. His eyes will pierce my memory, those eyes of steel and cold, cold ice.

exciting.

2007-07-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

I feel as if I'm on the verge of a new world.

History has been erased and I can write my tomorrows however I like. I posses the ability to be whoever I wish. I am no longer tied to my past.

and i can hear the shackles being unlocked
it's a brave new world

re-edit

2007-06-29T00:29:00.001-07:00

april 14: the sexy seven.

2007-04-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

team chosen took first place up at BattleGround on saturday in 7-man. Way to go, guys!

more pictures from this tourney coming up.

old news

2007-04-08T13:43:00.000-07:00

re-shopped.
From 23rd Ave, Portland, OR, about a year ago.

the creepiest thing i've seen all day:

2007-02-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

I am a Christian. It's not a religion, or a denomination; I simply believe that there is a God, and that Jesus was God, and that the way he lived his life is the way I should try and live mine. I believe that God is alive and working today, and that his main goal for us is to be our friend, and enable us to live lives that are fufilling and have purpose.

That being said, I am freaked out by this new documentary, Jesus Camp.

The synopsis, as far as i can tell from clips off YouTube (the dvd is being downloaded as I speak), is that these guys followed a christian kids camp in Colorado around for a while. It's hosted by this evangelical mega-church, and the clips i'm seeing remind me of Hitler Youth. 10 year olds are spouting words that do not belong in their mouths, talking about fighting god's enemies, how god spoke to them and told them to go talk to random people about Jesus, and a whole bunch of stuff that seems really really creepy. I understand the bias of the people who shot and edited this film, but it still quite unnerves me.

I am a youth leader. Could this sort of thing happen at my church?

jesuscampthemovie.com

oh crap. i am.

2007-01-08T01:24:00.000-08:00

I'm addicted to all the things i own. I'm in bondage to my checking account

and it's disgusting.

i need to move the hell away from here. it's getting hard to breathe...

airborne!

2006-12-22T17:34:00.000-08:00

i got lucky. thats all.

bicycle.

2006-10-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

slides.

2006-10-19T19:41:00.000-07:00

from the archives.

2006-10-18T16:01:00.000-07:00

not primo material from a technical standpoint. but i love the feel.

I decide to write tonight.

2006-10-17T23:34:00.000-07:00

What does art mean?

After all, this is an art blog. That question should be asked.

I think that we can classify art as all of the things that are cool to look at/read/listen to, and that allow us to think differently about things, but don't have a whole lot of "usefulness".

It's hard to create an effective business model or build a bridge with a photograph or an essay.

I can inspire those things with art, but creating them is not considered art.

That stuff is work.

Why?

When I make a photograph, the process of creating it is a lot more satisfying than having a cool print. And showing a cool print to people is way more fun than making it.

But I would never go buy a print, or make a copy of someone elses. Even if it was the coolest thing in the world; it wouldn't be mine.

However, when doing Calculus, I'm more than happy to take someone elses work. All I want is the finished product. The answer is all that matters. The journey to get to the answer is boring and tedious, and I do everything I possibly can to shorten the ammount of time I spend journeying.

But it takes just as much intelligence to solve a calculus problem as it does to create a photograph. Perhaps more.

But it isn't art. It's work.

What if we took math, or science, or accounting, or elctrical engineering, and started doing it in ways no one had ever thought of before.

What if all the accountants got their books together, got a lil high, and tried to be accountants in a creative way.

I've always been told there is one way to solve an equation. One right answer. That "this is the correct data that you should have gotten from your experiment if you did it right." There's one way.

But what if i thought up a new way?

It's almost impossible to make myself think in a new way about Calculus. Mostly because calculus is a very complex system, and people have been thinking about it for so long that they've pretty much figured out all of the ways to do calculus effectively.

But art is viewed as ever-changing. There is no right way to do compose music, or paint, or photograph.

Why does math have to have a "right" way and a "wrong" way?

Culturally, we have put a schizm between art and science. It is a hindrance to the advancement of the sciences, particularily math. There are free-thinking scientists out there, but they don't stray very far from the roots of their given fields.

What if science and art were the same?
What if instead of telling people how to find x, they were left to figure out what x was themselves?
What if science exepermiments is 5th grade were truly experiments, and not step by step instructions to find data?

What if there wasn't a "right" way to get the answer?

negative scan experiment

2006-10-03T16:37:00.000-07:00

I'm always willing to try new things, so i tried this. It's dirty, low-resolution (because the negatives are so small), but i like the effect. This technique seems to bring out all of the imperfections in the negative; notice the left side (film casing popped open). I'll try scanning the print i made of this when i get it back, for comparison.

2006-09-26T15:37:00.000-07:00

www.nmpa.org <---BITCHES.

these weinerheads are taking down tab sites.

thats right guys. it's now illegal to take down guitar tabs.

pretty soon, it'll prbably be illegal to play someone elses songs without paying for the right to do so.

how screwed up is that?

victims:
guitartabs.com
guitarbash.com
mxtabs.com
guitartabs.cc
more are coming.

oh yeah, these guys killed Grokester too.

and do i hafta mention the RIAA suing dead people?

this has gotta end somewhere folks. The recording industry combating people who blatantly pirate illegal copies of music the release is one thing.

but this strikes the heart, man.

if you don't know what tabs are:

lets say I hear a song on a cd that i wanna learn how to play on my guitar or bass. I get out my axe, a pen and some paper and listen to it again and again while trying out fingerings on the guitar until they match up with whats coming through the speaker. Like trying to learn how to sing a song.

tabs are a notation that guitarists use to write down fingerings for songs. It used to be that one could go online and find tabs to any song you wanted to know how to play, posted by people who figured them out.

its not stealing music. its like posting lyrics online.

and now... it's illegal.

someone should freakin lock these RIAA and NMPA policy makers in the looney bin. They're skrewing over the most important part of their business: their consumers.

Our country was founded on the idea that if a large power is being unfair, people have the right to revolt. That's John Locke philosophy.

We can revolt against the music industry. It's called boycott. If they don't have consumers, they don't have a business.

Theres a place where we have to draw the line. For me, it's here.

sara.

2006-09-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

TuHS Football game

2006-09-23T00:53:00.000-07:00

oh how i wish i could remember his name.

2006-09-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

some things never change.

2006-09-18T16:52:00.000-07:00

i love this kid.

T.S.

2006-09-18T16:49:00.000-07:00

keep on melting faces man.

hey its...

2006-09-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

natalie!

neat night thing.

2006-09-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

liz.

2006-09-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

panning technique

2006-09-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

this wasnt easy... i shot about 20 cars and this one came out good. you have to set the shutter for really long and follow the moving object.

a field.

2006-08-29T17:38:00.000-07:00

last one.

2006-08-27T23:52:00.000-07:00

and now in color.

2006-08-27T23:48:00.000-07:00

pictures from church in wonderful greyscale.

2006-08-27T22:45:00.000-07:00

chris nye

2006-08-27T19:31:00.000-07:00

yay for RAW mode...

2006-07-10T14:52:00.000-07:00

photoshop turns the ordinary into extra-ordinary.

New Camera!

2006-07-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my generous parents, I am the proud new owner of a Canon EOS 300d.

you know what that means? no more film.

Shutter Speed: 1/2500 sec.
Apereture: f/5.6
ISO: 400
-1 step exposure compensation.

as if you cared.

--josh

=)

2006-06-22T21:30:00.000-07:00

this one makes me happy.

night experimentation.

2006-06-22T21:27:00.000-07:00

new roll!

2006-06-22T21:15:00.000-07:00

i found these in my car... they're from like a month ago. turned out splendid!

pictures.

2006-06-11T21:40:00.000-07:00

these are ok, unaltered. light leaked on the film... :(.

albums that you should have, but probably don't.

2006-05-09T19:12:00.000-07:00

I have a desire to write music reviews.
but no one wants to read about an album they already own.
So i shall take it upon me to write reviews of albums you haven't bought.
yet.

album #1 that you should have, but probably don't:

Copeland -- In Motion (2004)

This band and album took me completely by surprise. Labeled by Militia Group, lots of people have heard the name somewhere but no one knows the band very well. The album spans a wide range of piano rock with an infusion of east-coast distorted guitar; they could be compared to bands like Mae. But by the same token, this work is utterly original and a comfort and joy to listen to.

The first thing that stood out to me about this record is the quality of songwriting, both lyricially and musically. The chords are just large enough, the drums just soft enough, and the lead vocals are amazing. The timbre of his voice has a quality to it thats hard to describe, and the only other person i've heard sing even close to it is Asad from fly upright kite. He sits high up on the register, and the tone is unique and stupendous. Musically, nothing is really far out of the box, but it sounds absolutely lovely.

Lyrically, this album is amazing. The writing is sensitive and metaphorical with out being confusing or freaking emo. A lot of bands on the indie fringe are very hard to lyrically understand, early Death Cab being a prime example. (bend to squares five or six times? wtf?) But these guys know how to write. I love it.

Best of all, these guys show so much class with their work. The album art is solid, and the label is respectable. But seriously, not too many piano rock bands are cool enough to put a waltz-time ballad (complete with accordion) in the middle of their album? and actually pull it off?

go buy this thing. just do it.

Massage for the mind

2006-04-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

You ever get a knot in your back?

Knots never hurt very sharply, but whenever you bend or stand up or lift something, they remind you of their exsistance.

We can't ever get knots out of our back by ourselves, we have to employ one of our friends who is versed in the art of massage. Massage is sort of uncomfortable experience, and when the person on your back is working out a knot, it burns. But when you stand up, the knots are gone, and so is the dull pain in your back.

People get knots in their heads and hearts too. They're the places where we are lying to ourselves. The head and the heart are very closely knit (modern humanity doesn't want you to know that), and when there's a "knot" in one, theres usually a knot in the other. And just as the knots in one's back, it's quite difficult to work them out by one's self. And, just as the knots in one's back, it hurts when you take them out.

When you start pressing on the hard spots in people's minds, you bring forward many things that aren't usually seen. You learn a lot about the person you're pressing on, and more often than not they learn something about themselves. The confrontation between what is true and what our heads tell us is very hard, because the flaw lies not in facts but in logic itself. The only thing we can hold up as true fact is the Word of God.

When was the last time we confronted the knots in our minds with truth?

And what would happen if we did?

and the last one

2006-03-06T20:38:00.000-08:00

maybe i'll stand on this someday.

2006-03-06T20:25:00.000-08:00

these are pretty good...

2006-03-06T20:14:00.000-08:00

i went the photo-cd route this time, i'm MUCH happier with the results.

checkit!:

2006-01-20T17:31:00.000-08:00

don't worry...

2006-01-17T20:20:00.000-08:00

oh this one is one of my favs

2006-01-17T19:49:00.000-08:00

simply photographical.

2006-01-17T17:56:00.000-08:00

these are some from this weekend.

album covers have a strange way of speaking...

2005-12-28T01:49:00.000-08:00

This is how i feel:

marching bands of manhattan

2005-11-14T08:54:00.000-08:00

If I could open my arms
and span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I'd bring it to where you are
making a lake of the East River and Hudson
And if I could open my mouth
wide enough for a marching band to march out of
they would make your name sing
and bend through alleys and bounce off other buildings.
I wish we could open our eyes
to see in all directions at the same time
Oh what a beautiful view
if you were never aware of what was around you
And it is true what you said
that I live like a hermit in my own head
but when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown

Your love is gonna drown
Your love is gonna...

the Desire

2005-11-14T00:07:00.000-08:00

I have an interesting connundrum before me.

I have a lesson to learn about God's perfect love. Its been coming to me for a while now. Because of several different things, I have been lately looking for emotional fufilment in places besides God's heart. This is something that needs to be remedied.

Tonight, i found myself talking through this with a friend of mine. The way i get to a problem is to say everything i think about it until something stops making sense to me and i can figure out why. I got there tonight.

I have an esteem complex. I really do not see myself as an attractive person, due to many things people have said/done to me in the past, and in my narrow High School world that makes me not as good as everyone surrounding me who is. I spent a weekend at CuddleFest 2005 (gotta love church kids on a ministry retreat, damn) and i couldnt figure out whether i was more frustrated with the fact that i had to look at it all the time or the fact that it was not me being laid on top of. Thus tonight i'm feeling especially ugly. Woohoo, less complaining more explaining.

So, in my mind, in order for something(s) that people have made clear to me over and over and over again (or perhaps they havent, and i'm just a negative nancy. No matter at this point) to all of a sudden be untrue, someone hasta prove it to me. In this case, someone has to prove to me that i am an attractive and allright guy. Otherwise i'm never going to believe it.

My freind tried to convince me that being attractive isn't all about looks and that intelligence is a much bigger factor. I told her to draw me a map to the magical land where thats actually true, cause i must be in the wrong country. Nobody is proving to me that having a halfway-brilliant hunk of brain upstairs is more attractive than a smooth tounge and nice abs. They are continually telling me the opposite. Example: I have certian friend ask me tonight about the moral implications of her Non-Commital Make Out session with some dude i dont know. I'm not condemning nor commending NCMOs, but the entire time were talking about this i'm thinking, "why didnt she ever consider making out with me on a non-commital basis? I'm a fairly cute guy, and i'm nice! She said so herself!" To my knowledge, no one has ever had a desire to stick their face on mine. At least not a strong enough desire to manifest. And that sort of hurts. Actually, not even sort of. Just hurts.

So since no one is proving to me that i'm an attractive and therefore worthful person in highschool terms, that must mean i'm ugly and worthless, right?

...Jesus didn't think so.

After being educated on the Hebrew cultural context of Jesus's ministry, i understand all the more fully what it meant when jesus chose his disciples. And in turn chose me.

...so Jesus has proven to me that i am worthful. He thinks i'm something special.

therefore, by my own model, i must be something special. He proves it to me by allowing me to be his disciple, his 'talmid', and to try and be just like him.

Back in the day, that was a priviledge that Rabbi such as Jesus only gave to the best of the best.

So logically, i'm worth something.

...but i still want to be wanted by a girl.
...i still really wish my friend was making out non-commital-ly with me instead of the guy i don't know.
...and i still want to be worth something in highschool terms.

as shallow as that is, and as much of a mistake it would be to try and seriously pursue those things, i want them.

I'm almost believing that i've been given a choice.

I really wonder if God would give me those 3 things if i asked for them. If he would allow me to make and therefore learn from that mistake.

(cause after all, no one has thought i was attractive up to now, right? it would take God's intervention for that to happen. ::chuckles softly::)

I wonder.

And i wonder if i have the guts enough to actually ask for it.

--josh

ok, spilling time.

2005-10-21T11:27:00.000-07:00

In order to sort through things, i need to put down everytihng i feel in one place. Thats what this thing is for. Its not going to be anything new, cause anyone who actually reads this thing already knows whats going through my head.

I never seen myself reduced to such a wreck. I really haven't. I've been distracted by the same freaking thing for 5 months now. My brain has CONSTANTLY been a certian somewhere else. It makes me so angry! For 3 weeks of the summer i was someplace completly isolated from her and i still managed to get distracted. What sort of awesomeness could have taken place if i had been COHERENT?? I feel like i've let christ down. Cause i have. I mean, yeah we all do but this is just pathetic.

This entire thing went from good to great to Height of Awesomeness and immediatly went plunging down into the depths of Ugly and Horrid and Painful. At least for me. Not even sure if she cares. I have felt ugly, unactractive, somewhat worthless, and utterly retarded. And what went down supports all of those things. Its horrible!! And the worst thing is is that i know none of it is true, but i dont know it at the same time.

I have a great need to leave this thing where it belongs, in some pit. I need to drop it and never pick it up again. But i cannot find any way to jettison these feelings, to forget any of it. And i cannot stop thinking about it.

I have driven myself officially mad. And gosh darn it, its frustrating!

Rock show.

2005-10-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

Latley, I've been having a reoccuring daydream.

I'm playing drums at a rock show, with my Hypothetical Band. Our name is The Froidian Symphony, and we're all wearing sweet clothes.

We're playing a song that I wrote the lyrics to. It's about this one girl I used to know. She was very pretty, and stole away like 6 months of my life. Can't say i was that happy about it at the time. So i wrote a song about the experience. It has piercing lyrics and a gut-wrenching, tear-jerking chorus.

(you gotta note, this daydream is like 2 years in the future. And you gotta note that it isnt ever gonna happen, i cant write songs.)

And so i'm playing drums along to my sweet song, and i look out into the crowd. Everyones going nuts, its crazy. Spare for one person. They seem to be standing still amidst the rock-show-chaos.

"Who is that?" i ask. I look at this person closer. It's a short girl. The girl i wrote the song about.

We lock eyes. I read hers and they tell me a story of regret. Of sorrow and shame. She wishes she wasnt there. She wishes i had never writtent the song. And, more than anything, she wishes i never had a reason to write it.

The eterinty of eye-locking lasts about 4 measures. Then i go into some sweet-ass fill and forget about it.

We end the show like pros. We walk offstage. I look into the crowd again, and i see her in the same place, standing just as still as before, drilling her stare into my like space-age lazer beams.

The band hops into our van and we split for home. I don't look back.

mariachi poster

2005-10-18T08:44:00.001-07:00

this is a photo by andy. i got bored and my school has photoshop 7.

2005-10-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

this be caity's face that i 'shopped to be sweet. cause i got bored.

rainy friday.

2005-09-16T23:12:00.000-07:00

Today, there was rain.

I guess for most people, that would be depressing. People seem to have this obsession with the sun for some reason. They always go to places like California and Flordia looking for sunshine. They like ot hit up the beaches and lay it the stuff, for hours on end. For the life of me, I cannot understand why the heck someone would want to go seek after the sun. I seek after grey.

I say I seek after grey because it's got all the same stuff as rainy weather does, cept without the wet part. I went on a walk today and got caught in big, drippy raindrops. That didn't go over well with my pj pants, they're still kinda wet. =\. Wet is cold, and cold is uncomfy. Thus, rain is only a good deal if you are dressed for the occasion. But i love it anyways. It puts the world in a differnt light.

Take the beach for example. You head out to any beach about 1:00 in the afternoon on a sunnny day, and there's going to be people in their bathing suits with their kites and little kids, all of them running around, building sandcastles and getting in sandfights, and there will be mothers shouting to their children, "Oh no little Johnny, don't go out to far in the water! DON'T LETIT GET UP PAST YOUR ANKLES JOHNNY!!", and fathers drinking beer and thinking about whats on tv back home, and pre-teen boys and girls walking around trying to look like emo kids, even though emo kids are never at the beach.

But if you show up to the coast about 7:00 in the morning, there is no sun. No people either. The only thing you hear is the gulls yawning and the roar of the waves. With the sun's brilliant and overbearing rays absent, you can begin to see the beach for what it truly is. Nothing. Theres no excitment here, none whatsoever. Everything is absorbed either into the grey sky or the sea itself. There is no sound except what comes out of your mind.

I veiw the beach in early morning as a canvas. You are free to make of it what you wish, to see what you want to see. The sand is coarse in your hands, and the salt in the air stings your eyes. The waves gently chase sound away from your ears, and you are free from the world, with your thoughts as your only companion. As you pick up the sand in you hands, and cast it to the wind, they become your cares. They float through the air, and you can see them for what they really are.

Rain in the 'burbs is a different thing altogether. It's like a muted celebration of the world around us. Every light becomes just a little bit brighter, and everything warm becomes a little bit warmer. The rain slows down time, and lets it linger for a moment. The sound of rain is unique, cold but gentle. Its touch is smooth, yet sharp at the same time. And if you stand out in the rain for too long, you get wet. You hafta go inside and put on new clothes. I do not know why that's relavent, but it seems to fit.

I wish i was at the beach, with my camera, a couple of rolls of film, and a certian someone.

--josh

falling up

2005-09-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like the world is upside-down?

Sometimes I wonder if it actually is. Stuff seems so messed up these days. I don't know if I'm falling or slipping or what. What I say and what I feel don't line up anymore. My priorities aren't lining up with my beliefs. And what I do doesn't line up with what I should be doing. It's like trying to fly a plane at night with broken instruments. The artificial horizon tells me i'm sideways, the altimiter tells me i'm crashed into the ground already, and the compass is alternating between northeast and south. I'm so lost. God is here somewhere, but I can't feel his hand just now. And no matter how much I call for him I just can't seem to put my finger on where he is exactly. However, a plane in this situation should have crashed long before now, so I know he's here somewheres.

I suppose most of this has to do with the fact that I'm falling for one of my best friends. In all honesty, I think that I went insane over it the other day. Literally. We're talking padded cell insane. God hasn't ever really given me any luck with love over the course of my life, and this is the closest I feel like I've ever gotten to dating someone thats really, truly good for me. I'm not saying this girl should be my wife, but dating's the way you figure out who that person is. In all truth, I really hope my wife ends up being just a lil bit like this girl. She's not extraordinary at first glance, but theres something about her that just... I can't even explain it. She's kinder than kind, and does things for others that no one else would do, at the expense of her own reputation. She is awesome. I've loved her as a friend for forever, and now i'm falling for her.

It isn't a good postition to be in by any means. Even if she agrees with me that we'd be awesome for each other, she doesn't like me. And I can't help but feel like I'm not good enough some how. And like theres no way to be good enough. Right now, I would give almost anything to be good enough. But that isn't something I can obtain, it's just something I either am or am not. I'd like to think that my likeability is something she can choose, but I myself cannot choose to not fall for her. Belive me, I've tried. And in the midst of this all, I wonder what the crap God is doing with this and why he's letting this go down.

Then again, God let me get totured for years with no seeming purpose. And those experiences have saved souls and lives in his hands.

Trusting people, trusting God, trust is just hard.

--josh

Arrgghh.

2005-09-13T14:41:00.002-07:00

I am so tired right now. Tired of school. Tired of work. Tired of homework. Tired of girl. Tired of friends. Tired of parents. Tired of being a good kid. Tired of always coming in last place. Tired of waiting for something to happen.

I need a break. Anyone wanna go to canada?

monday bloody monday

2005-09-12T21:55:00.000-07:00

Today was monday. By default, mondays suck. But ocmpared to sunday, this one looked up.

I woke up this morning and decided that it would be a grand idea to stay in my pjs and go to school in them. It was actually pretty fun. And really comfy. I think there's something to be said for being spontaneous and random. And really comfy.

More than anything, today was much more peaceful than yesterday. I was able to clear my head and heart a little bit. I realize that i need to give God whats his, which is my head and heart. If i do, he'll take care of me. May not be in the way i expect or want, but itll be in the right way.

--josh

OW!

2005-09-11T19:27:00.000-07:00

ok so i officially twekaed my neck. this sucks.

Overthought

2005-09-11T13:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we think too much. Theres an overtone of worry and doubt in pretty much every descicion we make as human beings, expecially in our relationships with each other. I mean, let's face it: we skrew up a lot. I know I do. Half the stuff I do crashes and burns, and never has the outcome i imagined or wanted. I don't take risks with people anymore, because I don't want to ruin what I have.

But thats just not good enough. If I'm ever going to be truly happy and at peace, I hafta change something. Even if I get burned, part me is saying that I need to just jump. Wounds heal, I'm in freaking high school. Whats life if you don't live it?

I think about stuff too much. I pray that God tells me what exactly I'm supposed to do. Cause I have no clue.

--josh

I love paintball, but i hate being poor...

2005-03-10T20:30:00.000-08:00

Music: "oh" by Dave Matthews

Wow, its only the 10th of the month, and im already completely broke. The only money I have to my name is in possibly-expired gift cards to Borders and Starbucks. I blew $120 of hard-mooched money on one paintball tournament. ONE! And all i have to show for it is a wallet made by everyones favorite paintball/clothing company Empire.

So i payed $120 to show up and have my stupid Dye gun break, get shot at by people who's guns work, and become a walking billboard for a paintball company. Every time i walk into 7-11 to buy some Rockstar, i get to let them know to buy empire! As if these guys don't make enough money as it is. They overcharge for all of their products, from their pants to luggage sets to hats to paintball guns. I guess they even make skate shoes now. Sad thing is, i really like Empire. I really like the wallet they gave me. I have put stickers on my hopper, gun, trumpet case, ect. And i really want those shoes...

But no more about Empire. Back to all the money i dont have. I happen to have expenses besides paintball this month. Such as food. And clothes. All of my clothes are going the way of my money as we speak; all of my pants are falling apart. Even my paintball pants. Right now, I have 3 pairs to choose from to wear. I hafta do laundry 3 times a week.

And dont even get me started about food. There have been way too many days where i have trodded to the library after 3rd period to sleep on a couch because I couldnt mooch $2 off of someone to buy a sandwich. And yes, I know that is a very high prie for a sandwich. My school has this great system of Closed Campus, which means i have to eat cruddy school food at high prices instead of going to MikeyD's and putting my $2 into a virtual feast. Most days my mom makes me a lunch, but on the days when she doesnt....

Sometimes i wonder why i play this overly expensice sport in the first place. Its not as if im winning gear to make up for the expense.

And then I look at the hits on my hands, and I pick up my gun and start playing with the trigger, and I remember.

Its cause im in love with it.

::yawn::

2005-03-09T16:41:00.000-08:00

Wow, this year has gone by so fast. It seems like summer was a month ago, and its already so close to the next one.

I guess thats a good thing though. Noting has really happened to me since summer. The weather around here right now is reminding me of how much i miss it.

I miss being able to see the stars at night. I miss not having to worry about school or anything the next day. I miss sleep.

Most of all, i think i miss the mentality. That everything is perfectly OK.

I feel.... pwned.

2005-03-02T23:29:00.000-08:00

For lack of a better term, i feel completely pwned right now. I just finished a buttload of homework, and i still have a buttload to do (gonna hafta wait till tommorow, this dudes out). Why does school keep this constant pressure on me? Do they think i have nothing better to do?

I have been talking to some older people about high school, and i gather that it wasnt the same back in the day. My small group leader TJ and i were getting some food, and he started going off about how much slacked off in high school, and how his grades rocked in spite of it. What the crap is up w/ that? I'm prolly gonna end up w/ a 3.2 or something this trimester, and over half of those are gimmie classes. I had to scramble to keep my math grade from falling. And i did all of the homework! I kinda studied!

And yet, the previous generation got to lae their way through high school, not caring whether their assignments were turned in or not, and not hafta worry about being able to get into college after they were done.

Ill be lucky if i end up going to a state university.

GRR! the system SUCKS!

Love

2005-03-01T21:23:00.000-08:00

I was erading the word last night, and i came across this verse:

"Keep on asking, and you will be given what you ask for. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks recieves. Everyone who seeks will find. And the door is opened to everyone who knocks."

Matthew 7:7-8

When my eyes hit this verse, I thought about my desires. Right now, the one thing I want more than anything is love. So, since the verse says right there that if i ask i will recieve, I asked God for love. Immediatly, images started flowing into m head. Pictures of all these people in my life. People who truly love me.

Hymn

2005-02-28T13:42:00.000-08:00

Oh refuge of my hardened heart
Oh fast pursuing lover come
As angels dance around Your throne
My life by captured fare You own

Not silhouette of trodden faith
Nor death shall not my steps be guide
I'll pirouette upon my grave
For in Your path I'll run and hide

Oh gaze of love so melt my pride
That I may in Your house but kneel
And in my brokenness to cry
Spring worship unto Thee

When beauty breaks the spell of pain
The bludgened heart shall burst in vain
But not when love pointed king
And truth shall Thee forever reign

Oh gaze of love so melt my pride
That I may in Your house but kneel
And in my brokenness to cry
Spring worship unto Thee

Sweet Jesus carry me away
From cold of night and dust of day
In ragged hour or salt worn eye
Be my desire, my well spring lye
*****

--Jars of clay (i love this song)

I think that girls confuse me.... i think....

2005-02-24T14:26:00.000-08:00

Wow. It isnt often that i come across someone with a sadder love life than myself. I realized last night that i am the most clueless and oblivious person i know when it comes to girls. I mean, if you ask me to fix your computer, or help you buy a paintball gun, or give you spiritual advice of some sort, i can most likely give you an answer. And if you ask me something that i dont know about, i can prolly find the answer on google.

But the secrets to dealings w/ women arent on google.

I have asked older and wiser people about how i fit into the world of high school dating. They all said it isnt worth it. And as i look around at freinds of mine that are dating, and watch them get together, and break up, and get together again, I am inclined to agree.

But at the same time, what i really want is someone who loves me for who i am, despite all of my faults.

Maybe what im looking for isnt a girlfriend. Maybe i just want a real freind.

but if she was drop-dead gorgeous, so much the better.

--josh

This song describes my heart

2005-02-20T14:57:00.000-08:00

Convinced of my deception
I've always been a fool
I fear this love reaction
Just like you said I would

A rose could never lie
About the love it brings
And I could never promise
To be any of those things

If I was not so weak
If I was not so cold
If I was not so scared of being broken
Growing old
I would be...
I would be...
I would be...

Blessed are the shallow
Depth they'll never find
Seemed to be some comfort
In rooms I try to hide

Exposed beyond the shadows
You take the cup from me
Your dirt removes my blindness
Your pain becomes my peace

If I was not so weak
If I was not so cold
If I was not so scared of being broken
Growing old
I would be...
I would be...
I would be...

2005-02-16T21:42:00.000-08:00

hehe... yeah photoshop is too much fun.

Money

2005-01-28T14:08:00.000-08:00

I always thought being rich would be a drag. I always thought that 90% of the fun of having stuff was the anticipation of buying it, the saving up pennies, the waiting for christmas. I mean, you know how it is. You wait and wiat to get something, and when you get it you are really happy with it for a couple hours, or days, and then after that its just yet another thing you own. Take my paintball gun for example. For the longest time, i really really wanted a performance tourney paintball gun. And the fun part of it was wanting to have it. Now, i sitll think that its the sweetest thing ever, and i love that gun to death, but the magic that it held when i first had it is gone. Thats why i was glad i didnt have everything i wanted. If i did, there would be nothing to look forward to.

But right now, i wish more than anything that i had money to throw around. I need to buy paintball equipment, paint, tourney entry fees, computer stuff, new clothes (i have very little clothing right now) and, above all, FOOD. I am almost tempted to put a paypal link in here so that all of you could donate a few bucks to my cause.

Maybe i wish i was rich.

But not too rich.

--josh

Work Ethic

2005-01-28T01:01:00.000-08:00

Some people call sleeping in class laziness. I call it prioritizing my time.

Think about it. I get more than decent grades, the same grades as any average, hardworking student would get. And yet, all those average, hardworking students slave away every day in school, listening to stuff that they dont wanna hear, writing stuff down that they think and know is worthless beyond the classroom door, and doing meaningless work only to have it turned in and become a number on a spreadsheet. For all this pain, they get a B+ in the class and a right to complain on how lame and stupid all of their classes are.

Me? I lazily float on into my first 3 classes, get comfortable in my chair and promplty nod off about half-way. Part of me is still awake, so that if i am called upon to answer a question i do not look like i just woke up. Its sort of this in-between state, a false sleep in which i am still consious. It is somewhat hard to maintain, but it is vital to my strategy. See, i have figured out that half of your grade in a given class is based upon what that teacher thinks of you. If you are kind and respectful, always look like you are paying some degree of attention, and "participate" by turning in assignments (it doesnt matter if all the answers are total BS, as long as you make sure that it looks like you tried), no matter how much sleep you are actually getting during that teacher's lectures, you will get just as good of a grade as the kids who work their tails off every day.

Case in point-- today in spanish class:

--Girl whispers something to generic boy next to her, crumpling sound of paper is heard.

--Our hero feels a dull impact on the base of his neck

Hero: ::yawn:: uuh? (translation: wtf was that?)
--looks in direction of girl

Girl: wake up! and do your work!

Hero: Uhhh....

Girl: If everyone else has to do it, then you have to too!

--This is the part that puzzles me. "Well, since we are all to stupid to figure out that our teacher reads off the frickin answers at the end of the outrageously long worktime, you should have to suffer and fill out this meaningless drivvel too!"
Is it just me, or isnt smart and clever behavior supposed to be rewarded in education? It seems to me that it should be the other way around, I get to sleep because I figured out the system. Better yet, maybe Miss Self-Righteous can get a clue and take a page out of my book. Maybe she would lose that auora of stuck-upness if she got a little more sleep!

Maybe this is the way this should have played out

--Hero is sleeping
--Girl wakes him up

Hero: uuh?(wtf?)

Girl: um, sorry to wake you, oh genious one, but i had a question.

Girl: Why is it that you sleep without fear of being caught clueless in front of the class?

Hero: (brushes off shoulders) Well, my little peasant, i sleep because I have no doubt that the answers will become apparent in due time!

Girl: Oh, I see the Light! I should sleep, just as you do! Can i give you all my money?

Hero: Why, sure!

See, happy ending. I get money, girl gets beauty sleep, we all get answers.
::sigh:: why cant the world be more like my imagination?

--josh

High School Assemblies

2005-01-14T21:34:00.000-08:00

I wonder what high school assemblies would be like if me and my freinds ran them. I think we would make a couple changes....

1. Instead of dumb constest involving food or hugging, we would have Air Guitar competitions.
2. We would give out obscenely huge prizes with money out of the athletic department's budget
3. Instead of voting for the prom king and queen, there would just be a huge drunken brawl.
4. Instead of teachers dressing up in costumes, wed have them full-contact football with our varsity team.
5. The entire audience would be covered in a gross food substance at least twice.
6. Instead of the school band playing, we'd ask the freshman class to put together a metal band. Rotten fruit would then be distributed to the other classes.
7. If attendance of a particular class got too low, we'd hrie some bums from downtown portland to fill in.

--josh

The College Experience

2005-01-13T16:18:00.000-08:00

the college experience:
1. being utterly, completely poor.
2. Time is a gift to be cherished...then wasted on video games.
3. Friends are the most important things in the world.. esp. those that actually go to class and take notes.
4. Laptops are great for class...to play CS:S on wifi.
5. Caffine is your friend. No really. Like intimately.
6. That one crazy drunk guy in your hall.
7. The frat boys who think they own the world.
8. The sorority girls who think they are the world.
9. Diversity crap that somehow results in white males losing money, and it ends up in the gay pride center.
10. You develop a deep hatred of the bookstore.
11. Loud music can cover the strange noises coming from the next room...
12. Sleep is for suckers...or people that can't afford some form of caffiene.

--by andy catts

Perhaps I should learn to let go....

2005-01-12T22:15:00.000-08:00

I just got back from youth group, and it got me thinking about something. Something that i already knew in my head, and once knew in my heart, but had somehow halfway forgotten. Its one of those simple things, but Satan uses simple things to drive a wedge.

If I cant let go of everything, God cannot make me into who i need to be.

For me, it has been trying to a more popular person, especially with the girls in my life. I guess every 15 year old guy wants to be more popular w/ teh ladies, but it was becoming one of my main focuses. I thought that if i had more freinds, and if I had a gf, it would make me more happy.

So i have been trying very hard to become everyones freind. And in the proscess have begun to lose who i am.

This isnt the first time this has happened. Most of my elementary and middle school days were spent trying not to get hazed by my peers and to get through the day with a minimal ammount of emotional pain (my fellow classmates made short work of that goal). I was always the loser at school. At one point i decided that i was sick of it, but, having the weak personality of someone who had constantly been put down through school, instead of being who I was, i tried to be who everyone else was. This sort of behavior never works, and eventually I figured it out.

But my fight-or-flight instict is to try and be someone who i think everybody will like. And, always, no one ever likes that peson.

The key to being me is to letting God take me where i need to go. if i try to carry the burden of being the guy everyone likes, ill end up being crushed.

So i guess the key here is to let God help me be me.

--josh

School is a brainwashing facility

2005-01-12T15:17:00.000-08:00

School is all about cramming my and my peers brains into tiny boxes. School is about wasting all of the 6 hours i spend there doing 1 hour worth of learning. School is about trying to make me conform and to become what i am "supposed to be". How the heck would they know what Im supposed to be?

Im sure that school was much better than killing pigs and picking grass, back in the old days when that was all they did. I would have loved to kill some time slouching in a rigid wooden desk, listening to the hott 20something schoolteacher from mississippi or wherever yack about some far off country in the oreint. Learning something that didnt involve plants or dead animals would have rocked my world. But when i look back on, say, the past 2 weeks ive spent at school, i havent learned jack friggin squat. The entire trimester i spent in chemistry last term could have been summed up in about a week of class. So, why should i have to sit in class for friggin ever waiting for the teacher to stop talking? Shouldnt i be eager to learn more?

Well, for now, me and my ipod will rock on for hours and hours waiting for bells to ring.

peace
--Josh