The Many Adventures of Commander Awesome

The First Update

2011-09-16T12:42:00.002-06:00

Greetings from Denver!

Things have been clipping right along here in the Mile High City. I sit in a Starbucks, gazing out the window when I pause to think, and see the sure-fire signs of Fall. People walking around in sweaters. Leaves losing their glowing green hue and shifting slowly into yellow. A coolness in the air. And of course, pumpkin spice lattes advertised on the window spread.

By now, you're all probably wondering to yourselves, "that's great Daniel, but what have you been up to?" Well, thanks for the interest. Let me give you an update.

As you may recall (and if not, please scroll down below this post and familiarize yourself with the one which precedes it), I have set forth a List of Things to Do during my fourth and final year at CCU. The good news: I have been slowly shipping away at them. The bad news: I don't know where my freakin' camera battery is. I originally intended to have photographic evidence of my adventures, both for entertainment now and for "oh, those were the days" moments later on in life. Alas, in true Daniel fashion, I have misplaced the battery and charger to my digital camera. I have no doubt that it will turn up eventually, but until then, I'll have to paint you some word pictures.

First off, I spent the week before last camped out on the corner of 10th and Broadway downtown, with the number "36" scrawled in red Sharpie on my right hand. That's right - I attended the Sniagrab. Some friends and I went down to the all-too-familiar street corner on a Monday night and checked in. As previously mentioned, I ended up being number 36 in line, which is a personal record.* I would go to class and/or work during the day, then load up my sleeping bag and head downtown for the night.

And so it went. Monday night. Tuesday night. Wednesday night. Thursday night. Friday night. I stayed up pretty late on Friday, visit the 16th Street Mall and eating Big Fish burritos from Illegal Pete's. At 2am when the bars let out, I sat with some Ghetto guys on a low wall and watched the spectacle. Drunk bros punching each other in the arm, drunk girls tripping over their high heels, etc. Some classic entertainment. At 6am the next morning, we packed up our tents, drank some free coffee** and then waited eagerly for our gift cards.

At 8:30, the staff rolled through the line, handing out the coveted "Bonus Bucks" cards. I received mine with a nod and smile, storing the $100 business card in my pocket. At 9am when the doors opened, I flooded in with my friends and began snatching up the deals. In the end, I didn't walk away with very many things. Freshman year I secured gloves, socks, sunglasses, a helmet, and some headphones. This year I walked out with a Winchester sheath knife, a Camelback backpack, and a pair of gloves. For a grand total of 11 cents. Booyah.

I went home and scratched "Win Money at the Sniagrab" off of my list.

Next up, you may ask? Excellent question. I am rehearsing for the school play currently,*** planning an unnecessary all-nighter to knock out some projects that are due in October, and looking to get an act together for King Cougar. Hopefully I'll get my camera up and running by then. Stay tuned.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*I believe I was 60-something my freshman year.
**Compliments of Sports Authority
***And I may do the musical in the Spring, being as I ended up with a very minor part this time around

The List.

2011-08-06T18:39:00.002-06:00

My senior year at Colorado Christian University has officially begun. It's been a long and exciting journey, to be honest. I've laughed, I've cried, and I've spent a lot of time doing pointless stuff. Don't get me wrong - I've enjoyed all those trips to Jump Street, getting my Final Fantasy XII characters up to insanely high levels, and spending hours playing Desktop Tower Defense on my computer. But as I look at my calendar and see that I only have nine more months left of college, I start to feel like I'm passing up a very important opportunity.

Not anymore!

I've spent the past few weeks compiling a list of things I want to get done during my final year at CCU. Lucky for you, this is where I'm going to post it and follow up on it. Here's how things will work:

1. I post The List.
2. I start doing things on The List, documenting with photographs as needed.
3. I blog about my experiences and include said pictures.
4. You send me money.*

And so without further adieu, I give you.... The List.

1. Go to the Homecoming Dance
2. Attend the Christmas Tree Lighting**
3. Attend the Christmas Concert
4. Participate in a drama (play or musical)
5. Win money at the Sniagrab
6. Submit a piece of fiction to Paragon***
7. Perform in a "Tuesdays" coffee house
8. Host either O'Malley's or King Cougar
9. Participate in either O'Malley's or King Cougar
10. Spend the night on the roof of the Beckman Center
11. Go on a road trip
12. Play at least one game of every intramural sport
13. Pull an unnecessary all-nighter
14. TBD

As you can see, I am going to leave The List open-ended for now. I'll be adding to it periodically over the next month, as more ideas come to me. Be expecting updates soon!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Non-sequential unmarked bills only, please.
**I have somehow managed to miss this event every single year, despite putting aside time in my schedule to attend.
***The annual student Literary Magazine at CCU.

Oh, Hypocrisy.

2011-07-01T10:48:00.002-06:00

My super-attractive girlfriend and I were talking the other day when we began discussing the people we get along with most easily and, conversely, those whom we find hard to enjoy.

I explained that I get along easily with those who can see the bigger picture. Those who don't make a big deal out of little things. Those who are open to discussing new ideas, who understand my sense of humor, and who have a general air of optimism.

Those who I have a hard time getting along with? I thought about it for a little bit. Annoying people. But what makes someone annoying? I surmised that at the heart of it all, I didn't like people who were hypocritical. I know, I know. Deep, right? Real original. I mean, who honestly sees hypocrisy and says, "I think that's fantastic"? But anyway, hypocritical people are the worst.

The thing about hypocrisy is that the more you look for it, the more you see it. And it's the biggest catch 22 in history. By saying I don't like hypocritical people, I am in fact being a hypocrite. It's a humbling thing, really. Try it out for a day. Keep your eyes open for hypocrisy everywhere you go. It starts out fun, and you'll feel really great. You'll see people driving alone in SUVs who ask for their coffee in their own cup so as not to waste (I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now, observing.) But keep looking, and soon the game will stop being fun. You'll get super pissed at someone for cutting you off in traffic. Then a couple miles down the road, realize that you need this exit, and cut over to get off the freeway. But its different for you, right? After all, it was only that one time, and it was only because you didn't want to miss the exit. Right.

I mention all of this because I had an epiphany.* As previously mentioned, I'm at Starbucks right now. I rode my bike here, being as its a beautiful Friday morning and I have some new music on my iPod to listen to. On my way here, I passed by an elderly couple on their bikes. I called out "on your left," then whizzed by. I could have sworn that the old man said something as I went by, but I had my earphones in and could easily have imagined it. Plus, I was going quite a bit faster than the couple, so I figured it didn't matter.

As is usual, my imagination kicked in. You see, I have this deep-seeded suspicion of the world around me. The origins of this suspicion can be easily traced to the movie "The Truman Show," wherein a man lives his entire life on a TV set without knowing, while the rest of the world watches.

What if that old man had been calling out my name? What if he had been trying to tell me something important? A warning, or good company to buy stock in? In fact, what if that old man was really me? Sometime in the future, as an old man, I decide to go back and tell myself some valuable piece of advice. I can't remember exactly where I was on this day, but I know I'm going to be riding down that road. And then, I see myself! I call out my name as I whizz past, but my younger version is too busy listening to "Empire State of Mind" and imagining what it'd be like to be a rich and famous rap star.

And then I'm gone, and my whole trip into the past is wasted. And by now, I bet you're wondering what this has to do with hypocrisy.

Well, if there's another thing I can't stand, it's angsty young people. I've spent some time over the past few years in youth groups working with high schoolers, and that is my number one annoyance with them. They'll tell me about this really harsh dumping they just endured, or some catastrophic event where their sister deleted their video game save data. I can look back at my own life, back on similar experiences, and realize that what was a huge deal back then really didn't make the slightest bit of difference in my life now. When I try to tell them that it's not the end of the world, they get this "you don't know me" attitude. Like my advice is dated or superfluous or stupid. I don't know what it's like. I can't help.

But the thing is, I can. And I'm trying. Believe it or not, you're not the first person to get dumped. To get hurt. To get wronged. But they can't see that a lot of times, so it leads to endless frustrations for those trying to offer advice.** Today, on my bike ride past the old couple, I realized something. That old man didn't have to be an older version of myself in order to offer important advice.

Why is it that I assume I'm the only one qualified to give advice to myself? That old dude had been around for a pretty long time, by the looks of him.*** He probably could have offered a ton of useful advice. I would try to say something like, "no dude, you don't know me." And I bet he'd think of me the same way I think of high schoolers. I wonder if he'd have the patience to keep trying.

Oh, hypocrisy.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*And naturally, my first reaction was to blog about it. Alright, 21st century!
**One of the reasons I'll never be a youth group leader.
***No offense, old dude, if you're reading this. I might add that your beard was very distinguished.

The Adventures: Reloaded

2011-06-25T11:55:00.004-06:00

No, but seriously this time.

I'm picking up blogging again. I've decided that I miss the eclectic, episodic style of blogging, and that I want to start this one up again. Here's a quick recap of these past months, to get everyone on the same page:

I enrolled in a class called "Advanced Creative Writing: Fiction" this semester. The goal for the class could be summed up quite simply this way: write a novel. I had wanted to take the class ever since I heard about it my freshman year, and so I decided to become an English Minor in order to do this.* It didn't disappoint. We began by reading a few chapters from a book about writing books. Then delved into some theory, honed our character development and dialogue skills, and then turned in chapter one. After that, it was pretty much every week that we were required to turn in a chapter of some sort. Ten chapters, ten pages each. All said and done, we needed a 100-page manuscript to pass the class.

In May when we turned in our drafts, I was at ten chapters and 118 pages. And my plot was nowhere near done. Since school's let out for the summer, I have completed chapters 11 and 12, and have almost finished chapter 13.** I should have the whole work done in a few weeks, probably rounding out to 15 or 16 chapters. I'll need a mess of revisions and re-writes, which means I'll need an army of proofreaders... so if you're interested in receiving a copy,*** leave me a comment and I'll mail you one when it's ready to go.

Writing my novel was an extremely entertaining experience. I began with a clear idea of what my novel would be. Over Christmas break, I developed the setting and characters. It would take place at Montana State University, and center around three different students. Aaron, a delinquent freshman who gets his kicks out of provoking people into fighting him. Justin, a Christian sophomore who just wants to get by and graduate. And Eric, a senior who belongs to a secret society of sorts. I would develop the setting, MSU, and then have the characters go about their lives, sometimes interacting with each other, but mainly keeping to their own groups of friends. I would use this to explore the deeper questions in life. Why are we here? What are we to do with our lives? How do we deal with pain and loss? Where do we find joy? You know, the stuff novels are made of.

About January, however, I decided that I wanted my novel set in Portland. Or Seattle. Somewhere gloomy and melancholy, where a brooding high school senior named Isaac lived with his mom in a large apartment complex. Isaac was really into the bike scene, riding his stripped-down fixed gear through the back alleys and along the river with his younger high school friends. A reluctant leader of younger guys who looked up to him and expected more of him than he wanted to give. I'd use this to explore the deeper questions in life. Why are we here? What are we to do with our lives? How do we deal with pain and loss? What is a really cool name to give a fixed gear bike?

By the third week of class, we had to turn in our statements of intent. The basics of our novel - who was/were the main character(s), where did it all take place, who was the narrator. By this time, I had it down for sure. Forget the deeper questions in life... My novel was going to be set in space. Humanity had migrated across the stars. Interstellar travel was made possible by the discovery of superhumans who could utilize a Force-like power to propel ships through the vastness of space. The colonization of the stars was just underway, however, with the rules of the wild west in play - whoever has the biggest guns makes the rules. Our protagonist wakes up in the medical ward of a ship without any memory. He stumbles his way into a fierce conflict between the Federation and the rebels, unsure of which side to join.

The week after that, I had it down for sure. My professor roller her eyes as I pitched my forth (and final) plot line. I ended up with Izaac^, a young superhuman who lives in the enormous city-building of Denver sometime in the distant future. Spurned by the most prestigious superhuman academy on the planet, Izaac falls in with a group of resistance fighters who want to deactivate the source of the superhumans' powers.^^

And so the writing began. Now here I am, six months, 13 chapters, and 150 pages later. I realized the other day, however, that I want to start writing things completely unrelated to Izaac or his plight with the resistance fighters. I think this will help me finish, as it will provide an outlet for the times when I don't feel like sitting down and writing. I can write about whatever I want!

Politics? Sure. Starbucks? You bet. Summer time in Colorado? Why not.

Oh, blogging. How I've missed you.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*This is only a slight exaggeration.
**I decided to take a break from chapter thirteen to update my blog, in fact. I just got done with the only romance scene in the whole piece, and it was exhausting. Romance is annoying.
***And you promise not to steal my idea and publish it under your name.
^Spelling it "Izaac" instead of "Isaac" is how you know it's set in the future.
^^This is purposefully vague. I was only half-kidding about my fear of someone stealing my idea.

Many Honorable Return of the New Year.

2011-01-01T01:29:00.002-07:00

I watched the New Year roll its way over the glittering streets of Reno in from an overlook halfway up Geiger Grade. I've wanted to watch the fireworks from up there since my senior year of high school, but for one reason or another I never did. Yet being as I had a car, a new camera, and some spare time, I decided to go for it this time around. I drove the winding and twisting road up to the scenic overlook dressed in every scrap of winter clothing I brought with me from Colorado and parked next to a small four-door car which boomed with the sounds of expensive subs.

I climbed out of the truck with my backpack in one hand and a folding chair in the other. Trying not to block anyone else's view, I set up the chair, zipped my jacket up to my nose, and sat on the cold plastic on the cold mountainside during the cold night in the cold state of Nevada. I dug into my pocket and fished out my cellphone. A click of the "Volume Up" button on the side caused the front display to yell at my eyes, "11:52!" I winced at the brightness and set the phone on my thigh. Just in time.

I spent the next few seconds digging out my new camera from my backpack, stuffing it under my coat to keep it from catching cold, and then jamming my hands into my jacket pockets.

Volume Up. 11:53!

I can never decide if city lights look like embers from a dying fire or man's poor imitation of God's stars. Bother metaphors appeal to me. In the former, you get an explanation for the pulsing, flickering, and moving patterns of the city's luminescence. It looks as if a caravan of giant gypsies stopped over in the valley for the night, got cold from drinking the frosty waters of Lake Tahoe, and so sparked up a fire to warm their huge gypsy feet. Much later, when they were all going off to sleep, the most safety-conscious giant gypsy got up and stomped out the flames.

In the latter, you get a good picture of Man's hilarious ineptitude. In attempting to replicate God's nighttime spectacle, we end up with some stars spread way too far apart, some lumped together, some blinking, some shifting from green to yellow to red. The colors are all off, and it wastes a lot of electricity.

Volume Up. 11:55!

About this time every year, I get to thinking that I need to do something rash. I look around my folding chair for opportunities. There are a handful of parked cars around me. Maybe I could go and kick the tires of one until the occupants get out to stop me, then I could defeat all seven of them in hand-to-hand combat. Moving my gaze onward, I see a sign that reads "CONGESTED AREA 25 MPH." I need that sign. It will be my souvenir from the night I finally saw the fireworks from this overlook. Jake left his bag of tools in the back of the truck. I could probably go right now and get the wrench I would need. Someone might try to stop me, but I could always defeat all nine of them in hand-to-hand combat and then be on my way with my sign. Whatever I'm going to do, I need to do it fast because I'm running out of time.

Volume Up. 11:57!

Time is a weird thing. It's a weird thing because we hate it so much. There's never enough when we want it most and there's a surplus when we desire to get on with life. I once heard my good friend Robbie Halleen use our hatred of time as proof that we are eternal beings. "Fish don't complain about the ocean being too wet," he said, "and worms don't complain about having to be underground all of the time. That's because they were made for those environments. But humans always feel the chafe of time on them, which indicates that this is not where we're supposed to be."

Volume Up. 11:59!

I press the "Power" button on the side of my camera and flip the view screen open. My eyes wince at the LCD's brightness. The camera's computer blinks at the blobs of light in front of it, confused for a second or two. Then it slowly understands and adjusts the lenses to make the picture sharper. There she is. The city of Reno, all laid out in front of me. I wonder if the folks watching from behind me are annoyed that I'm filming. The light from my screen is a bit bright so I try to cover it with my other hand. I know that in some movie theaters, they'll kick you out for even opening your cellphone. I hope that no one tries to kick me out of the overlook. For their sake, of course. I wouldn't want to defeat all twelve of them in hand-to-hand combat.

LCD Screen Display: "12:00"

The fireworks leap off the tops of the casinos downtown. I'm recording it all on my new camera. A few seconds later, I hear the faint pops and booms of the explosions. I try all sorts of tricks with the camera. I center the fireworks and zoom in as far as it'll go. Then I pan out a bit and put the fireworks near the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Oh yeah, I think, this will work great for a title sequence. I plan to later put the words "2011 - A Year In Review" in the black empty space where the night sky is. Of course, in the final edit, I will have Auld Lang Sine playing. Of course I'm going to make a "2010 In Review" video. It will be full of all the awesome stuff I do in 2011. Or rather, all of the awesome stuff people around me do in 2011, because there's not much chance that I will give the new camera to someone else to film.

LCD Screen Display: "12:03"

Shouldn't these fireworks be over by now? They are for me, as I flip the screen shut and power off the new camera. I place the new camera into the new camera bag and then put that whole apparatus into my old backpack, stand up, stretch, pick up the folding chair, and walk back to the truck. I stow all of my effects in the passenger seat and head off down the hill. I can see the fireworks sparkling all the way until I exit onto South Meadows Parkway and head for Dad's place.

Happy New Year, one and all.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

It's Been a While.

2010-10-14T22:21:00.003-06:00

And for that, I am sincerely sorry. Things have been ridiculously busy around here, what with being an RA, President of RHA, having a girlfriend, and planning for King Cougar.*

Yet I want to maintain this blog. On that note, I am about to copy/paste an opinion article I just wrote for Veritas, the CCU student newspaper. I know this is the cheap way out, but like they always say, "it's better to kills two birds with one stone than write an opinion article and not post it to your blog."

Deal.

What’s In a Name? (OR) The "Ghetto" Only in Name

I remember a phone conversation with one of my soon-to-be residents over the summer. I told him that I was the RA of the Ghetto for this year, and that I was really excited to get to know him. He responded by asking me a question. “Is the Ghetto, like, junkier than other stairwells?” After a moment’s pause, I responded in the negative and began informing him on the history of stairwell names – how they were chosen years ago by students who wished to express the zeitgeist in the stairwell. And while I don’t know for sure why the founders of the Ghetto decided to call it such, I would like to give an account of the current meaning of the term “Ghetto” as it pertains to CCU.

The history and scholarly definition of the word “ghetto” is not a glorious one. Princeton’s WordNet defines it as “1. Formerly the restricted quarter of many European cities in which Jews were required to live; ‘the Warsaw ghetto.’ 2. Any segregated mode of living or working that results from bias or stereotyping; ‘no escape from the ghetto of the typing pool.’ 3. A poor densely populated city district occupied by a minority ethnic group linked together by economic hardship and social restrictions.” Yet the word has become more of an adjective in today’s world; one might describe a trashy car or a shoddy production as “ghetto.”

Where does that leave the Ghetto Stairwell? Is this a passé name which should be thrown out with last semester’s class notes? To flee from this ugly definition, should we propose a name change for the stairwell? When faced with an undesirable reality, there are two paths one can take. The first is to flee from the tide. You distance yourself from the cause of your grief. You shed the old skin and start anew. You wash your hands and walk the other direction as quickly as possible. Yet I submit to you that the more noble reaction is to effect change within your circumstances. Rather than spurn the connotation of the word “ghetto,” we should strive to reverse the polarity of the term. We can make “ghetto” mean something different. We can redeem rather than be repulsed. The beauty of language is that it is always in a state of flux. It is alive and moving. Most importantly, it is created by man and can therefore be re-created by man.

So it is with the Ghetto Stairwell. We seek not to “be ghetto” as our culture defines the term, but instead tell the culture what “ghetto” now means. Our goal is to reinvent the word and bring light into a dark area of language. When the tax collectors come to John the Baptist and ask, “What shall we do,” John does not tell them to stop being tax collectors. He instructs them instead to only collect what they are required to. In other words, don’t flee from your blighted profession – redefine what it means to be a tax collector.

In I Corinthians, the Apostle Paul is telling off the religious folk of the Corinthian church for expecting their obedience in Christ to mean financial or material gain. The Corinthians obviously thought that a mark of Apostleship is wealth and power. To illustrate a true Apostle, Paul writes that “we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.” In other translations, it is interpreted as “everybody’s garbage” and “the filth of humanity.” It is not a far stretch to say that Apostles ought to be the Ghetto of the world. Let it be so.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*The annual male beauty pageant. My friends and I will be hosting this year.

In With The Old.

2010-07-25T00:34:00.002-06:00

Some of the biggest disappointments in my life have stemmed from the realization that something I thought new and cool and unexplored was, in reality, old hat. I remember, for example, the time I climbed Mt. Whitney with my boy scout troop. I returned to the pitiful elevation of 3,000 feet a hero, walking as tall as the mountain I had just scaled. After all, so few people had accomplished such a feat. I was like Emilia Earhart or Neil Armstrong. Yet when school started that September, I recall that during my first class, our new english teacher Mrs. Bowen had us play Classmate Bingo in order to better acquaint ourselves with each other. During the course of the game, Mrs. Bowen asked if anyone knew the tallest mountain in the contiguous 48 states. My hand shot up like a rocket and I exclaimed, "It's Mt. Whitney in California! I climbed it!"

"Me too," Mrs. Bowen replied in a heartbeat, "twice."

Suddenly my golden mountain lost its luster. It looked more like a mountain of lead now. I mean sure, I had climbed it... but who hadn't? Mt. Whitney, as I had just learned, was old news.

Now, as a 20-year-old white male living in America, there are certain thoughts and ideas I am exposed to on a regular basis. Yet the coolest and most alluring by far -- head and shoulders above Kanye West, MTV, and the partying scene -- is the idea of relative truth... The concept that Truth (note the capital T) is a fickle, tenuous, moving, amorphous concept whose definition invariably, by its nature, changes from person to person.

In short, Truth to one person is not always Truth to another.

This idea fascinated and enthralled me, as it does with millions of my peers. I mean, gone are the days where any shmuck on the street could spout off what Truth is. Truth is so much more complex than that, you see? Truth can't possibly exist within a single religion. Why, just look how many religions there are in the world! This concept, when I was first clued onto it in high school, was so... hip. It's what all the great thinkers of our time are soliciting. It is in movies, books, magazines, and TV shows. People eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Yet most promising of all, It makes our world safe, quiet, and happy. If the Truth confessed by an angry Christian and the Truth proclaimed by a fanatical Muslim are both true, then there's no reason to fight. What's true to you is awesome, and what's true to me is fantastic. There's no need for conflict in our utopia anymore.

As such, one of the most profound disappointments of my life came when I was listening to a message on the Gospel of John a while back. The pastor explained that Jesus had just been apprehended by the Jewish elite in the Garden of Gathsemane and beaten all night. The plotters decided that the best and most hands-free method of killing Jesus would be to send him before the cruel and unforgiving Pilate. All the Jews had to do was say that Jesus was leading an insurrection, and Pilate (who was in charge of brutally putting down any threats to Caesar,) would take care of the rest. Accordingly, the plotters hand Jesus over to be investigated.

While I was listening to the pastor read the discourse between Jesus and Pilate, an interesting few lines of dialogue caught my attention. Pilate asks Jesus if He is proclaiming to be a king (a direct violation of Roman law, as only Caesar was king.) Jesus replies, "You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me." Pilate remarks, "What is truth?" and then leaves to go talk to the Jews.

What is truth? Pilate is asking that of Jesus. What is truth. Mrs. Bowen was telling me that she climbed Mt. Whitney twice as Pilate was asking Jesus that rhetorical question. And suddenly, this amazingly entrancing idea that Truth is in the eye of the beholder was loosing its charm. The concept that Truth is relative isn't new at all. It isn't the latest thing and it wasn't thought up by our clever little generation. Pilate was tracking with it in year 10. And here we are in year 2010 acting as if this is all the rage. It was at that moment that I saw this idea not as a great leap forward in human thinking but a step sideways in our search for answers. It isn't some intellectual progression of thought, it's a regression of mind back to archaic thinking.

I said that this was one of the biggest disappointments in my life. This is true because it had been something that I had poured my intellect into for years, dazzled by the "new" shine it emitted. Yet it was also one of the most freeing realizations as well. Now that relative Truth wasn't any more progressive in thought than the concept of absolute Truth, I was able to think through my own beliefs more clearly. I wasn't worried about sounding old-fashioned or out-of-date when I proposed that Truth is a set, definite thing.

The idea that Truth to you is true and Truth to me is also true was an idea Pilate had going through his head. It seemed to be Jesus who was suggesting the new way of thinking... The revolutionary way of thinking. This example serves as a microcosm to why I decided to follow Christ. I wasn't interested in keeping alive some ancient, outdated set of beliefs. I didn't want to become part of a worn-out tradition. Instead, the life and the teachings of Jesus appeared to me as a breath of fresh air from the cloying stench of pop culture. Jesus told me to share instead of horde, and I agreed that that was a better way to live. He asked me to respect others before I took the best for myself, and I agreed that that was a more mature method. He told me that Truth is out there, solid and unchanging, even though sometimes I have no idea how to decipher it, and I agreed that that was a more wise understanding of things.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Least Wonderful Time of the Year.

2010-05-08T20:44:00.002-06:00

It's Sunday, May 2nd. I leave the Ghetto for the Dining Commons, messenger bag in my left hand and Zach at my right. We walk the length of Waite Hall together silently, anxious to see if we can get in. As per our plan, Zach approaches bottom-left of the Quik Stop, large cardboard box in hand, and knocks loudly. If they answer, he is to ask them for any canned goods (he's collecting them for the summer). If they don't answer, then we're golden.

We wait for about a minute. No one answers. Our revenge is at hand.

Almost unbelievably, they have left they window open. I snatch my knife out of my pocket and flick open the blade in a well-practiced movement, then set about prying their screen off. It pops out of place with minimal effort. With a quick look over at Zach (who is keeping watch) and another over my left shoulder towards the Ghetto, I see that the coast is clear and I slip inside the room. Moments later, I open their front door and let Zach in. The day is ours as we pull from my messenger bag three huge bags of confetti and some old rotten fish. Zach sets about throwing the bits of rotting seafood all over the room, while I tear open the first bag of confetti and set to work.

In less than five minutes, we exit the room through the front door. The whole place wreaks of fish and every square inch is covered with confetti - floors, counters, furniture, oven, cabinets, fridge, freezer, everything. Win.*

Zach and I are pumped as we finish our walk to the Dining Commons. It's Finals Breakfast night, so the place is packed out with hungry, study-weary CCU students. The jazz band is just striking up, loud and full, and I can see Phil, my roommate, playing his trombone with the rest of them. The Student Union will be packed tonight, as will the Library and any other available studying spot. There will be no parking spaces in any of the central parking lots. Finals week will be in full swing.

- - - - - - - - - -

It's Thursday, May 6th. I leave the Ghetto for the Dining Commons via longboard. I have nothing in my hands and no backpack. Why would I? I took my last final the other day at 10am. School is over for me. I arrive at the front doors to the Caf. a few minutes later, set my board in the atrium, and swipe my student ID at the kiosk. I've finished this semester with meals to spare, so I'm going to take advantage of the Caf. while I still can.

After eating, I head back to the Ghetto. I pass Jorden on my way. She's heading in the opposite direction, looking flustered and cute at the same time. "I overslept!" She explains. "I meant to study this morning!" I hug her and tell her she at least looks dressed to kill, then tell her she'll do great. We part and I return to the Ghetto. The sound of vacuums can already be heard, despite the fact that it's only eight in the morning. I enter my room and look over the kitchen. Still spotless, just the way I left it an hour ago.

I walk to my bedroom. Phil isn't awake yet, so I forgo cleaning in there. I return to the kitchen and work on scrubbing some stubborn stains from the tile floor. I check out of CCU in two hours, and when that happens, the kitchen (which I signed up to clean) and my bedroom have to be showcase condition. I hear footsteps on the stairs outside and, eager for a conversation, fling open the door. Zach and Clayton are on their way down. "Sullivan!" I say in a faux-deep voice. Clayton looks over his shoulder and replies, "What's up, Mountain Face?" I tell them to kick some ass on their finals, then I go back into the kitchen, leaving the door open, and return to the dirty floor.

After thirty minutes of cleaning, I decided it's cramping my style and head out. I longboard to the Student Union to see if anything interesting is going on. Nothing much there. I use my last remaining free drink coupon at the Cougar Tracks Cafe, then sip my enormous drink** as I meander around campus. I head over through upperclassmen housing. The drone of vacuums can be heard as I longboard through the bottom levels of the Peaks. Doors are open, giving me a look into the disheveled apartments full of half-packed boxes and cleaning supplies.

The Student Union will be empty tonight. The Library will be still and silent. There will be more empty parking spaces than full ones in the lots. Finals week is over. By ten o'clock tonight, 90% of on-campus students will be gone, some straight home, some to hotels, others (like myself) to friend's apartments in the area.

- - - - - - - - -

It's Friday, May 7th, at 12:00pm. I enter CCU campus through the main entrance on my motorcycle. I've come to pick through the enormous amounts of garbage left by students in their hasty flight from campus the previous night. The parking lot is completely empty except for a handful of cars. Freshmen housing is completely still. Campus is deserted. As I meet with my few friends who are still in the area to tour through the CCU dumpsters, I can't help but feel a sadness for the state of the campus. I won't live in the Ghetto for a while. The Library and Student Union and Dining Commons and everything else will sleep for the summer.

It's the least wonderful time of the year, in my opinion. But at least it leaves me with sufficient time to do the things I've had to forsake in the mad rush of college life. Like write.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*This was recompense for a below-the-belt prank pulled on the Ghetto a week earlier. Some freshman girls thought they could juke us and walk off scotch-free. Think again.

**You always go big when you get 'em for free.

A Night in the Union.

2010-02-23T19:39:00.003-07:00

I sit here in the Student Union, typing at my computer and tossing an occasional woeful glance at the clean fan blades above my head. It's rare that well though-out pranks fall through, especially when I've been planning them for this long. The last time a prank fell flat like this was back in high school, during the infamous Rapper's Delight Prank.

Back then, the plan was just as premeditated as this one had been. It was simple, quick, and clean - three excellent ingredients for a good prank. It involved two people, some privy knowledge as to the "all-call" code on the DHS intercom system, an old portable CD player, a burnt CD containing the Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight," some headphones from the Dollar Store, and duct tape. The execution was straight-forward; Hans distracted Mrs. Walker with a pointless question, I breezed by looking purposeful (which, I suppose, I was) and entered into the back room where the morning announcements were made. I drew out the CD player, headphones, and duct tape and set to work. Within twenty seconds, I had taped the headphones to the "talking" end of the phone, hit PLAY on the CD player, and dialed the all-call code. Then came the hang-up; I turned the volume on the CD player all the to one side. The wrong side. Thus, the ding-dong-ding signaling an announcement yielded nothing but dead air waves.

People sometimes ask me what my number one regret in life is. Without hesitation, I cite this prank. It was just so close to being epic.

Now, perched upon a tall chair in the corner of the Union, I can add one more to the list. The clean fan blades taunt me from above. At least I escaped detection.

It was just as smoothly executed. This morning at exactly 2:50am, all the alarm clocks and cellphones in my room want crazy. Five minutes later saw my roommates and I rubbing the sleep out of our eyes and putting on all the necessary gear - warm clothes, bags of dumpstered* confetti, flashlights, and a note reading;

"Feb. 23rd, 2010 -
PLEASE do not turn on the fans until after 8:30pm, they are being re-wired."

At 3:25am, security left the Student Union to go on patrol. One benefit to a small school like CCU is that the security patrols at 3:00am aren't in a big hurry and aren't too observant. Trevor followed the Security truck around with a walkie-talkie while Eli, Phil, and I sprinted from the Ghetto to the Union. I went inside and set to work shutting off all the lights and gaining entrance to the back closet where the fan controls are. A few moments later, Eli and Phil came in through the door carrying a tall ladder. They set it up under the nearest ceiling fan and called out for me to hurry up. I finished picking the lock and hastily shut down all of the fans in the room, then speed-walked over to the waiting ladder.

As I shimmied up the rungs, Phil and Eli took up their posts at opposite sides of the Union, listening to Trevor's incoming reports on Security's whereabouts. Reaching the top of the ladder, I drew out a large bag of hole punches from my coat pocket and set to work. This was where the plan started to fracture. Since the blades are slightly tilted, confetti began sliding off the edges even as I put it on. It didn't help that I was in a big hurry and had adrenaline dancing through my veins. Once the top of all of the blades on the fan had been sufficiently covered with tiny pieces of paper, I climbed down and relocated the ladder.

"Security's over by Beckman," Eli reported. This mean we still had a good amount of time. I repeated the task of climbing the ladder, placing the confetti as carefully as I could, and then relocating until all of the fans had been hit. Just in time.

"He's headed back this way!" Eli said as I folded up the ladder. We paused for a moment to review our work. It was sloppy. A decent amount of confetti covered the floor of the Union. We hastily swept any off of table tops and chairs so it didn't look like it had fallen from high above - perhaps someone would guess that a punk strolled through the building and dropped it our of his pockets as he went.

Perhaps. But as it turns out, perhaps not. Our intended target was 3rd Tuesday Coffeehouse - the monthly showcase of CCU musicians and other artists. It draws a pretty big crowd into the Union, and we were going to turn on the fans in the middle of the second act, dusting everyone with tons of confetti. But sometime during the day, someone connected the dots and looked up at the fans. I passed by the Union at 3:00pm today and saw a custodian on the same ladder I had used the night before, holding a garbage can in one hand and a duster in the other.

Bummer.

So here I sit, looking at all the happy, oblivious people. The first act is wrapping up. I have the lock picking tools for the back closet in my coat pocket still. They have no idea what they avoided.

Oh well. On the plus side, I enjoy 3rd Tuesday just as much as any other CCU student.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Dumpstered (adj) - an item obtained from a dumpster. Ex: We ate some dumpstered bread yesterday.

Language.

2010-02-05T16:02:00.012-07:00

I wonder if there's a point you can reach where you take nothing for granted. It seems like we're always being encouraged to obtain such a mindset. Parents, pastors, the elderly -- all extol you to avoid taking things for granted. Yet I think if I actually tried to realize how much of a gift everything I have is, my mind would explode. The most fitting illustration I can muster is one of a childhood game that John ad I used to play. We'd pile dirt into a mound and then shove a hose into it and turn the water onto a trickle. We would wait for the water to burst from the dirt and rush in with mud to patch up the hole in the mound. Then we'd wait for it to happen again. And again. I feel like I can realize one instance at a time what a gift things are -- after hearing a particularly moving piece of music, I can be truly thankful for the ability to hear. After a delicious dinner I can fully appreciate my sense of taste. After a good night of pedicabbing, a fat wad of cash in my pocket, I can be thankful for my ability to work. but something always creeps up on me without my noticing.

I bring this up because I have realized something new to be thankful for, something I had never previously considered; Language.

I'm taking a conversational Spanish class this semester. Its kicking my butt. Abut 90% of the class is taught in Spanish (and if it weren't for me, the entire thing would be) which means that I understand anywhere from 10% to 11%. My professor, Prof. Miraval, is from somewhere down south (and I'm not talking Alabama... Im talking south of the Equator) so even his English is entrenched in a thick accent. Occasionally he'll switch to English and it'll take me a few moments before I realize that the shift has taken place.

Prof. Miraval's approach is unique. "I do not teach translations -- I teach es-panish" (his words.) It's a really good approach, but unfortunately I have not taken Spanish since high school. He encourages me to listen to Spanish music, watch Spanish TV shows, read the Bible in Spanish, and get my news from the Spanish version of CNN.

In so doing, and I have been astounded with the concept of language. Prof. Miraval took a look at my Spanish Bible (a version from 1909) and said, "thees ees a good version, but nobody e-speaks like dees anymore." This made me realize that Spanish, just like English, has changed over the years. We don't use words like "thou" and "shall" anymore. In retrospect, I don't know why I didn't assume that the same thing happens in other languages, but Prof. Miraval's comment took me completely by surprise. The Spanish spoken today isn't the same they spoke in 1909. Go figure.

I've also been in awe of the complexity of language. It's really an odd thing if you take the time to turn it over. I'm typing into my keyboard and different squiggly lines are appearing on the screen. Your eye sees the squiggles and then your brain connects them with a sound (although no sound is heard, unless you're reading this out loud right now,) and then you recognize the sound patterns and make sense of what is being said. What?!

Also, think for a moment about the different ways you can say something. If you've read 1984, recall for a moment the conversation Winston has with his colleague during the lunch hour at the Ministry of Truth (forgive my lack of page reference, but I don't have the book with me currently.) Winston's 'friend' is working on the newest addition of the Newspeak dictionary and he's most excited about the elimination of synonyms. Newspeak seeks to reduce everything down to a single word. There would be two ways to express something - the affirmative and the negative. You would say something is "clever" or "unclever." That's it. You couldn't label something "witty" or "really clever." It would either be clever or not. All that to provide an example of the beauty of language. It's not merely a tool to be used, but also an art to be mastered. I proof-read someone's half-assed report on the Holy Roman Empire and dryly correct spelling and grammar mistakes, ignoring the lack of creativity and originality, then open a book by Donald Miller or Emily Bronte and revel in their mastery over the English Language.

And I can't help but wonder, sitting in Spanish class staring blankly at Prof. Miraval as he speaks a mile a minute in Spanish, if some day I'll be able to understand Spanish thoroughly enough to write a blog like this in Spanish. I wonder if I'll ever come to a point where I can read an entire Spanish novel and reflect upon the literary devices and underlying motifs the same way I can when I read "1984." It'd be really awesome if I could.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

X-Treme!

2010-01-27T09:44:00.002-07:00

Thanks for watching,

-Daniel K

Viewing the World.

2010-01-19T07:18:00.007-07:00

Ever since I came to CCU, I've had a nagging fear in the back of my mind. You see, I have always viewed myself as a seeker of knowledge. Through high school, I prided myself on being able to achieve A's in my classes, on being able to compete with Hans in calculus class and John in English. I love to learn new things, from the correct usage of a semicolon to the formula for rotational volume of a solid to how the Persians defeated the Spartans at the battle of Thermopylae.

When I began investigating Christianity, this didn't change. I remember the time Robbie gave a message in youth group and he mentioned angles. Afterward, I approached him and asked, "God is all-powerful and exists everywhere, right?" He answered in the affirmative. "Well then, why does He need angles? Does He just get tired or bored and so He employs them? Or what?" My hunger for answers found new food in Christianity, because it was something I had never formally learned about before. What is the Trinity? Why was Christ's death necessary? How is Jesus both the Son of God and yet fully God?

After a while of meeting with Robbie, drilling David, and interrogating Stephanie, I came to a place where I was ready to be vulnerable to the doctrines of Christianity. That is, I was ready to begin to show humility and think, "maybe I don't have it all right, and perhaps this Jesus character can help me with some things." This was when I began asking more crucial questions such as "What does it mean to be a Christian? How do you become one? What ramifications would that have on my life?"

I'm guessing most of you know the end of that story (or, rather, the beginning.) So I return to the statement I made in the first paragraph - the nagging fear I've had. Given my background, how my mind works, and my knack for asking questions until the fog is cleared up, I was afraid to go to a Christian University because of an observation I made regarding many Christians. The more I read Christian books, listened to Christian music, attended churches and the like, the more I saw this lurking intellectual fear of secularity among believers.

Christian parents don't want their children reading Harry Potter because they think it's about witchcraft. Pastors are afraid to concede that the Qur'an and the Bible teach similar lessons on few subjects. College students are uneasy about visiting Mosques or Buddhist Temples because they might get brainwashed. Worship leaders don't want to listen to the Beatles or Three Dog Night because they don't exemplify Christian values.* (please read footnote.)

As such, when I departed Nevada for Colorado in August of 2008, I was excited to be sure, but also a tad bit apprehensive. If I asked my economics professor to explain why communism seems to lead to bloodshed, would she respond that it was because communism was from the Devil? If I questioned my history professor on why she thinks America has lasted so long as a democracy, would she answer that it was because God loves America the most? If I was confused about a math problem, would my professors tell me to pray about it? I was concerned that intellectual fear would permeate my college experience.

I think the other day in my World Religions class was when I drove the last nail into that coffin of apprehension.

Since my time here at CCU, I have been relieved to be able to ask more and more questions of my professors and consequently tap into their vast reserves of knowledge and experience. I have seen trace amounts of intellectual fear here at CCU, but sparsely among students and never among the professors. On the contrary, I have been encouraged by multiple professors to explore and learn from such extra-biblical sources as the Qur'an, the Gilgamesh Epic, and the Ramayana. I have learned about the philosophies of Nietzsche, Hitler, and Lenin. I have studied the values of communism and capitalism as well as the shortcomings of the two.

And the other day in World Religions, Dr. Smith really put words to both my fear and my relief. We were discussing the two main methods of exploring religion. Dr. Smith explained that one could look at religion from without - from an objective, removed position. This position would mean studying the demographics of church attendance, the hand positions of people during worship, the movies and books and music that are sought out by the attendees. These dry, objective statistics would yield results, surely. Irrefutable facts about that religion. Yet at the end of the day, what have we really learned about that religion? The second method of studying a religion is from within - immersing yourself in the religion, not being afraid to seek truth and value from the beliefs, and not sitting in the seat of scoffers when faced with a religion's tenants or practices.

"We always study a worldview from within a worldview," Dr. Smith explained, "and the idea that the ultimate form of knowledge - knowledge in its purest form - comes from removed, objective 'science' is in itself a worldview with a definitive beginning and geographic location."

You see, the West is obsessed with natural science. Absolutely consumed by it. And we have this notion that our worldview is the ultimate one, the correct one, the quintessential one. Our view that objective 'science' is the way, the truth, and the life is simply that; our view. And maybe - just maybe - other worldviews out there deserve just as much credibility.

Here I raised the question that perhaps all of those "other" worldviews were simply steps leading us to this one, final, correct worldview. "What I mean to say is," I explained after being called on in class, "maybe this worldview that regards tangible, detectable results as the only way to find truth is the very pinnacle of worldviews, the capstone in human history."

Dr. Smith responded, "And you could certainly argue that. In some areas, this worldview does in fact seem to be at the top of the pyramid. For example, if you take your car to the mechanic, you don't want to hear that there is a demon in the engine. If you ask why the earth spins on its axis, you don't want to hear that it's because God is spinning it on His finger like a basketball. But I would caution you against using this natural science-based approach to all of life's questions."

Like the question of religion. Why does it exist? Or more perplexing, why has it always existed? From as early as we can research, after all, man has engaged in religious practices.

Dr. Smith ended by encouraging us in this way; "Don't assume that by holding a Christian worldview and a Christian set of beliefs, you are losing something in your studies. Don't be fooled into thinking that you cannot fully apprehend knowledge without first conforming to the worldview which proclaims natural science as god. In fact, I submit to you that in many ways, you only run the risk of gaining more because you don't limit your knowledge to what is tangible and testable."

I feel like this entry is getting long enough (and I've spent several days preparing it already,) so I will leave you with that. Expect more to come on this, though.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Hear me say that I realize this is by NO means my opinion on ALL pastors, ALL worship leaders, or ALL college students. Such a sweeping generalization would be foolish and naive. I am merely pointing out observations I have made at one time or another over the past few years I have spent in Christian culture. I make it a point in my life to seek out Pastors, worship leaders, college students, etc. who are not afraid of "the world."

New Year.

2010-01-01T17:48:00.005-07:00

I think New Year's Eve is my new least favorite holiday.

There. Do you see what I just did? I gave you the end point of today's post. You don't even have the read the rest of this blog, because you already know how it ends.

Still reading? I assumed as much.

You see, when I was a senior in high school, Mr. Rohrer was my AP English Literature teacher. A little while into the school year, we were reading The Curious Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in AP English Lit., when Mr. Rohrer decided to impart unto us some wisdom. We, his oh-so-intelligent class, were complaining about the fact that before the novella was even halfway done, the ending had been revealed. [Spoiler Alert!] You know early on that Jekyll and Hyde are one in the same, and that a potion turns mild-mannered Dr. Jekyll into the unruly and violent Mr. Hyde. The rest of the novella is spent reading through letters and journal entries which trace the circumstances which lead Jekyll to become Hyde.

Mr. Rohrer explained it as such;

A lot of people know when they pick up the novella that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are one in the same. Before they crack open the pages, the reader is aware that Jekyll creates a potion which turns him into Mr. Hyde. What matters is not so much how the story ends as how the characters get to that end. Thus, a majority of the novella is dedicated to describing how Jekyll became Hyde, and not working towards revealing that the two are one in the same.

Contrary to New Year's Eve, I think this is one of my favorite concepts. What matters in my life is not so much how it ends as how I get to that end. I already have a pretty good idea of how my life will end. That's not the kicker. The real mystery is how I get there. What leads me to my death? Is it greed? Love? Adventure? Apathy?

This may seem like a rather morbid way of thinking about things, but go ahead and take a minute or two to consider what you want to lead you to your death. Because [Spoiler Alert!] you're going to die, and I don't believe that's what's important here.

If I just give you the end; "I think New Year's Eve is my new least favorite holiday," and not the middle -- not what led me to that conclusion -- it all seems like a letdown, doesn't it?

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

A Report.

2009-12-21T18:34:00.002-07:00

A Report of Recent Activity:

Declared Major: Global Studies

Job: Pedal Cab Driver with MileHi Pedicabs

Currently Reading: "Freakonomics," by Steven Levitt & Stephen Dubner; "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan.

Purchases: Tall iced coffee (extra sweet with cream); gasoline; "Les Miserables" by Victor Hugo; No. 3 Meal at In-N-Out.

Listened to Recently: "My Response," message by Robbie Halleen; NPR Reno; Mewithoutyou.

Angry At: The cost of education

Satisfied With: My choice in education

Occupying my Time: Reading (see above); Final Fantasy XII.

Worrying me: The fact that I'm running low on money.

Comforting Me: The fact that you can see the stars better in Nevada.

Getting me Excited: Disney World!

Living: In Dayton 'till the 25th.

Driving: Ford Thunderbird. I want to wear a leather jacket and listen to some Deaf Lep.

Getting me Pumped: Videos on Youtube found by searching "Wolf."

Mellowing me Out: The fact that I have no homework/schoolwork to be doing for the next few weeks.

Challenging me: Doing push ups.

Inspiring me: Living Stones.

Calling to me: A new blog entry. Hence this off-kilter post.

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

Oh Theology.

2009-12-10T09:21:00.002-07:00

I went to Theology class the other day expecting to get our final exam review sheet, maybe some words of encouragement, and a chuckle or two. Dr. Turner's Intro to Theology class has been a favorite of mine this semester, partly because I have never taken a formal study of theology, and partly because Dr. Turner is a great professor. What I got was a mind-blowing lesson that still has my thoughts racing.

Dr. Turner started out with three key positional truths. "I'm going to say some things today that might go against what you've been taught. Realize that everything I say, however, will not violate these truths;

1. We are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

2. Heaven never gets worse, only better.

3. Hell never gets better, only worse.

With these three points scrawled on the board, he drew two diagrams, explaining each.

You may view your life like this: You are born, sometime in your life you accept Christ and are "saved," then you live the rest of your life, then you die. From death, because of your decision to accept Christ, you enter into eternity with Him and begin your eternal life.

I agreed - this was the model I was familiar with. We live our mortal life, then once we die, we begin our eternal life.

He drew a diagram sort of like this (I'll try my best at drawing with letters:)

Born |--[saved]-----| Die

\-------------| 'Born' into eternity |----> [live eternally]

He paused, then continued. What if, instead of being born into a finite life and then someday entering into eternity, we are born into eternity? What if our life looks something like this:

/------{heaven}---->

Born |------[saved]--------| Die

<-----{hell}----/

This way, Dr. Turner explained, we are eternal beings from the get-go. At first, I thought he was splitting hairs. Then he explained further.

If we are born mortals and one day become eternal, there seems little point in living after you have accepted Christ. Once you are saved, you might as well die and go live in heaven, beginning your eternal life. Some would claim that the point of living after you accept Christ is to "preach the Gospel."

"But... what does that mean, exactly?" Dr. Turner asked, "I mean, do we preach 24/7? Or what? It almost seems like a cop-out answer."

But if we are born into eternity from the get-go, our lives take on a whole new meaning. Because if we are eternal from birth, our actions matter. What you do in this area, (he circled the line segment between "[saved]" and "| Die") matters.

I thought about this. It made a lot of sense but raised even more questions.

This means that you can't merely accept Christ and then live a life doing whatever you want, knowing that you have your "fire insurance." It means that your life, your words, your actions, matter.

It seemed like I had heard all of this before, but never explicitly mentioned all at once. It was awesome to see it all hashed out. But there was more.

Dr. Turner then wrote the word "Misthos" on the board. He defined misthos as the transliteration of a Greek word meaning essentially "payment for labor." He then cited several instances in Scripture where the word was used. The first was Matthew 20:8, where the master of the vineyard pays his workers their wages. (The word 'wages' was translated from misthos). The second is in 1 Timothy 5:18, where Paul quotes older Scripture, saying that the worker is entitled to his wages (again translated from misthos). Third, in James 5:4, where James warns not to withhold wages from workers, because by working they are entitled to their wages (and again, 'wages' was translated from misthos).

So far, so good. But then things got a little tricky. Dr. Turner explained that misthos was used a few other times in Scripture. In Matthew 5:11-12, we are told that though we will be persecuted, our reward in Heaven will be great. Yet the word reward here is translated from misthos, the same word which was translated 'wages' on other occasions.

"It seems that our... dare I call them cowardly?... Bible translators were a bit uncomfortable with the concept of us receiving our misthos, our wages, from God," Dr. Turner said. He then pointed out two other instances, in Luke 6:35 and Revelation 22:12, where misthos is translated 'reward' instead of 'wages.'

Next, he explained the difference. Reward implies that it's something that might happen out of good graces. A wage is something you are entitled to by a legal contract. If you work, you get paid. It's not up to the good graces of your boss, it's up to the letter of the law. He has no choice but to pay you.

It seems that the same thing happens between us and God. When we diligently serve Him, we are entitled to our misthos. We work for God, God is required to pay us.

This is where a lot of my questions come from. Referring to those three positional truths, I realize that we cannot earn our way into Heaven. Furthermore, God is the one Who gives us the opportunities to serve. We cannot do good for God without God having set us up to do that particular good. Therefore, we do not by any means control God - quite the other way around. But by doing good for God, we are entitled our reward. Because God is just, and He rewards the good and punishes the bad.

Thus, we are able to build up wages in heaven. Our experience in heaven is able to become better the more good we do on earth.

I told Dr. Turner that this sounded a bit like Christian Karma, where we do good and are rewarded for it, or the theology of Mormonism, where there are different "levels" of heaven which we can earn our way into. He denied both counts.

First, Karma implies that we are repaid for our good in this life. If you lend someone in need $5, you will find $5 later that day. (Obviously this is a simplified version, but you get the idea.) Dr. Turner explained that with our misthos, we are not entitled to it until we are in heaven. Thus, we are to do good expecting nothing back.

Furthermore, "Mormonism claims that at some level we can become like God. This is not supported in Scripture," Dr. Turner said, "the idea of misthos is not that we can become so good that we become like God, but rather that God displays his divine justice by paying us back all that we have done for Him."

I asked what exactly our misthos looks like. "I mean is it, like, a mansion we get or something?" I said facetiously.

"Honestly," Dr. Turner answered, "I have no idea. I only know that Heaven is incomprehensibly good - better than we are able to wrap our minds around. Yet by diligently serving God, our experience can become better."

I'm still not exactly sure what I think about all this. Nor have I read the original Greek to see the different uses of misthos. But I was blown away and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all. Let me know what you all think.

As for now...

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Jet Planes and Snow Storms.

2009-11-30T19:49:00.005-07:00

I flew to and from Nevada this year for Thanksgiving break. It was awesome because I was able to wake up in the Ghetto, go to my Global Century class, attend chapel, leave campus, and arrive at the Cat Hut in Reno later that afternoon. The miracle of modern science. Although I did not get nearly as much homework done this break (23 hours on a train each way leaves you little option but to read about World War II, India, and the "Fault Line Wars" of Islam,) I still enjoyed the trip.

I decided, gliding over the Sierra Nevadas in an aluminum tube, that I like flying for the same reason I like snow storms.

I once complained loudly to a good friend of mine that I hated missing classes for the newly instigated "CCU Symposium" earlier this year. Yet a month later when 24 inches of fresh, scintillating powder ventured from heaven to CCU, I rejoiced via text message to that same friend at the news that there would be no classes the next day.

Luckily, she called me one it. She asked me why I despised missing classes for the Symposium yet enjoyed missing them for a snow day. It caught me by surprise, really. I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm glad I have friends who do that.

Thinking about it, I realized why I was okay with missing classes due to snow. When we get adverse weather and classes are cancelled and businesses shut down, our human plans are hopelessly foiled. Observed correctly, a snow day is an inescapable reminder of how small and powerless we humans are. I think when we start shooting big guns or driving fast cars, we humans are tricked into thinking we're these all-powerful, unstoppable beings. Then some clouds roll in and we find that it's too cold to shoot stuff and our fast car only has 2-wheel drive.

It's fun to have to change your plans because of weather. Comforting, really. It's a relief to realize that you are not all-responsible for the running of things. When in the Bible Job's life is demolished - when his family dies, his wife leaves, his fortune is destroyed and his health is compromised - Job cries out to God and asks the Almighty, "God, what the heck?!" God answers his likewise; "Brace yourself like a man. I will question you and you shall answer Me." God then proceeds to ask question after question for three whole chapters. Job, Who is it Whom stores the winter snows in the mountains? Who is it, exactly, who calls the stars by name? Job, remind Me Who knows the comings and going of every mountain goat and locust. And Who is it Whom measured the foundations of the earth?*

Because it's not Job. It's not me. It's not you, either. But sometimes we forget that, y'know? We get a little too full of ourselves, a little too confident that we'll ace the test in Nonverbal Communication the next day. Then we wake up and realize that the test is cancelled because God called snow from the sky onto your doorstep.

The same realization hits me when I fly. The plane jams you back into your seat, the wind roars past the windows, over the wings, creating lift enough to hoist a 20,000-pound hulk of machinery and people into the sky. The ground runs away, leaving you with the intangible clouds for comfort. Then you look down onto Reno, onto Denver, onto wherever. And you see all of those huge obstacles - all of those highway patrol cars in speed traps, all of those tall buildings which tempt you to reach their uppermost floor, all of those fences too high to climb - and they suddenly are put into perspective. Tiny objects on a tinier world. Insignificant compositions of circuitry and hormones and brick held by an invisible force to an insignificant sphere of magma and water in an insignificant solar system.

Looking down onto the familiar streets of Reno, one realizes how out of control we really are in this life. We may be able to compute the third derivative of sin(x-9) or build bombs that destroy cities or decide which pants to wear today. But then we walk to our door and realize that we're trapped inside our apartments by trillions upon trillions of uniquely crafted flakes of crystalized water.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*This is the Daniel Paraphrased Version of the Bible (DPV). Look up Job Chapters 37-42 for the actual text.

The Story.

2009-11-23T11:13:00.003-07:00

I want to write a story.

It's an adventure story, sort of like an action movie transposed from the silver screen onto tangible pages. The stunts are real, the special effects are amazing, and the acting is superb. The characters are real - more real, it seems, than most people you meet on the street - so full of emotion and hope and agony are they that we all yearn to meet characters like them. There are fight scenes that make adults gasp and high schoolers cheer and stomp their feet on the sticky movie theater floor in excitement. There's this really tense moment (or maybe two or three, I forget exactly) where you are literally on the edge of your seat in anticipation, wanting to yell out loud in the theater, "hurry up! They're coming!" but at the same time you know nothing will come of it except annoyed fellow spectators.

Wrapped up in this action is a love story. It's a story so pure and heart wrenching that it's enough to make old men tear up. The main character falls in and out of love, the whole time missing out on the One who loves him the most. At times, he and his Lover are so very close to perfect union when something happens which draws his attention away. The audience rolls their eyes in frustration at the main character's immaturity and blindness, but at the same time cheers him on as he stumbles in and out of crushes, in and out of danger, in and out of heartbreak.

There's also a horror element. The main character has a seedy past which resurfaces time after time in the most gruesome ways. The character witnesses unspeakable evil, stands by as hatred and injustice run the show, and frequently finds himself allying with such atrocities to advance his agenda. The audience has a lot of trouble telling if the character is the villain or the hero.

Side by side with the horror is the mystery. The plot line reveals innumerable unexplainable occurrences which never seem to resolve. It's like a perpetual episode of Lost, as one mystery stacks up on top of another and then another. The audience shakes their heads in confusion more than a few times as the plot reveals twist after twist. One moment the antagonist is clearly defined, but the next scene leaves a nebulous understanding of who's who.

The setting is one of the best parts. The whole story takes place in this whimsical land of wild animals and exotic plants, with danger and beauty waiting with a smile around every turn. The land is huge, the oceans are bigger, and the people who inhabit it all are a mysterious bunch of pilgrims, each on their own way to writing their own best-selling story. Yet however big the whimsical world is, it pales in comparison to the greater World, the universe surrounding it. The gigantic world is but an atom in the body of a superior system, beyond comprehension of any of the characters.

The soundtrack is something out of this world. The opening number itself takes a lifetime to compose, not to mention the theme song and the closing title. The music is so rich and full of life that it makes you want to dance. No matter who you are or what your background, you want to let loose and move to the pulse of the song. It's music that makes you wonder what being truly alive is and leads you to question whether you are really living.

I've already started the story, but I'm still very near the beginning. There are a lot of unknowns and a lot of sketchy drafts so far. The plot line has changed a bunch and I expect it to change a bunch more. I'm not exactly sure who will play what character or even if those characters will make the final draft. But it's been fun so far. I look forward to sharing it with you all sometime.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

GDP.

2009-11-07T08:41:00.004-07:00

Ghetto Dance Party. This Friday. 9:30PM. Ghetto Stairwell.

So read the posters which we scattered all over campus earlier this week. The Ghetto Dance Party is one of the biggest traditions on campus, dating back more than ten years. About this time, (either late October or early November,) the Ghetto stairwell transforms into the hip-hoppin'-est place in all of Lakewood.

Starting Friday morning, we gathered up the Ghetto guys and set to work. Trevor, Eli, Tim, and myself went off to Wal-Mart and cleaned them out of rootbeer and Gardettos. By the time we came back to the Ghetto, the guys in bottom-left and bottom-right had already started clearing their stuff out. We hauled all of the rootbeer and snacks into the RA room and then checked in with Chad, Justin, Zach M, Zach T, Tyler, and Damian. Most of their furniture was stacked in their kitchens and their couched and armchairs were out on their porches. All according to plan.

Next, Trevor, Eli, Phil, and I drove over to the Music Center for some treasures we heard would be in one of the practice rooms. Sure enough, in the room at the end of the basement hall, between an ancient standing piano and the wall was stacked sheets of sound-proofing foam. We snagged all we could carry and headed back to the Ghetto.

Now came the tricky part - sound proofing the GDP (Ghetto Dance Party, that is.)

You see, Lakewood City ordinances demand that all loud, fun activities be over by 10:00pm, even on weekends. As such, we usually start the GDP at 8:00 and go until we get shut down, shortly after 10:00. This year, however, there was a jazz band concert the same night ad in order to get the GDP approved by Student Activities, we had to bump it back to 9:30 so the two didn't conflict. This left us oly 30 minutes of grace before the 5-0 chowed up to shut us down. Our solution? Soundproofing.

I covered the front windows in both rooms with sound-proofing foam, fitting two layers into the window sill and then another layer thumbtacked over top. On the outside, we piled couch cushions and pillows up against the glass. The back sliding doors were the hardest. We put the couches against them, then stacked the armchairs on top of the couch, then filled the gaps with cushions and pillows. On the inside, we taped sheets of foam onto the glass. Finally, we closed the bedroom doors and stacked the CCU mattresses against the doors from the inside, then exited through the windows.

On the front of the Ghetto, we put two couches on end at either side of the stairwell entrance, then draped a tarp over it with a slit cut in it so people could pass in and out. We tied mattresses to the bottom of the stairs to block music from going up the stairwell and out the top.

Once the sound system arrived, we thought we were in trouble. The subs were as big as our bath tubs and the mains were the size of clothes hampers. We set up all the lights and speakers in the two rooms, plugged in Trevor's iPod, and let her rip.

It was whisper silent outside in the parking lot.

In fact, you could drown out any sound at all by humming or carrying on a conversation with someone. Brilliant! It had worked!

We finalized the arrangements (by that I mean we put out the food and set up the Thug Jug,) and got the party started. By 10:00, the two rooms were packed with gangstas of all sorts dancing their faces off. The Thug Jug, unlike last year, worked marvelously, and the party-goers enjoyed as much rootbeer as they could possibly desire.

We wrapped things up at about 11:15, playing "Closing Time" by Semisonic and telling everyone thanks for coming. As the thugs shuffled towards the exits, we realized that the cops hadn't received any complaints, otherwise they would have been all over the Ghetto cul-de-sac. We cleaned everything up in a hurry and went to bed.

This morning, I woke up, walked out to the living room, and saw the place trashed with rootbeer bottles, chip bags, sound-proofing foam, mattresses, rope, and crumpled up peices of duct-tape. The morning after a CCU party.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Random Thoughts of Late.

2009-10-25T18:03:00.002-06:00

It's been busy around here recently. A little too busy, even for my tastes. We just had King Cougar, a CCU tradition, and I was charged with making a video to show during the intermission. It turned out pretty good, although we had some technical difficulties and I ended up dubbing over my own narrator voice live while the movie was playing (My computer hasn't been well recently, which is also why I haven't posted anything in a while... it's a long story.)

Now then, down to the point of my post: Random thoughts of late.

Random Thought 1.) Zombies. I attended the annual Denver Zombie Crawl the other night, and it didn't disappoint. The organizers were trying to break the world record for biggest zombie gathering, a staggering 4,000. I don't know if we did it or not, but there sure were a TON of zombies. We met at a park off the 16th Street Mall and got our faces painted. I tore up an old t-shirt and wore it along with some ratty jeans. By 6pm, it was full-on zombie mayhem. The park was elbow-to-elbow undead, ranging from a zombie Pope to a full zombie construction crew.

A little after 6, the organizers gave the green light and we flooded onto the 16th Street Mall, groaning and shuffling past stunned bystanders. I would estimate that by about 6:30, only about 1 in 10 people on the Mall were NOT zombies. We absolutely took the place over. A "Free Mall Ride" bus was forced to stop at a red light as we exited the park, and the zombies immediately overtook it, banging on the windows with fake blood on their hands, trying to pry open the doors. The people on the bus looked pretty unnerved at the sight of hundreds of the undead trying to gain entry. Soon after, the Mall Rides stopped for about an hour and a half until things calmed down.

In addition, "survivors" were marked with an 'X' in duct tape and ran around the Mall in an attempt to escape the zombie hordes. My friends and I found that chasing the living with the goal to eat them is one of the most fulfilling things you can do here on earth. We cornered a girl after a long chase in front of a Subway sandwich shop and everyone descended on her, groaning and reaching, as the people inside looked on perplexedly. Good fun.

Random Thought 2.) ADD. The other day I was hanging out with some friends of mine, having a good time, when one of them asked me: "Daniel, have you ever been diagnosed with ADD?" I absolutely hate this question. I hate it for a couple of reasons, most of which you all probably know. I answered her, "Forgive me for answering a question with another question, but do you know what ADD stands for?"

"Attention deficit disorder," she replied uneasily.

"Right. Attention deficit disorder," I confirmed, placing emphasis on the last word before continuing, "which is weird, because usually you don't walk up to someone and ask them if they have a disorder." She already looked like she regretted asking the question, but I continued on anyway. "And at that rate, who is it exactly who determines what is normal and what is abnormal? Who is the authority for what is orderly and what is disorderly? I mean, just because my mind works differently than most peoples', doesn't necessarily constitute a disorder."

I felt like a jerk after answering her in that way, but I really truly despise that question. I wonder what my life would be like if my mom had listened to my kindergarten teacher and put my on Ritalin. I wonder how sick my mind would have become, how repressed my thoughts would have been.

Random Thought 3.) Music. I have been reflecting recently on a seemingly innocent question; "What kind of music do you listen to?" When getting to know someone or when breaking the ice, this seems to be a quintessential inquiry. Yet I wonder why we never ask the question "do you like music?" This lead me to reflect on my own answer to that question; "yes, of course I like music." I wonder if anyone when asked that question would respond, "no, I don't care for music."

It seems unlikely. We assume that everyone enjoys music, it's merely a matter of which kind of music they enjoy. I wonder what that says about human nature? It seems every culture has their own style of music, their own instruments, their own tastes. We always gravitate towards music, it's just a matter of which variety we gravitate towards.

Random Thought 4.) Names. I wonder when was the last time you checked what you name actually is. I know I haven't checked since I got my driver's license, which I guess wasn't too long ago. Yet I bet there are some people who have never checked what their name really is. They're told what it is and reciprocate that in their lives, telling others their name. I don't know why this strikes me as weird, but it does. What is my name?

I suppose this concludes my random thoughts.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Sunday Nights.

2009-09-28T07:19:00.004-06:00

I've decided on my favorite part of the week.

Last night I climbed into Scooter's car and headed across town to Nick and Beth's place. We arrived right on time - 9pm - and realized everyone else was running late. This was the last thing on our minds, however, due to the presence of Nick and Beth's new adorable puppy, a month-old German Shepherd.

Sufi, as she is called,* is a little smaller than a football and, given the chance, will mob all over your face with a vengeance, licking and nibbling. After a good fifteen minutes of playing with Sufi, the rest of the group arrived. Cameron, Stephen King, and Austin pulled up and we let them in through the back door of Nick and Beth's quaint apartment complex. After a few minutes of talking and petting Sufi, Beth bid us farewell and left with a smile.

Now it was just the bros left. Nick, my old RA, Scooter and Cameron, my old roommates, Stephen King,** a good friend of ours, and Coop, last year's Chapel leader and an awesome dude. Within a few minutes, we had coffee brewing and Nick's ornate hookah up and running. Not long after this, we all sat around the coffee table in the small living room and got down to business.

It did not escape me that two of my least favorite things - black coffee and smoking - somehow seemed so appealing at the time. I sipped the hot, bitter beverage between mouthfuls of chocolate muffins and vanilla ice cream. I breathed in the fruity, dusty smoke from the hookah, enjoying the smell but disliking the taste.

We opened our Bibles, our minds, and our lives to each other. Between the bubbling of the hookah and the quiet barking of Sufi (who soon zonked out on Scooter's sweatshirt in the corner,) we fellowshipped and shared life. I listened in awe to Nick as he told us about what it's like being married. I smiled when Coop told us how nervous he is for his own wedding on Friday. I nodded in agreement with Scooter and Cameron as they talked about how strange it is being a sophomore. I sympathized with Stephen King as he recounted to us the hardships of a long-distance relationship.

I couldn't help but smile the whole night - it's times like these when it's so easy to realize that God is good.

I was encouraged, built up, and offered advice. I chipped in with knowledge when it was applicable. I saw a microcosm of the fellowship of God in my friends as we laughed and as we somberly nodded.

After a few hours which absolutely flew by, we prayed for each other, cleaned up the living room, scrubbed the hookah, and began to depart. Next week we'll begin our study in "Devotional Classics," a book which consequently was gifted to me last year by my D-Group leader, Scott.

I've decided on my favorite part of the week, and I absolutely can't wait for next Sunday night.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Named after Sufi Islam... the "ballsy" Muslims, as we call them.

**That's his real name. For real.

...And Another...

2009-09-22T09:25:00.003-06:00

Here's another video we made for the New Student Retreat. We were supposed to tell them the rules for the weekend.

My Day Downtown.

2009-09-19T20:58:00.006-06:00

I love the city.

I knew this even before I lived in Denver, a realization gleaned from family vacations to Washington DC or Los Angeles. As such, when I finally began putting "180 S. Garrison St. Lakewood, CO 80226" as my address, I was elated. The feeling hasn't diminished.

I've always found it hard to place my finger on exactly what it is that captures my imagination in the busy, dirty metropolitan areas of America. After giving this much thought, I've decided to not worry about it. Do I really need to know why exactly I'm wired this way? After all, I've always found I don't like poems as much after I've been forced to dissect and analyze them.

That being said, I woke up this morning and decided something in the time between when I rolled out of bed and when I took the obligatory morning leak - I'm going to spend today downtown. I had been to the heart of the city two nights before for our Classy Date Night with the Boondocks girls* and I had realize during that time that I had neglected visiting the epicenter of Denver for some time.

After showering and drawing up a schedule for the day,** I gathered the necessary items:

-Longboard

-Lenin, Stalin, and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe, by Robert Gellately

-The Next Christendom - The Coming of Global Christianity, by Philip Jenkins

-Wild Swans - Three Daughter of China by Jung Chang

-The Bible (New King James Version)

-Drumsticks

-Blue "Sherwin Williams"3-gallon bucket

-Brimmed hat

-iPod

-$2 Cash

-"Free 16oz Jamba Juice" smoothie coupon

-Notebook

-Pen

Having acquired all of these, I packed them into the backpack, hopped on my longboard, and left campus.

Belmar Shopping Center

I boarded from CCU to Belmar and encountered my first surprise of the day. The usual quiet, completely long-boardable streets of Belmar were crowded with people and tents, all smelling of pasta and grilled meat. There was a festival, "A Taste of Italy," going on. I waded through the crowd somewhat clumsily, holding my longboard in one hand and my bucket in the other until I arrived at my destination - the brightly colored storefront of Jamba Juice. I entered the store, immediately taking in the cool air and scent of fruits. Approaching the counter, I smiled at the barista*** and whipped out my free smoothie coupon.

"Hello!" I said

"Hi, what can we get for you?"

"Well, yesterday I had the White Gummy. What other secret ones do you have?"

"Uh," she looks over at her co-worker before continuing, "we have the Pink Star and the Strawberry Shortcake and... uhh..."

"Okay, I'll have the Pink Star," I reply, sliding her the coupon.

The Pink Star is okay. Not nearly as good at the White Gummy. As it were, I left the store sipping on the tangy drink. As soon as I cleared the masses of wanna-be Italians, I tossed down the longboard, leapt on, and headed down Wadsworth Boulevard to the nearest bus stop for the 16L route.

16L Bus

The 16 Limited route goes on westbound Colfax Avenue to Civic Center Station, downtown. I grew familiar with the 'Ol 16L (as we city-folk call it) earlier this year when I had to commute downtown daily for my job with Environment Colorado. I boarded at the Colfax and Wadsworth stop along with a cross-section of American citizens. There were two businessmen in clean, pressed suits and holding briefcases. There was a family of Mexicans, all laden with grocery bags. There was a white, amorous couple wearing clothes from The Gap. There was a group of four members of the ICP.**** And there was me, wearing my yellow "Clash of the Classes" t-shirt, Jake's old Etnies backpack, carrying a longboard and a blue 3-gallon bucket.

We rode down Colfax for about a half hour, stopping every block to exchange passengers. Everyone on the bus was subjected to the ICP hooligans' profanity-ridden conversation. A younger, attractive woman boarded the bus about fifteen minutes into the ride and, due to the scarcity of seats, was forced to stand near the group of miscreants. The group began talking about her, not bothering to lower their voices. After about five minutes of this degrading presentation of American culture (God bless the USA...) I stood up, walked to the back of the bus, and told the lady that my seat was open. She didn't say anything, just walked to the front and sat in the vacant chair. All four of the guys were looking at me as if I had just shouted, "I think you guys have the combined IQ of an old sneaker." Which was the desired effect. I smiled at them nodded, and asked cheerily, "how are you guys doing today?" They didn't answer, just glowered at me and, after a few seconds of silence, began commenting on my attire in the same challenging tone they used to discuss the young lady. I didn't mind... I was more or less used to it. One advantage of going through public high school.

The bus finally shuddered to a halt at Civic Center Station and I hopped off, tossed down my board, and weaved through traffic to the 16th Street Mall.

The 16th Street Mall

Hands down my favorite place to be, 16th street consists of fifteen or so city blocks of all pedestrian (and mall shuttle) traffic. There's always stuff going on, and tons of shops and restaurants line the street. Unfortunately, there is a strictly enforced "No Skateboards, Rollerblades, or Bikes" rule so I was obligated to pick up my board and walk. Fortunately, there are free mall shuttles that endlessly patrol the street, so I hopped on the nearest one and headed down to Larimer Square, and The Market.

The Market

This is where I spent most of my day. The Market is a local food vendor/coffee shop, deceitfully large given its minute front entrance. I found a nice table in the corner, right by the bread rack and the coffee beans shelf, whipped out my stack of books, and started reading.

It turned out be be an extremely productive four hours. I read all the required text for two of the three books I brought (and put a sizable dent in the third book,) reflected on a few Psalms, and enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling marketplace. I grew to love The Market. The workers were all extremely friendly, most with dreadlocks and tattoos. From the snippets of conversation I caught while taking frequent study breaks, I came across the feeling that they were about to get off work and go straight to a protest against the illegality of pot or the practices of Big Business. It reminded me once more of my job at the beginning of the summer, as my fellow canvassers exhibited the same air of upbeat activism.

After a I closed Lenin, Staling and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe with a triumphant thud, I realized two things. One, I was famished - save for the Pink Star smoothie and the iced coffee I had bought during a reading break from the coffee shop, I hadn't ingested anything all day. Secondly, my legs felt like Jell-O due to a lack of activity. I remedied both of these at once by heading back to 16th Street and Chipotle.

Back on 16th Street

I went to the Chipotle at 16th and Wazee and quickly wolfed down a large burrito. I sat at the bar facing the window and watched with awe and wonder as the city moved and shifted. Mall shuttles came and went. An occasional police car rolled by ominously. A group of street canvassers for Greenpeace, clipboards in hand, walked by talking to various mall-goers. A daring young man zipped by on his fixed-gear bike, risking the large fine should he be caught riding on the mall. A man with liberty-spiked hair laughed and slapped the behind of the young woman walking beside him, much to her delight. A little boy ran by, giggling hysterically, as his mother chased him furiously down.

I love the city.

After I had ingested the entire burrito, I tossed away the trash and headed up the mall to scope out my favorite spots. The first was, predictably, occupied. You see, contrary to the everyday observer, busking (as it's called) requires quite a bit more than just 'banging on a bucket on the street corner.' First, you need to find a good bucket. My preferred one is the orange Home Depot multi-use bucket. They're by far the strongest and produce a variety of tones depending on where you hit them. The white buckets with the "Do not let your child reach into this" warning on the side are the worst; poor sound quality and unbelievably fragile. The one I had on me - the blue "Sherwin Williams" bucket - was decent. It was durable, but the playing surface was warped, making drum rolls hard to perform. In addition, the rim (which produces the highest-pitched tone) curled down if I hit it too hard.

Secondly, you have to find the right street corner. There are a few coveted ones - California & 16th and Larimer & 15th stand out. Some you avoid like the plague, such as 16th and Glenarm, where "loitering" is prohibited.

Lastly, you have to correspond your desired corner with other street performers. For example, the dreaded hand-drummers^ were on 16th and California, which ruled out my second choice of 16th and Stout. Two percussion routines in a row means bad business for both groups involved. You have to space yourself out in order to maximize the interest level and consequential propensity to give of your audience.

All the being said, I settled in on 16th Street between Curtis and Champa, right by the opening of an alleyway, and started up. I was there for one hour and walked away with $45 in cold hard un-taxable cash.^^

Satisfied with the day's events, I longboarded to the nearest Route 16 bus stop and headed back to campus. As the large, smelly bus pulled away from the curb, I looked over my shoulder at the shrinking Denver skyline.

I'll be back to see you soon!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. I realize this blog had nothing to do with "CCU, UNR... faith, and intellectual fear." Sorry, but when you finally break through writer's block, you try not to be picky.

*I'm living in freshman housing, and as such I get to participate in these awesome activities. The Boondocks is the Ghetto's sister stairwell, so we took them out for a night on the town on Thursday.

**Yes, you heard me right. It took up a whole page of notebook paper and was entitled "Things to do while Downtown."

***I couldn't think of what else they'd be called... Smoothie-smiths?

****Shaved heads with pigtails, bright orange pants, Multiple lip piercings... the whole nine yards.

^There are four or five of these guys. They all bring a bongo or other hand-drum and play for HOURS on end. They're also kinda jerks.

^^I've considered dropping out of school and traveling America busking instead. What job right out of college pays $45 an hour?

Writer's Block

2009-09-17T18:31:00.002-06:00

Hello everyone out there!

I first wanted you to know that I am, contrary to popular belief, still alive. I haven't posted anything or updated this blog for a long long time, and I am sincerely sorry. It's been a hectic past four weeks, let me tell you. Ever since I arrived in Colorado, I've been pedal-to-the-medal and as such, I have found myself short on time to be writing extracurricularly.

In addition, I've been experiencing a nasty case of writer's block. I have to admit that I have several half-baked posts sitting on my dashboard* but I just haven't been satisfied with anything I've come up with.

Sorry for the delay. I'll at least update my blog this time around, and once things quiet down (they are going to quiet down, right? Right?!) I'll post a more informative and hopefully more creative post.

I've been working on an idea recently. It'll probably be the subject of my next blog. It concerns CCU, UNR (or really just any secular school, I guess), faith, and intellectual fear. Oh yeah, it's going to be juicy.

Until then, hold tight!

Thanks for waiting,

-Daniel K

*That's basically the "home page" here at blogger.com. If you have an account you know what I'm talking about.

Nothing New.

2009-08-21T00:15:00.004-06:00

My first post in what seems like years. It's crazy to think that it's only been twelve days since I last blogged. Now we're one day away from the end of WoW* and the beginning of the new semester.

I haven't had a lot of time to write because I've been constantly trying to tie up any loose ends for WoW. The opening video came together splendidly, and I'll try to attach it to the end of this post (I say "try" because it wouldn't upload the other night...) Other than that, I've been scheduling clubs, organizations and ministries to come to the Job/Involvement Fair, running the info tent, and facilitating Parent/Prof. Coffee. It's all fun stuff, and since I don't have any classes to worry about, I've welcomed the full schedule.

I suppose the reason I'm writing this is to jot down some thoughts I had earlier today before they float on out of my head forever. Here goes.

Last year my RA was Nick. He was a senior (meaning now he's graduated) who's getting married this September. I love Nick and thoroughly enjoyed his RA-ness, but he did have some strong opinions about things. For instance, he is one of the foremost figures who influenced me to become a pacifist**. Among these opinions was one regarding CCU's President Bill Armstrong. Armstrong is extremely conservative in thought and faith, which chafes Nick's liberal worldviews. I have never spent extensive time with President Armstrong, and as such I relied on other people's experienced to shape my opinion. Nick's opinion of Armstrong, which I value a lot, was not a high one. As such, I've never been too big of a fan.

Yet today in WoW, we had what's called "Call to Community," during which the CCU Brass emerge from their lofty positions to get some face-time with the students, parents, and faculty to kick off the school year. The last speaker, unsurprisingly, was President Armstrong himself. As the leader of my school rose to speak, I felt myself readying a good eye roll or two. Yet what was said took me by surprise. Armstrong spoke in his confident, resounding voice about CCU and his hopes for the campus. During one point, he reminisced about a time a student asked him what the goals for CCU are. He responded*** that students at CCU should learn well, have fun, honor Christ, and change the world.

When I heard him say that, I raised my eyebrows and felt a surge of confidence and liking towards him. Those goals for the school - for me - sounded like something I wanted to get behind.

But surely I can't agree with Armstrong!? Yet I did. Completely.

About that time was when I realized that I was being stupid. I was fooling myself into the same trap I've been trying so hard to avoid recently. Armstrong, despite his conservative agenda and mindset, is still a Christian. Which means that right or wrong, outdated or savvy, grumpy or cheerful, we are brothers. We are family. We are on the same team. It was a freeing thought, really. I didn't have to resent CCU because of our leadership anymore. I didn't have to grumble whenever I received an email "From the desk of President Bill Armstrong." Because we are family.

It's more or less like how I feel with American Christianity. It has earned itself such a bad rep (and it's not completely unfounded, either. Take a look at a megachurch that uses tithes to build a brand new cathedral while the homeless starve on the streets.) Yet despite how much I want to scoff and distance myself from them, we are family. I can't just go around denouncing the people who worship Jesus right beside me, y'know? That just doesn't make any sense.

I'm not saying I agree 100% with where Armstrong wants to take CCU. I'm not completely onboard with his thoughts or ideas or interpretations. But that's okay, really. I mean without some conservative thinkers, where would we be?

In short, it was nothing new. Just another way I realized I was being tricked into wandering from the path I try so desperately to cling to - a path of acceptance, tolerance, love, and compassion. A path that unites a student body with its overhead and a school with its country. A path that works to tie things together, not tear them apart. A good path, in short.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*That's Weekend of Welcome, in case you're wondering.

**I use this term loosely, since the traditional interpretation alludes to non-action. I believe in taking action wholeheartedly, but my disagreement comes with what action should be taken.

***I'm not sure of his exact words, hence the lack of quotation marks.

Here and Now.

2009-08-09T13:47:00.002-06:00

Hello to everyone out there diligently reading this blog. I would like to officially welcome you to my 100th (published) post! Since it's been almost exactly two years since I started blogging, I thought I would dedicate this blog to giving everyone a little snapshot of my life in the here and now.

First off, I am back in Denver and about to start gearing up for the 2009 Fall semester at Colorado Christian University. I am looking forward to another year of activities, adventures, and learning. I will be living back in the Ghetto, the same freshman stairwell I was in last year. This time around, however, I will be an RAR (that is, a Resident Assistant's Roommate) living with the RA of the Ghetto and helping run activities and events throughout the year.

In addition to being an RAR, I am on the Weekend of Welcome (WoW) committee. Hence why I am here so early.* Planning WoW has been a lot of fun and a lot of work... two of my favorite things. The other committee members and I will meet tomorrow to start finalizing all of the events and times, and then begin executing them accordingly. This year's orientation weekend is going to be excellent!

The leadership seminars and other such crud will begin on August 14th, which I will also be attending due to my involvement in the Resident Housing Association (RHA) and the Discipleship Program (I'll be a D-Group Leader.) Once all of that is over, classes will start and I'll be back in action as far as school goes. For RHA, I will be the Director of Freshman Communities. This means I will gather representatives from the freshmen stairwells to help plan all-freshman activities, let the freshmen class's voice be heard around campus, and help unite the stairwells into one large community. As I also mentioned, I'll be a D-Group leader for the fall semester, meaning I will lead a group of 6 to 8 freshman guys in a Bible study every week until Christmas. I don't want to reveal anything yet in case word gets out, but suffice to say that I've got some SWEET stuff planned for my group.

On the academic side of things, I've unofficially** decided to major in Global Studies (AKA International Studies) and I know what you're thinking: "What will you do with that degree?" Forgive me for answering your question with another question, but why are you asking? I think what you do is superfluous in comparison to who you are. Secondly, I don't know what I want to do. All I know is that I took a few global studies classes last semester and I really liked them (and the professors) so I want to study what I love while I'm here. Vocation can come later.

Along with that, I am considering a double-major in English or Communication... meaning I'll either be a Global Studies/English major or a Global Studies/Communication major. I haven't decided which one yet but, much like Global Studies, I enjoy learning about both of them and as such desire to major in one. I suppose there is the third option of graduating early, which is completely doable given the AP credits I came in with.*** I just don't know if I want to rush the the most amazing time of my life.****

As far as off-campus activities go, I am still involved with my church, Light and Life Community Church. I am the youth intern and as such I help run the weekly youth group services, play in the worship band, lead a freshman boys' small group, and shoot videos to be used in messages. I absolutely love helping out, and I'm really looking forward to this coming year, when I start in with the freshman guys and continue with playing the drums.

In the realm of employment, I am pleading the fifth. Although I do still have a sweet gig downtown every weekend involving a bucket and some drum sticks.

I believe that about sums everything up. Life was pretty slow over the summer - a lot^ of time to relax and chill out - which is something I've never particularly liked or enjoyed. Yet it was really awesome to get to see all my friends and family. All in all, I'm happy I went back to my old stomping grounds for a few weeks, and I'm also happy to return to Colorado.

I'll be keeping you all up to date on my school-time activities in the weeks to come.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Classes don't start until the 24th of August.
**I say "unofficially" because I have yet to declare a major with my academic advisor in anything.
***Something to the tune of 'a whole semester's worth of credits.'
****Have I mentioned I love college?
^Perhaps too much?

Onward and Upward.

2009-08-05T02:19:00.003-06:00

I've always wondered what the correct way to take bad news is. By that I mean I wonder how I should react to bad news in a way that accurately reflects who I am. I think too many Christians put on the plastic "everything's okay with the Lord in my life!" expression. Yet you read through the Bible - heck, just the book of Psalms - and you really see the full gamut of emotions displayed when bad news is brought. People tear their robes, rip out beards, get in fights, beat their chests, and cry out.

Sometimes I feel it's appropriate to get all dark and brooding, y'know? I want to shut up and think over what I've heard. I feel this conveys a sort of pensive, reserved personality. It's like saying, "that's bad news, but I'm not going to let you know how I really feel. Maybe I'll give you the scoop, and maybe not. Because I'm edgy." I'll ride my bike or go jogging to accentuate this response.

Other times I want to attack. I'm not good at physical fighting, which is good because it keeps me out of trouble. But I want to sort of flex what I have - intellect. I want to respond with a borderline attacking manner of dialogue. I want to try and show the bearer of bad news that I'm smarter and much more clever than they are, in an attempt to browbeat them into feeling bad that they've told me. I'll start making my words bigger and more obscure and say stuff like, "That's almost as inconceivably unintelligible as the first words vomited from a child's gullet."

Other times I want to just spew out words. I'll hear the bad news and go on for a while about my shoes that got ice cream spilled on them or my friends and how things are different now than they were before. I'll ramble about stuff that's been bothering me recently, bringing everything from the most insignificant occurrences to the present issues to the surface to be most un-triumphantly exposed to the light.

I guess what really matters is what you do with the news.

After the initial shock is over, how do you respond? How do you seek solutions to problems, resolve conflicts, or change your course accordingly? You can get bitter, that's for sure. You can think of all the reasons why it's not your fault, all the ways you've been wronged, all the misery that wasn't deserved. I've found the bitterness response to be mostly if not fully useless, however.

I suppose you could just shrug it off. You can take a step or two back from your life, back from your past, back from the stupid decisions and troubles you've had. You can realize that you're only 19, you live in America, and oh yeah you worship the God of the universe Whose name is Love.

In the end, you can decide to stay where you are and lament, sit still and fester. Or you can move. You can shake your head briefly, give it all one last fleeting glance, and move onward and upward.

After all, you're not the first one to receive bad news. And you won't be the last.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Ghost of Ghettos Past.

2009-08-01T11:50:00.002-06:00

I leave in five days to go back to CCU and the Ghetto to start my second year. Whenever I think about this fact, I feel a rush of excitement swarm over my body, not unlike the times in elementary school when I would wake up and realize that it was field trip day. This is due to the fact that my previous year at CCU revolutionized my life and my faith.

Never before had I lived in a community of guys. Quite the opposite, really, since I resided with my Mom and sister through most of high school. I learned what it was like to live as men - eating cereal for breakfast lunch and dinner on weekends, leaving the toilet seat up permanently, trying to understand the mysteries of the women-folk, and of course the 'pants optional' rule. I realized that, despite how things seem sometimes, I'm not alone in a lot of my circumstances.

In addition, I learned the incredible value of a communal faith. My experiences here in Nevada had, unbeknownst to me, placed a distinct emphasis on the individual side of my faith. It was my relationship with my Savior, and I went to my church to read my bible, etc. At CCU, however, I saw the beauty and necessity of a group of believers. I saw how the epistles were written to communities, how the Torah was recited to a community, how the Church is not a building but a community of Christ-followers. Looking back, it all seems so obvious, the importance of community. I guess I just had to experience it to come to terms with the necessity.

I remember how I felt before my first day started. I asked my RA, Nick, how difficult classes were. I asked if he did well his freshman year, if the professors were hard, whether the classes had vertical learning curves. I was scared to death that I would fail. I had done well in high school, but that seemed so trivial. Dayton High School isn't exactly the pinnacle of college prep, and I had convinced myself that everyone around me knew exactly what was in store for them.

I recall meeting my roommates. Dan was first, since he showed up early for the athletes' retreat. He had spiky blonde hair, three tons of Top Ramen, and spoke with a humorous, hesitant tone that to me gave no indication of his Missouri origin. Cameron was next, lumbering in with his super deep voice and autographed Leeland t-shirt which he promptly pinned to the wall in our bedroom. He was a surfer dude from southern California, tanned and muscular. He walked around for the first week or so of school barefoot. Mike was last, carrying his guitar and amp up the stairs into our room with his dad close behind. Quiet and reserved, he didn't look anything like his Facebook pictures led us to believe.

I remember, a few weeks into my college experience, how I echoed the words of a friend; "One month ago, I was scared of coming to college. How strange." From there, everything was a blast. I reveled in the challenge of some professors and breathed in the simplicity of Gen. Eds. I stayed out late some nights and woke up early some mornings.

I got acquainted with the other members of the Ghetto through various exploits. There was the Jeep ride to downtown with Camo, the days of Winter Term with Nick, the visits to Chili's with Logan, Dan The Man, and Austin, the trip to Copper Mountain with Big Mike, and the 'draining' with Scott and Austin.

Now I stand poised on the edge of my second year back in the Ghetto. I'm pretty scared, to be perfectly honest. I know that nothing is ever the same, especially given the nature of a community - each year brings new challenges, new faces, and new opportunities. Im afraid that the Ghetto guys won't be as fun or as cool as my group were. Or that there will be a lot of fighting and bickering. Or any number of things, really.

Yet at the same time, I'm unbelievably excited. I can't wait to see how the Ghetto grows together this coming year. I look forward to game night with the Boondocks, to my D-Group, and to everything else the Ghetto entails.

And besides, I'm sure that three or four weeks into this coming semester, I will once again be saying to myself, "One month ago, I was scared of coming to college. How strange."

Funny how life works.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

My Ride Home.

2009-07-23T00:27:00.003-06:00

I walk out of the back door of Baskin Robbins, boots clomping on the ground and helmet in hand. I say goodbye to my coworkers and walk around to the front of the store, out of the shadows and into the relentless illumination of the Casino Fandago's flashing billboard and parking lot lights. I throw a leg over my bike, put in my earphones, and lower the helmet onto my head.

I click on the ignition, turn the switch to RUN and hit the starter. I can't hear the engine over Switchfoot's "Rebuild (Feat. Relient K)" but I can feel the vibrations of the pistons idling beneath me. My left foot deftly shifts the bike into first gear and I let out the clutch to start my ride home.

As I cruise north on Carson Street, I see a couple ambling down the sidewalk, holding hands. As I drift by them in my traffic lane, I feel an unexpected yearning to do as they are - to stroll down the sidewalk in front of Comma Coffee late on a Wednesday night, enjoying the night and in no hurry. I bet they were having an amazing conversation, those two. A talk about life and death, morality and justice. I notice the fact that this yearning is not a new thing. While working on the fire crew, we would drive through King's Beach frequently on our way to and from the project sites. I would look out the window of the smelly, dim crew carrier and see beautiful young people enjoying the summer sun, swimming and boating in the lake. And despite my general dislike of the "beach scene," I always wanted to join them. I wanted to kick off my heavy boots and smelly work clothes and jump into the lake. Back when I worked at Keva Juice, I had a marvelous view into Ming's Chinese restaurant. I would stand there on nights when I closed, behind the counter, listening to Kelly Clarkson crooning over the radio and see all of the happy people eating delicious fried rice and sweet and sour pork through the front windows of the smoothie shop. And I wanted that. I wanted to be hanging out with friends, not wearing a visor and scrubbing a carrot juicer.

Author Donald Miller in his book "Blue Like Jazz" says this: "Everybody wants to be fancy and new. Nobody wants to be themselves. I mean, maybe people want to be themselves, but they want to be different, with different clothes or shorter hair or less fat. It's a fact. If there was a guy who just liked being himself and didn't want to be anybody else, that guy would be the most different guy in the world and everyone would want to be him." I could really relate to this quote on my ride home tonight. Why did I want to be ambling down the street holding the hand of some pretty girl and talking of life and death? Why didn't I want to be riding a 2003 Triumph Speedmaster on Carson Street? Why did I want to be playing on the beach with beautiful young people? Why didn't I want to be smelly and dirty after a day of hard work? Why did I want to be eating with friends? Why didn't I want to be wearing an apron and visor and closing Jen and Gary's store?

I've been trying really hard lately to want to be myself. To want to be Daniel, to like what I have and have what I like. To be satisfied scooping ice cream and watching the Colbert Report and living in Nevada. I realize that I don't want to idolize myself, to want everyone else to be me or to like me. Yet I think a lot of the time I do what I do in hopes of escaping myself. I want to buy new clothes so I don't look like Daniel. I want to go jogging so I'm more in shape than Daniel. I want to learn to fight so I can beat Daniel up. It's a disconcerting moment when you realize that you are the root of the world's problems. When you admit that so many people are starving while your pantry contains moldy bread that you didn't want to eat. When you see homeless people and come home to a house with a guest bedroom. When you want people to be less self-centered and yet spend your time focusing on yourself and how to become fancy and new.

* * * *

As I leave Carson City, I lay low on my gas tank and hook my boots onto the passenger pegs, hunkering down below the tiny windscreen attached to the front of my bike. I shift into top gear and twist on the throttle, leaving my previous thoughts behind as the speedometer climbs and climbs. I crest the hill and descend into Washoe Valley, keeping an eye out for prowling highway patrol cars. The night air screams through my helmet, trying to drown out John Mark McMillian's "How He Loves." As I glance down at the lighted displays of my bike, I see something has changed. Suddenly I have an altimeter squeezed in next to my tachometer. And a fuel gauge has appeared next to my gas cap. Lighted switches of all shapes and sizes surround me, covering the gas tank and protruding from the handlebars. In fact, I notice I am no longer riding home, but flying low over Washoe Lake, water kicking up high behind me.

This may seem odd at first, but I think that in reality every boy wants to fly jets. It's something that we gain a yearning for at an early age and then slowly smother with cars and girls and Halo 3. Yet it's still there, buried but not extinguished. I don't think I know one guy who would honestly say no to flying a jet. This in mind, I comfort myself by pulling back on the joystick and feeling the aircraft rise higher and higher, leaving the valley far below. I glance out of the cockpit and see lights shimmering beneath me, obscured by the scorching exhaust belching from my vehicle. I pull the jet into a vertical climb, gravity whimpering as it struggles to overcome the force exerted by the powerful jet engines directly behind me.

I see nothing but the stars above me now. I'm so close to them I feel like if I open the cockpit one may hit me in the face. One heavenly body in particular sticks out from the rest. It's bright and big, getting bigger as I speed upward. My eyes strain to make out this unusual object as it increases in size. Soon it is right on top of me and I am able to decipher black markings carved into it's surface:

SPEED LIMIT 50 MPH.

I shoot past the sign and let go of the throttle, bike engine sputtering as the friction of the motor slows my momentum. I sit up straight and swing my legs forward to their proper positions, leaving the passenger pegs wondering what they did wrong. I quickly downshift as the speedometer hits 70 MPH and hear the engine roar louder in frustration at having to work harder to maintain the same speed as before. I know that at this rate I will soon be riding through Pleasant Valley at the comfortable speed of 55 miles per hour. I could probably get away with going faster, but I wonder what the point of that would be. The Colbert Report doesn't start for another 20 minutes, and that leaves me plenty of time to finish my ride home.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

My Many Faces.

2009-07-08T01:59:00.007-06:00

Today at work, I found myself scooping ice cream with some fine coworkers and serving it up for the low, low price of $1.07.* After giving a falsetto rendition of a customer's order, I was compared by a coworker to his "crazy uncle."

This comment got me thinking. Over the years, I've been compared to a lot of people. I thought I'd give you the highlights.**

People I've been compared to:

Kramer from "Sienfeld"

One of my roommates dubbed me this after the third consecutive time I burst into our apartment wild-eyed and launched into a comical anecdote.

Michael "Goob" Yagoobian, from "Meet The Robinsons"

Well, I guess I do have a tendency to creep around and speak in ominous dramatic statements.... (And we both suck at baseball.)

A Dinosaur.

More like you're a dinosaur.

Sid from "Toy Story"

This epithet dates back to my days in Latchkey, when I used to show up over the summer with a magnifying glass and some GI Joes.

Doc from "Back to the Future"

Probably one of my favorites, as I easily relate to the whole slipping-in-the-bathroom-and-making-genius-discoveries business.

Kaa from "The Jungle Book"

Okay, so once or twice throughout the school year I lured someone into a trap by coaxing, "trust in me.... trussssssst in meeeeeeee."

A Kid in need of Rittalin

Yes, thank you Hans.

Donald Miller

Probably the greatest human to be compared to, a friend made this comparison after reading this very blog. Score!

If your favorite didn't make it on here, please let me know. Thanks to everyone and your incredible powers of comparison.

Thanks for reading***

-Daniel K

*Can I get a "Dolla Scoop Night?!"

**Or, rather, the ones I can remember.

***And perhaps contributing to this vast collection.

Thriller.

2009-07-07T10:22:00.003-06:00

Today I woke up, read, listened to music, and took a shower. Heading downstairs, I took my all-too-familiar place on the couch in the living room and turned on the TV. Deciding to be a grownup this morning, I flipped to CNN to see what was new in the world. The screen read, "Jackson Casket Being Driven to Staples Center."

Oh, of course... Today is Michael Jackson's funeral. That's cool and all, but I'm not too huge of a Michael Jackson fan. I turned the channel up one to HLN: "Remembering Michael Jackson." Then up another to Fox News: "Michael Jackson - 1958-2009." Up another to MSNBC: "Michael Jackson Memorial."

Seriously? That's ALL that's going on in the world, CNN, HLN, Fox, and MSNBC? That's ALL I need to know this early Tuesday morning?

I think it's so weird that everyone's making a big deal out of Jackson's death. It sucks, yeah. He died unexpectedly at an early age and his name was know world-wide. Yet I can't help but think that this is all so ridiculous. What makes a person's death important or unimportant? What makes it worth the focus of every major news channel and what makes it forgettable?

I'll admit that my feelings toward Jackson's death may be, in part, fueled by jealousy. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt that CHP will spend thousands and thousands of tax dollars to close down interstates and escort my memorial motorcade across California.* Yet despite my feelings of jealousy, I still can't shake the ludicrousness of it all.

So many people are mourning the death of a single person, while elsewhere in the world, thousands of people are dying while defending justice or standing up for what's right. I guess if they were better singers or songwriters or could dance the Thriller, more people would care.

* * * *

I heard a joke soon after Jackson died that went like this: "Ferrah Fawcet died and went up to heaven, and God granted her one wish, so she said, 'I wish that my children could be safe.' And that's how Michael Jackson died." The news announcer just said that fans are taking respite in the fact that Michael is now in a "better place, where there is no pain or sorrow." I listened to a song once that went, "Everybody wants to get to heaven, but no one wants to go there now." All three of these instances only reinforce the fact that so few people realize what heaven entails.

Suddenly, because Jackson was accused of child molestation and Ferrah Fawcet was such a good person, she goes to heaven and he burns in hell. Suddenly, because he was so loved by people, Jackson without-a-doubt goes to heaven. Heaven is nice and all, but I want to stay here on earth a bit longer, partying and having sex and whatnot.

Look, the gospel message is offensive because of this claim: "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me (John 14:6)." That, my friends, offends A LOT of people. Jesus is the way to heaven, and nothing else. Which means that unless Jackson made a personal commitment to following Him, he didn't make it. If Fawcet failed to make the same commitment, she failed to enter heaven, too.**

That's hard, and I understand that. Before I became a Christian, that's what set off my 'red flag' alerts about the Bible... it's so black and white, so exclusive. Yet as my understanding of the Bible increased, I realized that Jesus' invitation to, "come, follow me," extends to every single person alive. There is no one on earth beyond the reach of God's invitation or His love.

Heaven isn't a reward dolled out to people who are exceedingly popular or who said nice things or starred in hit TV shows. It's a promise given to those who say, "I wish that I will die that You, Lord, may live through me. May my life stop and Your will take over."

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Neither would I want this to happen, by the way. When I die, I want a party to commemorate the day. A party where God is remembered more than I am, and where tears are shed only in confusion to God's plan, not in bitterness or anger towards my passing.

**Now I personally have no idea whether Mr. Jackson or Ms. Fawcet made such a commitment or not. That's not up to me to judge.

Learning.

2009-07-02T13:48:00.005-06:00

Recently, I've come to the conclusion that I have a lot to learn. I know, I know... a shocking proclamation coming from me, but I feel like I should let you, my readers, know.

I mean, there's so much out there to learn, and I know only a tiny speck of what is to know. I used to feel a little insecure about CCU because they don't offer the world's largest array of degree programs. But then I started thinking about other universities, and even though they offer more options, they still don't offer everything. I have a feeling that no matter what university I could have gone to, I would have felt the same way... I have this annoying tendency to not like what I have.

However, despite all there is to know, there are a few things that I really want to learn. The top seven are as follows:

1. Another Language - I only took two years of Spanish in high school, which means that I'm rather far from fluent.

2. Photoshop - I've seen some really sweet stuff done with picture editing programs, and I want to learn how to do it myself. Plus, who wouldn't want to put Hans' face on a variety of different animals... crabs, horses, birds. The possibilities are endless!

3. Final Cut - (Or some other legit video-editing program). I've discovered that I really like to make videos. Unfortunately, I'm editing them all on iMovie, which isn't exactly up to Hollywood standards.

4. Boxing and Kickboxing - Maybe it's the "guy" in me, but I want to learn to fight. Three years of wrestling taught me that wrestling isn't very applicable to real-life situations. Although I don't plan on fighting people (rather the opposite, actually) for some reason I still want to know how.

5. Magic Tricks - It would be sweet to have a hand quicker than the eye. And everyone loves magic!

6. Card Counting - It's not gambling if you know you're going to win!

7. Engine Mechanics - I would love to be able to take apart and rebuild an engine, or just troubleshoot and fix stuff under the hood.

Well there you have it... Some things I want to learn sometime. Anyone know some good teachers?

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Getting to the Point.

2009-06-30T11:33:00.002-06:00

I just got ripped off by Bank of America. Again. If I can offer one piece of advice to everyone out there, it would be this: Do not bank with Bank of America. Anyone but them. This blog isn't about the ripping off, so I won't go into detail... ask me in person sometime and I'll disclose the full details of the rip off.

So what is this blog about, exactly? Glad you asked. In Matthew chapter 5, Jesus is sitting on a mountain and teaching the multitudes of people who had followed Him "from Galilee, and from Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and beyond the Jordan." The people had just witnessed Jesus heal many people of their lifelong disabilities and crippling diseases, preaching in synagogs with the words of the prophets dripping from his tongue. He is the Messiah - the Promised One sent by God to free the Jews from Roman occupation. The Conquering King, who will rise up and strike down Caesar and the oppressors.

So in light of that, Jesus sits down with hundreds and hundreds of eager Jews who are ready to hear him give a Braveheart-style sermon. And this is what He says;

"Blessed are the poor in spirit,

      for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
      for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
      for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
      for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
      for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
      for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
      for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
      for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

Not exactly a 'down-by-a-touchdown-with-one-minute-left-in-the-fourth' speech. Yet when I came home today after having been frustrated almost to the point of straight-up yelling in the face of the Bank of America branch manager, it wasn't a Coach Carter speech or a Mel Gibson monologue that reminded me of who I am.

I love reading about Jesus because the more I do, the more I see that the punches kept on rolling with Him. Everyone expected Him, the Messiah, to kick some serious Roman butt and take back the land of Israel so that the Jews could finally know rest and live in God's kingdom. Yet Jesus goes not to the leaders or to the popular 'celebrities' or to the intellectuals. He doesn't go to the White House or the Pentagon or the G8. He goes to the bums on the street. The prostitutes, the embezzlers. The average Joes, the rejects.

Okay, but You're still going to take things over, right Son of God? You're forming an elite fighting force of God's warriors to attack, right?

Then He preaches to love your enemies, to walk an extra mile with your oppressors, to give your cloak to someone suing you for your shirt. He gives us a third path, not of violence nor of apathy. A scandalous, nigh impossible path where we walk by Spirt and Truth to enact change impossible through retaliation or indifference.

Yes yes yes, but when do we get to the whole 'taking back God's land' part? When do we get to live in communion with God after having crushed His enemies?

Finally, to top it all off, Jesus gets Himself killed. And not just killed, but beaten and thrashed and stripped of all dignity and spit on and then nailed to a tree. And then He dies, slowly, between two thieves. Murdered in cold blood.

What?! What happened to the righting of the wrongs? The crushing of injustice? The healing of disease? What happened, Messiah? I thought You would save us...

* * * *

I think what concerned me most before I came to follow Christ was a simple question: What is the point of my life? Going through high school, I thought about this a lot.

Why did I get good grades?

To get into a good college.

Why?

To get a good degree.

Why?

To get a good job, of course.

...But why?

To get a lot of money.

Why?

Well... so I can afford to buy the newest iPod and send my kids to college and own a nice house and pay the bills and go on good vacations and... and...

Why?

I followed this train of thought, asking why I wanted what I wanted. I came to the conclusion that my objective in life - the point of my life - was to be happy. So I had my answer:

I exist to make myself happy.

And I hated that answer. It seemed so... empty. Pointless. The point of my life was pointless. Luckily (or unluckily, I suppose,) it was easy to think about other things and forget my findings. I could focus on a Geometry test or a book report or the upcoming wrestling match against *gulp* Trinity Perkins. So life was fine, because I could easily avoid thinking about the pointless point of my life.

I suppose I could live my life helping others, though. I could get that good job to give more to charities and educate my kids to go do great things and love my wife and treat her like a queen. I could help others out of financial situations and maybe even serve in the Peace Corps!

But where does that leave me when I die? Even if I spend a life helping others out, there would still be skeletons in my closet. I would still have wronged more people than I could count. I probably would have stolen - if not a priceless piece of art, then gum from a store. I still would have made people's lives miserable - fired bad employees, cut people off in traffic while flipping the bird, made fun of people I didn't agree with, talked down to people who offended me.

Even if my heart was weighed after my death, good deeds versus bad ones, the "bad" side would break the scale. We get so used to doing wrong that a lot of the time we don't even realize we're doing it.

* * * *

So when I read in the Bible about Jesus and what He preached, I was intrigued to say the least. He promised a life full of hardships, persecution, rejection, and bad days. A life spent denying what comes naturally and clinging to a God who we have not seen. A life where the least become the greatest, where the meek inherit the earth, where you find your life when you lose it.

This was so utterly different from the "get a 6-pack of abs or girls won't want to have sex with you" message of the world that I wanted to know more. It was different, it was beautiful, and it was dang confusing. Seriously, what does all that mean? Will the meek literally inherit the earth? How do I find my life by losing it?

After a while of researching the Bible and the claims made by Jesus, I decided that the life He described was the life I wanted to live. Even if I didn't fully understand and even if it was weird, I wanted what He described. I wanted to leave what I knew - to leave a life full of wanting to be something I'm not, full of trying so hard to get something I don't need, full of experimenting with a hundred different things just to be happy - and take the alternate route.

I wanted a life where no matter how many time a bank steals my money and then asks for more of my money to balance out what they stole, I know that there are more important things to get mad at. I wanted a life full of mystery and love and community and adventure. A life where I cannot simply run away from my problems. A life where I get to wait for my girl and not have to worry about the latest fashions or the coolest hairstyles to find her. A life where I don't need anything that can be taken away from me. A life spent glorifying the only One who is worthy of it, through sacrificing my comforts and advantages to help others.

And that is the life I'm trying my hardest to live.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Argument.

2009-06-21T15:19:00.006-06:00

The other night I watched the movie "Thank You For Smoking" on TV. I had seen it a long time ago, but I didn't remember much about it. I came to the conclusion that I really enjoy the film. It centers around Nick Naylor, the chief spokesperson for the cigarette industry in America. Although exceedingly cocky, I like Nick's attitude throughout the film. He realizes that everyone has something they do well. As Nick puts it, "Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk. Everyone has a talent."

There's one scene in particular that's got me thinking recently. Nick is helping his son do homework when the following conversation takes place; (ignore the different font and colors... I was too lazy to re-type it so I just copy/pasted it off a website.)

Joey Naylor: ...so what happens when you're wrong?
Nick Naylor: Whoa, Joey I'm never wrong.
Joey Naylor: But you can't always be right...
Nick Naylor: Well, if it's your job to be right, then you're never wrong.
Joey Naylor: But what if you are wrong?
Nick Naylor: OK, let's say that you're defending chocolate, and I'm defending vanilla. Now if I were to say to you: 'Vanilla is the best flavour ice-cream', you'd say...
Joey Naylor: No, chocolate is.
Nick Naylor: Exactly, but you can't win that argument... so, I'll ask you: so you think chocolate is the end all and the all of ice-cream, do you?
Joey Naylor: It's the best ice-cream, I wouldn't order any other.
Nick Naylor: Oh! So it's all chocolate for you is it?
Joey Naylor: Yes, chocolate is all I need.
Nick Naylor: Well, I need more than chocolate, and for that matter I need more than vanilla. I believe that we need freedom and choice when it comes to our ice-cream. And that Joey Naylor, that is the defintion of liberty.
Joey Naylor: But that's not what we're talking about
Nick Naylor: Ah! But that's what I'm talking about.
Joey Naylor: ...but you didn't prove that vanilla was the best...
Nick Naylor: I didn't have to. I proved that you're wrong, and if you're wrong I'm right.
Joey Naylor: But you still didn't convince me
Nick Naylor: But I'm not after you. I'm after them [gestures to the crowd].

This conversation sums the movie up quite nicely, in my opinion. It's a satire mixed with the right amount of truth to make it subtly hilarious. However, I'm not trying to review the movie here. I'm making a point, so I'd better get to it.

The first thing Nick's conversation with Joey reminded me of were those Dell and Mac computer ads. Sounds strange, no? But hear me out. When Nick makes the claim, "I proved that you're wrong, and if you're wrong I'm right," it screamed of the computer commercials. The Dell commercials try to prove that Mac buyers are wrong, while the Mac computers try to prove that Dell buyers are wrong. Nothing actually gets solved and no value is derived from the statements. Except that the other guys are wrong.

Taking this to a macro level, I can see echos of it throughout our society. Port-of-Subs sandwiches are pretty good, but if Subway can prove that PoS is wrong, then Subway is right. UNR isn't the greatest school out there, but if CCU is wrong, then UNR is right. Iraqi people are people just like you and I, but if they are wrong* then America is right.

It's strange to see how much we use this logically defunct mindset in our everyday lives. It's even stranger** to think of a life void of it. I don't think we would get so hung up on the little stuff, y'know? Maybe we would stop caring about what country someone is from to or what car they drive or what band they like and just enjoy who they are. Maybe we wouldn't feel such an urge to steal or kill or trash talk if we realized this. I think that Nick, in a different scene in the movie, offers a strong counterpoint to this argument. When talking to an elementary school class about smoking, he exhorts them to "stop acting like sheep... and find out for yourselves."

Stop taking other people's word for it and find out for yourself! If the government says that someone is a threat, maybe we should see if it is credible advice.*** Instead of not liking Mac computers or Port of Subs sandwiches or different colleges or other races because of what someone tells us, maybe we should find out for ourselves.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Whether the grounds for this claim are based on skin color, culture, religion, or whatever. The minute Iraqis become wrong and Americans become right, we suddenly find ourselves with the privilege of dictating to them how they should live.

**And a tad inspiring.

***Take this with a grain of salt. Obviously if someone has a bomb strapped to them, they can readily be considered a threat. But even then we still have to decide how to deal with said threat...

Top Five.

2009-06-15T18:15:00.002-06:00

Top Five songs:

5. "Beautiful," by Phil Wickham

4. "Cannons" by Phil Wickham

3. "Jesus" by Page France

2. "Twenty-Four" by Switchfoot

1. "The Fox, The Crow, and The Cookie" by Mewithoutyou

Top Five most annoying things:

5. Pre-dated merchandise. I went into the store the other day and saw the "2010 Road Atlas." (It's June of 2009, in case you were wondering)

4. Misplaced apostrophe's. Just because word's have an "s" at the end doesn't mean you should add an apostrophe

3. The weather in Nevada

2. Huge trucks that skirt puddles. Seriously, your truck is fourteen feel tall. It can handle it

1. The cost of education

Top Five favorite things

5. The electric guitar riff in the chorus of the song "Majesty," by Delirious (I dunno, it just sends shivers down my spine

4. CCU. I can't wait to go back

3. Education (a part of CCU, I know, but it still gets its own slot)

2. Community

1. Forgiveness

Top Five books

5. "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller (an oldie but a goodie)

4. "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," by Jane Austin and Seth Grahame-Smith

3. "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper

2. "The Irresistible Revolution" by Shane Claiborne

1. "1 John," by the apostle John. I realize it's more of a letter, but humor me

Top Five wants

5. Warm weather

4. To see the stars. I know this sounds fruity, but I haven't seen them clearly in a long time

3. A car

2. To see the world

1. $10,000 in cash (not gunna lie)

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Current Events.

2009-06-06T13:10:00.003-06:00

I came to the conclusion the other day that my plans have changed both dramatically and frequently within the past couple of weeks. Some of you are up-to-date on the changes while others are still sitting on the edge of your seats, ears poised to hear the precious information.*

Regardless, allow me to divulge the details of the current events of my life:

My original plan was to return to Nevada in early May, continue employment with the Incline Village Fire Crew, stay here for the summer, and then head back to CCU in mid-August. Simple, straight-forward. Those were the days.

Things began to get complicated when the fire crew royally screwed me over. They called me on April 1st (after we had previously talked in February about me being fine coming in on May 10th,) and said that I needed to be tested out** by April 8th. Given the timing and money situation, it was impossible for me to leave school and hop on a plane for Reno. They said they'd put me on the waiting list, said I'd be the first on it. Last I heard, two guys have quit since the crew started in May. Still no phone call. And they refuse to return my calls. Excellent.

My altered plan was then to return to Nevada anyway and immediately seek employment. This plan changed relatively quickly when I received a job offer as well as a free place to stay over the summer in Denver. Deciding to stick with the assurance of employment in CO rather than risk it in NV, I opted to stay in the city. I started work the Monday after school got out with Environment Colorado and was there for two weeks. I didn't really like the work, though it was an incredible learning experience. I met some really awesome people there, so it was a total bummer to tell them I wasn't too into canvassing. I just couldn't put up with the schedule*** and the people we canvassed. I met some sweet people out there, but a lot of them were mega-jerks. On the bright side, I've gained a whole new respect for anyone who goes door-to-door, and I've also decided that I will not change the world through canvassing. I'll have to try something else out until I hit the nail on the head.

After I left my job with Environment CO, I spent a week hanging out in Denver with friends. I body-surfed some Platte River rapids, drummed on 16th street, watched the sun come up over the city from Red Rocks Amphitheater, and even started planning for the upcoming semester. At the end of that week, I flew home to see Sarah's graduation. It was kinda weird, being as my kid sister graduated and all, but I also realized that it was my first time ever watching a DHS graduation from the audience standpoint... I was in the band for three of them and then walked for the fourth.

My week in Nevada was awesome. I caught up with a lot of friends and family, biked around Reno, rode a Ducati Monster, and even dispelled some rumors that I had dropped out of college and was living on the streets.**** I flew out of Reno on Sunday afternoon and was picked up from the airport by Scooter and Camo, two of my friends from CCU.

You see, since my second plan was to stay here in Denver, my dad had arranged a round-trip plane ticket to Nevada and back. Hence the short visit to Nevada followed by a stint back in Denver followed by more Nevadaction.

So right now I am in Denver until Saturday morning, at which time I will grab what little belongings I have left and ride off on my motorcycle for Nevada. I've secured a job back at Baskin Robbins (what a tangled web we weave) so I'll start there on Monday and work through the summer until mid-August when I'll return to CCU for another exciting year!

So there you have it. The past month or so of my life laid out for any ol' internet surfer to browse.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Or, more likely, were driving and thought for an instant, "I wonder whatever happened to that Daniel fellow?"

**This means successfully passing the pack test and drug test.

***I was definitely the "absentee roommate" for those two weeks. I left before everyone woke up and went to bed as everyone was just getting into the "let's do stuff" mood. Though I did enjoy riding the bus downtown everyday.

****Gotta love Dayton...

A Piece of My Mind: "How Then Shall We Live?"

2009-06-01T22:38:00.004-06:00

One of my favorite things to do in Denver is hang out downtown. The 16th Street Mall is a great place to do just that. I sometimes spend hours on 16h Street with nothing but my longboard, a pen and paper, and my iPod.* During one of my visits to the Mall, I was longboarding through the parking lot of an office building when I saw a sign in one of the lower level windows.

The sign read; "Those who can, do. Those who can't, blog."

I had a good chuckle or two about the sign as I made tight figure-eights around two manhole covers. To be completely truthful, my first reaction was an angered sort of defense - I bet whoever owns that sign doesn't really do anything anyway. Realizing at once what a dangerous mindset that was, I put an end to it and instead focused on what caused that reaction within me.

I think it was a Divine Echo. A God-incidence. Call it whatever you like, as I've heard several names for it (those were just two,) but basically it's God trying to tell me something that I'm a little bit scared to embrace.** This all stems from my philosophy on life, a philosophy that Professor DeVore helped me to develop. Here's some back-background;

In Philosophical Inquiry this semester, Prof. DeVore was constantly challenging us with this question: "How then shall we live?" You see, Professor DeVore was a firm believer (and I am as well) that philosophy, theology, and really whatever else you study is useless unless you satisfactorily answer that question. You believe in Jesus, the risen Son of God? How then shall we live? You think justice is important? How then shall we live? Otherwise, our ideas remain in our own heads and are not reflected in our actions.

I have been applying this question to my thoughts a lot recently, and God has been using it in tremendous ways. I believe that we, as individual, everyday people, hold the creative capacity and knowledge to change our world. The mindset of "Oh, well I'm just one in a million" is a crippling lie that tricks people into resigning themselves to a meaningless life. I'm one in a million, so how I act can't possibly be of any consequence. I'm one in a million, so what I think doesn't matter.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. What we do, what we say, how we live our lives, matters. It all matters. Mother Theresa wasn't a doctoral professor, a possessor of incredible knowledge - yet she changed the word. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn't a multimillionaire - yet he changed the world. It really only takes us normal, "Everyday Joes" to step up and live a life different from the 9 to 5, Monday through Friday lives so prevalent in our culture.

Now then, back to the God-incidence. I really think the Man Upstairs is sending me a message here: Practice what you preach. My philosophy is one of making a difference, changing this world in a way that brings about more peace, more love, more joy, and more glory to God. So how then shall I live? For this philosophy is nothing but a dream unless I start living it.

As Marianne Williamson said, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination. It is our light more than our darkness which scares us. We ask ourselves – who are we to be brilliant, beautiful, talented, and fabulous. But honestly, who are you to not be so? You are a child of God, small games do not work in this world. For those around us to feel peace, it is not example to make ourselves small. We were born to express the glory of God that lives in us. It is not in some of us, it is in all of us. While we allow our light to shine, we unconsciously give permission for others to do the same. When we liberate ourselves from our own fears, simply our presence may liberate others."

And who knows? Maybe by me - one single everyday person - living my life with this philosophy, I can give others the inspiration they need to live theirs in a similar manner. And the newly liberated can give permission to more. And more. Until this whole world is turned upside-down, and people no longer sit back and complain about how things are and how they should be, but rather roll up their sleeves and live like they believe in their dreams.

I'm reading the book "The Irresistible Revolution" by a guy named Shane Claiborne. In it, Claiborne is talking about a comic strip he once read; "Two guys are talking to each other, and one guy says he has a question for God. He wants to ask God why He allows all this poverty and war and suffering to exist in the world. And his friend says, 'Well, why don't you ask?' The fellow shakes his head and says he is scared. When his friend asks why, he mutters, 'I'm scared God will ask me the same question.'"

Claiborne goes on to talk about how we the Church are God's hands, feet, mouth, and ears in this world. When I read that paragraph, I stopped for a second and drew a deep breath. Take a minute and think about it. We have the capability to stop all of the injustice in the world. All of it. We could use our money not for iPods but for food for the starving. We could stop buying cars we can't afford and instead make sure everyone on the planet has clean water. We could cease to purchase $200 pairs of shoes and instead provide healthcare for anyone who needs it. We could.

Think about it! It gets me so fired up to come to that realization.

A skeptic will say, "Daniel, we can't honestly expect everyone to buy into that. People will always be greedy, so that's a pipe dream." To this I reply: Just because we can't change everything doesn't mean we shouldn't change anything. Make a difference. Snap out of the lies and ruts that the rest of the world have fallen into. Do something worthwhile.***

How then shall we live?

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*I sometimes even wear clothes.

**And by "a little bit scared" I actually mean "completely petrified."

***Or, I suppose, you could always just find a nice house in a nice neighborhood, get a nice car and maybe a nice dog. Spend your paychecks getting the latest trends and technology, and die a quiet death in bed in the suburbs. What a waste.

A Piece of My Mind: Alcohol.

2009-05-29T13:24:00.002-06:00

Good 'ol alcohol. Booze, hooch, brews, brewskis, hard stuff, juice, grog, sauce.* As many of you already know, I'm not too much of a fan of alcohol. I have never been drunk and I have tasted alcohol only on a select few occasions and haven't been too partial to the flavor either.

Yet I think my attitude towards alcohol has a tendency to become slightly misconstrued. Allow me to give you a piece of my mind...

1.) I do not like the idea of being drunk, and I'm not too fond of drunk people, either. Why, you may ask? Put shortly, it's because being drunk changes who you are... Drunk Daniel and Daniel are not the same person. And I don't like the idea of not being me.** I've heard the argument made that being drunk removes your inhibitions, so it makes you who you really are. I think that's a load of dookie. My inhibitions make me who I am, and therefore removing them makes me who I am not.

As far as other people drinking goes, the same principle applies. I am friends with my friends because I like who they are, their sense of humor, their actions, and many other things about them. Yet when someone gets drunk, they're really no longer that person I became friends with. They have different attitudes toward things - they think different things are funny and different things are serious. They do things they don't usually do. They go about decision making in a different way. Realize here that I am in no way saying that when a friend gets drunk, we are no longer friends. I still like them, I still want to hang out with them, and I still care for them. I'm simply explaining my reasoning behind my dislike for drunkenness.

2.) I do not consider drinking a "sin." Jesus drank and Jesus lead a perfect, sinless life. End of argument there. I do not, however, like the idea of breaking the law and drinking underage. I will drink when I'm 21, and that's fine with me. Sometimes I honestly think that lowering the drinking age would be good simply because it would get people over the thrill of drinking early, so we don't have 19 and 20 year-olds bragging about "how totally crud-faced I got last night" so much. If you're old enough to own a gun and vote on the fate of the country, you should be able to have a beer.

3.) I think people put alcohol on way too high of a pedestal. By this, I mean that people have a tendency to become dependent on alcohol to have a good time or even an interesting time. I once heard a friend of mine explain to me, "but Daniel, I'm funny when I get drunk." This was a friend whom I consider to be one of the funniest people alive. She's made me laugh more times than I can count. And all of those times, she was completely sober. That comment conveyed a mindset of reliance on alcohol... as if she's starting to think that she can only be funny while drunk. I think a similar mindset permeates many of my peers. Drinking goes from a way to have fun to the way to have fun.

Notice I did not say that drinking isn't fun. From what I hear from a number of people, it's a hoot. I don't doubt that, it's just that a reliance on alcohol seems to develop a lot of times. I'm also not saying that everyone who gets drunk becomes dependent on it and consequently becomes an alcoholic. .. that's just silly.

4.) I'm a little bit afraid of drunk people. I'm pretty sure this originates from the first time I ever saw my dad drunk. He came home one night and was unusually rowdy and loud. I didn't understand why he was acting so different, but it kinda frightened me. He wasn't acting like Dad, he was acting like a stranger who's company I didn't enjoy. I was pretty young, so I went into my room and got in a box.*** My brother or sister (I forget which, but it was probably Jake,) came to see what I was up to and then ran to my dad yelling, "He's hiding in a box!" Everyone had a good laugh at my expense. That was my first encounter with drunkenness, and I was not too impressed.****

I hope this post has successfully conveyed my opinion towards alcohol and my reasoning behind those opinions. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*I Google-searched "nicknames for alcohol" for those. Hope you liked 'em.

**This is more or less the same reason I don't like the idea of being high, taking sleeping medicine, or even pain relievers... I'm just not too keen on not being who I am. I know I'm being a bit extreme with the latter two, but I'm okay with that.

***It was a thing I used to do a lot. It didn't have to be boxes, either. Laundry baskets and closets worked just as well.

****The point here is not my dad, the point is being drunk. I'm not mad at my dad and I'm not accusing him of ruining my life or scarring me or any of that nonsense. But I honestly think that's where my fear of drunkenness came from.

A Piece of My Mind: Christian Soldiers.

2009-05-28T01:18:00.008-06:00

I consider myself a pacifist. I honestly do, and I thought I'd start out by re-iterating that for you all. Much to the chagrin of many other Christians,* I don't like the idea of Christians taking up a sword (or a gun, as things are nowadays,) and attacking the enemy. I realize this is a pretty big statement, so please allow me the privilege of unpacking it a little for you.

I have several problems with the "onward, Christian soldiers, onward" mentality as it is perceived today. They are as follows;

1.) The "enemy." To be both brief and blunt, I think a lot of Christians confuse who exactly the enemy is. Believe it or not, the "enemy" is not the Christian persecutor. The "enemy" is not the rapist. The "enemy" is not the murderer or the drunk driver or the belligerent atheist. They are not our enemies. I think Donald Miller put it pretty well when he said;

"The problem is not a certain type of legislation or even a certain politician; the problem is always the same that it always has been. I am the problem. I think every conscious person, every person who is awake to the functioning principles within his reality, has a moment where he stops blaming the problems in the world on group think, on humanity and authority, and starts to face himself. I hate this more than anything. This is the hardest principle within Christian spirituality for me to deal with. The problem is not out there: the problem is the needy beast of a thing that lives in my chest."**

I am the problem. Doesn't that just send shivers down your spine? It's not country music or the American Dream or rich people or ignorance. It's me. Say that out loud; "I am the problem." To the Christians out there: I think that as followers of Christ, we delude ourselves into thinking that surely we are not the problem. I mean, we are sooooo righteous and pious. We are so knowledgeable about the Bible, about good and evil, about sin and salvation. It can't be us. Its them. They are the problem. They are the enemy.

I disagree with who Christians perceive as the enemy. I have lied, I have stolen, I have used God's name in vein, and I have looked lustfully. Therefore I am a liar, I am a thief, I am a blasphemer, and I am an adulterer. I am, we are.

2.) The "sword." Let me preface this with a little Scripture. It's out of 2 Corinthians chapter 10, and it's verses 3-5; "For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine powers to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."

Now then, about this sword. I think the weapons we use to do justice are, quite frankly, a slap in the face to God. A major issue I have with killing is this: who am I (or even who are you,) to play Judge, Jury, and Executioner? Because last I checked, that was God's department. Did God command the Israelites to wage war and massacre people in the Old Testament? Of course He did. But that's just it - He did. Not the Israelites. Not Moses or Joshua or David. I have some big misgivings when we step into God's place and say, "you die, you die, you die, you can live, and you die."*** Call me crazy, but that just doesn't seem like our specialty.

So what is the sword, you might ask? After all, Jesus Himself said, "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword (Matthew 10:34)." As Christians we seek to imitate Christ. And Christ had a freakin' sword, so why don't we? I say that we do, we just suck at using it.

Our "sword" is not an M-16, a Glock, a grenade, or an M1-Abram tank. I see these as an arrogant declaration of independence from God. Shooting someone is like saying, "God, I know you can't really help me here, so I've got it covered. Bang. All taken care of. Busy Yourself with something You're good at, like cooking up some thunderstorms."

Here's what got me thinking that: In Romans chapter 8, verses 9-11, the apostle Paul writes this, "You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ. But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you." My initial thought was this: wait, what? "the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you." So I have that Spirit in me?

Again in 2 Timothy, we read "For God did not grant us a spirit of timidity, but a Spirit of love, power, and self-control (1:7)." This leads me to ask a question of Christians: If we have within us the Spirit of God Almighty, Who keeps the universe spinning, Who built not only every star but also every molecule in our cells, why are using guns?

One day, Jesus was walking with His disciples and He told them this: "I tell you the truth, if you have faith and do not doubt, not only can you do what was done to the fig tree, [Jesus had withered it by command] but you can also say to the mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and it will be done (Matthew 21:19)." I have that Spirit, that power inside of me. And I want to use a gun to defend myself? I want to use a knife to protect others?

Our sword is not a sword at all. Neither is it a gun. It is the Spirit of the great I Am, the King of kings and Lord of lords. That is the Christian's sword. Is it even out of it's sheath?

A few concluding thoughts. Realize that in no way am I saying that as Christians we should sit back and let things happen. I believe that was Adam's first sin - inaction.**** If anything, we are the ones who should be blazing the trails for justice and peace in this world. We should be on the front lines, we should be the first in and the last out. But we need to be in this world and not of it. We need to embrace the turmoil and injustice of the world without responding in a equally disastrous way. We should boldly step forward to end poverty, to fight homelessness, to free slaves, to rescue trafficked women, and to defend the weak. And we should do this by the Spirit and Power of God, recognizing that the enemy is not the terrorist or the communist, but the filthy nature within all of us, the slave master holding so many captive. Maybe instead of aiming to kill the terrorist, we should be aiming to set him free as we have been set free.^

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Maybe not many Christians, but at least a good few.

**Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz. Seriously... read it.

***I guess this brings up the issue of God's sovereignty. God is completely sovereign, meaning nothing happens that trumps His will, right? So technically, aren't we accomplishing God's will by killing them? Because if it was against His will, He would stop it... divine intervention. I think that here we apply the principle, "good is the enemy of the best." God will have His will done, that we can be sure of. But are we going to make it more and more convoluted or are we going to do everything we can to resonate with it?

****Honestly, if there are only two people on Earth, they're in perfect communion with God, they're the opposite gender and they're naked, do you think they'd be apart? What the heck were you doing when the serpent was seducing your wife, Adam?!

^How do we do this? How exactly do we harness this awesome power and use it to change the world? To be honest, I have no idea. I'm still working out how that works, and accordingly what my life should look like. I'll keep you up-to-date on how that goes.

A Piece of My Mind: Maturity.

2009-05-23T01:14:00.003-06:00

I've decided to do something completely new with my blog - I'm going to do a series!* It's called "A Piece of My Mind," and each blog I will explain why I think what I think in regards to a certain topic. Today's topic: Maturity.

* * * *

For a long time, I have had some bad experiences with the word "maturity." A lot of people in my life have attached a negative connotation to it, really. I remember my frequent run-ins with Mrs. Gardener, who would year after year ask me when I was going to "grow up." I remember teachers chiding us in middle to school to act more mature. I remember my peers ceasing to do harmless, fun activities and pick up more mature activities like drinking and partying.

I've heard a lot of definitions for the word. Webster defines "mature" primarily as "based on slow, careful thought." I once heard someone suggest that maturity is "denying your passions," and someone else explain it to me as "acting like a normal person."

I have a problem with all of these definitions. First, I put absolutely no slow, careful thought into going to bed early when I have to work in the morning, yet that is a mature decision.** Secondly, denying your passions doesn't hold up in a Christian context... our passion is supposed to be to serve and glorify God, and denying ourselves of that would be pitiful. Third, what exactly is a normal person? I will give my Macbook and my Triumph to whoever can answer that accurately.

I think Senora Lozada defined maturity correctly when she said, "maturity is knowing when something is appropriate and when something is inappropriate." Ecclesiastes says that "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven (3:1)." There is a time to play silly games, a time for goofing off, and a time for laughing at stupid jokes. Consequently, there is a time for dressing up, for being somber, and for discussing serious matters.

I think too many people operate under a false definition of maturity and as such act out maturity in an incorrect manner. Worse of all, these people attempt to project this faux-maturity onto others. Don't act silly, that's not mature. Don't play games, those aren't mature. Act like this... like me. This is mature. I am mature. I think there is the potential for great danger in that thought.

When we realize that there is a time for everything, we gain a sense of freedom. So that means I can do this, something that I used to love to do in middle school, but now seems immature? I can feel this way, even though it is a very high-school-like feeling? I would argue yes. As a famous president once said, "yes we can."*** Now I recognize that there are things we used to do in middle school or high school or whatever that are, in fact, unhealthy or unnecessary. I'm not saying do everything, but I'm saying it's okay to do some things. I hope that makes sense...

In the end, I want to extol you to reflect on this definition of maturity. See how it plays into your everyday life. I also would like some feedback... what do you have to say? Can you think of a better definition of maturity? Do tell.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Cue rejoicing.

**I realize that one could argue this point. Maybe I don't always put slow, careful thought into going to bed, but rather that slow, careful thought took place some time ago and I am operating under it still. I would argue that that is common sense based on experience. That being said, I think Webster has the closest thing to a good definition I've seen.

***Well, I thought it was clever...

Girls.

2009-05-22T02:10:00.002-06:00

Before I begin, I would like to mention that this is actually only my 85th post. A friend of mine pointed out my mistake, and I realized the discrepancy at once. You see, on my "Blogger Dashboard," it says this very post is number 102. However, I have only published 85 of them.* So basically, I was once again fooled by the Machine Mastermind and made the fool of.**

* * * *

I just finished watching the movie "Gran Torino." I thought it would be a ridiculous, over-the-top action movie of sorts, blown way out of proportion and lacking a good story. Yet I was pleasantly surprised. I hope everyone out there has seen it, but in case you haven't I'm not going to ruin it for you... Go immediately and indulge.***

There are a lot of things I could focus on when reflecting on the movie, but one stuck out to me more than the rest as I watched. About three quarters of the way through the film, the major conflict is introduced. Gang members do a drive-by shooting of Walt's (Clint Eastwood's character's) neighbors. The neighbor's daughter, Sue, is nowhere to be found until she finally turns up beaten and raped a few hours later. Walt goes into his house and breaks some crud in his anger, then sits down for a while to think.

Shifting gears a little bit, I want to bring to light two different experiences that made this scene so powerful. The first is Dr. Watson's "Exploring World Cultures: Emphasis on the Middle East" class I took last semester. Each class, Dr. Watson would begin by opening with a discussion or debate on an assigned essay or news article from the Middle East of today, then delve into the history of the area for the remaining time. During a few of these discussions, he would remind us that every day in the world, thousands upon thousands of girls and women are trafficked and sold into sexual slavery.**** Yet we as humans (or, dare I say, Americans) have this tendency to ignore the horrible things happening in the world around us and focus on what makes us feel comfortable, secure, important. (Did you hear what Barack Obama said about the Bush administration?! How dare he!)

The second tributary to this emotional scene was a speech I heard from Donald Miller once. He was talking about our lives as stories and what that means as far as how we should live them. He talked about the protagonist in a story, and how he or she should be portrayed in order to get the audience to like him or her. Miller referenced the newest Rocky movie and highlighted how the directors had Balboa fathering a fatherless child, helping a single mom carry groceries, and changing light bulbs. Those seem like meaningless details, but in reality the authors of the story were setting up the audience to like Rocky. That way, when the final fight scene came, everyone wanted Rocky to win. If the authors had failed here, no one would care if Rocky got K.O.ed or not.

Jumping back to Gran Torino and Sue's savage beating/rape, I found myself feeling legitimately angry at the guys who did that to her. I sympathized with Walt for punching holes in his cabinets and kicking things over. I wanted to do the same. You see, the directors had set me up for this. As Donald Miller pointed out, they had portrayed Sue as an intelligent, upbeat, confident girl. A very attractive girl. A protagonist who I wanted to see win. Yet she didn't. When she showed up at the door, face horribly bruised, blood running down her leg, I felt like retching.^

Yet like I always do when I get a strong emotional pull from a movie (whether that be fear, joy, or anger), I took a step back and thought about the events out of the film context. This usually works because, for example, I realize that there are no such things as radioactive mutants out to get me, and that I am not in fact on the football team that just lost the championship title. Yet when I did that with Gran Torino, I came face to face with an appalling truth. Girls are beaten and raped on a daily basis. There was no stepping out of that conflict.

In fact, taking that conflict out of the context of the film made it even more appalling. It made me even more angry. How many intelligent, upbeat, confident girls get raped every year? Dr. Watson would say thousands and thousands.

I'm at a crossroads here because I consider myself to be a pacifist. I don't think it's right for a person to kill another person, period.^^ Yet I legitimately wanted to kill those guys in the movie Gran Torino for doing that. I legitimately would enjoy sinking my fist into a man's face over and over and over if I knew he had raped a girl.^^^

I really don't have a concluding thought on this just yet. It's definitely something I'm going to have to work out between the Man Upstairs and myself.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Hmmm, what are those other 17 posts that were not published, you might wonder? I should start a "Commander Awesome Premium Membership." For only $10/month, you can get FULL access to all blogs, published or otherwise. Genius!
**Touche, artificial intelligence... touche.
***Though I will warn you that Clint Eastwood has what we in the adult world call a "potty mouth."
****This was always followed by an exhortation to stop this injustice.... one of the reasons I like Dr. Watson so much.
^Then I felt like killing.
^^I would go into more detail here, but that's a subject for another blog.
^^^Maybe the key here is realizing the difference between my immediate emotional reaction - the will of the flesh - and my prayerful, lasting reaction - the will of the Spirit. I dunno...

Genius.

2009-05-19T00:14:00.004-06:00

Before I begin, I would like to say that this is officially my 101st blog post. So yeah, feel free to mail your gifts* to my CCU address, and I'll pick them up next time I sweep through campus.**

Also, many of you are probably wondering what my last post was all about. Basically, the head of my work has a Google web crawler which scans the internet constantly and trawls up any pages with the phrase "[Insert title of my last post here.]" So from now on, I won't call it [Insert title of my last post here,] I'll instead call it "E.C." It's no big deal that my boss found out about it, I guess, but it was just weird to walk into work one morning and have everyone comment on my blog...

Anyway, on to business.

* * * *

I went down to Texas a few weeks ago on my motorcycle to visit a very good friend of mine. It was probably the best thing for me at the time, because I was getting way too caught up in papers, studying, planning, and the like. My time in Texas was marvelous and it was so good to meet with my old friends. Robbie once said to me, "it's not like we're [Stacy and himself] going to be dead or anything. We'll just be in a different place hundreds of miles away." Yet when I hugged him that weekend for the first time in years, it felt like he had really come back from the dead. I had forgotten how tall he is.

My friendship with Robbie is the kind of friendship I hope to achieve with a lot of people. We picked up right where we left off, disregarding the two and a half years we had been apart. We exchanged stories, laughed, and delved into God's Word just as we had back in Nevada. It was great.

My second night in Texas, Johnny, Robbie, and myself went to a Phil Wickam/Charlie Hall concert at a church. Charlie Hall was alright, but Phil*** really made my night. He did so through a single song which has been in and out of my mind excessively as of late. It's called "Beautiful," and it is a praise song to God. The forth verse goes like this:

"When we arrive at eternity’s shore
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more
We’ll enter in as the wedding bells ring
Your bride will come together and we’ll sing
You’re beautiful"

When he sang that, I had such a vivid image in my mind of Heaven that my eyes began to tear up. It'd been a long, long time since a song had done that to me.****

* * * *

A friend of mine from back home recently blogged about being smart (among other things). It really caused me to think about intelligence, and about genius more specifically. I man, what is genius? I don't want the scientific answer involving IQ, rather I wonder about what true genius really means. I'll see people who are "blow-me-out-of-the-water smart," but then they go and do something really dumb, which leads me to believe that genius is not all about intellect. I'll see people reading books and books and books, without ever caring to write a captivating story with their own lives, which leads me to believe that genius is active. I'll see people who are super-smart acting callously towards others, which leads me to believe that geniuses interact with the world regularly. I'll see people who possess brilliance and use it for the sole purpose of furthering their own agenda, which leads me to believe that genius is to a certain degree about others.

I don't think I'll ever come to a conclusion about the true definition of genius, but I find myself recognizing genius most often when I see someone do something I can't do. When I saw Caleb on the Academic Team my freshman year answering obscure questions about European history, or when I saw Stephanie find the third derivative of sin(x) - cos(x) in about an eighth of a second or when I saw John Scott sawing on the fiddle or when I saw Hans swoop in from the rafters to block a basketball, I exclaimed to myself, "Wow! That is genius!"

I think about what beauty there is in genius. How it sort of inspires this reverence and awe and leaves a buzzing in the mind of those who witness it. Standing in that darkened church in Texas, next to Robbie, with the words of "Beautiful" being sung all around me, I couldn't help but hold back tears at the thought of God's genius.

However, as it is written: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him"
-1 Corinthians 2:9

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

*Acceptable gifts include: A pack of wolves, a new bike, $29,000 in unmarked bills, a gyrocopter, and Pez.
**Which is something I try hard to avoid. It's way too depressing to see CCU sans-students.
***That's right. Phil. We're on a first-name basis and I let him borrow my motorcycle on Thursdays and weekends.
****In case you're wondering, the last time was Ray Bolts' "Thank You For Giving To The Lord," when Luke Everett signed it to us at Hume Lake. Talk about beautiful.

Environment Colorado.

2009-05-15T00:58:00.002-06:00

(Just checking to see if Big Brother is still watching me...)

Thanks for being paranoid,

-Daniel K

P.S. In the mean time, take a gander at this adorable kitten:

Door-to-Door Observations.

2009-05-14T00:49:00.004-06:00

As I'm pretty sure a lot of you already know, I am currently employed for the summer by Environment Colorado, a group currently working to triple the amount of electricity Colorado gets from solar panels. It's interesting work. I mean, the "meat and potatoes" of my work is canvassing, meaning I'm that guy who knocks on your door in the middle of dinner and asks you to be interested in something you're not.*

That being said, it's actually been really enlightening for me over these past couple of days. Such a different environment and focus has shifted my thoughts to things I haven't ever really paid attention to before. For example;

1.) I spend a HUGE amount of my time trying to get other people to like me. I didn't notice this until people started immediately DISliking me upon seeing me. I was getting really stressed out today when so many people made a snide remark and shut the door while I was talking, and I finally realized it's because it's so opposite to what I usually aim for. When meeting new people, I always want to do whatever it takes to impress them or interest them. So having a lot** of people see me and immediately put on that "shut up and leave" face kinda gets to me. I wonder why I spend so much time getting others to like me...?

2.) When I own a house here in America,*** I'm going to be really nice to whoever comes to my door. No, seriously... really nice. I don't care if they're selling something, campaigning, or trying to convert me to Neo-Buddhist Islam. I'm going to treat them like they are a person who deserves respect. I didn't think about this until I had a guy take one look at me, flip me off, and slam the door. Groovy.

3.) Apparently no one spends the night in their own house anymore. I'll talk to someone and they'll say, "I can't really talk right now, it's a bad time." I'll ask if I can come back later and they'll respond, "probably not. We're going out tonight."**** I understand if you don't care about solar power, just let me know.

4.) You can really see the isolation of Americans by walking around neighborhoods. Everyone has fences, multiple locks, warning signs, peepholes, intercoms, and all avoid eye contact with one another. It's sad, really.

5.) Diction is EVERYTHING. It's not a monthly paymentt plan, it's a monthly giving plan. You don't say, "Why don't you take a look at this, it's our statement of support," you say, "Here, look at this. It's our statement of support."

6.) 'Christians' who decorate their entryway with "God Bless America" and "As for me and my house, we will follow the LORD" paraphernalia should act as if they actually believe this. Despite my Environment Colorado shirt and clipboard, I'm actually a person on the inside.

Thanks for reading and I'll be coming soon to a door near you,*****

-Daniel K

*Despite my tone here, It's pretty good work in reality. I'm just being real with everyone.
**And I mean A LOT
***Which may be unlikely if I plan to live somewhere oversees, like in a third world country. Or on Mars.
****Seriously. Out of the 56 people I talked to today, about 8 of them said that exact phrase.
*****That is, if you live in the Denver area.

R.I.P

2009-05-11T23:47:00.003-06:00

R.I.P
The Commissioner
Came into my ownership: May 2008
Was callously stolen from me: May 2009

Sometimes I can really relate to Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof when he says, "Dear God. Was that necessary? Did you have to make him [Tevye's horse] lame just before the Sabbath? That wasn't nice. [...] Really, sometimes I think, when things are too quiet up there, you say to yourself, 'Let's see. What kind of mischief can I play on my friend, Tevye?' "

I know we won't always (or even most of the time) understand why God does what He does. I mean, after a while of God's plans mystifying, confusing, and frustrating me, you'd think I'd be used to their nature. Yet when we drove up from a day in the field* and I saw my lock sitting on the ground, sans bike, I couldn't help but think, "Really, God? That wasn't very nice."

Now I realize that the Commissioner wasn't exactly the most expensive or classy bike out there, but what made this theft even more of a supreme bummer was the fact that I had just ("Just" as in "8 ours before") paid $107 to get new wheels and tubes installed on it.

Yet as I waited for my ride to show up, I couldn't help but be thankful that God is a God to Whom we can take our emotions to - all our emotions. He isn't a God who only accepts happiness and smiles. He's a God I can be real with and say, "Seriously? what the heck!"

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Oh yeah, work is really great in case anyone's wondering. I'm excited for it.

I'm Wondering...

2009-05-07T14:27:00.002-06:00

I was just on craigslist looking for cheap places to stay in Denver,* and I saw something that makes me wonder. I entered a minimum rent of $0 and a maximum rent of $300. Scanning through the results, I saw several ads labeled, "$127/Mo., Sober Housing." I thought to myself, 'Well, I'm a pretty sober guy, that sounds perfect!'

When I checked it out, however, I saw that it's actually housing for people recovering from alcohol or other drugs. For $127/Month they can stay at these places, whereas all the other places were well over $300. I made the comment, "This is so dumb! They shouldn't be rewarded for messing up!" My room mate called me on it, saying I was being really judgmental.

So I'm wondering... what do you think? Is it being judgmental to be upset at that?

I heard a story a while ago about a man who defaulted on his home loan. He saw an ad, however, for a better loan - one with a LOT lower interest and better payment plans. He told a friend about it, but when his friend applied, they denied him because he hadn't defaulted on any loans. "So basically," the man's friend said, "I couldn't get the loan because I had been responsible and had faithfully paid off my own loan. Whereas this guy was able to get it because he had gotten in over his head, messed up, and had to bail."

I'm really torn here. I mean, it seems SO unjust to reward people for making dumb mistakes, you know? For example, I don't support the bailout because it sends the message that "if you mess up, we'll just bail you out! So do whatever!" Now don't get me wrong - I'm not saying there should be no grace. God knows I would be messed over if He didn't show me grace. But we can redeem mistakes without condoning them. And I kinda think that the $127/Mo rent sends the message, "because you messed up, we'll reward you!"

Shouldn't they offer cheaper places to stay for college students who are working their butts off to learn? Yet now I think I'm being prideful. Uhg.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Don't freak out... merely a precaution.

Bored Over Finals Week.

2009-05-07T10:22:00.003-06:00

Enjoy!

Thanks for... watching

-Daniel K

P.S. Thanks to Sarah for mailing me a Club Car key.

Twists and Turns.

2009-05-04T22:47:00.003-06:00

Okay all you avid readers out there. Here's the latest:

I was talking one day with my good friend Mingy, who's going to college in Salem, Oregon. I mentioned to her that I may be out of the fire crew job this summer* and she mentioned that I should get a job with Fund for the Public Interest, which is an environmental group with branches in a lot of states. I went to their website (www.jobsthatmatter.org, if anyone is curious,) and applied for a position in Portland (where Mingy is working,) in addition to one here in Denver. The next day, I received a call from the Denver office asking for an interview. I went in earlier today, talked with RJ the supervisor, and he was really excited to offer me the position.** In fact he said that I'll be hired on as a regular 'ol canvasser, but immediately be placed in training to become a field manager. Sweet!

So for everyone freaking out to know, the job pays anywhere from $400 to $600 per 40-hour workweek for a canvasser, and $450 to $650 per week for field managers. The pay is based on a $7.28/hour guaranteed rate, and then 45% of anything over $100 you raise per day.

Sounds pretty sweet, right? But I know what you're thinking - "Daniel, wherever will you stay in Denver? You'll have to pay rent, which means you won't get nearly as much to save for school as you need!"

Yet I say unto you; "Do not fret! For God is awesome and provides for us in sweet ways!" Example: My RA, Nick, roomed with this guy named Ken Love*** last year. Now it just so happens that K-Love works at a hotel not too far from campus, and they're letting him stay in a 3-bedroom, 6-bed suite FOR FREE over the summer. He only has three other roommates, so I asked him today if I could tag along, and he said yes!

But wait! There's more! You may remember some earlier posts I did regarding the strange phenomenon that happens downtown when I play rhythms on a bucket. My plan: direct deposit all my money from Environment Colorado, then use money raised from playing downtown (average of $60 per night,) to cover other expenses such as food, gas, and bicycle maintenance.

So basically, within the past 48 hours, God's gotten me hired onto a sweet job, a free apartment for the summer, and even a plan to cover the other crud that doesn't really matter.

What the heck?! Two days ago I was planning on road tripping back to Nevada and begging the fire guys to let me onto their crew. Talk about twists and turns!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. In case you're wondering, I am extremely bummed that I won't get to chill with Hans, the Johns, Mom, Dad, Jake, and Sarah this summer. That's the one thing that sucks REALLY BAD about all of this. But I will still be there for graduation, Sarah. And I may even wear clothes to it.

*I hope everyone reading this blog is caught up on all that. If not, the basics are as follows: Since I am in Colorado, I could not make it back to Nevada to take the drug test or pack test to get back on the crew, so they stuck me on the wait list until further notice... along with the other 100+ applicants they had this year. Never mind seniority. So I would have to wait until someone quit/got fired to get a spot. Did I mention there's over 100 applicants?
**Based on my involvement on campus and my philosophy on apathetic Americans.
***Yeah... that's really his name. Awesome!

A (School) Year in Review.

2009-05-01T10:11:00.003-06:00

Well folks, here it is! I've finished up my last week of classes and all that remains are the final tests. Cake.

It's been an amazing experience living here in Colorado.* I started out the year decorating my walls and absolutely petrified of how my classes would be, and now I'm ending it by taking down all my posters and wondering what essay questions Dr. Watson will give us on our Middle Eastern History final.

I remember asking Nick, Scott, Teddy, and Austin** at the beginning of the year about classes; were they hard your freshman year? Were the professors nice? Was the homework crazy? Did I have to read ALL these books? I remember getting here second out of my four roommates, meeting Dan, and then speculating about the other two. "Yeah, I think this Mike guy is pretty hardcore," Dan told me, "I saw his Facebook pictures and he looked pretty legit. Plays guitar and likes metal."***

I remember our first day of classes, when we were awakened at 4 AM by our RA and RARs to go up to Red Rocks amphitheater and have our FYI**** looking out over Denver as the sun rose. The time the whole Ghetto Stairwell went to Casa Bonita, ate horrible Mexican food, and pretended it was someone's birthday so the Mariachi band would serenade us. The time I tried out for the Chapel Team and got schooled by Dan the Man, who I've decided can bend space/time to play the drums at unheard-of speeds.

I remember the relief felt at midterms when I realized that college, although harder, is still just school... and I can handle school. The time I finished my first-ever 10-page college essay and handed it in to Professor DeVore with an enormous feeling of accomplishment. The time I slept in through class due to an extremely late night and was amazed that no one haggled me about it.^ The time Austin, Dan the Man and I decided at 11 PM on Halloween night to ride our bikes downtown, and stayed out until 4 AM biking around the streets.

I remember visiting home and how fun it was to see all my old friends again, yet realizing how quickly I came to miss my Ghetto family. How I reflected for a while about how strange it is that we have so many relationships in our lives that we take for granted. How I learned the techniques for dumpster diving, table swooping, and ticket clipping, then reaped the benefits of other's trash.^^ How I spent my mornings alone in the tiny Prayer Chapel and felt so much more collectd throughout the day.

I remember feeling grateful towards the hard times in my life; for when I took a full class load my senior year of high school, because it prepared me excellently in the "time management" department. For the times my mom and dad punished me for doing stupid things, because they caused me to realize the faults in dumb decisions. For the times my plans fell to suck, because it taught me to be flexible. For growing up in a small town, because I learned how to make my own fun and appreciate what I have.

I remember the time Trevor asked me to be an RAR with him in the Ghetto next year, and how excited I was.^^^ The time I was admitted into the Discipleship program to be a D-Group leader for next year. The time Jarrod let me know that I'll be moving up with my 8th grade boys' small group into their freshman year.

I remember the harsh times, where I wretched and yelled. The sweet times, when I stared in wonder at the beauty around me and smiled to God for the gift. The boring times when I sat through a pointless lecture. The exhilarating times when I flew down a snow-covered slope up at Copper Mountain.

I remember coming to this simple realization: My life matters. Despite the fact that I am one in billions, I have just as much power to change this world as anyone else. And it would be an absolute shame to waste that.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Or "Colo-rad-bro" as a friend would say
**If you recall, Nick is my RA (Residant Assistant) and Teddy, Austin and Scott are the RARs (Resident Assistant Roommates)
***Turns out Mike, or Scooter as we call him, is the farthest thing from "hardcore." But he does have some sick Facebook pics.
****FYI = Freshman Year Integration. It's like FTP except without the suck
^ Except for my conscience... I hate missing classes.
^^ I use this term loosely here, as you'd be surprised what super-wealthy people consider "trash."
^^^ And still am. It's gunna rock!

Stats.

2009-04-30T14:12:00.002-06:00

Back in the day when I used to play video games,* I always enjoyed one thing the most. At the end of certain games (like Jak and Daxter, for instance,) they would offer you a glimpse at your stats throughout the game. These stats included "Enemies killed," "Enemies spared," "Shots fired," "Specials collected," and so on. The game kept track of almost everything you did during play, and then after the final cut scene you could look over it all and marvel at your awesomeness.

I was thinking the other day, what with the end of my first year in college drawing to a close,** about that feature in video games. What if we had that feature in our own lives? What if, at the end of big events like high school, for instance, we could look back over our stats. I wonder what stats I would be most interested in? I've decided on a few that I would want to know in regard to this last school year...

-Number of books read
-Hours of TV watched
-Time spent reading the Bible
-Time spent surfing the internet
-People I've encouraged
-People I've put down
-Money saved
-Money spent on entertainment
-Hours spent doing homework/studying
-Hours spent watching movies/internet cartoons

I wonder what those stats would be. I wonder how I'd feel about the answers. I wonder what I can do this day to improve them...

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

*Now I'm much more sophisticated, what with longboarding and gallon challenges.
**WHAT?!

New Discoveries.

2009-04-23T09:51:00.002-06:00

It's strange how much you learn in doing even the most trivial of tasks. I'm making a cardboard standup of myself for no apparent reason,* and in doing so, I've already made so many new discoveries. I thought I'd share some with you;

1. I stood the cardboard up against a wall and sized my psuedo-self up. Wow, I never knew how tall I was...

2. Printing off a large picture of my face to adorn the cardboard neck, I discovered I am not too good at shaving.

3. Drawing shoes on to the feet, I wondered how I balanced on those little appendages so well.

4. Even though I sometimes consider myself to be out of shape, I spent well over a half hour trying to cut myself out of a refrigerator box. What a shape that was!

5. Hands are weird**

6. Clothes make the man. Especially when he's a cardboard man

7. The silhouette of my fist looks remarkably like a hamster

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Yeah, I'm totally not ditching an extremely important WOW meeting to go to Texas this weekend and so trying to make a standup of myself to fill in for my absence....
**Hans is, too, but that's a different story.

The Best.

2009-04-17T22:06:00.002-06:00

So I just got back from a HUGE snowball fight* and I think I had an epiphany. I'm pretty sure it happened somewhere between my first snowbath and when I got full-on pegged in the eye from across the volleyball court. It was as follows: "Wow, I'm not good at a lot of stuff."

It's depressing to think about, really. I knew, coming into the fight, that I'm no good at throwing. But that was okay, because I could just run around a lot and get into a close-range fight, then do alright (except I also have terrible aim.) So I wasn't too put-off whenever I threw a snowball to have it land a few feet short of my target... I'm better at other stuff, anyways.

Later on in the fight, I decided to utilize something I consider myself good at - wrestling. So when we charged a group of my friends, I dropped the snowballs I couldn't really use too well anyway and tackled a guy. It was an okay little skirmish, and we both kinda got tired and backed off after a while. Then about ten minutes later, while standing on the volleyball court with some friends and lobbing an occasional snowball, I was suddenly blindsided by Vahn running full-force. By the time I had recovered from the initial shock, he was already on top of me and shoving snow in my face. Lovely... beat at my own game.

But that's all okay, right? I've never been too much of a fighter anyway. What I'm really good at is taking charge of a situation that needs taking charge of. Yet when a girl from the Sandlot stairwell came into some misfortune and fell to the ground pretty hurt, I just kinda stood there with the rest of the people and looked. It was Chad who stepped forward right away and made sure the situation was taken care of.

Hmmm. Alright, alright, but I mean what I'm really, really good at is school, right? What I can beat anyone else at is excelling academically, right? Then I remember the fact that once again, there are so many people a whole lot better than me at that, too.

It's depressing to think about, really.

I guess I can take comfort in the realization that it's not so much what one thing I'm good at, but more of the fact that I'm made of so many different talents. And when you really think about it, there are very few people who can ever claim to be the best at anything.

I think the moral of the story is that I should spend less time comparing myself to others and more time focusing on who I am.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Yeah... It's mid-April and we got 10 inches of snow today. Go Colorado...?

Favorites.

2009-04-15T09:06:00.004-06:00

My current favorite...

Song: "How He Loves," by John Mark McMillan

Book: "Sophie's World," by Jostein Gaarner

Class: Philosophy, with Professor DeVore

Place: The Ghetto (the stairwell, mind you)

Activity: Biking to downtown and sightseeing from high places

Food: Dill Pickle flavored sunflower seeds (I know... weird, right?)

Drink: Dr. Dew. (Half Dr. Pepper, half Mountain Dew, courtesy of Dan the Man)

Movie: Watchmen

Passage in Scripture: 2 Chronicles 32:20-21

Time of the day: 5:30PM, when I go to dinner with the Ghetto

Time of the week: It's a tie between Wednesday nights when I get to meet with my Junior High Boys' small group and Tuesday nights when we have Stiz Tiz*

Person to randomly talk to: Tiffany Harris

Person to hang out with: Scott Bollen

Person to be challenged by: Cooper Pasque

Memory from this semester: When we snuck into the library and spent the night masquerading around with Nerf guns and All-Campus Communion to kick off Spiritual Emphasis Week

Discovery: That people will give you lots of money if you can entertain them with a bucket and some drumsticks

Thought: 1 John 4:4

Thing to do when bored: Write in my blog or play Desktop Tower Defense**

Professor: A tie between the aforementioned Professor DeVore and Dr. Buzzel

TV Show: Pshh, TV?

Band: Caedmon's Call

Phrase: "What the (insert applicable word here)!"***

Game: Running Man

Feeling: When I get a big essay done on time (only four more left this semester!)

Sound: Thunder

Smell: Incense (any kind, really...)

Time to do homework: When I'm 'working' at the Admissions Office

Time to end this blog: Now

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Stiz Tiz is our weekly stairwell meeting where we share stories and get announcements and such
**Super addicting and fun... Google it sometime and give it a whirl
***Examples include: "What the heck!" when frustrated, "What the text!" when perplexed by a text message, or even "What the prank!" when you realize you've been had.

Makes You Think.

2009-04-11T01:51:00.005-06:00

Austin, Vahn, Dustin and I were just out exploring campus* a few minutes ago when suddenly all the lights (except for at the Student Union and Waite Hall,) went out. Lucky for us, we had all brought flashlights anyway, so we continued to poke around all the nooks and crannies for treasure.

It was strange with all the lights out, really. I had never seen the "Academic Side" of campus without the street lamps and other types of illumination, since they always came on by sunset. Walking around the eerily quiet, uncharacteristically dark buildings turned out to be extremely fun. It reminded me of an excerpt from a book I'm reading for Philosophy Class, entitled Sophie's World. (Forgive me for not quoting it directly, because I'm typing this in the dark as my roommate sleeps, and my battery is too low to leave my desk and go to the livingroom.)

Anyway, in the book, Sophie's Philosophy teacher is telling her about Hume and his staunch empiricism. The teacher makes an interesting statement regarding nature's laws. According to Hume, natural laws such as gravity weren't able to be proven, because the only evidence we had was the fact that every time we drop something, it falls to the ground. Yet since Locke only believed what you experienced was certain, gravity was not certain because we can not experience things ALWAYS dropping. We can only assume that if we let go of a rock, it will drop because hat's what has always happened

Furthermore, what was brought to my mind because of the dark campus, was the next little bit of philosophy. The philosophy teacher gave the following example (again, excuse the lack of direct quotes... I'm paraphrasing.)

"Imagine you were in a room with a one-year-old, and a rock was dropped but it didn't fall. Instead, it just floated in midair. How impressed do you think the infant would be?" He asked.

"I suppose it wouldn't be too excited," Sophie answered.

"Why?"

"Well, it hasn't experienced a lot of things dropping, so its expectations were not set in stone."

"Good. Now, imagine you are at a magic show with the same infant, and you both observe a magician as he causes objects to float in the air. Who would be more impressed, you or the child?"

"I would be, because I have experienced things dropping so much that I would better appreciate how impossible it all is."

The philosophy teacher then went on to explain the danger of possessing these preconceived expectations for things. He suggests that perhaps we miss a lot because we always expect with certainty what will happen. As I strolled around the pitch-black campus, I realized that in a small way, I had the preconceived idea that campus would always be lit up at night. After all, it always was.

Yet tonight it wasn't. I wonder what else "won't." I wonder how much I expect to happen and in doing so miss the simply beauty or enormous complexity of it. Makes you think.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*We were looking for storm drains, basements, or access to roofs. Anything fun, really.

This Week In Ghetto...

2009-04-10T00:05:00.003-06:00

Just thought I'd give you all a snapshot of my week thus far...

Monday

Wake up, roll out of bed, and start running. Light and Life staff meeting from 7:30 to 8:30, then straight to work at the Admissions Office until 10:00. Old Testament doesn't start until 10:50, so I take the 50 minute gap and start reading the book A Case For Peace by Alan Dershowitz... book analysis paper due on Thursday. Go to Old Testament, learn some sweet crud about The Writings, go to Philosophy, turn in Nietzsche reading questions, learn more about said philosopher, got to Creative Writing and peer review our stories, then go meet with academic advisor regarding scholarships. Spend the rest of the afternoon reading A Case For Peace, then go play Ultimate Frisbee for intramurals followed immediately by dinner with the Ghetto Ultimate Frisbee Team. Go shopping at Savers for props for the youth group set, get back around 9, spend the rest of the night reading, go to bed.

Tuesday

Wake up, roll out of bed, and start running. Breakfast at 7:30, then try to stay alert while reading in the Library until 9:25 when public Speaking starts. After class, chapel from 10:50 to 11:40. I have "lunch duty," so I meet up with the day's Preview Students after Chapel and chill with them in the Caf, exchanging various pleasantries and answering any questions. Read as much as possible between lunch and my 1:40 Middle East class, where I learn about Britain's conquest of the Suez, Egypt, and most of North Africa. Waited around for the Student Government meeting to start, only to realize that I had the wrong schedule and meetings resume next week. Go back home and continue reading, then meet up with Trash Club a little late. From there, I head to a D-Group meeting, then to Stiz Tiz. Since everyone in our stairwell has given their story already, we had a "Feats of Strength" contest, during which I successfully beat one of my roommates in wrestling but ended up with a really badly rugburned knee. Nurse my wounds while reading until bed.

Wednesday

Wake up, roll out of bed, stumble on some dirty laundry, and start running. Eat breakfast at 7:30, then go to work at the Admissions Office from 8:00 to 10:00, at which time I take some Previews on a campus tour, then head to Old Testament at 10:50. Then Philosophy. Then Creative Writing, where a few classmates and I decided to ditch given that were once again peer editing and it was 70 degrees outside. Spent the class time starting my essay on A Case For Peace, then went to the WOW committee meeting from 3:00 to 4:00 (We finally got postcards to mail to registered students!). After WOW I grabbed an old-school typewriter and made the familiar 15 minute walk to church, set up the stage (using said typewriter, an overhead projector, a rickety old chair, and a retro leather jacket on one side, then a laptop, gaming chair, digital projector, and North Face jacket on the other.) Facilitated a game of good-old-fashioned whiffleball, the hosted my Junior High Boys' small group until 8:45, when I headed back to school to work more on my essay. Met with a friend in the library and worked on my essay, then headed back to the Ghetto around 12 and went to bed.

Today

Woke up, rolled out of bed, climbed over the mountain of dirty laundry, and started running. Finished my essay before 9:25 Public Speaking, then sat through some debates and went to Chapel. Excellent Chapel... it was Easter Communion so I had a blast. Came back to the Ghetto afterwards and hung out with Scooter and Cam (under the pretense of proofreading my essay,) until 1:40 when I went to Middle East class. I proudly turned in my essay, then learned more about Britain's Imperialism and Turkish Nationalism. Afterwards, I had a brief reprieve in the good weather as I stood victorious over A Case For Peace, then came back home and helped clean up for the night. At 8:00 I went to eat at Chili's with Dan the Man, Scooter, and Logan. By 9:30 we met up with a bunch of other Ghetto guys, some Cockpit guys, and a few La Plata guys for the revered Gallon Challenge. I plopped in a butt-ton of purple food coloring into my jug, and had at it. Managed to get about 7/8ths of it down and not vomit.. others weren't so lucky. The ground directly beneath our third-floor balcony is now colored with many splatters of food-dyed milk barf. Good times. Afterwards, urinated for the longest time in history, then sat down at my computer and tried to think of what to write.

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

Reflections on my Spring Break.

2009-04-05T18:21:00.002-06:00

I was once asked what my favorite attribute of God was. Grace? Love? Power? Justice? I answered, "His sense of humor. I love how God possesses this pure, divine sense of humor that takes a lot of getting used to and requires one to pay a lot of attention, or you might just miss it."

To set up the story, let me give you some background: over spring break, I drove with seven other CCU students and one professor down to Los Angeles to help out with several ministries on Skid Row.* We left here Friday the 27th and spent a week and some days in LA, serving at Hope Again, Set Free, and the Dream Center. While there, I was doing what's called an "e-fast," which is basically fasting from anything electronic.** I therefore took notes and wrote down thoughts in a notebook. Looking over it today, having arrived late last night, I decided to blog a little about what I experienced. Enjoy.

-I wonder how much impact I have on the world. Like many things in life, I think that answer to this has to do with a balance. by this, I mean that way too many people in the world think, "I am one person among billions. I have no impact. I will live my life as such." I consider this to be one of the saddest states of mind ever. Yet at the same time, someone would be foolish to think that they alone posses the power and skills to impact the world in whatever way they want. As I experienced Skid Row, I thought about how much sway I could possibly have on this world. I re-realized that the world isn't always changed by professionals or experts. It's changed by people who want. To. Do. Something.

-How do they know it's winter in Southern California? I asked several locals about the weather patterns and received a lot of the same answers; "Well, January is pretty much like it is now (gestures to the blue skies and 65 degree weather,) We get some rain and cold winds occasionally, but it pretty much stays the same." I'm not a fan of the winter, but now that I think about it, it would be kinda disconcerting to not be able to tell what time of year it is strictly by the weather.

-Do people in cities realize the beauty around them? I think it's a more subtle brand of beauty, but it's beauty all the same. I sat on the curb outside Hope Again*** one night and just listened to the sounds for a while. I realized I was sitting in the middle of millions and millions of stories, all swirling around me, emanating from buildings or streets or cars, but most importantly people. Stories so unbelievably different from one another save for a few things. Looking up, smog and light pollution formed a bubble-like shell around the enormous city. Yet I could see planes and helicopters, high rises and antennas. Raw, unadulterated humanity spilled from every corner, every window, every desolate alleyway in the huge maze that was LA. A different kind of beauty, but beauty all the same.

-I met a man named Lenny who was the cook at a church we visited.**** After the day's work was done, Lenny took time to explain to use something about his kitchen. "You see this?" He said, pointing with his elbow to the kitchen. The floors and countertops were immaculate, everything was stored neatly away, and no obstructions burdened the floor. "You know I keep it this way? Because I want to be sure that if Jesus ever walks in and asks to eat with me, I'll be ready. I want to be sure that if He comes in and is hungry, that I can treat Him like the King He is." I realize how much of my stuff I treat with a lack of respect because, well, it's mine. But what if Jesus ever came to my apartment and asked to spend the night? Would I be ashamed to let him see my room? Hmmmm....

-As it happens, you need a lot more than 8 bottles of food coloring to dye Biola's fountain. Either that, or the water doesn't flow in a complete circle - from the bottom straight to the top - and goes out of the system somewhere along the line. Who'd have thought?

-I went to somewhere around twelve church services during my week in LA, and noticed some interesting things about each. During services in Skid Row, I felt a strange feeling throughout. When I attended Mosaic,^ I found the feeling was absent. At first I thought the feeling was nervousness... At Mosaic, I wasn't sitting next to a 40 year old man who smelled of alcohol or a woman in and out of consciousness due to some drug. But I came to the realization that it wasn't nerves at all. It was a sense of Biblical belonging. Let me explain... In the book of Acts and throughout the other books of the New Testament, the Church is almost always the audience. Paul writes to critique or encourage the Church, and the book of Acts even takes a lot of time to describe the Church. Yet I had never really experienced a church like the Church of the New Testament. I hadn't realized this until this week, but it seems like a lot of modern churches have slowly gotten away from the original intent of Church. Now, don't hear me saying that modern churches are evil or whatever. They've just changed. And going through a Church service down on Skid Row, where the music or the lighting or the attendance or the location honestly DIDN'T matter, I realized the extreme likeness of those churches to the Church of the Bible. And I loved it. I'm still unpacking what exactly made those services so different, but I can tell you right off that the most noticeable thing was the openness. I guess when people realize that money or clothes or social status or whatever don't really change that fact that we're all human and we're all experiencing life, they can let go of their self-centered privacy and really open their lives to others' help and encouragement.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*Skid Row is an area near downtown LA, known for the nation's highest concentration of homeless persons. Interestingly enough, it's also about eight miles from Beverly Hills.
**This included, but was not limited to, my cellphone, iPod, computer, any TV and even my watch.
***That's where we stayed during the week. It's kinda like a halfway home for people getting our of prison or off the streets and back into the flow of society.
****Yeah, the church had a cook. It's pretty necessary when they serve thousands of pounds of food each week to whoever wants to indulge.
^This is Erwin McManus' church, who is a moderately famous author and Christian speaker. It's held in a nightclub called The Mayan, and as such has a full array of lights, a top-notch sound system, and an incredible ambiance. It attracted a lot of white, middle to upper-class attendees.

Classes.

2009-03-24T16:50:00.002-06:00

Hmm. It appears I'm on a posting frenzy. My blogging ratio is up significantly in this past week or so. I'm having a lot of fun, though, so I'm fine with it.

Anyway, I just thought I'd let everyone out there know what classes I'm officially signed up to take in Fall 2009:

*Ahem*

COM 204 - Nonverbal Communication
COM 205 - Digital Media Lab
COM 206 - Digital Media Production
GLS 203 - Introduction to Global Studies
GLS 386 - Exploring World Cultures: Asia
THE 201 - Introduction to Theology

If you couldn't tell, I'm still trying to decide between a Global Studies (GLS) and Communication (COM) major. My total credit hours would be 16 if I did all those (The Digital Media Lab is worth 1 as an accompanying class to Digital Media Production.) But I'm contemplating dropping Digital Media and taking on Interpersonal Communication if the Digital Media Lab conflicts with my small group schedule.

So, there you have it! Questions? Comments? Feel free!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

Bored One Night....

2009-03-24T09:08:00.002-06:00

To Do.

2009-03-22T19:14:00.004-06:00

Upon returning to my apartment Saturday morning, I found myself caught up in a cleaning bonanza. Scooter asked me to help him tidy things up, and I rather reluctantly agreed. After having finished the dishes and the trash, I took to Cameron's and my room and began to tame the beast of a mess residing on our floor. In doing so, I uncovered a few different "To Do" lists from this past week. I thought I'd give all you avid readers out there a little glimpse into my day-to-day life through them;

NOTE: These are in no particular order.

To Do
-Go to lunch with Dan-The-Man
-Fill prescription
-Download song(s) for tomorrow's set list*
-Practice said set list
-Read AT LEAST three chs. of Sophie's World
-Read AT LEAST one ch. of Case for Peace
-Study study school's your buddy! (Philosophy and Old Testament)
-Old Testament summaries
-Go to D-Group interview**

To Do
-Go running
-Set up meeting with Dr. Watson
-Write page 2 of short story
-Put up fliers and do sidewalk chalk for Capture the Flag
-Count change jar
-WOW meeting
-Decide on game for Super Outlet***
-Sign up for "A Sacred Day"****
-Get to bed EARLY!

To Do
-Set up meetings with: Carlton, Michael, and Alex*****
-Go to Trash Club
-Go to D-Group meeting
-Go to missions meeting^
-Call Robbie re: trip^^
-SGA meeting^^^
-Doctor's appointment (borrow Big Mike's car?)

Well, that about wraps it up. A lot of it was in shorthand (one line actually read "TC for life!" So I decided to tone down the Daniel jargon.)

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. It's also worth mentioning that I saw the movie Watchmen today and it was mega awesome. Pretty gory and a few super-awkward scenes, but overall it rocked my socks. I highly suggest reading the book first, though.

*Set list = the songs for the church service (or any performance, really.)
**D-Group = Discipleship Group. = a student-lead Bible study group for freshmen. I'm hopefully going to be leading one next year.
***Super Outlet = a once-a-month youth group event where Outlet meets with other youth groups and does crazy crud.
****A Sacred Day = a sweet idea to read the entire Bible in the period of 72 hours by getting students to sign up for 1/2 hour slots and read for the entire 72 hours. It was really cool.
*****They're three junior high guys in my small group. We all hang out once or twice a week.
^I'm going on a mission trip to LA over Spring Break to help out in Skid Row.
^^I'm going to visit Robbie in April! Heck yeah!
^^^SGA - Student Government (I dunno what the "A" stands for...)

Annoyances.

2009-03-18T12:23:00.002-06:00

Wow, two posts in the same day. Rare. In any case, I decided to write a quick entry highlighting pertinent assumptions of society that really annoy me.*

1. If you do something nice for a girl, it's obviously because you like her. I mean, let's be real here - No guy holds open doors, compliments, or helps out a girl unless he's got a head-over-heels crush on her.

2. If you compliment someone who's in higher position than you, you're obviously trying to kiss-up. C'mon now... you don't just compliment a professor because he/she gave an awesome message in chapel the other day or something. You only compliment professors because you want a better grade on a test or lenience on a paper.

3. If you don't act just like everyone else and do "normal" things, you have a medical condition which requires medication. See a physician immediately. Similarly, if you are uncomfortable (including but not limited to: pain, tiredness, too awake, or bored,) seek medication expediently. You don't need to feel those things anyway.

4. If you're a freshman, you have nothing of value or substance to offer. Keep quiet.

Grumble grumble grumble,

-Daniel K

*DISCLAIMER: I am in no way saying that all people I know act like this. Just a select few.

Just Wondering, I Guess.

2009-03-18T09:43:00.005-06:00

Way back in August, at the advent of my college experience, our campus pastor gave the opening message to boot off the new year.

"God brought me here," he commanded us to repeat after him. What choice did we have? All the students packed into the events center in unison repeated, "God brought me here." We then repreated it four more times, each time emphasizing a different word in the sentence. I thought it was kinda hokey and all, but the heart behind it was beautiful. Pastor Werner wanted us all to realize that God doesn't make mistakes, and even if we were having misgivings about our place in life, to remember that God is sovereign.

Why is it that sometimes I find that truth so hard to live out?

I catch myself occasionally parusing websites for Westpoint or Biola or CU Boulder or Willamette thinking "if only." If only I'd applied to more places, or if only I had done better on that stupid PSAT and become a National Merit Scholar, or if only I had gotten more scholarships.

Careful how you interpret this, because I love CCU. I love the learning, the people, and the the community behind this little campus in the middle of Lakewood. Save for a few classes, I've been extremely impressed with how and what I'm learning. Yet the words of Jeremy keep popping up in my mind; "Good is the enemy of the best." Am I in the best college for me?

This question keeps nagging at me. I mean, there are schools that cost a lot less and have a lot more distinguished programs than CCU. There are universities nationally renown for their (insert area of study here.) I'm doing "good" at CCU, but could I be doing "the best" somewhere else?

"God brought me here."

A most excellent friend of mine* once told me that, "there is no decision you can make that will cause God to throw His hands up in the air and say, 'Aw dang it! This ruins everything!'"

Perhaps I am doing "the best" here...? God only knows. I just wish He'd throw me a bone.**

"I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Phillipians 1:3-6)

Wow. God doesn't mess around when it comes to promises.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*A most excellent friend whom I am going to visit in April! Holla!
**Or is that He has already thrown it and it's staring me in the face?

The Beginning...

2009-03-16T21:55:00.002-06:00

Well, pretty much my greatest dream ever has come to fruition... I've been assigned to write a fictional short story 5-10 pages long! Booyah!

So, without further adieu, I give you the first page:*

The Scholarship

Full of a frustrated sort of relief, Eli stepped forward, squared off against the plain gunmetal door, and shoved hard with his entire body. The illusion of a locked portal vanished with a tremendous clang as the off-kilter door dislodged from the frame and swung open on oiled hinges. Without pause, Eli stepped boldly inside the lit room and absorbed the cramped space in his gaze. A smug look seeped onto his face - he had at last found Ralph.

* * *

The sounds of studying hummed in Eli’s ears. He had always found it strange that such an activity as studying possessed so distinct a noise, yet it did all the same. Pages ruffled, iPods sang barely audible tunes, noses were cleared of debris, and chairs grunted and groaned under the ever-increasing brain mass of their occupants.

Eli moved purposefully through the rows of crowded tables towards his favorite spot in the large Oregon State University library - against the back wall, between the boiler room door and the fire escape. Rounding the final bookshelf, Eli felt a flash of annoyance upon discovering that a couple had taken residence in his spot and were dedicating their study time to canoodling. Given that it was finals week, Eli’s better judgement begged him not to risk causing a scene by attempting to evict them.

As such, it was against his better judgement that Eli cleared his throat and asked loudly, “You two having a killer time?”

The couple hardly broke stride, the male opting to reach his hand up and extend a middle finger in Eli’s direction. “Most excellent. Carry on, then,” Eli replied cheerfully, turning and adjusting his course for the second floor, where his alternate study spot waited.

A flash of hot pink screamed at his eye as Eli entered the stairwell. He shot a look down at his feet and scooped up the Post-It note instinctively. Eli was no environmentalist, but he hated to see litter on campus. He didn’t understand why students would trash the school they paid so much to attend. Out of sheer boredom, Eli glanced at the note as he trudged up the stairs. What he read caused him to stop walking and re-read the note three times;

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

*This is my first rough draft and all, so be gentle!

Quote Me!

2009-03-12T09:50:00.003-06:00

I'm sitting here in Public Speaking trying desperately to stay awake. You see, I was up late last night writing an essay on the riveting book Islamic Imperialism and I arose from my slumber early this morning to practice with the cross country team before breakfast. So in a last-ditch effort to stay away from dreamland, I've decided to write down some of my favorite quotes from movies. Here goes:

PETE: "Do not seek the treasure!"
GUARD: "Quiet there! Watch the picture show!"
(Pause)
DONNELL: "We though you was a toad!"
-O Brother, Where Art Thou?

TURK: "I'm gonna get out of the car and drop you like third period French."
-Ocean's 11

ARMY SERGEANT: "Is there any reason you shouldn't be in this man's Army? "
MAX: "I'm a cross-dressing homosexual pacifist with a spot on my lung. "
ARMY SERGEANT: "As long as you don't have flat feet."
-Across the Universe

ODDBALL: "We see our role as essentially defensive in nature. While our armies are advancing so fast and everyone's knocking themselves out to be heroes, we are holding ourselves in reserve in case the Krauts mount a counteroffensive which threatens Paris... or maybe even New York. Then we can move in and stop them. But for 1.6 million dollars, we could become heroes for three days."
-Kelly's Heroes

MR. GOODKAT: "Charlie Chaplin once entered a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest in Monte Carlo and came in third; that's a story."
-Lucky Number Slevin

MORPHEUS: "I know *exactly* what you mean. Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about? "
-The Matrix

MR. DAWS: "Did you know that I was struck by lightning seven times?"
and
BENJAMIN BUTTON: "Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss."

Well, that's all I can come up with for now... and class is wrapping up so I've got to get going to chapel.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

The Biz

2009-03-01T19:08:00.003-07:00

So I'm thinking that I've finally come up with my REAL career. No, it's not Private I (that'll be a hobby, along with writing, fighting crime, and hitchhiking.) It's a job where I can choose my own hours, work where I want, hone my skills, and talk to really awesome people. And it's dang simple! How did I find this miracle job, you may ask? Let me break it down for you:

My first challenge was trying to convert a 5-gallon bucket into a backpack. You see, there are few practical backpacks that can hold a huge bucket, some pots, and a bag of drumsticks very well, so I decided to just use what I had and carry everything in the bucket. Not able to find any nails or sharp metals to poke through the resilient plastic, I resorted to a lighter. Heating up the plastic enough, I used the back end of a spoon to push through, creating four holes. Next I hijacked some rope and looped two sections through the holes, creating a way to secure it to my back.

The hardest part of the night over, I bundled up and headed downtown for the night. Traveling by bike, I made my way through the city, by street and bridges and paths, through neighborhoods, by power plants, and over rivers. Arriving on the 16th Street mall at 11 PM, I set up shop across the street from the ESPN Zone and the Cheesecake Factory. Bike, jacket, and bag set aside, I whipped out my best pair of drumsticks, put a pot out onto the sidewalk, flipped the 5-gallon bucket over, and had at it.

It's quite easy, really. You just have to remember that people only see you for 30 seconds to a minute, so there's no need to come up with a dozen different routines... Three or four will do just fine (remember you can always mix them to create interesting combos!)

It was a bit disheartening at first, because few people even paid attention to me, and there was little foot traffic at all. But after long, the Rascal Flats/Jessica Simpson concert at the Pepsi center got over and the traffic increased significantly. At the end of the first hour, I had a respectable amount of change and dollar bills inside my little pot.

At about this time, Nick and Austin (my RA and one of my RARs) caught up with me. You see, the two of them are pedicab drivers, so they spend their weekends peddling bike-drawn carriages around Denver for tips. Nick told me that a lot of people were over on Larimer Square.* I packed up and headed out, making the short hop over to Larimer. I was kicked out of the square due to a city ordinance, but the policeman informed that I was allowed to play right across the street, in Writer's Square. So play I did, for about an hour or so, exchanging words with a few impressed pedestrians.

Finally, approaching 1 AM, I decided to give Larimer another try. As I was setting up, however, the same ploiceman came up and chased me off, but not before informing me that a real good spot was just down the street, at the corner of Market and 14th. I made my way there and set up, doubting the officers words... there was little foot traffic.

But then at about 1:30 AM, the bars and nightclubs began emptying out.** I made about half of the night's wages in that 45 minute time slot (1:30 - 2:15 AM.) A virtual army of drunk people came staggering by in small detachments, dazzled by the quick-paced rhythms and simple but fun rudiments. The pot filled up quickly and I had to start pocketing some dollars to avoid an overflow. As is synonymous with drunk people, ridiculous behavior followed. Some lady completely tripped over herself, eating it on the sidewalk in front of me. A man with a thick hispanic accent looked me straight in the eyes as if he were on his deathbed and said, "Follow your soul, man. I'm not even American, but you gotta follow your soul." He then proceeded to walk out into the busy intersection, though the glowing red hand protested. A very short women came up to me, almost in tears, and dropped 5 dollar bill in, saying, "God bless you. My brother does this. You gotta have some real balls. God bless you."

By 2:15, the streets were deserted so I packed up and met Nick and Austin at Writer's Square to head home. We enjoyed completely car-less ride through downtown*** to the Car that Nick and Austin drove in earlier. We hooked our bikes onto the rack and headed toward CCU.

I dunno if it was during the peaceful ride through downtown at 3:00 AM or on the cramped car ride home during our awesome story-swapping session or when I counted my money to find I had made $81.50 and a can of Copenhagen in 3.5 hours, but sometime during that night I decided that this would be an excellent job.

So basically, it’s the ideal career choice for me. I can have fun, be out late, and feel free all at the same time. I guess all that remains would be to change my name to something more adventurous...

Thanks for reading,

-Dan-O The Bucket Boy, Street Musician

*Larimer is where tons of bars/nightclubs are located.
**Places that serve alcohol must be closed by 2 AM in Denver.
***Seriously... It was like I Am Legend. No one was on the streets, so they were completely open to us... Weaving between lanes, through red stoplights, and up one-way streets.

Tales from My Life.

2009-02-20T18:02:00.002-07:00

The following events take place between 6:30 AM and 4:30 PM on Thursday, February 19th 2009:

The scene opens: the setting is mine and Cameron's room. Clothes, books and paper litter the floor. The blinds are closed and the light is off, causing the pale pre-dawn light to filter through the vertical slats and highlight various features of our room; Cameron's dresser, two drawers standing open, frozen in mid-vomit, clothes spilling onto the floor. My computer; standing open and in sleep mode, resting after a night of singing a playlist entitled "Sleepytime." Cameron's longboard; propped against the wall by our door, deck stained with shoe gunk from weeks of riding. My alarm goes off and I roll out of bed, stumbling on a discarded pair of pants and taking out the stack of books on my desk in mid-fall. I think we need to tidy up a bit.

Cut to Public Speaking class: I stand up in front of a room of 28 college students - people that back in August I would have been scared to death of talking in front of - and calmly deliver a rather uninspired speech on the dangers of multitasking. I work in a bit where I display the optical illusion of a goblet that can also be two faces looking at each other and comment, "they're having a staring contest of Biblical proportions." I think I received bonus points for being 'attention grabbing.'

In Chapel now: While waiting for the campus-sponsored event to start, I'm using an inflatable beach ball (a prop from my speech) as a volleyball. I spike it at my friend sitting three rows below me but miss and peg a rather nice-looking girl in the back of the head. Acting quickly, I sit down and enter conversation with two friends sitting behind me. I think she's still dusting for fingerprints.

At Cross Country conditioning: In the middle of our two-mile cooldown run, I find myself catching our lead runner, who is taking his time due to a prior leg cramp during the lifting segment of conditioning. As I approach him from behind, I overhear him humming the theme from Braveheart.* Knowing what it's like to be caught talking or singing to ones self, I start to back down on my pace to put distance between us. Yet as I do so, he glances over his shoulder and then looks forward again. "Just imagine you're running in a kilt," he says, not breaking stride. I think running in a kilt would be hard to pull off in a Colorado winter, but it's a freeing thought.

-Daniel K

*Which, honestly, I wouldn't have recognized if we hadn't watched a clip from Braveheart in Philosophy Class the other day...

At The Movies.

2009-02-15T10:13:00.002-07:00

Tired of Valentine's Day activities* and completely bored, Big Mike and I decided last night to head up to Arvada and see a movie at the Elvis Cinema. It's one of those theaters that plays movies a couple months after they debut, so we payed $3.50 and headed inside to see Marley and Me.

The entrance was packed full of junior highers kissing each other, big families crowding around the candy displays, and serious-looking teenagers buying popcorn for their oh-so-clingy Valentine dates. Big Mike and I plowed our way through the crowded lobby and had the un-enthusiastic ticket taker rip our stubs and point vaguely off to his left, muttering, "theater four." Walking into the darkened room, we made our way to some empty seats and sat down just as the movie started.

Marley and Me. It's basically a movie about a young couple starting their family, who first decided to get a puppy who grows up to be a rambunctious and out of control best friend. The story line follows the couple and Marley as they have first one, then two, and finally three kids. I won't say how the movie ends for safety reasons,** but I can tell you that it was one of those movies where you walk out thinking about life and its mysteries and complexities.

Those are the best movies, in my opinion... Movies that make you see new beauty in previously mundane thing. Movies that make you look at your own life and wonder, "Am I worth making a movie out of?" Movies that spur you on to write yourself a story worth re-telling once you're gone.

When I die, will anyone want to look back and trace my life's course through time? Will I be in history books? In the minds of the people? Will there be any movies made about my life? Will what I do while here on Earth echo after I leave?

During my winter term class, Prof. Hartwig said that his favorite quote regarding leadership is this: "Leadership is not measured by what you do, but by what others do because of you."

So this brings me back to the here and now. I think we have to ask ourselves, "Is what I'm doing worth anything? Is how I'm learning or speaking or interacting with others counting for something?" And more importantly, I think we have to make sure it is. We should live our lives realizing that making history or changing the world isn't nearly as impossible as the books and movies make it out to be. Everyone starts somewhere insignificant. Everyone knows of other more famous or distinguished people who have come before. Yet everyone has a chance.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel Kenneston

*Or lack thereof
**Ruining Harry Potter for Mingy is something she'll never let me live down, so I've learned my lesson.

Poppycock and Tom Foolery

2009-01-22T15:59:00.009-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about death. Kinda weird considering I'm 19, in good health, and living in America, right? But I can't get it off my mind recently.

I think about how it's the one thing every single living organism on this planet has in common. How it's inevitable, unpredictable, and, a lot of the time, feared. It's the ultimate punishment. It's a sobering threat. It's a serious matter. It's an ominous predicament.

It's kind of boring to think about, really.

I guess more specifically, I've been thinking about my own death. I wonder how it will happen. I have certain hopes, of course. For example, I kinda hope I don't die in my sleep. This is due mainly to the kind of life I have dedicated myself to. It'd be pretty anticlimactic to lead a life dedicated to changing this world, to reaching out to the farthest places of the earth to bring hope and life, and then fall asleep one night and never wake up.

Don't get me wrong, I want to die at an old age.* I've still got a lot of life left in me to be hoping for a car accdent tonight. But I want to die doing something I love, y'know? And although I do love to sleep, I want something more... substancial.

Defending a village from raiders, perhaps? Spreading the Gospel? Delivering relief supplies? I dunno, but something cool like that. I see how dieing while asleep appeals to some, but to me it seems like a bunch of poffycock and tom foolery.

Also, I wonder what my funeral will be like. If we go based on the D.O.D. (death on duty) form I filled out for the fire crew last summer, I would have Ben Stein read my eulogy and I would leave all my stuff to Sarah.** But that doesn't really tell us anything.

A good friend of mine, Chase, said he went to a funeral over Christmas break. He described it like this:
"The first half was mourning. Everyone really missed him, so we were all in and out of tears, holding each other and remembering all he meant to us. But then the second half was bizzarre. We realized that we knew where he was, and that we'd catch up with him before long, so there was laughing and dancing and singing of his favorite songs."
I want my service to be like that. Because here's the bottom line: I know where I'm going. I realize this is a sketchy statement to a lot of you reading this blog, but I don't know what else to say. God is a real and living Being, far greater than anything we can even imagine. I've become convinced of this and I try every day to live my life accodring to this.

And I guess the reason I've been thinking so much about death recently is because I'm no longer afraid of it. It's still a strange concept, don't get me wrong, and I'd be lieing if I told you I wasn't a little bit apprehensive. But, I dunno, I'm kind excited for the day I get to see what it's like to walk in His presence.

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. Another reason I've been thinking about it is because I'm still trying to find a way to get into the abandoned Gates Rubber Factory here in Devner. Google image search it... it makes American Flats look like a merry go round.

*That is, of course, assuming the world doesn't end in 2012.... Dun dun duuuun!
**Except my pack of wolves. Those belong to the Mammy.

Wintermester.

2009-01-10T11:37:00.003-07:00

Class: COM 297 - Leading Effective teams

Instructor: Ryan Hartwig

Dates:01-04-09 to 01-09-09

Location: School of Education 103

Required Reading: "Creating Effective Teams" (Wheelan, Susan)

It's weird how that's what a class looks like on paper. Weird because it tells you everything you need to know about the class, but nothing you need to know about what really matters. As it happens, a lot of what I learned in "Leading Effective Teams" matters.

On the first day of class, Professor Hartwig introduced us to a quote. "The true measure of a leader is not what you do, but what others do because of what you do." Prof. Hartwig kept reinforcing that statement with one of his own: Your actions matter. What you do now echos in the lives of others, rippling out across our world. Thus, how you lead a team (whether for school, work, church, or whatever) matters. And how you are a member of a team matters. And how you react, how you speak, how you love, how you hate, matters.

I know this has the tendency to sound kinda fruity or idealistic, but think about it for a little bit. All of our lives are built on a series of events. Like the extremely well-done scene in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, if one thing had happened slightly differently, our whole lives would be changed. If, for example, you had not chosen to sit down and read this blog, perhaps you would have instead gone to Starbucks and bought a coffee. While at the coffee shop, you could have witnessed a fender bender and seen how the two people reacted. From seeing their reactions, you could have decided "Wow. That was really ridiculous. I will never react that way to a simple fender bender."

And just like that, your life has changed.

Yet we never seem to take this into consideration because we are only present in one reality. Our minds would explode if we were constantly thinking about all of the possibilities of our actions (or sometimes more impactful, our nonactions.)

Prof. Hartwig reminded us on several occasions throughout the week that our actions matter. This tied in wonderfully with the next huge point he made on the last day of class: saying something is 'natural' is the enemy of innovation.

We were discussing the dark side of teamwork when this topic came up. You see, a lot of people (especially in today's society,) attempt to paint teamwork as a utopian idea. Two heads are better than one, right? Teams, composed of multiple individuals, are far superior to a singe individual, right? Yet when we work in teams, the team can become our harsh master. If you are in a team on the job and your task is to get a certain project done by tomorrow, yet your day went haywire and you find yourself at 5 PM (the end of your work day) without that project done, when will you do it? In you own time, of course. The team is relying on you... you've set up norms of getting work done on time, no exceptions. So you work that night, cutting into family time or football time or Starbucks time or whatever.

Wait, wait, wait. You just worked overtime for no pay. Would your boss ever require you to work overtime with no pay? Not legally! There's no way you would do that! Yet you just did. The net of peer pressure and norms set up within the team forced you to do something completely absurd.

And the worst part? We don't even think about it that way. What do we think? It's natural. You always have to make a sacrifice like that to be in a team. It's natural. It's always been that way... people have always had to work overtime for no pay to get a team project done on time. It's natural.

It's not natural. The 9-5 workweek - 8 hours a day, five days a week away from your family, friends, people who may need you - is not natural. Two parents holding jobs that force them to leave their kids in daycare with strangers in order to pay for created needs such as iPods or TVs or computer games is not natural.

We have to think about this stuff, y'know? We can't go through our lives accepting these created concepts as natural, otherwise we are doomed to live a bland, by-the-letter life. As soon as we consider these things to be natural, it kills any innovation. We can't be innovative enough to change a tree's composition or the color of the sky, because those things are natural. Don't think for a second we can't change the composition of a 9-5 work week.

I want to end this blog with a quote by Prof. Hartwig that has been occupying my mind nonstop since Friday morning:

"If we created it, we can change it."

Thanks for Reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. I changed a few things on my blog to make it more open. Even if you aren't a registered Blogger.com member, you are now allowed to comment and otherwise participate. Thanks for your continued readership!

And A Happy New Year.

2008-12-31T21:13:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion that 2008 has officially obtained a bad rep. It's kinda sad, really. I mean, I'd be pretty cheesed if I was a year and my overall outcome was determined by the results of a bunch of old, wealthy, greedy dudes trading stocks and failing at said activity. Bummer, right?

In other news, it's almost 2009. If I recall correctly, I made a post on the advent of 2008 talking about how it's pretty strange that the new year occurs within the time span between 11:59 PM and 12:00 AM, and decided that the new year process would take place all year long, as this was more fitting. Well, the process is almost over! (And for the record, I liked that way of looking at it much better.)

Anyway, I'm sitting here on Hans' couch listening to John, Emily, and Mike talk. I think it's been a pretty good year, really. I've made plenty of mistakes, I've gotten a lot of people mad at me, I've failed miserably at tons of stuff, and I've even managed to go $3500 into debt.

Yet the God of the universe looks down on me - a sinner, condemned, unclean - and pardons me. He welcomes me into His presence with open arms, picking me up when I fail and separating me from my sins as far as the east is from the west.

All the times I sucked through this year, He told me otherwise. All the times I wanted to call it quits, he slapped me upside the head and told me to focus. All the times I messed up, He made the filth into a miracle. It's mind-blowing, really.

And now, I'm about to see in a whole new year full of the same things. I'm about to enjoy a year of God's mercy and grace, His genius plan and unbeatable timing. I get to live out 365 more days on this earth, caught up in the wonder of life with Jesus as my Savior.*

I guess that what I'm trying to say is that it's been a very good year. Go 2009.

-Daniel K

*And even if I die, I get to go hang out with Jesus in person. Score.

It's Been Decided.

2008-12-25T22:11:00.001-07:00

I’ve decided what I want to do after college. You see, for a while now I’ve been struggling with what exactly I’ll do when I run out of places to go to school. School is what I do best, as far as I’ve seen, and so the thought that someday I will have all my schooling behind me kinda freaks me out.
Seriously, what will I do without the constant challenge of staying awake during a midmorning class? And how will I fare when money is more available? Will I have to forgo yoinking a few handfuls of ketchup and salt from fast food restaurants to avoid having to purchase my own? What if I have to give up sneaking empty water bottles into the cafeteria to obtain free milk? I tell ya, I used to just sit around sometimes for hours dreading the time when tuition payments are a thing of the past.

But I digress. Onto the point of this blog.

I’ve decided what I want to do after college. *Ahem* “Private I.” Oh yeah. I’m going to be a private investigator. Think about it. It’s perfect for me! Being a Private I will allow me to utilize all of my unique skills. I’ll give you the low-down and lets see if you disagree with me.

First, I get to pretty much act as weird and off-the-wall as I want, because that’s what people expect when contracting a Private I... a dysfunctional yet thorough investigator. I mean, I’d have to act strange or else people would start asking hard questions - why are you a Private I, and not part of a bigwig corporation? What do you do with your spare time, anyway? Why do all your business cards have googly eyes hot glued to them? A hilariously offbeat quirk like having to lock and then unlock all the doors I pass through or the tendency to end all my sentences with “snarf” would make sure those questions go unasked.

Second, I get to spend a lot of my time creeping around. And I’m a guy who loves a good creep, you know what I mean? Nothing welcomes in the New Year like lurking within a Christmas tree in the park with an iPod and a pair of binoculars. Oh, and what better way to spend a Friday night than in a ventilation shaft with night vision goggles? Point and case.

Third, I would get to say the most awesome one-liners, like “bingo, Domingo,” when my comical sidekick figures out an obvious truth, or “checkmate” when I finally gather enough incriminating evidence to book the bad guy. That’s not even taking into account all the witty remarks I get to utter to annoying clients and/or inquisitive bystanders.

Fourth, I would get to pack heat. And I mean whatever kind of heat I want... With a little bit of certification, I could choose between a Derringer in the sock and a fully automatic rifle underneath a trench coat. I could even adopt a certain favorite weapon. Taking into account reason number one, it would have to be something quirky yet effective... A Civil War era cavalry revolver, perhaps? Or a Glock with a lucky rabbit’s foot attached to it. Ooh! There’s always the infamous sawed-off shotgun with a comical nickname - “The Mare’s Leg,” perhaps? Or “Stumpy?”

And fifth, I could choose to work anywhere I want. Perhaps I could investigate some perplexing cases in Portland, Oregon? That would be excellent - stalking the cold, puddle-laden streets late at night, chasing some obscure lead. Breath seeping out from between my gritted teeth rhythmically, steadily, eyes sweeping the deserted shop fronts. No, no, no. Phoenix, Arizona. It doesn’t get cold there, so late night stakeouts would be much more pleasant. Plus, I could act more like a cowboy in Phoenix, which is always fun to do. I could chew on buckwheat and wear a sweet hat if I set up shop in Phoenix.

So basically, it’s the ideal career choice for me. I can be mysterious, dangerous, daring, and free all at the same time. I guess all that remains would be to change my name to something more adventurous...

Thanks for reading,

-Jack Spicer, Private I

Revolutionary.

2008-12-07T09:37:00.000-07:00

A while ago in macroeconomics, we learned about Milton Friedman. Friedman was an economist from the Chicago School who eventually earned the Nobel Prize in Economics. Among many, many other things, Friedman made a name for himself from what he did in Chile in the early 1970s. Basically, the strictly government controlled economy was floundering with inflation going crazy, and Friedman claimed that a free market system would cure this completely. This isn't a history lesson, so long story short: Friedman and his "Chicago Boys" rebooted the economy as a free market and it worked. The Chilean economy (though initially causing a lot of hardships for the poorer classes,) was set back on track, and it can be argued that this free market system eventually led to the establishment of a democracy in 1990.

* * *

Shift gears: Before I left for Thanksgiving, I was watching a show on the History Channel called "The Real Pirates of the Caribbean." It was a historical look at what life looked like for pirates in the Caribbean Sea when major sea profiteering first began. One of the first buccaneers they focused on was Henry Morgan. Morgan was of British descent, and joined the army of General Venables to take over the Spanish city of Santo Domingo in 1655. Venables' British army got their butts kicked by the Spanish, leaving the crippled and disheartened fleet without a contingency plan. Weeks away from any advice on what to do next, the army did something that I think is amazing - they attacked the island of Jamaica and conquered it for the British Crown. Although the commanders of the fleet were later thrown in the Tower of London for taking over such a "useless" island, I think their decision was an incredible one.

* * *

Shift gears again to me: Through elementary, middle, and high school, I had been conditioned to think in a certain way; I would be given directions, and I would follow them. That's it. I'm amazed at how many students in high school flunk courses when all they have to do is simply follow directions. I mean heck, half the time your answers don't even have to be right... you just have to follow the directions! Anyway, with few notable exceptions, that was how I was taught to think.

Now I find myself in college - "the place of ideas," as I've heard it called often. Upon beginning my education here, I started noticing a change in philosophy. At first, I thought it was on the professors' behalf. Now, however, I see that it has taken place with me. The difference is this: I am no longer learning things for grades. In high school, I honestly couldn't care less about a lot of the subjects I was in. There was the classic, "when are we ever gunna use this?" In math classes, and the grumbling that accompanied Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson in English. As I sit through my classes now, taking notes and completing homework assignments, I am looking at this knowledge with one major question: how can I use this?

How can I use what I'm learning about ancient Rome? How can I use an understanding of supply and demand? How can I use an in-depth look at the New Testament?

The possibilities this method of thought brings up are endless. No longer am I doing schoolwork because I have to get an A to keep up with Jen and Hans. Now, I'm doing it because I know that there's got to be some way - even the most insignificant of details - that can help me out.

* * *

Going back to what I said about Friedman and Morgan. Using this way of thinking, I've been taking a long hard look at a phrase that has been repeated to every child in America probably around 67 times a year. "You can do anything you want, as long as you set your mind to it!"

No way, right? We all know that's a load of waffle that we adult-folk tell the little chili-pies to inspire them, right? Look at Friedman - there was no manual concerning "101 Ways to Restart a Country's Economy." Look at Morgan and the army he served in - there was no "Plan B" given a humiliating defeat to the French. Yet Friedman did it, and so did the British army. Without anyone telling them how or where or when. They weren't following directions, they were making up their own as they went along.

People who changed the world in major ways did not know what they were doing, they only knew what they could do.

I don't know what I'm doing. Any one of you reading this could tell that of me. But I know what I can do.

-Daniel

P.S. I'm getting my phone today (I lost it over Thanksgiving break,) so if anyone who's reading this would like me to have their number, text me anytime after 5pm with your name. Or just call sometime and say hello.

It Gets Cold In Nevada.

2008-11-12T22:40:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone. I suppose that first off I owe you an explanation for the soon-to-be discovered randomness of this blog. You see, the class registration here at CCU is much like it was back in DHS, in that on a designated week (this one, to be exact), registraion opens for seniors on Monday, juniors on Tuesday, sophomores on Wednesday, and then we freshman on Thursday. And since it's Wednesday at about 11pm, guess what happens in an hour? Tomorrow! So I'm sitting here in the computer lab reserving my spot for midnight so that I can hit "REGISTER" and be gone. (Hopefully I'll get into all my preffered classes....)

* * * * *

So sitting here trying to kill time pretty much sucks, because I should be sleeping right now. I know this sounds (what's the word you kids are using these days? Oh, yeah) it sounds "lame" of me to be in college and want to be in bed at 11pm. Apparently I'm a pretty "lame" person, then, because I try to at least be in bed by 10pm (prefferably asleep, but sometimes 'in bed' is the best I can do.) You see, I came to the conclusion about a week and a half into college life that staying up until ridiculous hours of the morning is only slightly more cool than it was back in high school, except more annoying the next day because you have to pay for the classes you're sleeping through. I also come to the realization that mornings on a college campus are the most interesting times to be awake, since NO ONE else is. Seriously. People look at me like I just shot the Pope when I mention that I wake up at (gasp) 6:30am.

* * * * *

So apparently there is a widely held misconception among the peoples of the United States regarding the Great State of Nevada. No, I don't mean the correct way to pronounce "Nev-at-uh," but rather the fact that Nevada is Las Vegas. Let me try and explain this; Las Vegas is Nevada, but Nevada is not Vegas. To illustrate, here is a common conversation I find myself having:

Person: "It's getting colder everyday."

Me: "Yeah, bummer... I hate being cold."

Person: "Really? Where are you from?"

Me: "Nevada."

Person: "Oh, that makes sense. It doesn't ever drop below, like, 65 there, does it? I mean, here we get snow in the winter!"

Me: "Actually, every winter I go up an hour from my house and ski in anywhere from 4-15 feet of snow. And sometimes I'll walk outside in January at 12pm only to realize that the temperature just barely made it into the double digits."

I didn't realize I had that much state pride until I came here. I find myself making up stories regarding Nevada's heritage so as to compete with Mr. Florida or Ms. Delaware. (It helps that no one whatsoever knows anything about Nevada.)

Me: "Yeah, well Nevada was actually first declared a 'state' when Space Pirates from somewhere near the surface of the sun buried their gold in the hills of Dayton and Virginia City... which are two of the largest cities in the state, almost as big as Las Vegas."

Person: "Wow, sweet! You should take me to Nev-aw-duh someday!"

* * * * *

Well, I'm getting tired of tapping at the keyboard for now, so I'll wrap it up tonight with one last thought.

It's strange having a birthday here in Colorado. First off, I don't have the resources (namely money), to have an actual birthday 'party,' so instead I'm just going to go to this really fancy resturant and get a free birthday meal... like a true cheapskate! Also, I didn't even realize my birthday was this close until about seven hours ago, when i checked my mail to find a birthday card from my dad. I guess being so far from my old places and routines caused the date to be pushed to the back of my mind. Hmmmm.

Okay, that's all for now... On to Youtube!

-Daniel k

Living History.

2008-10-27T08:25:00.000-06:00

My world Civilizations professor made an impression on us during our first class with her. Walking quickly to the front of the class, she looked around at us all sitting at the tables and then suddenly began talking.

"Get out your textbooks, everyone." Without much pause, she continued, "Turn to page 198. Tell me about the Minoans."

Everyone frantically located page 198 and began reading underneath the heading, "Minoan Civilization."

"Hurry, hurry," she urged, "we've got a lot to cover and not a lot of time. What about the Minoans?"

"They lived on the island of Crete," someone mumbled.

"Crete! Good, good," she said, whirling around and scribbling 'Crete' on the board. "What else?"

"They were peaceful people," someone said.

"Peaceful! Great. What else?"

"They spoke a form of Greek," I said.

"Spoke Greek! Fantastic. What else?"

We went on like this for a good minute or two. We would read the text and call out facts and she would write them on the board. Finally, she stopped and turned to face us once again. Pointing to the board, she asked us, "what's this?"

We were silent, confused.

"These are facts, yes. But this is not history. The history you read in books is boring... it's safe. When historians can't find answers to their questions, it's dangerous. So they often state a hypothesis to make things safe and convenient. We don't know if the Minoans were a peaceful people, we just know that none of their cities had walls. We don't know what language the Minoans spoke because their writing hasn't been deciphered yet. History is dangerous, history is confusing, and history is messy. In this class, we'll be exploring the true history... the history that deals with human thoughts and emotions and dreams and hatreds."

Needless to say, World Civilizations has fast become my favorite class. And because of this way of viewing history, my mind has been wandering a lot. As seventh-grade-teacher-like as it sounds, history is a lot more fun when it comes to life.

* * *

In New Testament class, we've been reading through the book of Acts. In chapter 9 of said book, what I consider to be one of the most amazing occurrences in the Bible takes place. On his way to Damascus, a city north of Jerusalem, the Pharisee Saul is walking along with some companions when a brilliant light surrounds him. Now Saul is a bitter, greatly outspoken hater of the Gospel and of Jesus. He believes Jesus was a phony so much that he helped stone Stephen, a disciple, to death, and frequently hauled Christians off to jail. On the way to Damascus, Jesus speaks to him, blinds him, and sends him on his way. Long story short, he dedicates his life to spreading the word of God to the Gentiles, or non-Jewish people (and he even gets his sight back! Yay!)

A few years later, while co-pastoring in Antioch, Saul was called by the Holy Spirit to go on a mission with Barnabas. And so the two set off:

"So after they [the church elders in Antioch] had fasted and prayed, they placed their hands on them [Saul and Barnabas] and sent them off. The two of them, sent on their way by the Holy Spirit, went down to Seleucia and sailed from there to Cyprus. When they arrived at Salamis, they proclaimed the word of God in the Jewish synagogues. John was with them as their helper." (Acts 13:3-5)

I read passages of Scripture like Acts 13 and pretty much just glaze over them to get the main idea - they travelled, arrived, and preached. But recently I took to looking at this history as it was - messy, dangerous.... alive. And my view of Saul (Later named Paul) and his companions becomes so much more incredible... so much more real.

I think about journeys I've taken, and realize that the journey is sometimes the best part.

* * *

I bet Paul was a really serious guy. I mean, he trained under Gamaliel, which would be like the present-day equivalent of a law degree from Harvard or Yale.* He grew up in a world of regulations, high demands, and strict rituals as a Pharisee (that is, a Jewish bigwig who upheld ceremonial rites and memorized word for word all the books of the Old Testament.) I imagine Paul didn't care about how dirty or gross he looked after months of travelling, but always talked very clean... very precisely. Like, he wouldn't say "don't," but rather "do not."**

Then I think of Barnabas, whose name means "Son of encouragement." He was probably the clown of the bunch... Smiling a lot, always with a joke in the hip pocket. I bet he was a really good speaker, though, and could totally relate to his audience. I can imagine him playing pranks on Paul and John as they travelled, sneaking up late at night with a bush on his head and yelling really loudly, writhing around the campfire. Despite this, I bet Paul and John and any other companions would have loved to have Barnabas around, the way he was always looking on the positive side and being really uplifting.

What would their nights have looked like? I picture John and Paul and Barnabas and others gathered around a small campfire behind a knoll just off a road built by Roman workers. I'm guessing, based on Jesus' teachings, that they didn't take a lot with them - "Do not take along any gold or silver or copper in your belts; take no bag for the journey, or extra tunic, or sandals, or a staff; for the worker is worth his keep." (Matthew 10:9-10) So I can see Paul laying on his back on a shabby blanket, his cloak spread over him, and Barnabas sitting up prodding the fire with a stick, while John lay on his stomach, writing a letter back home.

"What do you suppose his voice sounded like?" Paul asked, staring up into the enormous glittering sky unblinkingly. His words met silence for a good while.

"Hard to explain, isn't it?" John replied, pausing from his writing, "how do I go about describing a voice? It wasn't deep but it wasn't high pitch. Somewhere in between, I guess. And it was steady... Rarely did he stutter or falter when speaking. But the most memorable quality," John continued quietly, eyes moistening with tears, "was the passion with which he spoke. He wasn't afraid to show emotion, whether anger or sorrow or excitement."

Again, silence settled on the group of men. The fire crackled and sputtered occasionally, and from all around them came the ceaseless chirping of crickets, almost as if the earth were crying out from want to add to the description of its Creator. Barnabas tossed the stick lightly into the flames and leaned back onto the ground, joining Paul in searching the heavens with wide eyes.

"We'll get to hear him speak again," Barnabas said, smiling uncontrollably at the thought, "before long, we'll be with him again and it'll be great

The contagious grin spread to John and finally to Paul. "I cannot wait to meet him," Paul whispered, still smiling. And for a good long while, the men remained still upon the earth, each smiling and imagining such a reward as meeting Jesus again.

Barnabas broke the silence this time with a sharp outburst of laughter. John looked up from his letter, silently heaving from suppressed joy as well. Barnabas let go of his inhibitions and laughed raucously, closing his eyes to the brilliant display the sky offered. Even Paul began to chuckle, and, sitting up, began to lead the others in a hymn.

I bet Paul's singing voice was deep and strong, able to hold the melody well. It would have been a long while before they all got to sleep that night, praising and laughing together, caught up in the pure joy of their faith.

* * *

History is a lot more fun when it comes to life.

-Daniel

*Do Harvard or Yale offer law degrees? I hope so....

**Yes, I realize Paul spoke many different languages, none of which are English, but you get the idea.... no slang.

Ghetto Dance Party!

2008-10-19T12:32:00.000-06:00

So the GDP is another age-old Ghetto tradition. It's held in the bottom two rooms of the Ghetto stairwell with a real DJ, lots of strobe lights, fog machines, and of course the gansta rap. It goes a little something like this:

Soon after this picture was taken, "Grinding" was changed to "Jesus."

Reed!

Austin (left) Drew (white shirt,) and Dan the Man (whose face is missing)

The VIP Gansta's entrance

Dan the Man (far right) confronting the Penguin Bros.

Probably my favorite part of the GDP. This is the Thug Jug, which was 50+ gallons of pure, unadulterated root beer! (The picture is crummy, but the Thug Jug was suspended off our front balcony with a hose coming out to fill up your Thug Mugs.)

Dan, one of my roommates.

Everyone jiving (The flash went off.... it was a lot darker and such in reality.)

Mike, another one of my roommates. (I know what you're thinking, and yes... that is a dude in a skirt in the background. Trust me, it was even more creepy in person...)

Some ganstas showing up to the par-tay.

People jiving in the strobe room.

These posters are handed down from Ghetto RA to Ghetto RA. (They're "rappers," which is apparently a brand of music....)

My RA Nick is the one in blue (Sadly, he cut his dreads a mere hour before this picture was taken....)

My direct roommate, Cameron.

One of the rooms beforehand....

Scott in his costume. He's pretty much super awesome. (Check out that beard!)

The room after - ready to jam!

The system (more speakers were places throughout the rooms)

This took us like half an hour...

Bored in Class...

2008-10-16T18:45:00.000-06:00

Ta-Da!

Trashy.

2008-10-14T22:04:00.000-06:00

So CCU has this time-honored club that meets once every Tuesday to do an extremely important task. Steeped in legend and tradition, this club is named after its primary purpose - taking out the trash.

Thats right, all you UNR/Nevada-livers! I joined the Trash Club!

My first run with the TC was amazing... right up my alley. We began here in The Ghetto, with our chant - "1, 2, 3, 4, get that trash up off the floor! 5, 6, 7, 8, break that bag and separate! Trash Club! Trash Club! Traaaaash Club!" And then we began. The technique is simple: divide into three groups, each one in charge of a floor. Once you get all the trash off that floor, you call out "clear!" And then you run and slam-dunk the trash into the pickup truck. But there's more than that...

You see, the Trash Club has multiple amazing rituals. First off, every time we go to a girls' stairwell, we either sing a song or perform a skit. Here's an example of one of the skits:

It's called "Starcrossed Lovers." (The entire thing was done in beautiful, fluent Spanish.)

Two of the guys lay on the table, embracing. The rest of us stand in a line off stage. The first person walks up and calls out incredulously, "Francisco? Laurita?" The two sit up, startled, and reply, "Taco! Taco, burrito, burrito! Gato!" The intruder, horrified, yells out, "Gato? Taco taco! Quesadilla taco!" The second person (me) walks up and began yelling, "Que hay debajo del sombrero? Taco quesadilla!" The yelling match continues for several minutes until the final person walks in and calms everyone down. Once we all stop yelling, he says, "Chipotle!" And everyone laughs outrageously.

Next we arrived in front of the Junkyard, and I was told the story about The Secret: Once, there was a young man who wanted to know the secret that separates men from women. So the boy left CCU to go on his journey. He walked through the freezing north, across the blazing desert, over the highest mountains, through wide valleys, past a huge forest, and finally he came to a monstrous plateau. Once he scaled the plateau, he looked around and suddenly discovered the secret! Excited beyond belief, he sprinted back past the forest, through the valleys, over the mountains, across the desert, and was almost back to CCU when he vanished. No one has seen him since, and the secret disappeared along with him. But its said that on cold, dark nights such as this one, you can hear him whisper.

Everyone immediately froze, dead silent and listening. Then they jumped suddenly. "I heard it!" One said excitedly. We all listened again, and everyone whispered, "we've got junk." "What?" the storyteller said. And they repeated, "We've got junk, we've got junk, we've got junk, we've got junk!" They repeated over and over, slowly growing in volume. Soon they were yelling, and in between each "We've got junk!" The story teller would point to the Junkyard behind us and yell, "Yard!" Then we all yelled and did our chant again.

Yeah. Awesome. But it gets better!

After we finished the freshman dorms, we parked the truck and everyone began shouting, "To the land of milk and honey!" And leapt from the truck, running. We marched up the stairs of the first upperclassmen housing unit, La Plata, stomping as loud as we could and banging on the walls, chanting in rhythm. We reached the top story and found only one door open. Entering, we found a table full of cookies, chocolate wontons, and Kool-Aide. We the feasted, and I was told the story of the Great Wise Eagle. (It's too long and too mystical to be put in a blog.)

Lastly, we split up to cover the remaining four upperclassmen apartment complexes. I was with two guys, Eli and Chris, and upon entering the second story of Kit Carson, we were faced with virtual mountains of garbage.... it was a trashy night. On our second trip down the stairs to the dumpster, I was told the last and most amazing story of the night - the story of the Great White Wilkin.

The Great White Wilkin was the greatest trash clubber to ever pick up a leaky bag of old Chinese food. He stood 8 feet tall and had old soda cans for teeth. He could carry 50 bags of garbage on each finger, and on one blizzarding night when the temperature was -13, he cleaned out every single stairwell and upperclassmen complex alone, because everyone else was sick with pneumonia.

After this, we drove by the dumpsters and deposited all the stinking garbage, with many truck-to-dumpster leaps and pile drives. It was pretty much an amazing night, and I can't wait until next Tuesday, when I'll dawn my Mexican Luchadore mask and take ti the trash once more.

Byah!

Status Update...

2008-10-03T15:46:00.000-06:00

So on the website Facebook, (for those of you who don't have one,) they have this little box at the top of your page where you can enter status updates. A lot of the time, the box becomes the prime example of internet illiteracy and/or "too excited to type words" syndrome. (i.e. "Katie is OMG!!1! I CATN BELEEVE HE SAYD THAT TO MEEE!!!!!1")

I thought for this blog I'd just do a boatload of updates that kinda paint a picture of what college life has been like recently;

NOTE: None of the updates are in order, I just put them down as I thought of them. They cover a time period of about three weeks.

Daniel is...

... nervous about his upcoming tests in New Testament, Biology, and Macroeconomics.

... amazed at how much you can learn with two hours, a quiet room, and three or four textbooks.

... mad that Wal-Mart is so incompetent and yet so successful.

... trying to get a job at The Olive Garden, St. Anthony's Hospital, Office Max, and pretty much anywhere else within walking distance.

... afraid that he won't have enough money to make it through next semester.

... just now remembering how much he loves classic Disney movies.

... wondering what the weather's like in Dayton.

... super disappointed at how terribly he preformed at his chapel worship team tryout.

... addicted to the TV show Scrubs.

... frustrated at the low prank potential of his stairwell.

... excited to be drumming at the first Novo service this Sunday.

... trying to get better at Foosball, longboarding, volleyball, football, and pretty much every other activity he sucked at in high school.

... psyched at the results of his New Testament, Biology, and Macroeconomics tests!

... amazed that midterms are right around the corner.

... slightly surprised that there's a homecoming week in college, too (I guess I just never really thought about it....)

... excited for "80's Not-Prom" tonight with the girls from the QuikStop.

... amazed at how easy it is to clean your room if you do it every day.

... bummed that he's finally being charged for loads of laundry.

... learning how difficult it is to play video games with a 3-liter bottle of peach soda duct taped to his right hand.

... so happy to be living in a big city.

... not able to comprehend that fact that he's had 6 flat tires since he got here.

... coming to the realization that he doesn't have enough money to safely buy a season pass.

... astounded at how stubborn the 24 Hour Fitness recruiters are (talk about not able to take a hint!)

... wanting to drop in unexpectedly at DHS for some reason.

... wondering how Sarah's liking her senior year. (It was my personal favorite.)

... getting his butt kicked by cross country practices.

... happy he doesn't have a car anymore (it makes life a lot simpler, really.)

... wanting to travel the US with nothing but his hiking backpack, a sweet knife, and a husky named Rosco.

... done writing this blog.

Citizen's Arrest!

2008-09-21T00:08:00.000-06:00

So it's a well-established CCU tradition to play this games called "Running Man." It's quite simple and extremely run. Here's how it works: (Take notes, all you UNR-goers... maybe someday you, too can be on par with CCU!)

1. Select the 'Running Men.' There is a minimum of two, and no maximum, but the fewer the better.

2. Blindfold the 'Running Men' then drive them to some remote location off-campus.

3. Lay them down and drive away.

4. Wait five minutes, then go try and find them before they reach the dorms. (They take off their blindfolds once you drive away.)

It's pretty awesome, as you can see. Right up my alley, what with all the running and sneaking and such. So at 10pm tonight, all of the Ghetto Guys met up out front and we began. After a few rounds of "rock, paper, scissors," the four 'Running Men' were chosen. I, unfortunately, was not one of them.

So we loaded them all up and began convoying out to the location in a neighborhood about a mile from campus. There were two cars, a motorized scooter, two pedal bikes, and then me and my room mate on my motorcycle. We dropped the guys off and then left for 7-11 to wait.

After five minutes, things got interesting. Cruising through the neighborhood on the watch for people running into the shadows, we rounded a corner to see Nick, our RA, talking with some guy in the street. We rolled up and I killed the engine, wondering what was going on. The guy looked at us and said "And what the hell are you two doing?"

Wow. Nice to meet you too, Captain Douche-bag.

"We're, uhh, playing a game," I said, immediately getting a bad feeling.

"Yeah, well then tell your little buddy to come the hell out here before we call the cops," he said, gesturing down the street that one of the Running Men had apparently just sprinted down. I've never understood why people talk like you're challenging them in these type of situations. Like, we're clearly complying and talking like normal, intelligent people here... you don't have to mad dog us on every issue. Jeeze!

So it turns out that these guys' neighborhood had been tagged the week before, so every yahoo was looking to bring the vandals to justice. And here we came, driving up and down their streets looking into every shadowy crevice. It was a bad coincidence, I'll admit that. But what was really frustrating was these people's level of rational thinking.

Another neighbor came out and persisted to shine flashlight in our eyes whenever he spoke to us. Which was a lot, because the conversation kept going in circles:

"What are you guys doing out here?"

"Playing a game."

"Why are you running around?"

"It's like tag... we're trying to chase the other guys down."

"Yeah? Well, our neighborhood was vandalized last week. How do we know you're all not part of a gang?" NOTE: Nick is wearing sweatpants that read "CCU Cougars" and a tie-dye T-shirt, while I am wearing a sweater that says "North Lake Tahoe Fire Protection District," and then has the seal of the NLTFPD. Real gang material there! Jeeze!

"Well we're not a gang, we can assure you that. We're out playing a game, is all."

"Yeah? Well how are we supposed to know that?" NOTE: Does it matter if you know that? We weren't breaking any laws, after all. We're old enough to be out past curfew, we weren't being loud, and we were on the streets and sidewalks, a.k.a. public property. Jeeze!

And they would basically ask the same questions only worded differently, over and over and over. It was really getting frustrating. By now, the wife of one of these guys was out too, and so SHE began asking questions, much along the same lines. It was soooooo lame.

Finally, Scott pulls up in his car with three other Ghetto guys, and the dude with the flashlight gets all up in arms again, ranting and raving about gangs and "Make My Day" laws (which is where you can shoot trespassers on your property,) and all that jazz. I was getting so frustrated I just wanted to drive away.

Which is what I did after the wife looks at us in all seriousness and says, (this was after we told them we were from CCU) "You know, my husband and I are Christians, and this is really giving off a bad image."

No, lady, a bad image would be if we were running through your neighborhood cussing or throwing things or vandalizing or beating people up or whatever. What we're doing is actually called "good, clean fun." Maybe you should try having some sometime. Jeeze!

Now, granted they were justified in asking what was going on. It is their neighborhood, and we were driving around looking suspicious. But after we explained ourselves, were completely compliant, and offered reasonable, true explanations for everything that was going on, and even agreed that it was a bad idea to be playing in a neighborhood that had been recently tagged, they really had no business threatening to call the police or questioning our relationship with our Savior. It reminds me of how up tight our society is nowadays... kinda like the time Cole couldn't go trick-or-treating with us in the 7th grade because his mom was afraid there would be Anthrax in his candy.

So we all headed back to campus, our fun thoroughly killed, and talked for a while. I decided to come upstairs and write this. Now I'm going to bed.

-Daniel K

P.S. Don't do drugs. (I dunno, I've just always wanted to work that into a blog somehow.)

FYI Paper.

2008-09-10T21:33:00.001-06:00

I'll admit that from time to time, even I can be a lazy blogger (I know, I know..... hold the gasps of horror for later, please.) I only say this because I just finished writing a short essay for my Freshman Year Integration course on this prompt:

"After being at CCU for three weeks, what issues are you experiencing (roommates, academics, time management, home sickness, making friends, etc)? How have you tried to address them? How can I assist you?"

My response:

Today marks my fourth week since arriving here in Denver with Dad in that huge Budget truck and with a mind full of suppressed worries. I say ‘suppressed’ for lack of a better term, although ‘ignored’ may be equally accurate. Sitting at home before I left was a virtual breeding ground for misgivings and doubts. Would I like my roommates? Would classes be too hard? I won’t have enough money to make it. I don’t even know anyone in Colorado, much less Denver. But the minute Dad and I sped away from Carson City down Highway 50, it was like Sauron’s big flaming eye had finally looked away, causing my fears to subside... to be ignored.

Since that first Thursday here at The Ghetto, I have made friends, been challenged, felt guilt and relief, and learned more about God. I have laughed, I have grimaced, I have shook my head in astonishment. I have felt pain and joy, I have felt lonely and accepted. I have felt God’s presence and I have thought, where is He? In other words, life has continued on in much the same way as it did back home. This has been a strange realization for me, since I somehow expected life to be completely different. I thought I’d be a new person with new thoughts and new abilities. And maybe in small ways I am, but overall I’m still Daniel. I’m still me.

But I am encountering some issues, don’t get me wrong. My life back home was far from smooth sailing, and much the same is my experience here. I don’t like to admit it because I spent so much time back home convincing myself that leaving was going to be so easy, but I do have a fair amount of home sickness. It doesn’t really come from sleeping in a foreign place or seeing different scenery. It really comes from my longing to have relationships equal to what I had back in Nevada. I want to sit down with Aaron at Starbucks and tell him all these crazy experiences I’ve been having. I want to flop down on Hans’ couch and huck a pillow or two at his wall to see if his duplex partner is home. Yet I suppose that’s part of growing, isn’t it? And I’m not going to make those friendships sitting around feeling sick for Reno or Dayton or Tahoe. All I can really do is... trust in God and in others. (Funny how life works out, isn’t it?)