And A Happy New Year.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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...

Ta-Da!

Trashy.

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...

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!

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.

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?)

A Picture Safari!

Alright, I finally got my hands on a camera, so I went on a picture safari!  Enjoy!

This is good news.

It's an all-girls' dorm!

This... is Kenny.  He... is awesome.

The Commissioner among his friends (might I point out his new tires?)

Austin, an amazing musician.

Home of the Cult Next Door.

The Ghetto as seen from across the pond (farthest right)

Good thing they have one of these!

A view across the scum pond at the dorms.

Laundry!  I meet more friends this way...

Homework Heaven.

It's, like, a factory of evil!

Mmmm... books....

Studious.

Some crazy lady...

The Beckman Center (where most of my classes are)

Yeah, we're pretty close with the white house crew.

A look out from the Beckman Center.

...Another look from BC.

I dunno, some sign I found.

The soccer field.

In front of the caf.

Good eatin'

Huzzah!

The "events center."  (I've never heard anyone call it the "gym.")

Mailboxes, foozeball, pool, ping pong.

The Student Union.

The resident pool shark.

My box.

The path from the dorms to the rest of campus.

The CCU Cougar (it was caught live and then dipped in bronze!)

It's a bridge.

No one sits next to me at lunch...

...because I'm such a rebel!

The school microwave.

Mike (one of my roommates)

Me looking tough next to Matt

Ghetto guys (and Brooke.)

Sign reads: "Community Garden."  CCU is not known for it's green thumb.

Reed (coolest guy ever) in front of our stairwell, The Ghetto.

John throwing darts in our living room.

My side of the room...

A look down from the stairwell (Brooke and Reed.)

...Only after I returned the camera did I realize that I only got a picture of one of my roommates.  Drat.

Hope you enjoyed the show!

-Daniel