Stay Safe.

Jake enlisted with the National Guard about two weeks ago. He didn't tell anyone before he did, not even Dad. Talking to him earlier today, he told me, "I dunno, I just woke up one morning and didn't like how I was living. So I stopped by the recruiting office."

I don't know why this feels the way it does. Jake and I haven't been "super close" or anything pretty much since he entered high school. And I didn't sweat him going off to college two years ago. I mean sure, it was only in Reno and all, but still... I didn't really think too much about him not living at home anymore.

But when I met with him today, the last time for at least 6 months, it felt like the last time we'd meet ever. It felt so strangely surreal, much like the first time I wrestled in a high school match. The ref blew the whistle and stepped back. Before I even knew what was happening, I was grappling with some ripped senior from White Pine High School. It wasn't until later that I looked back and thought, "What? That was me?" And now I'm sitting here at the computer thinking "That was the last time you'll see him for 6 months, and the best thing you could think to say was 'stay safe?'"

I keep telling myself that this isn't as bad as I think. He's leaving on Monday for Fort Benning in Georgia for basic training, then somewhere else (I forget where) for AIT, or Advanced Individual Training. He's scheduled to be part of the communications corps, setting up and taking down satellite relays. After that, since he chose something called the 'College First' plan, they'll allot him two years to finish schooling before he's "fair game" (his words).

Fair game? This is Jake we're talking about.

I read in my government book last week about taxes. There's this tax the government implements (you'll have to excuse me for not remembering the specifics,) where they basically tax the assets of someone once they die. I thought that was bogus, and I was even more outraged when I read about how the Congressmen and Congresswomen gallantly patched up a loophole in the tax, so that even if someone gives all their stuff away before death, the government can STILL tax it.

And I sit here and think about how my brother will be "fair game" (for the same government that feels it necessary to tax the family of a recently deceased loved one) in about three years and get this sick feeling in my stomach. Will Jake be part of Pickett's Charge? Or co-pilot on the Enola Gay? Will he help take the flaming oil fields in the Middle East? Or will he just spend his days camping in the jungle, hoping that the Vietcong hasn't found his location?

The war over there is pointless anyway, so they won't deploy him, right?

Right? Bush? Hillary? Obama? McCain? You see how pointless this is, right? You see that this isn't just one concerned brother, but millions of us, right?




Keep him in your prayers.

Rhombus!

[Copied from my journal.]

Thursday
March 20th, 2008

We [Shaelynn and I] left Carson City this morning at about 7:45am, after a quick stop by Wal Mart to grab some food for the road. Nothing too eventful happened on our way here... We took 395 to Susanville, then onto Highway 44 over to the I-5 and up. It was strange, really, going on a trip like this. I remember attending the youth group service at CVC-Dayton a while back. Carl had asked what was the difference between being forced to go to church and choosing to go. I raised my hand and reflected that when I chose to come to CVC (however goaded I was by a certain someone =D ,) it had an entirely different feel than when I was obligated to attend with my family and/or friends' families. It became more important, more personal, more... real, when I came by my own accord.
Somehow, this trip has taken on the same qualities. Granted, it was never against my will to accompany my family on our trips to visit grandma up here, but still, the fact that I'm here on my own money, with my own plans, and for my own goals has made this little excursion unique.
We arrived in Salem at around 4pm, Shaelynn behind the wheel after I more or less fell asleep for a few hours while driving (yikes!) And pulled into Willamette University.
Let me tell you, this campus is amazing. The grass is deep, full green everywhere you turn. The buildings are made out of bright red bricks, scrubbed clean to contrast wonderfully with the lawns. The trees are full of flowers and to top it all off (literally...) the skies are a cloudy grey, hinting a downpour at any second. Gorgeous.
Mingy lives in a basement room at the corner of her building (I forget what it's called... I think it begins with an 'L') with her awesome roommates Rachel and Megan. Megan is hilarious! She reminds me a lot of Mingy, mainly due to her her facial expressions and speech patterns.
After arriving, Mingy informed us that she had claimed us as prospective students so that we received a free parking pass, three free meal tickets each, and a tour of the campus, all compliments of the Willamette Office of Admissions. Also, Mingy, her roommates, and her guy neighbors (Brett, Brandon, and Brian... who are equally awesome) each received $10 a night for hosting us. (It was after this bit of news that we realized how similar "Willamette" and "We'll scam it" sound...)
Since arriving, we've had dinner, attended some crazy Jewish celebration, and watched ridiculous movies on YouTube. Now I'm sitting here in front of the cafeteria in the freezing Salem night, an occasional raindrop landing on the pages. I guess I'll go back to Mingy's and warm up.


Saturday
March 22nd, 2008

Fun stuff! The past two days have been amazing! Friday we spent sleeping, then taking a campus tour, then utilizing our free meal tickets to get an obscene amount of food from the "Cat Cavern" (the other on-campus eatery.) We then loaded up ("we" being Shaelynn, Mingy, Travis, and I,) and took off for Eugene, where we met up with Mr. Hom and then headed to the University of Oregon campus to see Barack Obama speak. Unfortunately, we arrived too late and they ran out of room before we got into the building. We did, however, go to the "overflow" area and got to see him speak for about 5 minutes about how we could "win the nomination if we stand firm for change." It was cool seeing him... I felt, I dunno, famous by association.
After that we ate and then went home to sleep.
Today we all got up at about 10am, ate lunch, and then went to downtown Eugene to rent bikes. Good choice, lemme tell you! Eugene is apparently the #1 town in America in terms of bike-friendly-ness. All the roads have bike lanes, and they even have "no motorized vehicle" trails and bridges and all sorts of stuff. Plus, the sky was again awesomely overcast the whole day. After our amazing bike-venture, we ate at a vegetarian restaurant (....yeah....) and then went home to watch Hot Rod.
That brings me to right now, laying on my stomach on Mr. Hom's floor as everyone else gets showered and ready for bed. Tomorrow is our trip to Portland (and, consequently, Imago Dei!)


Sunday
March 23rd, 2008

Definitely not one of the more traditional Easters I've ever had. But cool nonetheless. I got up at 7am, and after a quick shower, had to get everyone else up to leave so that we could make it to the 10:30 service at Imago Dei. I raced through the never ending (and therefore amazing) rain of Oregon on the I-5 all the way through Salem and to Portland, and we arrived at Franklin High School at 10am exactly. The 9am service had just got out, so I hastily handed off the car to Mingy and Travis as Shaelynn and I entered the school. We sifted as best we could through the thousand or so people, attempting to find Donald Miller, but since Shaelynn had not idea who to look for, it was to no avail. We reserved some seats about halfway back from the stage in the auditorium and then resumed our search, camping out at the entrance doors to see if we could spot him coming in.
We asked an usher, who told us that he hadn't seen Mr. Miller at the first service, and that he [Miller] was pretty good at slipping in unnoticed. nevertheless, I continued my search. Again, it was no good. As the band started up, Shaelynn and I returned to our seats. After the opening prayer, I happened to glance down our row, and guess who was sitting at the very end, next to a rain-covered window? Yup. Coincidence?
Easter at Imago Dei was an experience. The songs were traditional-sounding and lead by a full choir with a brass trio accompanying them. The pastor was hilarious yet profound (a winning combination in my book,) and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Afterwards, I had to chase Miller through the enormous crowds in an attempt to introduce myself. He was in some kind of a huge hurry, and I overheard him say to another fan who attempted to intercept him, "I'm kinda looking for someone right now..."
Finally, I saw my chance and stepped forward.

"Hi, I'm Daniel. I'm a huge fan." Genius. Pure genius.
"Hey," extends hand, "how are you?" And then to Shaelynn, "And you are...?"
"Shaelynn."
"Cool, cool. Where are you from?"
"Nevada. I'm visiting a friend here in Oregon and thought I'd come to Imago Dei for Easter."
"Alright."
"Hey, I know this is kinda weird and all, but I could I, like, get a picture with you...?"
"Uh" Looks around, "will it be quick? I'm in a big hurry."
"Sure, yeah, it's quick."

Well, there you have it. Haha, it was brief and all, but I was really psyched to get to meet him in person. Maybe when I'm a famous writer and he's not in a huge rush, I can ask if he wants to grab a cup of joe somewhere.
Anyway, the rest of the day we spent seeing a local play (Landscape of a Body,) and touring Portland. I think Shaelynn fell in love with the city, and I hope she moves there after she's finished her nursing program.
Now I guess I'll wrap this up and go eat dinner with everyone... it's spaghetti!

There's a Hole in the Bottom the School.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!"

Daniel Nominated for "Mr. DHS"

Early Thursday morning, reports flooded our newsroom of an occurrence of the most absurd kind: Our very own Daniel Kenneston had been nominated by a group of anonymous teachers to run as one of five contestants for the title of "Mr. DHS." Among his competitors are rumoured to be Evan Sandborne, Trace Feemster, Jason Wheeler, and none other than Daniel's arch-nemesis, Hans Meyer. Our reporters have not been able to confirm Daniel's acceptance or denial of these alleged claims, which begs the question... will he run? (See "DHS," page A-4).

I sit in the dim corner of the Roadrunner Cafe, trying to make a spiral out of the leftover ketchup on my plate. I'm using the tongs of my fork to part the sauce, thus allowing a thin line of the white plate beneath to emerge. It's harder than it looks, because there are bits of french fries and some discarded lettuce mixed in with the tomato paste, so I can't make the lines of the spiral too close or else the previous circle will be messed up and I'll have to start all over. Delicate business, this is.

The table shakes as I complete line four, jiggling the fork into the last two paths. I give up and instead mash the blob of ketchup with my previously unused spoon. It looks much cooler now, anyway. I can discern the source of the tremor without looking up - Hans had just sat back down across from me at the table.

Returning my focus to the company and conversation at hand, I pick it up somewhere at this:

"No, we can't tell you. Any of you. Besides, you already guessed it... it's a Pirate Prom." That was Leah talking, regarding our insistent inquiries as to the theme of this year's Prom. To Leah's left, Taylor sits looking absently at her plate. Probably trying to figure out how to coerce her ketchup into a spiral. And then next to Taylor is Laycie, resting her head on her hands, giggling at Mike's feigned look of fury towards Leah's um-teenth denial.

A small gap separates their table from the one that Hans and I sit at. We had all decided to go out to breakfast after zero period while the teachers met to discuss various aspects of our oh-so-valuable education for an hour and a half. So here we were, Hans, Mike, Laycie, Taylor, Leah, and I, just finished eating our food, killing time before second period started at 8:45.

"Fine," I concede, locking my gaze on Leah's own, "but at least tell us this: Will there or will there not be a live band?" I raise an eyebrow imploringly.

"Yes. And they'll all have eye patches and peg legs. But we have to make sure Legado will allow for their parrot to accompany them."

I flick a bit of hamburger bun from my plate towards her, but it misses and lands amid the pile of tip money left for the waitress. A collective chuckle meets her remark.

"I've got it!" Mike suddenly says to the group, perking up and raising his hands to indicate his sudden inspiration, "Hans. For your 'improve the school' part of the Mr. DHS thing, you can say that John Scott died in surgery, and paint a John Scott Memorial Wall in the multipurpose room!"

"Genius! Why the dilly-oh didn't I think of that?!" I say, banging a fist on the table in frustration. A John Scott Memorial Wall is just what DHS needs to up school spirit... drat! Leah had informed Hans and I earlier in the meal that we had both been nominated by teachers to run for Mr. DHS in April, and we had both somewhat grudgingly accepted. During April, we'll have 'community service,' 'improve the school,' and 'charity' weeks to determine which out of us is real Mr. DHS material, and then a pageant (groan) will reveal the judge's choice.

The waitress comes in to collect the few plates we have left. I see with slight satisfaction that Taylor apparently fared no better then I at ketchup sculpting. Everyone gets ready to leave as the waitress retreats to the kitchen. We stand and stretch, gathering sweaters and cellphones from around us.

"Does no one else think this is weird?" I ask, flipping open my phone to check for missed calls or texts. No one really answers... they just look at me questioningly. "I mean, Hans and I... Mr. DHS? I dunno, it just seems pretty crazy."

"Uhhh... I guess so?" Laycie says, her tone insinuating disbelief, "but I don't see why not, you know?"

I don't really know, but I shrug and nod anyway. "It's just weird," I repeat.

We begin to pay for our meals, talking in the mean time. I'm trying to sneak my way in front of Leah in the line, but she keeps blocking me. Hans asks me if my picture is still up. I tell him I don't know what he means, so he points to the table closest to the front windows.

It's one of those wooden table tops with a huge sheet of glass set on top, allowing for interesting newspaper articles or witty cartoon clippings to be placed between the tabletop and the glass for the diners' enjoyment. It takes me a while of looking, but finally I see what Hans and Mike are laughing about. There, on the left side of the table near the wall, is one of my senior pictures, slid underneath the glass like it had been there since the restaurant opened. I stand for a moment looking down at my smiling pose.

"Really weird," I amend myself.