My Ride Home.

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.

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.

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.

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