Jet Planes and Snow Storms.

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.

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.

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