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.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
In With The Old.
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
"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
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Least Wonderful Time of the Year.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A Night in the Union.
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.
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.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Language.
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
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
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Viewing the World.
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."
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."
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year.
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
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