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.

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