Elantris, A Review (Spoiler Free!)

After finishing the Mistborn trilogy, I had to have more Brandon Sanderson. And since I had a 40% off coupon for Borders, I went and bought up Elantris. This book was hailed by everyone and their brother, claiming it to be one of the best works of fantasy in a very long time. Needless to say, I was expecting great things, and Sanderson did not let me down.

Elantris has three POV characters: Daoden, the beloved prince of Arelon; Hrathen, a high ranking Derethi priest of a foreign religion; and Sarene, a headstrong princess of Teod. Elantris was the city of gods. It was beautiful, white and shiny, enormous. Normal people would wake up to find that they had been blessed and then they would go to Elantris, where their skin would shine, their hair would be white, and their powers would be limitless. Then, ten years ago, something happened, and the city of gods died, its once beautiful people becoming ugly, hairless savages. The city was closed off, the people scorned and restricted inside its walls. And the blessing would still come, only this time rendering its victims as corpses instead of gods. The people of Arelon then cast the victims into the dead city, never to see them again.

Perhaps the most entertaining aspect of the novel is the extensive religious system. Arelon and Teod are the last countries to resist the Derethi religion, instead staying true to their Korathi doctrine. Hrathen has been sent to convert Arelon in three months, and if he fails, the warrior Derethi religion will slaughter the nation. Not wanting the guilt on his mind, Hrathen piously tries to change the country, but he meets opposition from an unsuspecting source.

Finally, Princess Sarene is engaged to be married to Prince Raoden, their unity forming a treaty between Arelon and Teod. The two have never met. Sarene leaves her country a few days early to surprise Raoden, to get in some alone time before their wedding. However, when she arrives in Arelon, she finds that the prince is "dead." Headstrong and curious, she sets out to find the truth behind Raoden's disappearance.

Brandon Sanderson is a masterful storyteller. He knows his story and where he's going with it, even when the reader does not. He will bring things together and leave no unanswered questions. By the end of the novel, I was breathless. The way he brings things together is completely believable. The conclusion was perfect.

So, would I recommend Elantris to you? Absolutely. Not only is it an excellent novel from a great storyteller, it is a single, stand-alone work in the fantasy genre. That means that you don't have to wait for the sequels to come out. Unfortunately, it also means that there won't be any sequels... If you want to be entertained, thrilled, appalled, and intrigued, then I recommend this book to you. Although I enjoyed Mistborn more, this book was exceptionally well rounded, balancing story with word usage.

Part VI--Janosh

This is a lengthy post. Well, longer than the others, anyway. It's the most-worded part of the story...

-------------------+----Part VI----+------------------------

Yesterday came suddenly...

Janosh stood in a grove deep within the Trails, the shadows cast from the tall trees offering him solace from the burning sun. His orders were simple: wait for Pralis to return, and in the meantime, practice his Blessing. Janosh forced the thoughts of food and flesh from his mind and focused. He would have to be prepared for when Pralis returned.

He opened his good hand in front of him, palm up. Suddenly, the hand was surrounded by an orb of fire, burning wicked and bright orange. He smiled, still awestruck at the ability. In a flash, he tossed the fireball at his target: his old cell phone. It was hanging from a tree about twenty feet from him. The ball struck the phone, which instantly burst into flame. Soon, the flames were licking up the tree limb, consuming the wood at an alarming pace.

After watching for a moment, Janosh formed another sphere around his hand, this one formed from water. He let it build for a minute, gathering strength from his environment, and the sphere of influence grew. Soon, his entire body was surrounded by the sphere. He cast the large waterball at the burning tree, and the flames sputtered out of existence. Around him, the grove seemed to moan. Much more water, he thought, and I would have sucked those trees dry.

Janosh laughed aloud at his newfound powers. The pain in his stomach rumbled loudly, ending his momentary happiness. “Where are you, Pralis?” he asked to empty grove. The man had business to attend, and strictly ordered Janosh not to leave the grove until he returned.

He made his way over to a large rock and sat slowly. A lot had happened over the last day, and Janosh realized he was tired. He vaguely remembered his life before Golian woke him, doing mindless office work for a company with a name he’d forgotten. He remembered Shannon, though. He could see her in his mind, her beautiful dark hair, her matching dark eyes. Hating himself, he wished that she was there with him, only so he could feast on her flesh.

He cleared his mind. He missed Shannon, but she would be better off without him. He was different now. In just the few hours since his Metamorphosis, his skin had started to grey. His left arm was removed below the elbow, but he didn’t know how or why. In addition to his physical changes, his mind was drastically different than it had been. It was almost as if Golian had gone in and flipped a switch, changing everything he knew and thought possible to a world filled with mystery and intrigue. A world with a visible god.

He did not know what to make of Golian. Pralis insisted that he was to be worshipped, that it was him who gave the Blessings in exchange for servitude. After questioning why he was chosen, Pralis said that he was dying and that Golian interceded to save his life. In exchange for his life, Janosh was to serve Golian.

Eventually the old man returned. He sauntered into the grove, shabby and disheveled. “How did your training go, Janosh?”

“It went well, Pralis. The Gift is amazing.”

“Yes, Golian is a merciful and generous god. Present yourself then.”

In an instant, Janosh was up from the rock and poised for an attack. He formed a shell of fire around his hand and threw it at Pralis. At the last second, the old man brought up a protective barrier of water around himself, and the fireball was extinguished as soon as it hit the shell. Before Janosh could react, the man had thrown the orb at him and he leapt away, barely dodging the damaging waterball. It slammed into some trees, drenching them.

Janosh threw a series of fireballs at Pralis, but the old man blocked them all with ease. Soon, Janosh was exhausted, and Pralis took the offensive. With a quick burst of wind, the old man snagged the young convert and threw him against a nearby tree. The boy collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily.

“You’ve done well, Janosh, but there is still much to learn.” He laughed heartily. “You are a fast learner, eh? Golian has blessed you indeed, child.”

“How did you throw me like that?” he asked, rising and wiping the dirt from his back.

“Our Gifts belong to a set of skills called Earthing. As the name implies, these skills are all rooted in the Earth. Thus, any natural trait the Earth exhibits, we should be able to manipulate and use. As with the two most basic elements, fire and water, you can use whatever is in your sphere of influence. When you form a water shell, you are draining moisture from your surroundings. Even the air itself is affected, as you no doubt can feel the humidity change in this grove. And when you use fire, you are leeching heat from your surroundings. With enough heat, flames are born.

“The next two elements are wind and gravity. It was wind that I used to toss you. This skill is particularly useful, as it forms no visible shell around the user, though I am sure a shell is still around us. Windballs are tougher to aim, but you don’t need as much accuracy with them. If the air is still, then the windball is weaker, but can still be formed. Too much, though, and you’ll find yourself ripped to pieces.”

They were walking toward an old convention center, situated near the entrance of the Trails. Janosh was eager to learn all he could about the Gifts, the Art of Earthing. “What about gravity?” he asked.

Pralis cast a glance at Janosh and shook his head. “Gravity is the last of the basic elements. It also casts an invisible shell. It’s quite difficult to use, and building the gravity sphere is a draining process, as you literally strip away the strong force that is pushing everything down. A little gravity goes a long way, from letting you hold something down to crushing something through pressure manipulation. Be wary when you are using this skill, Janosh.”

They stopped outside the entrance to the facility. “As I told you last night, you must be aware of the consequences and reactions from Earthing. Everything has laws and rules. Physically, you can construct an infinitely large sphere, as long as you have the elements to draw from. If you are in a desert, I imagine your ability to form a water shell will be weak or nonexistent, while your fire source will be significant. Do you understand?”

Janosh nodded, his dull eyes eager. “I understand, Pralis. How many elements are there?”

The man contemplatively stroked his mangy beard. If it weren’t for the bloodstains, deformed skin, and dead stares, the conversation would almost qualify as a typical discussion between normal men. “I do not know, Janosh. These are the basic ones Lord Golian taught me, but there are others, too. Each one of the Apostles has a unique skill, and only they are able to access it.”

“How long have you been Earthing?”

“I, I don’t know for sure.” Janosh thought he could sense sadness in Pralis’ voice, but the old man continued on. “I vaguely remember discovering it before my Awakening, but I cannot put a fixed time to when that happened. All I know is Golian saved me, named me Chief Apostle, and blessed me with the Gifts.”

“I don’t remember much either. I remember work. I remember Shannon. That’s about it.”

“Who is Shannon?” Pralis inquired.

“We were to be married.”

“Ah, I see.” Pralis turned and grasped the door handle. “This building is our operation center. The Apostles all report back here. You are the last, Janosh. You will meet those who are here and receive your instructions from Golian. After tonight, you will know your purpose.”

With that, he walked through the door, and Janosh followed behind.

Part V--Melissa

Part I is available HERE. The rest just follows as the blog progresses. And, as always, thanks for reading...

---------Part V------------

There’s a Shadow hanging over me…

Melissa hid in the shadows of her luxury apartment building suspicious that someone was coming for her. For some time she had been searching each room, looking for food. So far, the only things she’d found had been and elderly couple three floors below hers. Either they had not heard the news, or were too feeble to get out while they could. Most likely they realized there was nowhere to go.

She made a quick meal of them, and they didn’t scream too much while she feasted. But, like with Blaine, the experience overwhelmed her with guilt. Even as she was killing them, she was apologizing to them. Asking them to forgive her.

It had been two days since she killed her husband and, for the most part, she was able to control herself again. Burning inside her was an insatiable desire to consume. Every second that passed brought with it the pain of an empty stomach, sharp and stabbing. She tried foods of all sorts, even going so far to fix herself a bowl of chicken noodle soup, but everything she ate that was not flesh made her sick. She found that she could eat cooking meats—beef, chicken, and pork—but they provided little sustenance for her. Still, to combat her guilt, she persisted and vowed to only eat Man-flesh when it was impossible to resist her instincts.

She could feel her thought process changing slowly. She supposed her mind was shifting to adjust to her new body, but had no way to know for certain. How could she know? One day she had been a happily married woman, and in the blink of an eye everything changed. Now she considered herself a murderer.

She moved quickly from the shadows of the stairwell to the nearest door. Room 491. She twisted the door open quietly. Since her change, she had somehow gained an enormous amount of strength, and the door provided no resistance to her. She also noticed that she could move with speed to match a running deer, in addition to her being able to smell blood and flesh from a distance. I’m turning into an animal, but I feel so alive. She was not sure why she was changing, physically or mentally. She tried to remember the events leading up to her transformation, but everything was too blurry and jumbled together.

The apartment was empty, but something caught her attention. Directly in front of her was a mirror. Staring back at her was not the Melissa she immediately recognized. Her features were present, shoulder length brown hair, average shape and size. But her eyes were not the normal reflective blue they were supposed to be; instead, they were dull and grey. I’ve seen those eyes somewhere before. Her clothes, a once beautiful summer dress, were tattered and bloody. Her arms still bore the knife cuts from Blaine’s attack, and the jab to her ribs had left a gaping slit in her side, but the blood and pain had long since ceased.

As she was studying herself, she began to ponder her life. Am I even alive? she thought. She thought she must be, though she did not appear to bleed any longer. She had checked for her pulse, but had found nothing. What am I going to do with myself? Before her change, she had been an electrical engineer, working on establishing a greener power grid for the city. She was intelligent, and had worked with some of the biggest minds in the country on fixing the growing energy crisis. She was twenty-seven years old when she married Blaine. Why do I look so much older?

Staring into the mirror, she could see the blotches on her skin. Once tanned, it now looked like an aging piece of wood, brittle and brown-grey. She realized that she was trying to cry, but tears refused to come. She leaned in closer to the mirror, her face inches from its reflection. “Why is this happening to me?” she asked aloud. In a sudden fit of rage, she punched the mirror. Hundreds of cracks ran through the glass, pieces falling to the ground and shattering.

Anger burned inside her, mixing with the guilt. I should just end it all right now. She walked out onto the balcony, having made up her mind to jump. She paused, hands grasped around the railing. Would it even kill me? Without thinking, she leapt over the siding.

* * *

Seconds before she hit the ground, Melissa had a revelation. Blaine was not trying to protect me. He was infected as well, and just wanted to eat me. I should’ve caught it in the way he walked, the way he cocked his head. But his eyes were the same as mine. Somehow I managed to overpower him and save myself. The irony was not lost on her, however, as she slammed into the concrete.

The Importance of Paper Weights

Ah-ha! I have finally understood the importance of paper weights. All my life, I've thought, "What's the point?" Are they for desk decor? Are they something that people use as thoughtless gifts? Are they murder weapons in a game of office Clue?

But, dear and faithful readers, I am here to tell you they are not. Nay, read on and you shall be enlightened.

I got up from my desk to ask my boss a question, give him a heads-up on what I was working on and so forth. It felt like Antarctica in his office, the window unit A/C fighting to keep our old building cool from the 100+ degree heat index. I was gone for a few minutes, and when I returned to my desk, some of my papers were on the floor. I stooped to pick them up, legs a little stiff from my hour-and-a-half bike ride last night. And then it all clicked.

My desk fan, which I take for granted and tend to ignore, actually stirs the air around my desk. I notice a calendar on the wall behind me gently swaying with each passing rotation of the fan. And, subconsciously, I realize I have my own functional paperweights: a heavy design manual, my coffee cup (this one a hand-crafted ceramic piece from Gatlinburg, TN), my TI-83 Plus Silver Edition calculator. All along I've been holding down my papers from the cooling breeze of the fan, never really acknowledging the importance of paper weights.

Never again will I disrespect you, oh small and barely noticed paper weights. I'll no longer scoff and mock your purpose in my life. You are the constant worker at my desk, never appreciated or even recognized. To you I give thanks.

(Part V is going through the LOGANKSTEWARTVIGOROUSEDITING process. Forthcoming.)

Topeka, KS (or A World of Wishing)

I've never been to Kansas. Heck, I've only crossed the Mississippi River twice, and both times was to St. Louis. One of those trips was to the Red Bull National Downhill Soap Box Car Derby. That was a crazy trip. Three buds and myself all bought mullet wigs and headed to the Derby. The event is pretty crazy, with people dressed up all wild and funny. And the soap box cars were decked even wilder than others.

Anyway, the point is, I haven't traveled very much in my twenty-three years. I went to Washington DC for a week, but I was in 7th grade and it was a school trip. I've been to Cincinnati a few times, to Reds games, Kings Island, or concerts. I've been to Florida, and I've been in the ocean. I even went to Disney. But, sadly, I've not ventured too far west. I've covered an adequate amount of the Appalachian region, and that's about it.

I do long to travel and see all that I can see. I want to visit the Grand Canyon, and stand on the side, looking down. I want to see water so blue and green that I feel like I'm in paradise. I want to go to New York City, just to see the enormity of it. I would love to visit Egypt, see the pyramids and immerse myself in history. Rome, Venice, and Florence would be nice getaways. Paris is beautiful, or at least it's made to appear that way. Germany would be nice, too.

But the real place I want to go is Great Britain. First, I'd see Stonehenge. Then, I'd head east, over to Oxford and absorb the history. Once finished, I'd travel up to London, staying a few days, maybe checking out Abbey Road. And then I want to travel on up the country and enter into Scotland, but stopping by Cambridge on the way. I want to experience the rich fields. I want to see the coast. I want to walk in a pub and order something. And once I'm finished with Scotland, I'd head west and stop on the Isle of Man, where I would contemplate and meditate for a while. Lastly, I'd visit Ireland, as it's but a hop-skip-and-a-jump from the Isle. There, I'd learn all I could of Irish culture.

Finally, I'd lose myself in the language. I would learn and master Gaelic from the Scots and Irish. Then, some time later, I would emerge, a new and different Logan. I would return home, to America, to Kentucky, and impress everyone with my world-traveling and stories. I would tell the little ones Old Stories, intending to teach them lessons.

Aye, it would be very nice to go and see. Mayhap one day I will.

*-*-Post Script: I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I'll post Part V sometime soon, hopefully.

Derrick Lawson

------------------------------------Part IV----------------------------------

Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be…

Derrick Lawson was an artist. He lived in New York City in an artist complex, a type of housing that supported artists. He had been living in the Big Apple for only seven months, but to him it already felt like home. He dabbled in oils and acrylics, charcoal, and watercolors, but his passion was ink. “With a pen,” he’d say, “Anything is possible. I can draw and sketch whatever I desire. Or, if I choose, I can write an eloquent poem. I can write to my senators, or even the President. Yes, the pen is mightiest of all mediums.”

Derrick’s sketchbook was sitting on his desk. It was bound in brown leather and filled with heavy, hand-made paper. Beside it, several ink pens were sprawled about. A jar of Indian Ink was open, and a fountain pen was used as a bookmark.

Derrick’s style was clear on every page. He was a Realist, drawing things as they were. A one-armed man on a street corner, his hands held out for help. A young mother with a babe in her arms. The cityscape minus the Towers. The big suits from Wall Street, autonomous and uncaring. And then there was a series of self-portraits.

The first page was of Derrick. Long hair, eager eyes. The next resembled Derrick, but part of the face was disfigured. Thick, dark marks streaked the page. Behind the focus was another figure, faint and barely noticeable. Another page vaguely resembled Derrick, but was more disfigured. The same marks were slashed across the page.

By the end of the sketchbook, the portraits of Derrick had transformed into a monster. The last did not even look like Derrick. Behind every face, the faint figure gradually became more concrete and noticeable. On the final page of the sketchbook, a paragraph scrawled in a desperate hand read:


I feel it changing inside me. Something is different. I’m seeing things that keep me up at night. Things that I shouldn’t be seeing. At first I thought something was wrong with my eyes, but I think it’s deeper than that. Even as I write this the black things are in the corners of my vision. They’re affecting my art. I’ve left my room only once in two weeks. And when I did I thought I was going to die. All around me, everywhere, the black things were there. Surrounding me. I’ve tried drugs. I’ve tried everything. I can’t get rid of them. I think I’m losing my mind. I’ve been sick for a month, ever since I went to the Live Zombies concert in the Alley. I don’t know why this is happening. I need help. Last night, my mom and dad were sitting on my bed, talking to me, encouraging me to finish my drawings. I listened, finishing the series of portraits I’ve been working on. I didn’t even question why Mom and Dad were there. They’ve been dead for almost a year. And I looked back through my portraits and I noticed him in every one of them. He is standing behind me, ready to consume me. And my portraits were supposed to look like me, but I’ve changed since I began. Each day I look more and more like a monster! Why? What is going on with me? He’s here again. Watching me. Whispering. Demanding.


Beneath the desk on which the sketchbook rested, a shell of a man huddled against the corner where wall met wood. Emaciated and gaunt, he was dying. He had gouged his eyes out to stop seeing the black things and wrapped a bandage around his eyes. Blood streaks stained his thinned face and parched lips parched. His mind was snapped.

Derrick Lawson died beneath the desk. The official cause of death was fatigue, combined with dehydration and starvation. He was found twenty minutes after his heart stopped beating. He was discovered when two newer members of the complex inadvertently walked into the wrong room. Derrick’s door had been unlocked. He was still huddled up into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around his raised knees. Teeth marks were on his arms, which would later turn out to be Derrick’s own desperate desire for sustenance.

He was buried in Willow Hill Cemetery, just outside the city limits. Some of his friends from the complex scrounged for money and paid for a makeshift ceremony. It was a beautiful, sunny day in May. He was lowered in the ground gently by the funeral home workers and the priest said a few words for the stranger. Nobody cried; nobody really knew the deceased, it was just out of respect he was buried.

He should have been cremated.

The service ended and everyone left. The sun burned down below the horizon and the stars came out. A figure stepped out from the trees and onto the plot. He carried a large staff. With it, he thrust it down through the dirt, through the cheap coffin, and into the chest of Derrick. “Arise, Child of the Bite. You are now a Child of the Night!” The old man laughed at his rhyme.

A pulse ran through the staff, and below ground, Derrick gasped for breath.

The Way of the Gods

Part three. This makes sense to me, but if it is confusing to you fine folks, would ya let me know? May it do ya fine and I'll Say Thankee-Sai. Thankee Big Big. If you've not read the first few parts, they are here and here.

-------------------------------Part III-----------------------------

I believe in yesterday…

High above the surface of the planet, everything appeared peaceful. The land was a vibrant lifesource, full of creatures great and small. The seas were a brilliant blue, reflecting blinding white light into the air. A gentle wind was blowing, moving the clouds in a circular pattern. Yes, everything appeared peaceful.

Appearances are quite deceptive.

Two figures hovered in the upper layers of the atmosphere, where the blackness of space separates the whites of the protective atmospheric shells. One, garbed in blacks and greens, stayed within the confines of the planet; the other, robed in white and gold, remained on the other side of the boundary.

“It has started,” announced the dark one nonchalantly.

“Yes. It has started.” The two regarded one another for a moment, then turned their gaze toward the planet.

“They will consume themselves, and there is nothing you can do about it. My sickness is already spreading among the inhabitants.”

The bright one frowned deeply. As he did, the stars themselves seemed to dim. “Do not discount their ability to persevere, Steward. They have survived scourges and famines and plagues before, if you recall.”

“I recall,” hissed the dark one. The clouds darkened behind the god in his anger. “But this one is different. I have spent countless years working on this. The fall of mankind is coming, Rol.”

Rol smiled, and with it, the stars grew a bit brighter. “I fear you are wrong, Steward. Perhaps you will succeed in destroying millions, maybe even billions, but you will not annihilate their spirit. They are notoriously full of surprises.”

The dark one moved closer to the boundary, motioning for Rol to come close. “Does it bother you that you cannot cross the boundary, Caretaker? That Astaran Himself set this gulf between us, giving me freedom to rule this planet as I see fit?” The dark one was smiling a wicked smile. Lightning was flashing below. “Since the Beginning, you’ve been unable to come into my domain and I yours. But this time, Rol, you will not win. This plan is fullproof. And once it is over, I will be free.”

Rol smiled even wider, and with it the sun blazed. “We shall see.”

The two remained there for a span of days. Occasionally, the dark one would smirk or laugh to Rol. “See here, Rol! In just three days the world has been decimated. It will not last much longer, I’ll wager.”

The planet no longer seemed as peaceful as it once had. Massive conflagrations could be seen making their way across the plains. The seas were darker, choppier. And the clouds were thick, dark clouds, full of thunder and rain. Rol watched the planet with a deep compassion for the people. He was charged with being the Caretaker of the Heavens, while the other was given the Stewardship of the Planet. The people of this planet, one called Earth, had become a favorite of his. Like many other creatures from many other planets, they sought to leave their planets and venture into the Heavens. Very few, however, had actually succeeded in this feat. The people of Earth, however, had managed to make it out of their atmosphere on several occasions, and gone as far as landing on their Moon. Rol assumed that the zeal to destroy Earth the Steward exhibited was twofold, one because he could not leave the planet, and the other was pure jealousy. In Earth’s early days, the inhabitants did not even dream of things outside their planet; now, they dreamt of things outside their galaxy.

The Caretaker could understand their dreams. He knew what was outside their system of planets. He had been to every system Astaran had created. He had been working in each of them since the Beginning. He had seen the beauty in each and every planet Astaran created. Rol was allowed to visit each planet only one time, recording the planets details, and then the boundary would appear, blocking him from entering again and confining the Steward.

It was during this period, while Rol was on Earth, that he deposited his gift to the planet. Astaran, in His wisdom, had ordained the Caretaker a sacred and secret duty. Though he could not directly interfere with the planet, he could provide a chance for it. His blessing would be bestowed upon an inhabitant, and ultimately spread amongst the nations. The Steward was often unaware of this gift, as typically it remained dormant. However, there were things Rol could do to enact the blessing…

They hovered above the planet. Storms raged below them, obscuring their view. “People are following me again, Rol. They are following me for reasons I am not responsible for. Certain abilities have been manifesting among the people, and I have been taking credit for the powers.” The Caretaker listened, slightly concerned. Perhaps some of the inhabitants have had reasons to need the powers? The dark one’s smile grew darker. “I will break free from this planet, Rol. And when I do, you will die.”

“Listen to me, Golian,” bellowed the Caretaker. Behind him, the sun flared in response. “You will fail in your endeavor. Astaran made you Steward of this planet, and you are trying to kill it. You will—“

“You do not know everything, Rol. Only Astaran is omniscient, and He knows what I am up to. Do you think that I would be able to rebel if Astaran did not will it? You are a proud fool, Caretaker. We were all made for a reason, and I am being true to myself.”

“You are wrong,” said Rol. Even as he said it, he knew he had no argument. No substantiating evidence. He had only his faith in Astaran. He knew the things the Steward said were untrue, but he needed proof. Immediately, he knew what he must do. “I will return, Golian. And you will suffer for your actions. It was the pain of the planet that drew me here, and I will not let it fall.”

With that, he turned and sped off into the Heavens, like a streak of light across the night sky. The dark one laughed a sinister laugh, calling after his enemy. “You can try, Rol. But you best hurry!”

Jacob and Shannon

First off, thanks everybody that read and liked the previous post. I am working on a series of short, micro stories that, when combined, form a mosaic of one story. Most likely, it'll fall to the wayside with all my other stories that I've written, but for now, I'm still writing. Here's part two. Enjoy.

------------------------PART II------------------------

Now it looks as though they're here to stay...

Jacob walked out the office at three minutes past five, running just slightly behind schedule. If he took the Trails, then he would bypass most of the congestion, but he didn’t like taking the Trails. He unlocked his bike and hopped on, pulling out his cell.

“Hey! This is Shannon. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave me a message and I’ll get back with you.” Jacob rolled his eyes, frustrated. She was always nagging him about not answering his phone, and why did he even have one if he wasn’t going to answer it? “BEEP!”

“Shannon, it’s Jacob. I’m running a little late, but I should be home in time to make it to the social tonight. I’m gonna take the Trails. I love you.”

He sped off down the crowded road only for a moment, then turned and entered the Trails. The Trails were a large system of paths, created originally as a recreational facility for bike and ATV riders. That was fifteen years ago. Now they resembled a haunted forest, grown tall and mysterious. The tracks were all dirt, and Jacob had to watch for fallen limbs. However, taking the Trails instead of the highway put him home twenty to thirty minutes early.

He swerved around a rather large log and immediately pulled on his brakes. Standing in the road, not twenty feet from him, was a rugged man. He was clearly homeless. A long, mangy beard hung from his face and his clothes were tattered and dirty. The man stood slightly hunched, his neck turned slightly. There was an unsettling reflection of light in his eyes, cast from Jacob’s headlights.

Jacob started to accelerate when something pulled him off his bike. He hit the ground, hard, and his breath was knocked out of his lungs. It was there, lying on his back in the Trails that the full magnitude of what was happening hit him. Panic overtook his mind, crippling him. He knew he needed to get up, but he could not make himself. He did not even wonder why he was jerked off his bike; instead, he started to whimper.

He became aware that there was a force pinning down his shoulders, keeping him on the ground. He tried to struggle, but his body refused to budge. A wrinkled, bearded face suddenly appeared in his vision, and for a moment Jacob thought he was saved. Then he saw the look in the man’s eyes and all hope left him yet again. It’s the same old man that was in the road, but how did he get over here so fast? he thought.

Unconsciously, Jacob realized he had his phone in his hand, and his fingers were attempting to dial for help. Unfortunately, the weathered man realized it as well. With unnatural speed, he grabbed the phone from Jacob and tossed it aside. Then, in a flash of horror and doom, plus a slight taint of comedy, Jacob noticed three things simultaneously. The first was the terrible pain in his hand that had been holding the phone. Second, he noticed the old man chewing a mouthful of something, with blood drooling from his mouth and a finger sticking out. Lastly, he noticed his phone was ringing.

He could hear it calling through the Trails, blaring out the classic Eagles song that signaled Shannon was calling, “Take It Easy.” Something twisted in his brain was laughing at the irony. How could he take it easy? A deranged man had just thrown him from his bike and was eating his fingers? But there is humor in this, you gotta admit. And Shannon’s probably leaving another message about me not answering the phone.

Soon, Jacob thought, dying, I’ll wake up and tell Shannon about this. She’ll get a kick out of it. And then there was nothing but the ringing phone.

--+--

The figure was crouched over the body, slowly devouring his stunned victim. Pralis was the man’s new name, but he was not certain why. He vaguely recalled having a different name at some point in his past, but the hunger that plagued him made it hard for him to think clearly. He tore the arm free with little resistance; the boy was in shock and unconscious.

He tried to resist his hunger, but he rarely ever succeeded. He was not certain how long he’d been transformed, as time no longer seemed to matter. The sun burnt his skin, and so often he would stay hidden in the woods until dusk, spending his time mourning his circumstances and actions, eating whatever game he could find, or serving Golian. He remembered meeting Golian for the first time, just before his changing. He was researching old arts and found an interesting passage mentioning the god. And then he appeared and gave his blessing, renaming him to Pralis and giving him his ability to push on things with his mind.

In exchange for his gift, Pralis swore to serve Golian and do his will, which so far had been making other disciples to follow Golian. Pralis smiled as the boy’s eyes flashed open, displaying the wild glint inside. He started to struggle, but Pralis held him pinned to the ground.

“Hush, child,” said the old man. “You’ve been blessed by the Lord Golian. Arise and take your place in his ranks.” The boy stood, slowly, and Pralis surveyed him. He was missing most of his left arm, but that was much better than his first converts. In the beginning, Pralis recalled killing most of his converts. It was always so hard to stop feeding.

A heavy sense filled the air and Golian suddenly appeared. “Well done, Pralis.” The god turned to face the new creation. “You, child, were once living a false existence. You have been awoken and called to serve me. You shall be called Janosh.” The boy nodded obediently.

“Pralis. Take Janosh to the unworthy ones. Let him feast tonight, for tomorrow he must begin his servitude.” The god paused for a moment. “For your faithfulness, Pralis, you may join him in feasting.”

The old man bowed. “Thank you, Lord Golian. I only wish to serve. Thank you. Thank you.”

With that, Golian vanished into the black. Pralis turned to his new brother. “Come on, Janosh. We have dinner to catch.”

Blaine and Melissa (A Micro Story)

---~---~---~---~---Part I---~---~---~---~---

Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away...

“Put the knife down, Blaine,” said the woman, an edge of fear to her voice. They were in their 42nd story apartment, high above the dead city below.

The man simply stared at her, a blank look in his eyes. In his hand a long, wicked blade was held, its edge a dull crimson color. The knife was a standard kitchen knife, typically used for meats and bones. As such, it was extremely sharp and dangerous.

“I have no intention of putting the knife down, Mel. Not until we’re finished here tonight will I put the knife down.” His normal talking voice seemed slightly different.

Blaine was standing in the spacious kitchen, several feet from the crouched Melissa, but still dominating the apartment. The couple had been married for only a month and then it happened. One morning they woke up to find the city in panic. Newscasters reported for one day, calling it a massive outbreak of hysteria or an infection from bioterrorism or a plague from God. No one knew exactly what happened, but the news anchors would report more later, and later never came. All broadcasting—television, radio, Internet, and phone—ceased to function.

He started toward Melissa. “Blaine, please. Put down the knife. You’re scaring me.”

He turned his head at an angle, the way a dog does when it doesn’t understand something. He paused, smiling his dazzling smile. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t. You’ve been infected and I have to help you get better.”

Melissa was a cornered animal, literally trapped by two walls and a man with a bloody knife. Her husband walked slowly, and Melissa began thinking about a movie she saw as a child. In it, the dead had returned to life, walking slowly and hungering for flesh. He walks just like one of them, she thought.

And then he was upon her. Unable to flee, Melissa fought against her husband. She tried to swipe away his arms, and succeeded for a moment, but he was too powerful for her. Eventually his blade found its way into her ribs and she screamed in agony and anger. Fueled with adrenaline and something else deeper inside of her, she grabbed for a makeshift weapon. Grasping something, she pummeled her husband in the temple, dropping him to the ground.

The knife, now bright red, fell from his hand. Melissa was surprised to see in her hand a broken coffee mug. Hesitantly, she picked up the knife and took a step back. Her side was bleeding and there were several gashes on her arms.

And then it hit her. The smell was overpowering and her stomach was aching. How long had it been since she had eaten? She looked around for the source of the aroma and then her eyes fell upon Blaine. Slightly repulsed, she cautiously approached her fallen husband.

He was still alive! And he smelled fantastic.

“Poor Blainey. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t remember much afterwards, only that her hunger was slightly satiated. Only slightly. She walked slowly, ever so slowly, to the balcony and stared out at the dead city. It was dark, but full of noises. As the wind blew, Melissa caught a whiff of food in the air. She smiled, already hungry again.

What Was This Lady Thinking (An Interpretation of Death)

I came across this on CNN today.


Watching this just makes me wonder what the lady was thinking? Maybe she wasn't paying attention and was heading across the tracks when she finally noticed a trail hurtling towards her, so she did the only logical thing she could think of: make like a sheet of paper and lay flat. Or maybe she is a thrill seeker? But the embedded code has a tag that says "israel.suicide.attempt", so perhaps she was trying to check out early. Anyway, this lady was very fortunate to have no injuries, namely death.

Which brings up an interesting point. When you consider injuries in an accident, is death really considered an injury? First we must define injury. Dictionary.com says an injury is a "harm or damage that is done or sustained." Using this definition, then some forms of death seem to fit, but not all. For instance, dying of "natural causes", that is, growing old, falling asleep, and not waking up, does not seem to fit the injury definition. There is no damage done to the body in the sleeping process, only a peaceful ending to a life. But a gun shot wound to the brain causes all kinds of serious damage to the body and often ends in death.

Aha! Perhaps my hypothesis was flawed from the beginning. Death, it seems, is not an injury. Instead, one may die from their injuries, but that does not mean that death is an injury. I don't know about you all, but this solves a great mystery that I've honestly never thought about before starting this post. My mind is often prone to wandering, through the hazy fields of absolutes and uncertainties.

One final note on death. Coldplay's latest full-length album, Viva la Vida, subtitled Death and All His Friends, was really an excellent album. They always produce such amazing pieces of music, and this album was no different. I get emails from the band, and their last email contained a link to download a free live concert cd, which is titled LeftRightLeftRight. I thought I'd share that with you fine folks. Follow the link here to get your copy of LRLR. Also, I did a poem post on Coldplay a while back, which is available here.

As always, remember to brush your teeth when you wakey wakey and right before you go to bed!

Up

I went and watched Up with Keisha over the weekend. Pixar has once again produced an amazing movie. Up is probably one of the funniest Pixar films, and I had to wipe my eyes frequently to clear the tears of laughter. There are three reasons why Up was supremely satisfying.

First, the movie is visually breathtaking. I watched the film in 3-d, which meant that I wore the goofy glasses. This was the first movie I have ever seen in 3-d, and it was awesome. I was like a little kid seeing a lightsaber fight for the first time. In addition to 3-d, the storyboards and animation was beautiful. Vibrant colors and exotic scenes dominated the screen, and I was completely absorbed in the art.

The second reason Up was a great movie was the humor in the movie. As I've already mentioned, the film was hilarious. Not just a few laughs, mind you, but whole-theatre laugh-out-loud-for-several-moments funny. The main two characters, grumpy old Mr. Fredricksen and young and clumsy Russell, are wonderfully dynamic with each other, each completing the others comedy. Plus, Kevin and Dug are hysterical.

Finally, Up succeeds because of the story. Like books, movies often fail if the story is weak. The writers for Up created a heart-wrenching but soul-laughing story, and the director knew where and when to stir each emotion. Mr. Fredricksen is a widower and Russell is a young Wilderness Explorer looking to earn a badge for his scout troop, and the two form an unlikely duo. The development of their relationship propels the plot with a satisfying conclusion.

Overall, this was one of the best movies I have seen in a long time. I'll even confess that not all of the tears that came to my eyes were from laughter. The film was fantastic, especially in 3-d, and I urge you all to go and watch it. Take your special someone, your kids, your friends, or your robot-nanny and watch it. Unless you have a heart of stone, I guarantee you'll feel your emotions tugged, too.

A Quick Update (complete with some miscellany)

We moved into our new house on Friday, 5/29. We are now officially homeowners. Everything went smoothly. I signed a million or so papers. The weather was nice for moving. The piano was not as heavy as expected. The weekend went by very, very fast. I'll be hopefully getting cable & internet for home this week. I'll hopefully get the piano tuned this week. I think I might cook tuna for supper tonight. My coffee cup is Darth Vader's head. I bought some new Sketchers. I also bought a pair of Levi's for $11! The ink pen on my stack of papers is a green Pilot Razor Point. Hopefully all the boxes will be unpacked within the next week or two. I like the radio feature on iTunes. I'm going to a Dulcimer Festival this weekend.

On Tolkien

I find it fitting to put a plug in for the defining epic tale of the fantasy genre. I first read the Lord of the Rings when I was in eighth grade, still a year or two before the Peter Jackson movies came about. It started with my friend, William, buying the trilogy from the monthly Scholastic book club. The books were passed among William, Adam, and me, and soon we had all read them. I remember loving the story, excitedly reading through the books. I remember it taking a few months to get through all of them, as they were thick, intense novels for a young, busy lad.

There are so many reasons why the Lord of the Rings is amazing. Originally coming out in the mid 1950’s, Tolkien was one of the pioneer fantasy authors. His work has inspired so many writers that it is impossible to list them. His creatures and their stereotypes have been used as gospel, and many subsequent fantasy authors have borrowed from this. The themes explored in the trilogy—friendship, trust, love—are universal themes that everyone can relate to. The development of several intricate languages shows Tolkien’s genius of linguistics, not to mention the countless fans that have learned one of the languages.

I loved the books as a youngster, and I intend on reading them again. Likewise, The Hobbit is equally compelling, though I typically include it when I refer to the saga.

Tolkien undoubtedly influenced the types of books I read. For instance, parallels to the Lord of the Rings can easily be seen in Terry Brooks’ Sword of Shannara. However, I really like reading Terry Brooks novels, and I’ve read everyone except for Hook . It was Terry Brooks I read after finishing LOTR , and I fell deeper and deeper in love with fantasy fiction.

The reason I bring up the topic of Tolkien is the music came on shuffle today on my iPod. I have all three soundtracks, you see, and listening to the music fills my mind with scenes from the movies. Peter Jackson’s rendition of the movies was beautiful. The books I so loved were brought to life on a giant screen with fitting accompanying music! So I’m sitting at work, listening to my iPod, and a song from Fellowship comes on. I decide to listen to the soundtracks for the rest of the day, which in turn makes me want to watch the movies and read the books again. This cycle seems to repeat itself quite often.

With the publication of the Lord of the Rings , J.R.R. Tolkien changed the world of fantasy, and subsequently (and cheesily), my reading life. Thank you, Mr. Tolkien.

Break Time

It's break time here at work. That's right, that says what you thought it said. Break Time. This is a perk I failed to mention about my new job at the MLC. Every morning at 9:45 and every afternoon at 2:45 is the company break time. To my understanding, back in the day when there were around 150 folken working here, break time was mandated. Now, tradition carries on, and I get to take a break twice a day.

What do I do during this time of forced un-labor? It depends. This morning, I sat at the Table of Knowledge and worked on a crossword puzzle. (That crossword was finished at lunch, by the way, and would not have been possible without the assistance of two lunch pals. If you want to work an electronic version of the paper crossword that I solved, click here.) This afternoon, I decided to post a snippet on my blog. Last week I gobbled up the time by reading Mistborn.

So, where does that put me now? It's break time here at work. After finishing Mistborn I bought another Brandon Sanderson novel, Elantris, but I chose not to read it today during break. But I do think I'll go and fill me up a cup of coffee here pretty soon.

It's a tough job here, with everyone being so nice and me getting two mandatory break times during the day. It's almost like I'm not even at work during those break times. Almost.

Leadbelly keeps coming on the radio, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

On Memorial Day

Memorial Day is a special holiday here in the States. It basically began as a day set aside to remember those who died in the Civil War, and through progression, it was eventually made into a national holiday.

To me, Memorial Day is a bittersweet holiday. My brother is currently in the ARMY, and has been for five or six years now. He served almost a year in Iraq, and thankfully God saw him safely back home. However, thousands of other soldiers have not been so blessed. Americans, Iraqis, Britons, and many other countries have lost civilians to the War, and I want to acknowledge them here. The line defining enemy and comrade is only relative. Death, however, is absolute. So, this is my statement:

Soldiers from all over the world, may God bless and keep you. May your country respect you. May you always stand up for your beliefs. May you make it home to your family and friends.

As for the War, I will not advocate my opinion of that here. I am not in favor of a totalitarian regime, nor am I a proponent of human suffering, be it oppression or hunger. For some problems, war may be the answer, and I take this belief from Scriptures. For most problems, however, I think love and respect work better. If we love everybody and respect their culture, life would be much better. Through understanding would come peace.

Oh, and another thing typically associated with Memorial Day is the BBQ grill. For instance, today for lunch (and tonight for supper) we grilled out BBQ pork-chops and chicken tenders. Grilled food, especially on a charcoal grill, is simply amazing.

Finally, I want to acknowledge and say thank you to a blog reader. Sailor Matt, thanks for doing your service to the military. I'm not sure what all you did while in the Navy, but thanks for doing it.

Happy Memorial Day everyone.

Blogmasters Note: After re-reading this, it seems like I am a crazy, hippy liberal. This is a skewed (and flawed) view of me. Really, I'm mostly conservative, but with a large heart. I don't like to see people in pain or suffering. And if there's something I can do to help, then I want to do it.

Mistborn, A Review (Spoiler Free!)

I do not remember who recommended the Mistborn series to me, but I am glad they did. After finishing the third and final volume of the series, The Hero of Ages, I feel the urge to recommend this series.

Mistborn was written by Brandon Sanderson, a relatively new author to the fantasy world. Sanderson’s series received wonderful praise by many colleagues and reviewers, and I want to join my voice with them. Mistborn was a powerful story, one I could visualize with every paragraph. Sanderson’s portrayal of the world and its workings is completely believable, and I found myself riveted by the story.

The series begins with Mistborn: The Final Empire. In this book the world is ruled by a cruel emperor called the Lord Ruler. He is the God of the people and of the lands. He is the result of what happens when a Hero takes the power at the Well of Ascension and uses it for himself. The world is eradicated of culture, religion, happiness, and basic humanity.

In the Final Empire, there are two classes of people: nobility and skaa. Skaa live lives worse than slaves of old, and they are the ones that do the daily labor of cleaning the Empire.

In the Final Empire, ash falls continually, piling onto the streets and fields daily. Skaa must clean the ash before they can begin their work. And then at night, the mists come out. There are things in the mists that skaa and nobility fear, and so no one goes out into them. No one, that is, except for Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin.

Kelsier’s fame spreads throughout the skaa, and he preaches a message of rebellion. He hates the Lord Ruler and wishes to free the skaa. And the things he can do is supernatural. He can fly through the sky, play on people’s emotions, move with incredible speed and resilience, and many other things. Kelsier is Mistborn.

The system of “magic” developed for this series is very well thought out, and quite simple to understand rather quickly. I’ll admit, at first I was slightly confused about what was going on (and even a little unsure whether or not I liked it), but I overcame those thoughts rapidly.

The story, beginning with The Final Empire, becomes more and more exciting with each passage. I found myself reading whenever I had the opportunity.

To keep this simple, I will say nothing of books two or three, save that they were phenomenal. After finishing the first volume, I immediately bought the second, Mistborn: The Well of Ascension, and started on it; and, hungrily I moved on to the concluding work, Mistborn: The Hero of Ages, after finishing book two.

The story is interwoven and grandiose. Themes of love and trust and betrayal dominate the characters.

My final offering of praise and recommendation goes like this: if you enjoyed The Name of the Wind by Pat Rothfuss, then you will love Mistborn. Both of these authors have found a way to transcend the typical fantasy mold and create a masterpiece. In fact, Pat put in a word for it back when he was doing the Heifer Project.

Finally, after finishing the series, I started thinking about a movie. Wow, this series would make for an excellent movie, be it Hollywood or the Sci-Fi channel.

So, friends, take this series and read it when you get a chance. It ranks as one of the best series’ I’ve read in a long time. Give it a try, you won't regret it.

Some Catching Up (Part 2)

Well, when I started the "catching up" series, I intended to finish it the next day. Unfortunately, things got hectic and I didn't get to finish the catching up bit. And, after re-reading the last post, I realize that its brevity pretty much sums everything up.

Life's been very busy.

And still, it's busy. But there have been some pretty cool things to happen for me. For instance, our new home comes with all appliances except for the washer and dryer. As providence would have it, one of my friends called me up the other day and we were discussing things, and he happened to have an extra washer and dryer that I could have. Also, we need to buy a mower for the lawn, and my mother-in-law's boyfriend just happened to be a channel for getting a new mower absolutely free of charge. This frees up funds to put into something else, possibly paying on student loans or something.

And then there's work. My job is to design culverts, channels, and such systems, but this is all mostly new for me professionally speaking. So, I've been learning by doing and reading design manuals.

A few more points to make:

1. Wasn't the finale of LOST tremendous?
2. If you've not read the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson, I highly recommend it. So much so that, once I finish the series (I'm on the concluding volume) I intend to put a plug in here.
3. Heath bars are good, eh?

It's time for church. Farewell now. And I promise, once things settle down, I'll be back regularly. Thanks!

Some Catching Up (Part 1)

You may be aware that things have been happening very quickly for me. That's okay. I'm young. Presently I am sitting on my mother-in-law's bed, fighting to stay awake and write this post, enjoying the newly installed monstrous air conditioner.

First off, I must comment on my new job. As in the previous post, I'm working as a Highway Drainage Engineer for the Mexico Lightbulb Corporation. This job is what you would expect from the title: I design structures to drain highway systems, namely culverts and pipes. Starting a new job is a stressful, but fun, experience. This week I've been learning some new computer programs (HY8, MicroStation, InRoads) and reading design manuals. The difference between academia and professional life is design manuals. Design specifications change every few years, so keeping up with the current (or what was current when a project was going on) specs will be fun. I think I am really going to enjoy my career. I'm not sure if I'll be with MLC for life, but so far, I've really enjoyed what I've learned and done. Plus, my colleagues are a fun group, too.

On an equally important note, as of today I have an official closing date for my new house. Friday, May 29, 2009. This is when I can move into my new place.

And now I am very, very tired and must retire. This was going to be just one post, but I fear I must split it. I wish you all a wonderful evening/noon/night.

It All Happened So Fast

Really, really fast. Let's review everything that has been going on here within the past fortnight.

1. School ended. Thus, final exam period.
2. House searching. Thus, looking for the perfect home.
3. Graduation happened. Thus, I graduated with my Masters!
4. House purchased. Thus, I bought a house!!
5. Job started. Thus, I started my job (today, actually).
6. Interim housing. More later for this.
7. Paperwork Paperwork Paperwork...
8. GIS project finished. Mostly.

It's been really hectic. I cut off cable & internet back in my apartment in Louisville at some point in the past week, and so I've been unable to get online until yesterday (see #6), where I have been presently relocated with the folks until I get my new house (see #4). Technically, the closing date for my new home is scheduled around June 3, but no one is living in it, so it could be quicker. As a first time home buyer, it's been very stressful. And then there's the job. I've decided to leave my employer's name ambiguous for several reasons, so let's just call them something. Stanley? Nah. Eduardo? No. It is in engineering firm, so it shouldn't be too over the top. How about the Mexico Lightbulb Corporation, or MLC for short? Sounds good to me, too. Okay. So, anyway, I started working for MLC (ahem) today, and my boss told me I was already 3 weeks behind! This I take with a nod, all in a strong and certain stride, because I know it to be probably true. There is a lot of work to do. And what is it I do exactly? Well, since today was my first day, refer to #7 in the above list. My official job title is Highway Drainage Engineer, which means that I am in charge of ensuring that highway projects drain correctly. In that, I design pipes, culverts, channels, etc to fit the Kentucky design specs and regulations. Use of many computer programs is essential to the adequate design of the drainage structures. And to top everything off, while moving from Louisville to home, I left the book that I am reading in my apartment. Needless to say, this is very unfortunate. Even more needless to say, my mind is fracturing and things are blending together. I am very tired. You'll be informed as I am informed. Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Yes, I used fortnight in the introduction part of this post; don't be too jealous.

John Henry and the Old North Wind

This is my cover of "John Henry and the Old North Wind," from Joe Purdy's hauntingly beautiful album Canyon Joe. I don't give the original version any justice, but I like the song. Hope it works, and I hope you enjoy.



Egads!

The Transition

I'm currently in between epochs in my life. The great era that was college is officially over, with finals finally out of the way. May 11, two Mondays from now, is my official start date at the engineering firm I'll be working at.

While in the transition, I have a few loose ends to wrap up (the GIS/Stream research project, packing, etc) and a few more friends to say farewell to. I've made some really good friends while being a student, but we must all go our separate ways now. I'm reminded of the concluding sentence of the Great Gatsby: "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." We're all just boats, floating on the sea of life. Sometimes we cruise. Sometimes we trolley. Sometimes we even sink. But, typically, I think we just float. We float to the ebbs and wanes of life. When the wind blows, we're blown along with it.

And then, ultimately, the boat will reach the distant shore. We may think we landed in America, but ended up in Cuba. We may think the natives will be hostile, but they instead teach us to cultivate corn. We may think our friends will be there, to find that we are alone. The point is, the future is uncertain. We can plan for anything, but a kink can cause things to work differently.

For instance, I have a job on the horizon now. I have a house in the future to get into. Kids are to be expected in the next couple of years. I have plans, and I am excited about them. To be out on the open waters of life, floating towards my fate, is a thrilling mindset. Slightly anxious, but mostly hopeful and excited, I look forward to all that life brings me. I look forward to the new land I will find.

This frame of mind is one I am proud of. I am eternally an optimist. I see the sunshine on the horizon, even though it's currently storming. I may grapple with uncertainty for a small time, but once I make my mind up, I stick with it. I guess you could say that I'm loyal to what I get involved with. Nevertheless, I don't let the times of transition anchor me down.

In conclusion, the current phase of my life is an exciting one. I can see the smiling, curious faces of Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, Leif Ericson, or Neil Armstrong as they are going towards the unknown. They certainly must have faced fear and doubt, but they pressed on, becoming some of the world's most famous explorers. And I, too, travel down a new passage, looking forward to the approaching horizon. I'll treasure my memories and friends from college, but I am excited for my future, too.

Official OFFICIAL Job Offer

I'm so excited. I finally got my official job offer. I've already had a verbal offer, but now it's in writing!

Praise the good Lord Jesus!

I'm too excited.

Up Next: Housing.

American Gods, A Reflection

I've just finished reading Neil Gaiman's American Gods. The book leaves me thinking many things.  This post may contain some slight spoilery.

1. I'm really not sure whether or not I fully understood the book. Some things were explained, others were left up to the imagination. This is fine by me. But what did I glean from the novel? What was the theme? From what I gather, gods need people to believe in them, or they cease to exist. More important is the life of America. Does America change so much, growing in culture and mythos, that it forgets long-forgotten beings?

2. I really liked the style of writing. I felt like I was thrown into a meta-stream-of-conscience/third-person novel. Sure, I was lost on occasion, but I was always intrigued.

3. The fact that I did not, do not, completely understand the book gives me mixed feelings. The concept of magic and mystique was vague, but implied, while grounded in the real world. I felt that this could be explained better or more fully, but Gaiman knows what he's doing.

4. The allusions: there were many, many allusions and references to pop culture and past culture. Several sites, towns, etc really exist here in America, making the novel fun. Also, I felt like many themes and ideas were connected to the Sandman comics, which I've posted on here. Too many to mention, in fact.

5. Mythology: I am a big fan of mythology and folklore. If I ever decided to continue my education, I think I would want to take classes in folklore, fairy tales, myths, and the like. With that, American Gods has extensive characters from many cultures and religions and beliefs from all over the world. I didn't know who some of the characters were supposed to be, but I liked them.

6. Denouement: The conclusion of the story was acceptable. There seemed to be one main plot, the fate of the gods, and a few subplots (Laura, Lakeside, identity), and all were resolved satisfactorily. Though, it did sadden me a bit that Shadow met Easter, while Laura did not.

7. Laura: This was the most confusing character in the book. Laura is Shadow's recently deceased wife. Why does she come back from the dead? How? There were many questions about Laura, but her character was important for the development of Shadow.

There you have it. Some meager reflections on Gaiman's novel. After finishing the book, I thought that it would make for an excellent movie, provided the director, writer, actors, and effects were up to the quality of the book.

The End is Nigh, The Beginning Imminent

School, that is, lecture and class, is officially over. Let's all pause and reflect on this for a moment.

Ah, okay. I've been a student for 14 consecutive semesters, since the Fall of 2004. It's been a long and winding road, one with many difficulties, but also with numerous joys. Now I have one final to take (which is next Wednesday, which I do not particularly care about) and then school, that is, in its entirety, is officially over.

Soon, I'll be graduating and starting a job. You see, yesterday I had an official interview with a company near home. The position is a Highway Drainage Engineer, which is related to my field of study. In the job I'll be working on hydraulic and hydrologic aspects of highway construction projects. At the conclusion of the interview, I was told to be expecting an offer within the next week. Let's all pause and thank God for a long moment.

Okay. Soon after my interview, my wife and I headed to see our realtor, who took us to look at a few houses. We found one that we both loved and immediately decided that that was the house for us.

Now, this brings up an interesting time table of events. If I get my job offer by next Thursday, I can meet with the bank on Friday to get pre-approved for a mortgage. Then, after I'm pre-approved, I can contact my realtor and put in an offer on the home. There are a million things going on simultaneously, and it's slightly stressful, but mostly fun.

On a completely different note, I read an interesting comic yesterday. Marvel Zombies. It's hard to describe it accurately, but basically the Marvel superheroes have all been infected and turned into zombies. Like all zombies, they hunger for flesh and brains. With that, it's a strange-but-humorous take on the heroes I grew up with. It was short and fun.

ArcGIS Final

This map is a research project I did for my final in ArcGIS. I think it's pretty simple, yet cool enough to look at and see. The most remarkable thing about this project is the fact that most of Jefferson County is some sort of impermeable surface, and of that imperviousness, 37% is subdivisions!

I think maps generated using the ArcMap software are pretty remarkable. Flashy, stylish, and simple, they look like they belong in textbooks. I really enjoy this class.

Let me know if you have any questions.

It's a marvelous night for a moondance.

Stream Restoration

My posting has been sporadic here of late. I've been swamped, trying to finish everything I can for school before it's technically due. And, in fact, I have succeeded in that. I've only one large project to go, Advanced Hydrology, a graduate Capstone presentation to a review panel, and a few other presentations to give. Thus, practically all of my actual work is finished for the semester. Now I just have to present this stuff.

So, with that, I have volunteered to do some GIS work for the Stream Institute at the University of Louisville. The Stream Institute is a group that works with stream restoration and wetland development throughout Kentucky, and also some other states. I am in the class currently. Ultimately the goal is to restore a man-made stream into something natural looking. Doing this will lower shear stresses throughout the channel, thus reducing erosion and flooding only things that are meant to be flooded.

The project I'm doing actually sounds pretty cool. I have 60 digital aerial photos of the stream that is being researched. These images are circa 1970 and black & white. I am to import them into ArcMap, georeference them, and process them. Then, I am to import topo maps and compare the stream's position to the topo maps. Finally, I am to bring in current (2006) aerial photography and compare the stream.

Imagine a jigsaw puzzle. The black & white photos are the pieces. I have a topo map that serves as the box cover, letting me know what my goal is to look like. I am working with a mostly urban landscape. However, in the 70s it wasn't as urbanized. For me, I get to see, literally, how the land changed in 30 years.

The difficult part is actually finding where the pieces go. See, the topo map includes the entire county, and some of the neighboring county. The images may not all go adjacent, and most definitely will not fill the county. It's like having 60 jigsaw pieces to a 200 piece puzzle.

Once I get everything imported and processed, I'm essentially done. By learning how much a stream has moved over a given time, we can calculate how much sediment was deposited. I don't fully understand the rationale, but sediment deposits are officially counted as a pollutant.

It really is dramatic to see how much a stream has changed over the course of time. A well-intentioned farmer 10 miles downstream may have straightened out a channel to keep his farmland from flooding. Straightening a channel is never natural. In doing so, a headcut develops (usually) and works its way upstream, tearing through the soil like any normal person going through a Dairy Queen blizzard. The headcut is a destructive force in the stream, and can only be stopped with the appropriate amount of pool and riffle sequences, or if the headcut meets a culvert, etc.

Overall, the project seems like it will be interesting. I'm trying to finish as quickly as possible, but it seems like it'll take a while. On a related note, the 60 images were .TIFF files, huge image files that took up around 5 gigs. A friend recommended using irfanview to convert these .TIFFs to .JPEGs. I brought 5 gigs down to just over 700 megs, keeping the same quality and functionality. If you have image files, movie files, or sound files you need to convert, you should check it out.

I read the news today, oh boy, about a lucky man who made the grade...

The Funniest Video I've Ever Watched

I typically don't post twice in one day, but I just had to share.

This is guaranteed to make you laugh. I guarantee it. It's funny the entire 9 minutes. Enjoy, and share.

Advanced Hydrology Term Project

For Advanced Hydrology we were given a semester project to work on. A big, long one that will require a lot of our time to do. In addition to the project, we have to create a presentation and write a fancy report. As a term project, you would expect us to have the entire term to be working on it, but, unfortunately that is not the case for Advanced Hydrology. We got the project on Monday. That's seven-days-until-the-end-of-the-semester Monday. Allow me to explain through question 1.

<----+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+----->

Note: The first order Markov Model (order p=1) for Normally distributed flows can be expressed as: Xi,j+1=ux,j+1+px,j(1)*(sx,j+1/sx,j)*(Xi,j-ux,j)+tx,j+1*sx,j+1*sqrt(1-(px,j(1)^2)

Using both monthly flows Xi,j and Zi,j series at the streamflow gauging site:

i. Plot the time series

ii. Compute basic statistics like the mean, standard deviation, coefficient of skew and correlation coefficients between monthly flows. Note: This step will require the use monthly flows grouped by month like January together etc for series.

iii. Compute the auto-correlogram of the Zi,j series for a maximum of 12 lags of the time series treating it as a stationary series with no periodicity. Note: This step will treat the monthly flows as one combined time series. Hence the lags are accomplished by simply lagging the series by 1,2,3...12 times. Compare and comment on the differences between the auto-correlation for different lags from 1,2...12 with thos obtained for each month in Step (ii) above.

iv. Use the monthly correlation coefficient matrix from Step (i) to identify the order p for the Auto Regressive (AR) model both series.

v. Write out the complete format for the Autoregressive model to give Xi,j and Zi,j as a function of previous values of {Xi,j-1,Xi,j-2,...} or {Zi,j-1,Zi,j-2....} and other required components. This will look like the Markov Model (Eq. 15.17 which is for order 1, page 378 with additional lags if needed (see secion on Higher order Autoregressive models on page 379-380 equation 15.20 and 15.21, text). Note: If you have more than one order 1-R^2 term in Eq. 15.21 will be (1-p(1)^2-p(2)^2...)

<----+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+----->

Everything above is typed as it appears on my sheet. The boldface is boldfaced. The typos are typo-d. Is it just me, or does reading through that stuff make your head hurt? I'm in a hydrology class, not an advanced statistics class. This entire semester has been statistics, statistics, probability, and more statistics. The only thing that makes it hydrologically related is the fact that we use streamflow data for our data to run statistical models on.

The ironic thing is I kind of enjoyed some of the statistical methods back at the beginning of the class. When we were running simple regression and analysis. Generating hypothesis tests. And then we got in to this weird, higher order stuff, and the entire class lost it.

Ah, well. I guess I'm supposed to complain. All students do, right? I've made it this long, with just o'er a week to go until school is done, so I can handle it. Once I get through question 1, I'll have question 2 to worry about.

Until then, I'll just keep on a chooglin.

Update + Dr. Horrible

Life has been extremely hectic these past few days. School is wrapping up, very quickly, and projects are coming to a close almost too fast for my comfort. I've been swamped, to be blunt. Also, I'm still looking for a job (but hopefully for not much longer) and a home for when school is over.

Even with all the commotion and the hustle and bustle, I still find myself relishing the fact that school will be over very soon. Less than one month and I will have my Masters degree in Civil & Environmental engineering and then I shall be finished for the time being. That means I won't have homework when I'm home. That means I won't have to study. That means that I'll not have to sit through more lectures.

With that, I'll be brief. I listen to music all the time, especially when I'm studying. Also, I'm a fan of hulu, even if they're plotting to take over the world. I found that Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog was available for a full view. Sure, I've purchased the phenomenal experience on iTunes and have it on my iPod, but it just seems easier to view it on hulu.

Anyway, for those of you that have never heard of the show, or if you've heard but never watched it, I highly endorse and recommend it. Basically, it was created during the writers strike last year, made by the Whedon clan to prove a point, and the result was simply amazing. So amazing that TIME magazine called it the 15th best invention of 2008. It won numerous awards and has a fanbase in the trillions. (Okay, obviously not that high, but still a huge one, I'll wager.)

So feel free to watch and enjoy the hit. It's only 43 minutes. And it's definitely worth every second. Take care, folks. And wish me luck.

You Tube + Radiohead

It's hard to think back when You Tube wasn't around. I'm not a fanatic, heck, I'm not even addicted. But I do think that it's a great tool for finding videos or watching videos or seeing cute puppies and kitties or watching young artists do original pieces or many other things. That said, I've recently been on a Radiohead kick. Maybe it's because of my friend William. Or maybe it's because 15 Step stays in my head all the time.

Whatever the case may be, I do like listening to Radiohead. What I've found is that people are either Radiohead fans, they're indifferent, or they loathe the group. For me, I love them. When they started they were completely original and unique. Still, they're sound is definitely their sound, but there are others that put me in mind of them (MUSE, for example). With that, I'll post some great videos here by the band.

Karma Police
Just
Creep
House of Cards
Paranoid Android (A Radiohead song, but this is done using Mario Paint, which is quite awesome)

Unfortunately, You Tube does not allow me to embed these videos. I'm not sure why, but I can't. Sorry. Have a great night, folks.

Bad Days

Some days, I am sure, I am only going to fail. Those days--the Bad Days--are the days that leave me feeling hollow, contemplative, wondering exactly why I am the way I am. Is there a conspiracy against me, or am I truly stupid for the day? Usually I am a thinker, that is I like to think well ahead before speaking; I truly believe the tongue is a beast unable to be broken. On those days, days like today, I screw up and the world screws up around me. I make a list of things to do for the day, early in the morning, and I accomplish two out of the ten, and those were the easy ones, like make a pot of tea and do the dishes. And then, somehow, I wind up being stupid and feelings get hurt and then nothing productive happens for a while, which is okay, but stressful. And then things are going good, but I open my mouth and say something and feelings get hurt and still nothing productive happens. We go and grill out, which is great, cause it's nice feeling outside, and we are visited by a self-proclaimed hobo. The man, Lee, had just been kicked off a train and was walking around when he said he could smell our food, which he asks if he can have or buy a burger off of us. We give him two, but we have no buns with us outside, but he's thankful. Tells us about his travels and all he has on him is a light jacket and a plastic bag full of odds and ends. And then supper's all done and we bid Lee a good night, head in and eat with some old friends and talk about times back in the dorms, back when we lived on the 4th floor of Threlkeld. We talked about the time a water balloon was dropped and hit that man in a suit. We talked about blowing up water bottles in the microwave. We talked about filling a room with somewhere around thirty life-size cut-outs of ARMY men. But still nothing productive. Me and Keisha leave and go get gas, which is productive, but not in the sense I need to be productive. We get home and I sit down, here, still contemplative. See, I'm an engineer, and so I think about things differently than the layman. I want to do things efficiently and productively, I like to budget and plan, and these things lead me to being less stressed. I like spontaneity, sure, but just as long as I've made time for it. And my mind still thinks back to things said and actions done earlier, and I still feel slightly hollow, even if I'm full from the burgers. What do I have to show for the day? A gallon of tea and some clean dishes. That's it. I've got a billion projects to finish for school and homework to complete and papers to write, but I just don't have the motivation to do it. Instead, I find myself typing my thoughts here, on my blog, for no apparent reason but to put my mind onto paper, albeit an electronic pad. But who cares? I'm young, right, so I should do this kind of stuff. Stay up late and procrastinate. I hate procrastination, friends. I hate it with a passion. But I fear that I am one of the only ones left on this planet with that attitude.

Some days I just feel like a cynic. On the Bad Days, though, I feel like a ghost.

Lost Recap

This season of Lost has been very exciting for me. I've watched the show since it started, and I've loved it ever since. Sure the series has had its poor episodes, but there have been far more interesting and great episodes than otherwise.

Season 5 started out pretty rough, but it has consistently been very entertaining. With the survivors finally back on the Island, albeit in 1977, things are getting very interesting. We finally see some of the history of the Island being explained, especially between the Hostiles and the Dharma folk. The mystery of the Island is still very much alive, constantly growing.

The last episode, "Whatever Happened, Happened," was one of my favorites of this season. Although it was a Kate-centric episode, and I'm not a fan of Kate, everything that was going on On Island was pure entertainment. The flashbacks served to provide some insight to Kate's On Island actions, which currently is to save Young Benjamin Linus from a gunshot wound. Ben was dying, and Juliet requested for Jack to help her, but Jack's pride prohibited him from helping. As such, Jack's inaction led Kate to taking Ben to the Hostiles for help. While there, Richard Alpert warned Kate (and Sawyer) that by helping Ben he would be forever changed. He would lose his innocence. Kate and Sawyer agreed, and Ben was carried off into the Temple by Alpert.

The next scene was beautiful. The Old Ben wakes up from his injuries and comes face to face with John Locke, the very man Ben murdered. Locke says, in his kindly voice, "Hello Ben. Welcome back to the land of the living." The episode ends, and we are given a preview to next week's episode, which looks like it may be one of the greatest of the shows history.

Lost is such a great show for many different reasons. I love the allusions to pop culture, to literary classics, to philosophers, to mythology, and to religion. The mystery of the Island perpetuates the shows success, but also the mystery of the characters. Each person has their own story and their own mistakes, and the Island forces the person to make choices. Have faith and change, or stick with logic and remain unchanged. These ideas, while not original, are still fun and entertaining.

For an excellent blog to read on Lost, which is updated weekly, check out this site. These guys blog about all different sorts of things on television, but I particularly like what is said about Lost every week. For a wiki site of Lost, which I find myself referencing quite often, I recommend checking out this site.

As I've said, I am really enjoying this season of Lost. It's not as intriguing as the first season, but it still is top quality television, unlike Heroes, which seems to be taking a turn for the worse.

Comics You (Really) Should Read [Conclusion]

The final comic/graphic novel that you (really) should read is Blankets, written and illustrated by Craig Thompson. Blankets is a memoir, and as such it tells the story of the authors early childhood, growing up in a Christian home and coming to terms with himself, God, and his first love. I read this novel a few months ago, but I still remember a lot of the story contained therein. In fact, Time magazine has listed Blankets as one of the ten greatest graphic novels of all time.

Part of the reason I liked this book so much is the fact that it is real. It's raw. It's something that I easily related to. Thompson has a brother close in age, I have a brother close in age. Thompson grew up in a Christian home, I grew up in a Christian home. Thompson wasn't the cool kid at school, neither was I. We've done things differently in our lives, and I would not have done the same things he did, but I easily related to the story.

The art was also simple. Beautiful. Real. There were no spandex super heroes or any mystical gods, just simple, normal folks. And that was refreshing. To read something so personal, something by someone with questions and without definite answers. It was a great trip, journeying with Thompson and his life.

I typically am a fiction reader, but this was different. I don't think I would have enjoyed the story had it been a novel, but as an illustrated novel (i.e. graphic novel) the pages were richer and more enlightening. I highly recommend Blankets to you. Yes, you. Why you, you may think? Because I know you have questions about life, you have thoughts about things that Thompson has, and you've never read anything like it. You may have some of the same fears Thompson has. You may have a similar first love experience. Whatever the case, this graphic novel is wonderful.

************

There you have it, three comics that you (really) should read. You can find Sandman in TPB form, or in the Absolute forms, but these are very expensive. My library had them, actually. Fables is also out in TPB, but there is also the monthly edition published. Blankets will be available at your nearest Borders, Barnes & Noble, or wherever you usually buy your books. If you typically do not read comics, but think that they are something you would enjoy, I easily recommend starting with these. These three represent some of the best out there, but there are plenty more.

Perhaps in the future I'll post more on some of my favorite comic classics, like Batman or Spiderman, but for now this is concluded. Enjoy these recommendations if you decide to read them.