On Minesweeper and Logic

I’m a fan of Minesweeper.  It’s really a pretty simple, logical game.  You get a grid of squares, you click on a square and a number, n, is revealed.  That number means there are n bombs touching that square.  For example, if you click and a 2 is revealed, then 2 of the surrounding 8 squares are bombs.  The act of logical deduction is thus used and eventually the minefield is cleared.  The Microsoft bundled Minesweeper comes with three difficulties: Beginner (which has 10 mines), Intermediate (which has 40), and Expert (which has 99).

I’ve played Minesweeper since I was in high school, and I’ve always enjoyed the mathematical rules the game must obey.  Using a logical approach, with deductive reasoning, practically any game can be solved after the initial guessing is made.  I used to believe this, especially in the Beginner and Intermediate games, but after playing Expert for a while I am forced to admit it is no longer valid.  The image to the right clearly ignores all logical reasoning and the final game is reduced to luck.  The odds that the top square will have the mine is 50%, while the odds that the bottom square is the mine is also 50%.  How can I pick one of these over the other?  Where is the logic that I so dearly love?

Sadly, it is absent.  The logic completely breaks down at this point in the game, sending my brain into overload and frustration.  And when logic fails, it’s often a strange situation we find ourselves in.

Because I’m a nerd/geek, and because I love math & science, it’s pretty obvious that my brain is structured to think logically.  If A makes B happen every time, and B is always causing a C to occur, and C sometimes results in D happening, then it’s easy to see that A will logically lead to C, but A won’t always result in D.  This thinking method is how my brain functions.  It’s my comfort zone, the way I attempt to understand life and the things therein.

Unfortunately, as in Minesweeper, there are logical breakdowns in life.  These usually enter into play when uncontrolled emotions become involved.  As an artist, I believe artwork stems from passions, and these passions are connected to how we feel about things.  Our feelings shape who we are and how we’re perceived if we act on them.  If we don’t, then part of me thinks that we are denying our natural urges, but another part of me thinks that we should be able to restrain ourselves from acting.  We can’t be stoics…

Things done with moderation are a good thing; they exercise control and give us a bit of liberty.  However, too much and we’re soon a slave to our desires, the freedom replaced with bondage.  For example, a little television is fine and perfectly accepted, but when you’re spending every waking, possible hour in front of the tube, then there is a problem.  Anything that becomes an obsession is never a good thing, in my opinion, as I think we should be free from anything that holds us down.

All of these things seem to breakdown life’s logic.  It does not make logical sense to spend 10 hours a day watching TV if you need to be doing something else.  It’s unhealthy and perceived as lazy, and I’m rather inclined to agree.  Furthermore, it doesn’t make sense to spend every possible moment with your nose in a book, either, for similar reasons (though reading doesn’t typically have the “lazy” stigma attached to it.)  It does not make sense to take a drug that you know has a chance of killing you, of giving you a terrible addiction.  While we may get pleasure from doing these things, doing them in excess is a bit of a logical failure in my eyes.

I guess it all can boil back to me being an engineer.  Like most people, production is a positive thing in life, and we feel good about ourselves getting things done.  However, as an engineer, I strongly feel that efficiency is as important.  Does it make more sense to spend one hour focused on study, accomplishing a great deal, and possibly even finishing the assignment or to procrastinate, put off studying until your favorite show is over and then stay up into the night, letting your synapses burn dry and your thoughts shrivel up?  I just don’t understand life.

By no means am I above it, and I am plagued by procrastination as much as the next lad/lass.  Typically I try to accomplish things efficiently for a while, but eventually I grow tired and want to do something else (like, say, pick up my guitar or sit down at the piano).  Like Brandon said on his blog the other day, persistence is key (okay, he didn’t say it like that, but that was the meaning.)  If we press on, disciplining ourselves against our whims and desires, then we’ll find that we’re more efficient, more productive, and more logical.

Logically, persistence is how we get into our obsessions anyway.  We form our routines, doing the same thing over and over, day in, day out, and eventually we’re a ‘slave to our selves.’  Some look at the root of problems by taking that first step, that first smoke, that first look, that first whatever.  If they hadn’t did it the first time, then they wouldn’t be in the shape their in.  While I partially can agree to this opinion, the second (and third…) step is equally impactful.  Those are the ones that form the addiction.  (I know there are things in life where one time is enough to start the addiction, but these don’t work in my allegory.)

So, if persistence is how we get into our messes, it’s also the way we get out of them.  Our bodies are weak, and we can change them if we desire it enough.  If we want it more than anything, if we set our goals on truly being liberated from everything in life, then we can change.  Through persistence and repetition, never giving up even when we fail, we can rise above this world and its logical breakdowns.  We, my friends, can be free.

Afterword:  Wow, this post morphed from my original idea.  Initially I wanted to talk about how our emotions can take control of us and lead us to acting differently, lead us to being illogical, but instead I went off on other things.  I have no idea how I got on the topic of obsessions and addictions, and it seems like I have procrastination posts a lot…  Oh, and if you’re wondering how my game of Minesweeper ended, just look at the cool little smiley face man with the sun glasses at the top of the picture beneath this paragraph (woah, that’s a lot of prepositional phrases).  Yep, I got lucky.

Midnight at the Oasis, or Energy Drinks and Other Jazz

I guess I have David Wagner to blame for my current predicament. See, he’s mentioned it a few times before that he likes to drink a Monster energy drink poured over ice, which I thought was rather brilliant. Why had I never thought of anything like that before? And how much different is Monster from Diet Mt. Dew?

So I decided yesterday on my way to work, at my normal Texaco pit stop, to buy an energy drink and a cup of ice. Instead of the crazy expensive energy drinks, I focused on a $.99 one, which led me to buying two. Getting to work, pouring my drinks in ice, I couldn’t help but feel excited.

I greedily drank the first one, my mouth exploding with the rich, sweet taste of caffeine and sugar. “Egads!” I shouted, “David was right.” Before lunch had arrived, I had consumed 32oz of a high-caffeine energy drink on ice. Like 99.83% of all other energy drinks, I find their taste a mixture between pixie sticks and Sprite, thus, enjoyable. (It’s actually an odd set of descriptors. A Pixie is a fairy creature, as is a Sprite, though I don’t actually mean the energy drink tastes like fairy sticks and a fairy. Just an interesting observation.)

Nevertheless, this consumption was not without problem. Apparently caffeine makes little boys wanna go tinkle, and so I found myself in the restroom five times within four hours. I’m not sure how my bladder had so much liquid, unless the energy drink actually set up a Logan-to-Liquid factory inside me.

Of course, as I am sitting here at my desk, a new day presents itself to me. Of course, on my to work I made my mostly-typical pit stop. Of course I decided to buy a cup of ice and another energy drink.

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

Yesterday I found this pretty sweet article titled “Inland Seas Worth Seeing: The 10 Most Amazing Lakes.” The environmental engineer inside of me was intrigued, and I decided to take a gander at these so called amazing lakes.

It was pretty unbelievable that such beautiful lakes existed on our often depicted ugly world. The pictures were, indeed, amazing. Jellyfish Lake, Palau, was featured on Survivor or something, but it looks pretty cool. I really, really liked the otherworldliness of Mono Lake, California, a hypersaline lake in our great USA. The color-changing Diego de la Haya of Costa Rica has some awesome pictures, too, as does the Dead Sea in Israel. Yes, friends, if you want to be amazed at some beautiful scenes our planet can give, check out the link provided.

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

Our perfect puppy, Stella, made like a debutante this week, and we introduced her to a large society of fellow captured and tamed beasts. That’s right, Pet Smart was hosting a Halloween costume contest for pets, a puppy parade, and a free photo of your dog, in addition to a million coupons and free goodies. So Keisha made Stella a ballerina outfit, complete with a pink tutu, a pink feather boa, and a baby’s white tee-shirt, and we took our fluffy puppy out to see the world.

She’s been out a few times, but never with this many pets. There were dogs of all types and size, from a St. Bernard to a tiny Chihuahua. There was even a ferret on a leash. Anyway, Stella did remarkably good in the dog’s company, and she didn’t really get too agitated or anything. While she didn’t win the contest, she did get a lot of free goodies, which I’m sure is okay with her.

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

Tonight I am going to try my hand at a new desert/snack: Sweet-Roasted Rosemary Acorn Squash Wedges. You can find pictures (they look fantastic) and the recipe here. Hopefully mine turns out as good as these, and if so, I plan to have them finished around the time Keisha gets home from classes as a surprise.
It’s going to be a busy day. Clean, cook, watch Flash Forward, 30 Rock, and The Office, and possibly even Project Runway.

**********

Finally, yesterday was a very enjoyable day. Sure, I had a stomach ache, but that’s okay. Other than that, I got to hang out with a friend from high school. We had enough daylight after work to play 17 holes of disc golf, and we both shot really good. We then went to Stewartland and played a game of chess. (And man was it fun. It’s been so long since I’ve actually played real chess with someone that I forgot how much I enjoy the game.) Sadly, we ended in a stalemate, though technically I had my king and a pawn and he had just his king… Then we got out my book of Sunday crossword puzzles from the New York Times, the ridiculously difficult ones, and proceeded to almost completely solve one puzzle in around 2 hours or so. All in all, an enjoyable evening.

***********

This post has been all over the place, filled with ************ as my only transition between ideas. I know, you may think ********* is not an appropriate transition, but it works fine with me. Really, I’m not kidding. It does. Mostly. Ok, ok, I apologize for the gratuitous use of ************, it’s not like I didn’t try, but ******* just kept coming and I couldn’t stop it. (I’ve had a lot of caffeine already today, and I’ve only been awake for one hour and forty-seven minutes. Looks like it’ll be another good one.)

Writing Wednesdays: The American Dreamer 1.3

Part 4 of "The American Dreamer." The previous parts are linked appropriately, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. Also, I'm trying to keep these posts around 1200 words for the story sections. Do you all think that is too much or not enough? (My typical non-Wednesday posts are around 600-900 words, usually in the low end unless I'm musing...) Thanks for any feedback or criticism.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Jimmy McNayre

I went to check on Hank a few times while he was out. Dr. Stovaugh said that he didn’t appear to be making any progress, but he also said that he didn’t appear to be getting worse, either. Ten days passed and Hank still had not recovered. Understandably, his parents were devastated. Mt. Easter was in an uproar over the incident, but there was no proof leading to who had attacked Hank. Anyone with a pair of eyes and a beating heart could tell who had attacked him, but what could we do about it? One day I approached Jesse Stevens during our lunch hour. I told him flat out that I knew it was him and that he was gonna pay for what he did. I intended to punch him in the face or kick him in the knee, but instead I just leered at him for a long, silent moment. I let all of my animosity out in that stare, daring him to do something about it. He soon was shamed and looked away, like a dog does when it knows it’s done something wrong. I whispered it into Hank’s ear that afternoon when I went to see him. It would be our little secret. We weren’t best friends, but we were friends, and friends stick up for each other.

Narrator

I started collecting these statements about Hank at an early age, back when we were both much younger. At the time I was simply curious. In the early years I would pose as a Government Worker, asking my questions. When I could, I’d get updates from my informants, but that didn’t happen as much as I’d wanted. First I would start out broad, getting general information about the Tasla family, and then I would hone in and ask about Hank. After he left Mt. Easter this became much more difficult to accomplish.

Hank

The whole thing is strangely familiar to me. I appear to be in a holding cell, likely deep beneath the earth, judging by the musty smell and the cool walls. While it is cold and dark, it’s not from the lack of light and warmth. There are glowing orange wires of some sort, running all along the cracks of where the stone walls meet the ceiling. They are my soul companion. I am thankful for the light, but the heat just leaves me desiring more. I can hear nothing outside the door but for the occasional sounds of shooting sparks.

I have no idea how long I’ve been down here, nor do I know what they want with me. So I sit here and think on my life. It could be summed up in three words: Loss. Pain. Empty. All I have are these scraps of a life, half-filled memories of different people, different times, different worlds.

The door swings open and in walks the small man with the mustache. “Hello, Hank. I’m glad you’ve woken up.” He waits for me to respond, so I grunt. “If you would come with me I would like to try and help you.” I have nothing to lose.

The corridor is mostly an extension of the cell. Instead of wires lining just the top of the wall, there are wires also along the middle and bottom. Apparently three lines of wires produces much more heat than one set. I can hear water flowing somewhere.

The man leads me down a flight of stone stairs and into another room. “Watch your eyes,” he says as he opens the door. This room is completely different than the last. Bright orbs of light hang from the ceiling, showering the room in complete white. The sudden transition causes me to stagger for a moment. When my vision returns I notice several sets of wires along the walls, floors, and ceiling, all glowing dull orange. The heat in the room is nearly unbearable.

Near the back of the room are a desk and two chairs. He leads me there, offering me a seat. “Hank Tasla,” he states simply. What am I supposed to say? I nod. He picks up a large manila folder. I can see many sheets of neat, lined paper inside. I see the name HANK TASLA printed neatly as he holds up the folder.

“This is my greatest achievement, Hank, but also my biggest blunder. When I first met you, you were malnourished and gravely ill, barely a weaned babe. I was in Budapest, preparing to travel to France when I found you.” He paused, sitting the folder down and flipping it open. “Things are not easy for me to explain, and my tale is not one with glory, but I shall do my best to make sense to you. I owe it to you.”

I nod, once again confused. What is this man talking about? “Hank, I imagine you must feel lost and broken, like your mind’s been thrown into a centrifuge and mixed about. Sadly, that is one of the side effects of my test. But I have found ways to counterbalance the memory loss. Memory, it turns out, is just another type of energy, one that I’m particularly interested in.”

The man leaned across the desk and looked into my eyes. “Hank, if you’ll give me the chance to help you, I believe that I can make you better.” I take him at his word.

Narrator

The boy lay in his coma for a total of one hundred and seventy-two days. The remarkable thing was that it actually lasted that long. Initially he was swollen and dark blue. Several of his ribs were likely bruised, but he had no broken bones. His cuts and gashes were sewn up and stitched, and the swelling dwindled. Still the boy did not wake up. His body was eventually moved back to his home where Mr. & Mrs. Tasla could see to him. Ella still came by and visited, fiercely loyal to her dear friend. Pastor Andrew stopped by several times a month to check on the family and to pray with them.

The Tasla’s were grieved over their son’s dead-but-alive state. They couldn’t understand why someone would do something to their little angel. They considered uprooting and moving the family from Mt. Easter, but discarded the idea pretty quickly. Instead they chose to write letters to friends and family, encouraging them to move to the town, to settle and help the place grow.

As it happened, many of their friends and relatives decided to take the Tasla’s up on their offer and moved to the growing town. New shops and businesses opened up during the course of that summer and fall, and soon Mt. Easter began attracting more folks. By November of 1882 the population in Mt. Easter had risen by thirty-five per cent, and the Tasla’s were no longer the only family of color in the town.

As the town grew, so did my list of spies, each ignorant of the other’s existence. Life in the town continued on. Well, for everyone except for Hank Tasla, who was with me at the time.

RIP IV Challenge Update and a PSA

I signed up for the R.I.P. IV (Readers Imbibing Peril) Challenge back a few months ago. The challenge is, essentially, to read eerie fiction (mystery, suspense, thriller, dark fantasy, gothic, horror, and supernatural) and to have fun while doing so, and also to share that fun. I chose to participate in the Short Story challenge. So, without further ado, I give you my thoughts.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth, by H.P. Lovecraft

Innsmouth, MA is a fishing town that was once large and prosperous, but over the years it has fallen on hard times. The unnamed narrator (who from later notes by Lovecraft turns out to be Robert Olmstead) is telling the story of his travelling and touring of New England, in particular his time in Innsmouth. Outsiders caution the narrator against going to the shambling town, saying how some people have disappeared and how the Innsmouth folk don’t take kind to strangers. Against his own judgment, the narrator decides to go on a daytrip.

As he arrives in the dilapidated town, he immediately notices the horrible smell of fish and ruin. The people he sees all have a peculiar look and gait about them. The antique architecture is strange, and something eerie seems to be going on.

I enjoyed The Shadow Over Innsmouth. The tale was spooky enough to have my pulse race a bit faster than normal. As the story progressed I became more engrossed in the tale and history of Innsmouth, especially when Zadok began to give the history to the narrator. If you can get past the wordy introduction to the story, this tale is truly eerie. By the end, you’re left with haunting images in your mind and a dreadful stench in your nostrils.

Dagon, by H.P. Lovecraft

This story is much shorter than the previous one, but they are related to one another. This tale is told in a similar fashion, by an unnamed narrator recalling an incident by being stranded on a lifeboat in the ocean. While he’s at sea he witnesses something that leaves him haunted and terrified.

This story was a quick read, but the impact was strong and felt. The last few paragraphs are shocking, and as I finished I blankly thought about what had just happened. I can’t say much, but if you want to read a quick-paced, psychological-paranormal horror tale, Dagon is it.

Together, these two tales examine the impact on the psyche, and the "madness" that ensued was quite believable. These stories by Lovecraft have given me a taste of what the Master of Horror is capable of, and I'm sure I'll read more Lovecraft in the days to come.

And now, here's a Public Service Announcement from around 1979. (Apparently there are a slew of these sorts of PSA's, but I've never seen any.) Enjoy. Writing Wednesday's tomorrow...

Y: The Last Man, Full Series Review

Vertigo comics ran Y: The Last Man from 2002 to 2008. Consisting of 60 issues, these comics deal with a world devoid of all men except for one, Yorick Brown. Even more, every mammal on the planet with a Y chromosome dies except for Yorick and his pet monkey, Ampersand. This series attempts to looks at what life would potentially be like on Earth if a catastrophe killed off all men.

I read this series rather quickly, checking out all ten volumes from my local library. The first four volumes, Unmanned, Cycles, One Small Step, and Safeword were phenomenal. The artwork is simple and not overly impressive, but the story is amazing. From the opening scenes of issue #1 I was hooked. It’s unsettling to watch half of the world’s population suddenly die, and the survivors reactions were heartfelt and real.

Yorick Brown, an escape artist, is on the phone with his girlfriend, Beth, who is overseas on an anthropological trip in Australia, when the plague hits. Immediately the phone lines are disconnected and Yorick is left, alive and alone, in a world absent of men.

He and Ampersand set out on a journey (like so many stories do) to make their way to Australia and find Beth, but things go awry on the way. The Daughters of the Amazon are a fierce group of empowered women that wreak havoc on all, especially when they hear of a surviving man.

The plot of Y is epic in magnitude, spanning almost five years and five continents from issue #1 to issue #60. Surviving in a man-less world is full of challenges, and it’s amazing to see how people cope with the loss. The mystery of why Man was wiped off propels the plot, and why Yorick and Ampersand survived is a great plot device. All in all, the overall plot was great, even if some of the minor story arcs weren’t fantastic.

The real beauty of Y: The Last Man is the characters involved. Yorick’s group of travelers—Ampersand, Dr. Allison Mann, and Agent 355 namely—are all looking for a way to restore Man back to the Earth. I found myself attached to these characters, and their love and care for each other was palpable on every page. The supporting characters are all interesting and worth investment, too. But Yorick Brown was the true character who captured my heart. His survivor’s guilt is understandable, his failures are more than his triumphs, and his change is character is great to observe.

The middle issues (Ring of Truth, Girl on Girl, Paper Dolls, Kimono Dragons) fail to offer the same amount of excitement and curiosity as the other volumes, but the bits of story they do add are insightful to the characters. The penultimate issue, Motherlands, kicks the story back up a notch, and things get interesting really fast. By the climax of the series in Volume 10, Whys and Wherefores, I was blown away. In fact, I’d go as far to say that the entire series was worth the read if only for the brilliant ending, especially the “Epilogue.”

When I closed the final pages of Y, I felt strongly for Yorick and the trials he had endured. His life was chaotic, going from a 22 year old young man into a world thrown into all out craziness. The writing was solid (mostly) and the characters were well defined, but I expected this from the Vertigo team. I think I would consider adding Y: The Last Man to the list of “Comics/Graphic Novels You Really Should Read” posts (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3), but it’s not my favorite story arc.

In the end, Y: The Last Man was a great comic series that posed some excellent, thought-provoking questions and I can easily recommend it for both men and women. The series is serious, but there are several laugh out loud moments as well. While the comics are definitely for a mature audience (there’s plenty of language, sexuality, and violence), they were brilliant. So, if you’re looking for a graphic novel series to read (and you’ve already read the ones I recommended in the linked posts above), why not try Y: The Last Man? I enjoyed it, and it gets my recommendation.

The Bells, by Edgar Allen Poe

This is one of my favorite Poe poems.  I feel like sharing it, since it’s the season for Poe.  I like the way this poem flows and the feelings it gives.  It’s definitely better to read aloud, which I recommend you do.  Above all, enjoy.

I
Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II
Hear the mellow wedding bells -
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! -how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III
Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

 
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells -
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people -ah, the people -
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone -
They are neither man nor woman -
They are neither brute nor human -
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells,
Of the bells -
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells -
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells -
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Cheesecake (again), and a Few Other Things

Where to start?  Last night I decided to attempt another cheesecake experiment, this time choosing to make a pumpkin cheesecake for Autumn.  This one was much simpler than the dark chocolate one, and so it didn’t take me as long.  In the end, the cake came out not as pretty as I’d hoped for, but not bad looking either.  The overall taste was great.  Smooth, sweet, and pumpkiny.  I didn’t like the softness of the crust, and if I choose to make this recipe again I’d probably bake the crust a little longer.  But the recipe was easy to follow and the results were definitely worth it.

[Windows—Virtual Memory Minimum Too Low.  Your system is low on virtual memory.  Windows is increasing the size of your virtual memory paging file.  During this process, memory requests for some applications may be denied.  For more information…]

So.  Yeah.  Halloween’s just 15 days away.  We’re having a Halloween party at Stewartland this year.  Our neighborhood has almost a trillion kids in it, and on our street alone there are 65 (and our street’s not very long!)  So Halloween should be fun.  I’m thinking I may wear my awesome mullet again…

I decided to jump on the bandwagon with David and Crystal.  I’ve been toying with the idea for a while, but finally the inner author in me decided to take a dive.  I signed up for the NaNoWriMo challenge, which is a challenge to write and finish a 50,000 word (or more) novel during the month of November.  You can find more information about this by following the badge/link on the sidebar.

My step-dad’s having surgery today.  Back several months ago he was helping his dad cut some limbs out of a tree and he fell.  I think it was around 17ft or so up in the air.  He’s really lucky to not have more damage than he does, but he does have a lot of damage (crushed bones and the like in much of the right side). 

Speaking of lucky, check out this video of a six-month old baby surviving being hit by a train.  Apparently his stroller rolled down a ramp just as a train was heading into station and was hit.  His mother rushed to get the stroller and the train crashed into it as she was reaching for it.  Thankfully no one was hurt.

Oh, it looks like Joe Abercrombie will be shelved slightly longer than I thought.  I forgot that I have a library book to read (the next volume of The Fate of the Jedi series), but after that I’ll jump on The Last Argument of Kings.

I guess if you’re wanting to read a shout-out to why Chewie is the best sidekick in the Sci-Fi realm, you can click on this link.  The article is actually pretty dead-on and quite funny, too.  I always liked Chewbacca much better than 3PO.  That’s about it for today.  Sorry.  Maybe better luck next time.  Reviews next week!

On Posting, Commenting, Google Reader, Diet Mt. Dew, Pat Rothfuss, Windows Live Writer, Previews, and Bad News

Two days ago I mentioned that I intended to post more about why I blog, expounding more on the history of this blog.  Since then, I remembered that I’ve posted about that once or twice in the past, and I feel that these are excellent posts if you’re wanting to know more about the Why and What of Rememorandom.  In fact, I don’t really have much more to offer to these past posts other than I enjoy the community and company of my fellow bloggers (both readers and posters). 

I’m a big fan of the commenting part of blogging.  I typically subscribe to comments via email and I enjoy reading the reactions of other folks, to see other opinions opined.  When I get comments here at my blog, I attempt to comment back, in part to let folks know I’ve read it, and in part to carry on a (slow and often short) conversation.  (It’s like email.  If someone sends me an email, I usually attempt to respond to let the sender know I received it and have read it.)

But I really like reading other blogs, too.  The blogosphere is a continually growing world, and there are so many I enjoy that I think I’d be lost without Google Reader.  It’s no secret that I love Google and it’s products (yes, I’ve been using Chrome as my browser for a few months), and naturally I use Reader to manage my subscriptions.  I’m not completely sure I’m sharing notes and stuff correctly with my Google Friends, but I’ve got the subscription thing down.  If you need help managing your many blogs you read, I’d recommend trying out Reader (if you don’t already).

There’s no easy way to transition from Google Reader into writing on Diet Mt. Dew.  On most mornings, on my way to work, I stop by a gas station and get a refill on my 44oz cup for $1.05.  This is a fair price for 44oz of delicious fountain-tapped Diet Mt. Dew.  My transition to the world of DIET soda was pretty smooth, and now I can honestly say I prefer the taste of DIET Coke (not Pepsi) and DIET Mt. Dew to their non-diet counterparts.

As most of you are probably aware, Pat Rothfuss has posted up on his blog a raffle for a chance to get your name into The Wise Man’s Fear.  It’s really a pretty simple, straight-forward process.  I’ll be mailing in my check and stuff within the week hopefully.  And if you don’t know who Pat Rothfuss is, please leave my blog immediately, go to Borders (or B&N or BAM or your local bookstore) and buy the paperback copy of The Name of the Wind.  Or, if you’re too lazy (or cheap), send me an email and I’ll mail you a copy.  I keep two or three paperback copies to give to unsuspecting folk…

Last week, Shellie suggested I try out Windows Live Writer, and I’m proud to say that I love it.  The interface is simple.  The problems I occasionally encountered with HTML and things are all but gone.  The only qualms I have with it is that I have to double space between paragraphs and that I can’t use my Blogger Labels.  I can’t fix the double space thing, but I can go in and edit the Labels after I publish my post.  So if you have any problems using your blogger, try the Windows Live Writer.  You can download it (for free) here.

I’m reading through the entire epic of Y: The Last Man right now, and it’s pretty good so far.  30 Rock starts back up tonight, and Flash Forward comes on, too.  I’ve been savoring and taking my time for Joe Abercrombie, but The Last Argument of Kings is coming up next.

And now the bad news.  You may or may not be aware of this, but I have a brother named Jake.  I did a 3 part post series on our relationship and my love for him back in February (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3).  He’s in the Army.  He served in Iraq for a year or so a year or so back, and since he’s returned he’s had a baby (just born back in August).  Turns out, he’s going to be going to Afghanistan in January and he’ll be gone for a year or so, this time driving a truck or something.  Needless to say, it’s stressful, and I ask for you to all pray for his safety.

That’s it for today.  A lot of stuff.  Now, it’s time for a crossword puzzle…

Writing Wednesdays: The American Dreamer 1.2

This is a continuation of the previous two Writing Wednesdays. Part One is here and Part Two is here. This is a long post here, but I didn’t feel like cutting it off at the third section. Once again, feedback is appreciated.

Jesse Stevens

Of course I know Hank Tasla. He’s the darkie that lives in that poor house near the church. His whole family is one big joke around here. People act like they care about ‘em, but nobody does. They ain’t nothing but coons, and I tell him that every chance I get. I got kicked out of school for a week after I told Mrs. Epperson not teach him. I said he didn’t need to learn the stuff we learn, that he’d never amount to more than a black piece of coal. If I ever catch him alone I’ll make him wish he never moved here.

Hank

It’s terrifying. I wish that there was some way for me to convey how real my dreams are. I dreamt that I was walking along a road, paved and wide. All around me were buildings that reached up into the sky, taller than anything I could imagine. Automobiles, which I can only describe as a transportation machine that’s like a smaller carriage but much faster, crowded the streets. People like I’ve never seen before walked all around me. I found myself moving with the crowd, and eventually I ended up inside of a large arena, similar to the ancient Coliseum. My wrist was inspected as I entered, and some sort of red light was moved across my arm. Every seat was full. The attitude was a mixture of excitement and dread. The people around me talked in fear, like they were waiting for something to attack them, but were uncertain whether or not they would actually be victims. Then a flat voice rang throughout the arena, calling out a series of numbers. A man near me let out a wail, moaning like a dying dog, and was taken. Soon a group of men and women were standing in the field below me, stripped of their clothing and trying unsuccessfully to cover their nakedness. Then a group of nine masked men surrounded the naked people. The flat voice spoke again, instructing the masked people to kill the others. At once they began screaming and begging for mercy, but their sounds were silenced as a brilliant burst of light erupted from the nine’s outstretched arms. When the light cleared there was nothing left of the people within the circle of the masked men. We were then prompted to leave, and as I was walking out the door I spied a familiar word, one that I recently read in another dream. TESLA. I’m not sure what this means. It’s remarkably similar to my last name. I’m not sure what it was that I witnessed, but I hope to not see anything like it again.

Narrator

It was the week before Charles Guiteau was to be executed. The national trial for the assassin of President Chance Garfield made newspapers everywhere, even in the far off places like Mt. Easter. The town was keenly interested in the outcome of the trial, as the Guiteau family had traveled through Mt. Easter a few years before the assassination. At the time, Charles was offering his legal services to anyone interested in them, but no one took him up on his claims. Much of the town’s population was gathered around Aberthon’s Mercantile, waiting for the regional newspaper to arrive, when Hank found himself the victim of a terrible crime. The boy was curious to get a glimpse of Mr. Guiteau, and he decided he was going to go to the Mercantile and buy a newspaper for himself. On his way to the store he was attacked. Hank was hit in the back of the head with a shovel and the boy dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. His assailants took turns hitting him with the weapon, spitting on him, and kicking him until he blacked out. They left him unconscious on the street, his small body broken and swollen. As the citizens filed out of the Mercantile, full of gossip and news of Charles Guiteau, a group of folks spied Hank’s body. He was taken to the Apothecary, where Doctor Stovaugh treated him the best he could. Days passed and Hank Tasla remained comatose and no one knew for sure if he’d ever wake up.

Hank

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, shaking my head in disgust and worry. Ella and the kids are at her mother’s house and they’ve been gone for two days now. I can’t remember why, or it’s quite possible that I never knew why. There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper in front of me, penned in her sweet hand.

I can’t take this anymore, Hank. It’s too hard on me and on the kids. You either devote yourself to us or to your work, but not to both. It’s not fair to us. Once you make up your mind, you’ll know where to find me.

I wipe the tears from my eyes, wondering how things got this way. Wondering why it feels so real. Wondering why I keep having dreams of being a young, poor boy in a small-but-growing town. Ever since I started working for the T&E Foundation things have grown weird. I wonder if it’s coincidence.

I pour myself a glass of wine and sit out on the back porch, staring up at the stars above. Millions of tiny white pinpricks on the black canvas of space, winking softly down on me. The bitterness of the wine is somehow sweet to me.

A soft breeze blows and I see the faint outlines of some of the kid’s toys tumbling through the yard. Half a mile down the road I can see the next house, illuminated by a brilliant white nightlight. My own yard’s dark. Concealing. I take comfort in the anonymity the shadows give.

I hear the light footsteps on the deck behind me the second before the blinding lights fill my vision. Pain racks through my head. The scent of spilled wine fills my nostrils. My hands dig into broken glass and I wince. I’m hit a few more times while I’m down, and soon I find my hands are tied behind my back and my head is covered.

I’m marched back into the unfamiliar house. Kind voices tell me to keep calm. What do they expect me to do? I’m as calm as I’ve ever been. Apparently my wife and children have left me, but for the life of me I can’t recall the kid’s names. I’m aloof as to why. The only picture of Ella that I can think of is of a small, white girl with brown curls, walking down a dirty road hand-in-hand with a poor, brown boy. Her eyes are the same color as a November sky, impressive grey. I don’t know who I am. Confusion, when completely accepted, is a type of calm.

The bag is removed from my head after I’m seated into one of the kitchen chairs. I’m completely bound to the seatback. My captors all stare at me with hate or curiosity. One is a middle aged woman who looks vaguely familiar. Her blond hair is in a pony-tail, and her eyes greet me with disdain. Another is a nondescript man, full of muscle and strength. He stares at me with blank eyes. The final is a handsome man, his black hair parted and mustache groomed. He looks at me with intent and a smile. He, too, looks slightly familiar.

“Do you know why we are here?” asks the small man. I shake my head, determined to remain compliant. “Hmm. I thought as much.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Do you know who you are?” I blink and shake my head. “Hank, I am here to set things right in the natural order of things. Long, long ago I began my work. I worked side by side with Dr. Edison, creating many of these glorious machines we have and use today. Together we were pioneers in the bioelectric and mechelectric fields. Unfortunately, our interests were not always aligned, and so we parted ways.

“I remained dedicated to my calling, progressing leaps and bounds in my work. I found a way to harness and cultivate electrodes in the air, and I knew that this was the way of the future. Countless hours later…” I find myself losing focus. It seems like it’s been ages since I’ve heard so many words. I can’t help myself when I yawn. The man stops talking immediately.

He glares at me for a brief moment and then his smile returns. “Of course, you must be exhausted. A night with no rest will do that to you, eh, and after this many years you’re bound to be worn thin. How is your mind?”

It takes me a second to realize that he’s asked me a question. How do I respond? I don’t know enough to lie, so I’m stuck with the confusing truth. “I’m not sure,” I croak out. My voice is only slightly louder than a whisper. It sounds strange to my ears. “Everything is uncertain.”

The woman is growing bored, it seems, though she still looks at me with hate-filled eyes. “Yes, I imagine it is Hank.” He speaks my name with confidence, like he knows me. My name is one of the only things of which I am certain. “And I am sorry for the way this was handled, but we’ve been trying to locate you for a very long time, and were quite unsure as to how you would react. Thus, we felt that care should be taken to avoid any chance of escape.”

Escape? Why would I run? I don’t understand anything, so I simply nod. “Good. Dr. Hatley, would you mind prepping the serum? Hank,” he says, turning back to me. “I’m going to have Dr. Hatley give you a shot. It will help you relax. When you wake up you’ll feel much better. Is that okay?”

I don’t like the way the woman stares at me, the way she’s holding the syringe, but I remain compliant. I nod again. She steps close to me and I feel a pinch in my arm. My eyes, already heavy, grow suddenly more burdensome to keep open. I blink a few times, seeing my captors watching me with the same mix of eyes: anger, apathy, and curiosity. Within a span of seconds, I keep my eyes closed and fall gently into the realm of Dream.

Open Mouthed and Awe Struck

An apology: Today’s post was not originally going to be about this. I was going to write more about the reasoning behind my blog, behind my title, behind different themes and elements that appear here. Instead, I get an email that leaves me open mouthed and awe struck. So, if you’re tired of STAR WARS news, I apologize, but I urge you to read on…

Wow. This is something I’ve honestly never expected to see. Before I go into details, just take a close look at the cover of the new STAR WARS: Death Troopers (by Joe Schreiber) novel that was released today. Can you see the blood and chains? Does the decapitated stormtrooper’s head mean anything to you? Nothing? What if I give you a one word prod in the right direction? Zombie.

Yes, friends, you read that correctly. Zombies. Or at least that’s what the blurb reads like to me. You decide.

When the Imperial prison barge Purge–temporary home to five hundred of the galaxy’s most ruthless killers, rebels, scoundrels, and thieves–breaks down in a distant, uninhabited part of space, its only hope appears to lie with a Star Destroyer found drifting, derelict, and seemingly abandoned. But when a boarding party from the Purge is sent to scavenge for parts, only half of them come back–bringing with them a horrific disease so lethal that within hours nearly all aboard the Purge die in ways too hideous to imagine.
And death is only the beginning.
The Purge’s half-dozen survivors–two teenage brothers, a sadistic captain of the guards, a couple of rogue smugglers, and the chief medical officer, the lone woman on board–will do whatever it takes to stay alive. But nothing can prepare them for what lies waiting aboard the Star Destroyer amid its vast creaking emptiness that isn’t really empty at all. For the dead are rising: soulless, unstoppable, and unspeakably hungry.

Sure sounds like zombies to me. And in the STAR WARS universe, too. The author, Joe Schreiber, is a known horror author and this is his first installment into the STAR WARS universe. In the timeline of things, it takes place just before A New Hope, and it is canon.

The review I read indicated that the novel is indeed creepy and spooky at times, and that the story is bleak and hopeless. While this is typical with the zombie genre, it’s (potentially) exciting to see how it fits into the STAR WARS universe. And, since it’s close to Halloween, I could easily fit it into some holiday-themed reading.

I’ll definitely be adding this to my reading pile.

An after-thought: It’s coincidental that two days ago I posted a review for Zombieland and yesterday I posted a review for the last STAR WARS novel I read, and then today I have a post that combines both zombies and STAR WARS. It’s odd that I’ve never heard of this novel until today, too. Tomorrow will continue along with Writing Wednesdays and the story of Hank Tasla.

Star Wars Fate of the Jedi: Outcast, A Review

In case it’s not obvious, I am a huge STAR WARS fan. As such, every so often I am compelled to make a post about my beloved SFF series, or at least use a lengthy comparison for one thing likened to something in the STAR WARS universe. With that, I’m excited to review the first book in the new STAR WARS series.

The Fate of the Jedi series takes place two years after the chaos and destruction caused by Darth Caedus. Chief of State Natasi Daala brings charges against Jedi Grand Master Luke Skywalker amounting to him failing to recognize one of his Jedi Knights was turning to the Dark Side. If Luke could have prevented the turn, then the Second Galactic Civil War could have been prevented. Within a few days, Luke Skywalker is exiled from the New Jedi Order and the Galactic Alliance for ten years, and subsequently the Jedi are each assigned a GA observer to watch and study the Jedi’s actions.

Luke and his son Ben decide to spend their exile studying what caused the rise of Darth Caedus. Their path leads to Dorin, the home world of the Old Republic Jedi Master Plo Koon.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Order is forced to cope with the departure of their beloved and famed Grand Master, in addition to those pesky GA observers. The Jedi cannot go anywhere outside the Temple without their observers (unless they’re really sneaky), and this makes their jobs a bit more difficult to accomplish, especially when trying to capture and understand two rogue Jedi.

Like the Legacy of the Force series, the Fate of the Jedi series looks to be filled with STAR WARS philosophy and the delicate relationship between politics and justice. It’s these things that make the Expanded Universe of STAR WARS fun to read and experience. I’ve read many of the EU books, and the philosophy of the Force keeps getting murkier and grey as the years pass. All in all, if you like the STAR WARS universe and you’ve read many of the EU books, then I can easily recommend this book. It was fast-paced and entertaining and a rather quick read. On the other hand, if you’ve not read much (or any) of the EU, then I would not recommend starting with this book.

Zombieland

Piggybacking off of yesterday’s post, there’s something fascinating about a zombie. The flesh-eating, unstoppable undead provide a medium to laugh at, pity, and fear. When I became aware of the Zombieland movie, it was one that I knew I’d have to see.

The film is typical of any other zombie film: plague turns people into zombies and leave only a small remnant of survivors, all trying to cope with the affects of Zombie Apocalypse. The characters—the college loner Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), the Twinkie seeking zombie slayer Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), and the Pacific Playland Bound Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin)—are all fun to watch interact with each other, and their onscreen chemistry is easily noticeable.

Much of the movie is simple and straightforward. It is narrated by Columbus, who has a set of rules he’s gone by to stay alive. When Columbus meets Tallahassee, the real sparks begin to fly, and Harrelson steals nearly every scene. I found myself rolling many times at some of the jokes that were said.

While Zombieland deals with scary elements, the film is mostly light-hearted and funny. However, there were a few times when I jumped from suspense, which made the film even more enjoyable. The characters’ backgrounds are revealed through dialogue and flashbacks, and these are really the parts of the film that are sobering. By adding in a taste of humanity, the film invokes pity and sorrow for the characters, which can work as a good or bad thing for the movie.

This is not a film I would recommend for children, nor for people that want to avoid swearing and gore. (In yesterday’s post I mentioned how I don’t like gore, but for some reason zombie gore doesn’t seem to bother me one bit.) Zombie blood and zombie sick was a-plenty, and if you like the thrill of hewing down a zombie, you’ll like this movie.

Overall, the movie was really fun to watch and experience. A famous celebrity made a cameo that was hysterical, and most of the banter between characters was hilarious. If you’re looking for a stiff-hearted, post-apocalyptic zombie film, filled with intense and scary moments, then this is not the movie for you. If, on the other hand, you’d rather laugh with (and at) the undead, then I heartily recommend it. Like the words of Columbus’ Rule #32: “Enjoy the little things,” and enjoy the movie.

On Morbid Curiosity

What is it inside of us that is attracted to the morbid side of life? Is it that we’re all destined to die one day, and so we like to look Death in the eyes while we live and tell him we’re not scared? Or is it there some sort of gene within us that wants to observe the grotesque and macabre?

For example, I’ve never been one of those people who like to watch those sick videos of people’s tragic death’s caught on tape. I don’t visit those websites to look at automobile accident victims, or gunshot wounds. I don’t really even like to look at blood. Heck, I’d get a little squeamish watching ER from time to time. Anyway, for reasons far beyond me, I watched a two minute video the other day that I wish I’d passed on. A Facebook friend shared it, with the title along the lines of “I Can’t Believe He’s Still Alive!” or something like that. Self-conflicted, I decided that if the person was still alive, then it would be safe enough to watch. I ignored the gory warning.

At one point I actually paused the video (after the first onset of a bleeding head) and debated whether or not I wanted to continue. It was almost over, so why not? That was a terrible mistake, and I can’t get the images out of my mind.

But there’s some sort of attraction for this stuff that I don’t understand. How can people be calloused enough to want to watch things like that? And then make stupid and obnoxious comments (“well, the dummy should’ve died!” or “Darwin scores again!”) that are filled with disrespect. Friends, the world baffles me.

Even though I don’t like the morbid stuff, I myself am not above this plague. Walking down the sidewalks at college, when a bus would drive by I’d find myself wondering what it would feel like to be hit by the monstrous vehicle. Would it immediately nock me unconscious or would I be dragged painfully for several yards? And when I make left-turns at an intersection I think about how it would feel to be T-Boned. It’s not that I want these things to happen, in fact it’s far from that, but it’s the experience I’m curious about.

How can a writer write about these sorts of things if they have no experience? It’s all speculation, I suppose. Everything but non-fiction is mostly an author’s speculation, I suppose. Speculation is directly linked to imagination, which is strongly correlated to reading enjoyment, and again I’m baffled.

Don’t worry, folks, I’m a happy, optimistic life-loving individual with an overactive mind. I’d wager, though, that you’ve probably had similar queries. How would a lighting bolt feel? Would a zombie bite through my leg be as painful as a Doberman’s? (There’ll be a review of Zombieland up tomorrow, by the way.)

I guess the day I stop being curious will be the day I die.

(This was posted using the Windows Live Writer, recommended by Shellie. Hopefully everything turns out, cause it looks like a promising tool.)

The Book Thief, A Review

The Book Thief is a powerful book. It's a book that I would call beautiful and epic and unique. With personified Death as the narrator, the story is told from a unique perspective that's strangely akin to a human's.

It's hard to describe how wonderful this story is. While it's set in Hitler's reign of Nazi Germany, the story is filled with humor and life. Many times I found myself laughing out loud at something that was said or done. The protagonist, a young orphan girl named Liesel, learns to live with her new foster parents, to make friends in Munich, to follow the Nazi propaganda, to learn how to get on with life during the oppressiveness of war. Her life's story is amazing and inspiring.

Death's perspective describes many things in colors and sounds, and the adjectives throughout this book are as close to realism as possible. It was as if I could reach out and touch what Death was describing. And since Death talks about his life during World War II, the descriptions are surreal and ghastly.

Liesel soon discovers that stealing makes her feel alive, that taking things is her way to stay apart. She turns to stealing books, and the book thief is born.

I liked how Death eased the burden of his tale throughout the story, by foreshadowing what was to come. This caused the novel to be tinged with tragedy everywhere, but it was not overwhelming. And even though I knew the direction the story was headed, I couldn't help but feel sad by the end of the novel. Actually, it made me feel like I should cry, but I couldn't bring myself to.

My favorite thing in the book was the relationships Liesel had with Rudy and Hans. Rudy was her best friend, and the two had a great friendship. Hans was her foster Father, and their love for one another was obvious.

There were many scenes from the book that were memorable, but I hesitate to write on them to remain spoiler free. Suffice it to say that the book was unforgettable.

The only thing I didn't like in the book was that it was marketed as a Young Adult book, targeted for teens. The author, Markus Zusak, did not write the book with a YA audience in mind, but this was decided by the publishers to market it this way (presumably because the protagonist was an adolescent/teen girl.) So if you abstain from YA books, don't let the tag scare you away, it definitely works as an adult novel.

All in all, The Book Thief was a superb novel. Its realism is phenomenal, its story is brilliant, and its characters are believable. I'm likely to remember this story for a long time, and it's one that I can see myself going back and reading again, enjoying it a second time around.

Two of my favorite quotes from the book:

"You see, even Death has a heart."

"'Don't get caught.' This from a man who had stolen a Jew."

Writing Wednesday's: The American Dreamer 1.1

This is a continuation of last Wednesday's post titled The American Dreamer. If you missed Post 1, click here to read it first. This chunk of story doesn't seem too exciting, but there are glimpses and character insights. Next week should get interesting. Feedback in the comments is greatly appreciated.

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Pastor Andrew

Most of the folks here in Mt. Easter treated the Tasla’s with the same kind of attitude that they’d give a white family. There were a few families that didn’t take too well to a black family moving in up here, like the Stevenses and the Hatleys, but the majority of folks didn’t care one way or another. The Bible tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and I reckon that applies to people of any color. But I imagine they had it pretty hard those first few years, harder than most. Hank, yeah, he was always a pretty good boy.

Hank

Today, after school ended, Ella and I took our time walking home. We both had chores to do, but neither of us really wanted to go home. We wanted to spend time together. I’m not sure why she is my friend, but I’m glad that she is. And while most of my classmates are kind to me, only two of them are really friendly: Ella and Jimmy McNayre. The rest of them either tolerate me or openly dislike me. But we walked leisurely, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she likes me, but for the life of me I can’t fathom why. People look down on that sort of thing, and I don’t want her to be looked down on by no one. Even though we got in trouble when we got home, it was worth it to spend some extra time with her.

Hank

There was a man and a woman, both older than me, both dressed in white coats. I was in a room filled with all sorts of strange devices. I was strapped to a bed and held against my will. The woman was harsh and ruthless, speaking to the man with contempt in her voice, and in turn to me like I was an animal that could not comprehend her words. Indeed, what she said I did not understand. The man padded my arm gently and spoke to me soothingly, but he did not attempt to free me from my restraints. Some sort of loud beeping put the room in a frenzy and they began running about to different machines, trying to stop the shrill noise. I struggled to rise but could not. All I could do was move my head about slightly and look around, curious but confused. It seems that more often than not now I dream of these machines. The word for them is on the tip of my tongue, but lost in the fog of my weary mind. I cannot recall. Already the dream is fading and I am forgetting it. I remember the word TESLA embossed on the side of one of the machines. I remember smelling smoke near the end. I remember a woman’s scream and an incredibly loud bang, louder than a rifle shot. Everything was chaos, and I was unable to move.

Narrator

The Tasla family came to Mt. Easter in the Fall of 1880. It was suspected that the family won its freedom after the War ended, but no one knew for sure. Some said that the family was indeed slaves, but their owners treated them with kind hearts and compassion. Others said that the family had never been in servitude and actually immigrated to America in pursuit of the American Dream. Mr. Tasla was an educated and skilled man who had worked in construction, engineering, and manufacturing. In Mt. Easter his considerable talents were limited to mining. Mrs. Tasla was several years younger than her husband, still in the prime of her thirties, and her occupation in Mt. Easter was namely taking care of the house. She was also with child when she arrived in Mt. Easter, much to Hank and Mr. Tasla’s excitement. The family lived in a spare room of Pastor Andrew’s home until they could build their own house, which was completed within two years of their arrival. During that time, the Tasla’s and the Andrew’s became dear friends.

Essie Pearson

I’ve known the Thompson family since I was a young girl. Me and Lynne grew up together and have always been around each other. Johnny was a little older than us, but not by much. Near the end of our schooling Lynne got married to Johnny and a few months later they had their first child, John Jr. A couple of years later came the twins, Richard and James, and eventually Ella. She was brought up in a house full of boys, and it’s no wonder that she’s a tough girl. I’ve watched all the Thompson children grow up, partially with a jealous eye, as I always hoped that Johnny would choose me over Lynne. But the Lord saw fit to bless me with a wonderful husband of my own, and I know that He knows what’s best for me.

Hank

I’ve had these vivid dreams for as long as I can remember, but the idea of writing them down only started a year or so ago. And since I dream every night, I’ve gone through several journals. Back when I first started talking about my dreams to folks they looked at me like I was soft in the head, or like I was spewing childish babble. Sure, I was young, but it was amazing. The dreaming has been an integral part of my life, and as such, it is part of who I am. How can I not talk about it? It didn’t take long for me to stop talking about them in public, to pretend like they didn’t happen. Even Mother and Father frown when I mention them. Ella is the only one I can go to. She’s the only one who will listen to me, but I can’t tell her everything.

Allergies, Guitar Strings, and Misc. News

When the seasons change, I typically always receive a present: allergies. Even if I tell Mother Nature that I don't want my gift, the prude gives it to me anyway. Sometimes it's subtle, and sometimes it's like getting punched in the face. Was allergies part of the Curse of Man? I imagine the pollen count in Eden was low. So with dry, but runny eyes, I stare at my monitors (yes, I have dual monitors at work) and contemplate the transition into my next paragraph.

There are some interesting things going on throughout the world. I read about this 7 year old blind British boy that has learned to use echolocation to see, just like a bat. The article is pretty interesting. Another fun fact was that a study suggests that 34% of Americans take a nap daily. I'm not saying that I'd like to be in that 34%, but I'd like to have the freedom to take a nap whenever I wanted to. As a recycler, a final thing I found refreshing was that CNN has an article on recycling tips. Recycling is easy, and I don't understand why more people don't do it.

I went and bought some nice guitar strings yesterday. I had broken my high E string, so I needed new strings. The ones I play with are Elixir's, and I like the way they sound and how they feel to my fingers. Unfortunately, these strings are almost $20. Anyway, I bought my Elixir's after work and went home to restring my guitar. I've played guitar for around 7 or 8 years now, but I still hate restringing my guitar, and I still have trouble doing it.

As luck would have it, I successfully restrung my guitar but for one problem. I broke the exact same string that I initially needed to replace. Needless to say, I was more than slightly agitated. I tried a few things to remedy the situation (using a dulcimer string that's the same gauge, but it didn't work), but nothing worked. Finally, I just used one of my old B strings. It's slightly thicker than the E string gauge, but it works.

Oh, if you're interested, it looks like my Sunday School class is going to get to have a little service this weekend at the homeless shelter. Any prayers (for us and those we're serving) will be greatly appreciated.

In other news, be ready for a review of Markus Zusak's The Book Thief on Thursday or Friday. Writing Wednesday's will continue tomorrow, with the second installment of The American Dreamer.

I think I need a tissue...

The Way the Lord Moves: Interrupted

My Sunday school class has just started a new unit. It's by Jen Hatmaker, titled Interrupted. The study basically sets out to challenge the way we live our lives. While our American Dream seeks comfort and success, it also tends to put blinders on us and prevent us from seeing those that are poor and outcast. Hatmaker examines Scripture and chronicles her personal journey in transforming her mindset, aiming to be merciful and just, as opposed to selfish and cruel.

The first of five sessions was called "Poor." Filled with heartbreaking statistics and obvious Scripture, I was left cracked and broken. How selfish are we? In John 21:15-19 Christ asks Peter three times if he loves Him. Peter responds each time that he does, and his heart is grieved that Jesus asks three times. With each answer from Peter Jesus tells him to "feed My sheep."

Most of my life I have taken this as a metaphor, Jesus telling Peter to feed the spiritual needs of his people. Christ would be leaving and the world would need pastors to help keep the Message alive. Frankly, the idea that Christ was speaking literally and metaphorically never struck me. Meet the spiritual need, and the physical would be taken care of. Now, I think I was wrong.

It makes much more sense to feed someone physically first. The hungry don't care about the void in the soul; they care about the absence in their stomachs. Showing love and care to them will build trust and friendship, and exhibit the love Christ had for others. Christ first met physical needs, then spiritual needs. Look at the feeding of the 5000 or the countless other miracles. He didn't say "You have to first listen to my sermon and then I'll help some of you." No, Christ was driven by his love for his hurting brothers and sisters.

James 2:15,16 says "If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and filled,' without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?" While I try to help out those in need, through giving of food or clothes or money or whatever is desired, I don't often take a proactive stance on this. Instead, passively, if I see someone and I have cash, then I'll help; otherwise, I go about my business. What good are our words without action?

Then, yesterday in class, it turns out that our entire class was all similarly broken by reading the first session of Interrupted. We wanted to know what we could do to help our community? How can we get involved and plugged in, helping those that are less fortunate than we are? Was there a soup kitchen we could volunteer? But, the way the Lord moves is different than we expect.

Exciting things are on the horizon, and I feel that if we go forward with the plans laid out during the class that we'll be able to spread the Love of Christ physically and spiritually to those in need. There is a chance that we'll be doing a "church service" in a local homeless shelter twice a month, possibly starting as early as this upcoming Sunday. We'll use our talents and abilities the Lord gave us, with love, and share ourselves with those at the shelter.

Now I ask you, what do you do for others that are hurting, that are in need? You don't have to serve Jesus to help others. I know the change for me will not be instantaneous, but I pray and hope that it will come, that I'll serve others instead of myself. (If you're interested in the Interrupted series, visit your local Lifeway, or click here.)

Three Quick Things

Joe Purdy has just announced (a few days ago) his tour dates for the first leg of his US solo tour. I've long said that if he comes to a concert that's relatively close then I'm going. So I've bought tickets for the Nashville show. The price is an unbelievably low $10. You can click here to find tickets, and be sure to check back soon for the rest of his tour dates. If he comes around you, I'd strongly consider checking him out. I've got two live albums from him, and both are amazing. (If you're interested in obtaining a free, legal, legit copy of either or both of these albums, let me know and I'll email you a link. Joe supports sharing!) And if you don't know who Joe Purdy is, click here for access to all of his catalog, or click here to read my thoughts, or here for a similar sounding post on Joe.

If you watch Austin City Limits on PBS, you may be interested to know that Dave Matthews Band will be playing a new show tomorrow night. The concert starts at 7pm CST. It should be pretty cool.

Also, Sunday night on PBS will feature an exciting show about Mammoth Cave, the largest cave system in the world located in Kentucky. As a Kentucky resident, I've been to the Cave a few times, and it's awesome. The show should be pretty cool, as they're showing never before seen stuff. It also comes on at 7pm CST.

A Circle of Souls, by Preetham Grandhi

I received an ARC of A Circle of Souls in the mail several weeks ago and immediately added it to my pile of books to be read. The author, Dr. Preetham Grandhi, contacted me through a book review website and asked if I would be interested in reviewing his debut novel. Excited, I said yes. Eventually my TBR pile dwindled and I made my way to A Circle of Souls.

This novel is a psychological thriller and a murder mystery, mixing in with it elements of the paranormal. Any fan of shows like CSI, House MD, or Law & Order will easily be able to relate to the book. While I like these types of shows, I have only read a very few books in this genre, so I started the book in slight trepidation, slight intrigue.

The prologue was riveting and tragic, descriptive and vague, and bloody. It was one of those scenes that you can (morbidly) visualize. A young girl is found murdered in a small university town in Connecticut, and a FBI agent comes to investigate. Another young girl is enrolled into a child psychiatric hospital for evaluation. Her doctor, Peter, notices some peculiar attributes to the girl and a possible connection to the murder. From here, the story takes off until an impressive (albeit short) climax.

Some things I liked about A Circle of Souls. The book was fast paced and read quickly. It kept me up late one night flipping pages until I was too tired to continue. I really liked the care and compassion Peter had for his patients. The idea behind the slaaf was intriguing. The book was logical, succinct, and laid out cleanly.

Some things I did not like about A Circle of Souls. At times it felt like there were too many POV chapter switches in too close a time. I felt some of these chapters, especially early in the book, could be combined into making longer chapters. I felt that some of the backgrounds between characters were too similar. The book was logical, too succinct, and too clean.

Overall, I was impressed by Dr. Grandhi's debut. There were several simple editing mistakes (like not paragraphing between dialogue mainly), this was not too distracting, and the book was an ARC, too. It felt good to read a book in a genre I rarely venture into, and I enjoyed the read. You can find A Circle of Souls on Amazon, or click here for a direct link.

October

"October and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear. What do I care? October and kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall, but you go on and on."--U2, "October"

I really like that song. The piano play is beautiful, and the song seems to encapsulate the essence of Fall. But you don't have to take my word for it.

As September ended, a new video game came out. One solely for the Wii. Back in January I played Dead Space for the PS3 (click here for the post) and I loved it. It made me realize how much fun a FPS can be. The story line pulled me in, and the game play was fantastic. When I buy a PS3 (someday...), Dead Space will be one of the first games I get. On September 29, Dead Space: Extraction came out. This game is a prequel to the original, and it helps build up the events that lead to the USG Ishimura's condition. While the graphics for the Wii are nowhere near as solid as the PS3 or xbox360, the game pushes the limits for the system. I'll be renting it soon and giving it a whirl. Nothing like a good scary game for the Halloween season. If you want to watch the game preview, click here.

This whole mess with Roman Polanski is terrible. How can people back his side and support him? Who cares if it's been 30 years? He broke the law and should be tried accordingly.

If you've ever wondered what Afghanistan looks like, you can click here for some mesmerizing photos. While many of them feature soldiers, they're not all terrible like the ones you see on tv. I really like picture #19. You get a warning for picture #17, so you should read the caption of the picture before clicking on the link.

I'm almost finished with A Circle of Souls. Next up? STAR WARS Fate of the Jedi: Omen, The Last Argument of Kings, the entire saga of Y the Last Man, or Warbreaker. As you can see, I've got tough decisions to make.

Last night for supper I made a sweet & spicy teriyaki tuna & crab meal for supper. I then ate a chunk of it with chop sticks, but the noodles were too small for me to successfully grab, so I switched to the fork. I'm still learning to use them. All in all, it was quite tasty and super easy to make.

I think I'm going to have "October" in my head for the rest of the day.