To infinity, and beyond!

Everybody! Guess what? I’m engaged! Ahhh! OK, actually, that was a lie; I’m not engaged, but I thought I’d say it anyway because it seems like everybody else is. C’mon, guys. I’m starting to feel a little left out. Alright, let’s change the subject. So, you’ve made it through the first decade of the new millennium. Congratulations. Feeling old yet? For those of you just entering college, you still have that invincible blood coursing through your rowdy, little veins; getting old hasn’t exactly hit you yet. While at the other end, those of us finishing up with our undergrad experience, and possibly looking a bit further into the future, may be at the precipice of beginning to taste our own mortality (it tastes yucky, just to let you know). Faculty, don’t you scoff now – we young’uns grow old too.

The fun’s really going to start when we have to explain to our children that we grew up with those chunky, VHS cassettes. Man, that’s going to blow their minds. Then, there’s the whole Apple revolution with the iPods, iTunes, iPhones and everything else that commences with a lowercase “i.” I can’t wait to see my kids’ faces when I tell them that music used to come from tangible, disk-like objects. The thing that really gets me though, and I mean really, really gets me, is texting. Forget the email; texting is the crowning communication achievement of the new millennium. It’s changed everything. For crying out loud, do you know how difficult it is to flirt with somebody via texting? OK, maybe it’s not that hard, but seriously. When I was thirteen, I picked up the phone, called the girl and told her I liked her. Voilá! It was that simple. Yes, it was really awkward, but really simple. Oh, the humanity. Where are we going? I still remember what my high school English teacher, Stephen Lacey, once said in class: “The only thing technology has done for us is allow more time to be busy.” Profound words …

Pleased to meet you. I'm a tool!

Myspace did a lot for us. It taught us how to play detective (you’ll never admit to how you once stalked someone online, but you’ll admit to doing “detective work”), it taught us how to become critics (remember when you used to rate your top friends?), but most of all, it blessed us with a new genre of photography. This new style best fits the category of the self-portrait, one to which I like to refer as the infamous “tool shot”.

Now, the “tool shot” has to fulfill a few requirements in order to be classified as a legitimate “tool shot”. One, the photographer needs to be half-naked. Two, the photographer needs to be in front of a mirror, or else he/she will have to settle for the awkward arm-bend maneuver (go on, I dare you to call your bro friends and ask them to come over and take half-naked pictures of you. What will they think?). Three, the photographer should never smile. This is a serious shot, one in which the photographer looks as though his/her dog has just died, but, at the same time feels like the cat’s pajamas (yes, I did just use the words cat and dog in one groovy sentence). Finally, four, the “tool shot” works best if the photographer is in the bathroom, preferably one where the toilet is in view. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Well, shoot, a thousand words aren’t enough as soon as you’ve included a toilet in the picture. I can see the Myspace caption now: “Hey baby, after you’ve finished checking out my rock-hard, chiseled abs, why don’t you stay and rest a bit on the John directly behind me?”

As the world continues to spin, and “tool shots” continue to appear all over social networking websites, we romantics will continue to bow our heads in shame. Seriously, “tool shots” need to die.

Curds and Whey

You might not think it, but cottage cheese is actually delicious. For the longest time I had this unnatural phobia for cottage cheese. When passing in salad bars, I would eye the mysterious, white chunky goop and get the willies. But for the first time the other day, when I went to the cafeteria to snag lunch, the cottage cheese in the salad bar looked appealing. There it was nestled snuggly between the cut-up broccoli and sliced olives. It was untouched — a clear indicator that a score of others also shared in my rash, ex-phobia. I heaped a healthy portion of the squishy, mozzarella-like substance onto my salad plate; today was a good day.

I overcame my cottage cheese phobia towards the end of this last summer. I was visiting a friend in Sacramento, and I happened to have dinner with her family. I remember seeing a carton of cottage cheese on the table and thinking, “Oh great, a cottage cheese family.” Noticing how everyone was eating cottage cheese with their stroganoff, I decided to be gutsy and at least try it. I gulped as I brought the spoon up to my mouth and, trying not to think about it, quickly shoved the white mess in. But to my surprise, it didn’t taste at all like I thought cottage cheese was supposed to. I quickly breathed a sigh of relief. The rest is history.

So basically, I guess I’m trying to find a creative way of saying don’t judge a book by its cover. I mean, I did, and look what it got me: years and years of cottage cheese deprivation. Excuse me now while I go eat some curds and whey…

The Stock Theory

If you know me personally, or have been around me for any length of time, you may have been unfortunately subjected to my stock theory. So, what’s the stock theory? Well, it’s my way of explaining a certain phenomenon of dating kinetics between young men and women during the college years — especially in the Adventist pond. Did I discover it? Probably not. Am I the only one who’s noticed it? I guess we’ll find out. First off, let’s define stock.

Stock is basically best defined as what you have going for yourself. For all you engineers out there, it’s kind of like potential energy. Picture your stock as a bank account capable of being filled with value. So, directly translated, a person with high stock has a lot to offer. For the entering male freshmen, your stock is quite low. I don’t care if you think you are the cat’s pajamas; you’re far from completing your degree, you’re probably not making much money and, when it comes to the college birds, they can easily twist your ear making you go in any direction they please. On the other hand, the entering female freshmen start off with high stock. So what makes the fairer sex any different? Well shoot, son, they have all the power! The alluring feminine form, in itself, is enough of a reason. The equation looks like this: Man, who has low stock, seeks beautiful woman earnestly, ultimately giving her high stock.

Gradually though, things start to change. That girl, who was initially just interested in mere surface traits in men (humor, good looks, spontaneity), starts to figure things out after she has “traveled the world” and “seen all there is to see.” She then starts to look for traits like generosity, humility, and loyalty — traits that would make a good father. You see, she’s starting to notice that her biological clock isn’t ticking any slower. By now, that guy who used to be a low stocker has increased his stock. The girl, who is now a senior in college, starts to understand that her mate selection will diminish greatly upon graduating. And believe me, as Adventists, we’re exceedingly picky. So, here it is that the phenomenon occurs. There is a “stock swap”, and before you know it, the man has all the power in the world, mainly because of biological reasons.

Alright, before you come hunt me down for offending you, let me remind you that I just shared a theory. Is it true? I don’t know. You tell me.

Madventist

When I was younger (just a wee toddler), seeing me sitting up straight, alert, and attentive during the church sermon was a rare sight. While the pastor spoke, my short attention span would often wander to my mother’s purse, where I could always be sure to find some blank paper and crayons. Kneeling on the brown, rusty-colored carpet and bending over the pew like a hunchback, I would spill out my brains onto those wonderful sheets of blank paper. Dinosaurs, spaceships and faraway made-up worlds inspired from my collection of NES video games were the usual fodder projected from the deep, inner recesses of my mind. I didn’t have to entertain my boredom this way every Sabbath though. Every once in a while, this thing called Communion would occur. As a six year-old, all I knew was that Communion was the time when they handed out those delicious, bite-sized, crunchy squares that you could never buy in a grocery store. The enigmatical ritual of elderly men praying over bread and juice was enough of a display to keep my racing, curious mind occupied. Unfortunately, the chance to eat during church came with a drawback: I was allowed only one puny square.

However, my luck changed one Sabbath when Communion lined up on the same day as potluck. After lunch, my cronies and I would run around the dark sanctuary like it was some sort of celestial playground. Except this time, to our amazement, the leftover Communion bread was left out in all of its splendor. At last, I would have the chance to eat Communion bread to my heart’s content! We giggled maniacally as we gobbled down square after sqaure. But just then, all of a sudden, she entered. You know, the scary, old “madventist” of a lady that is out to get little boys and girls for running around God’s house. We were doomed. She had been after us before, and this was the last straw. After telling us how she was going to sic the pastor on us, and make sure that we were not only spanked by our parents, but everyone else’s parents, she trundled out of the sanctuary. For the next hour or so, I remember hiding under the pews in holy terror, just waiting to see what would become of my behind. But deep inside, I knew I was the victor. I had succeeded. I had eaten not one, but three entire trays of Communion bread.

The Wonder Years

Can you remember back when you used to be excited for Christmas? You know, back when you’d wake up at five in the morning? I’m assuming you’d run straight to the Christmas tree, and then, after scouring through the presents, you’d immediately run to your sleeping parents and yank them out of bed. Alright, so maybe you’re one of those who still wakes up your parents on Christmas, but at least for me (and I daresay it might include the majority of us college students), it is now the parents getting us out of bed when Christmas rolls around and it’s time to open presents.

I suppose the classic answer to why this phenomenal change occurs is that we’re getting older. Ah, yes, blame it on maturity. Well, let me tell you something — maturity is a lame answer! As cliché as it sounds, you have to remember that there’s a child in all of us. Unfortunately, that child has been buried under the strains and responsibilities that get shoveled upon a growing adolescent (allow me to let you in on a little secret: college is infamous for beating the “adolescence” out of you). Don’t get me wrong, going down life’s path and finding a career, or perhaps, starting a family, are worthy endeavors that many of us should look into. It’s just that all too often, after all the seriousness of learning is said and done, some of us forget about our childhoods and leave them in the rearview mirror. So, what I want you to remember is this: don’t let college ultimately change your being. Sure, let academia expand your horizon, but don’t let it rob you of your inner child.

Stranger Danger

I’ve recently stumbled upon one of the most useful websites I believe cyberspace has to offer — Craigslist. Now, you’re probably thinking, “Oh, come on, Brendan. Hop on the bandwagon. I’ve been using Craigslist for years!” Well, I haven’t. And let me tell you, I like it. Its simplicity and expediency rival that of In-N-Out Burger (yet another divine innovation). I used to think the whole concept of Craigslist was loony. I mean, looking around at classified advertisements online, then contacting the seller, and later, even meeting up with him or her to seal the deal — isn’t that just a little strange? Well, as I paced around my sorry-excuse-of-a-house (perhaps better aptly described as a man cave), materialism finally got the better of me. Looking at the furniture section on Craigslist in the Tri-Cities location, I spied the sale of a century: a full-sized wooden dining table along with three chairs for a mere twenty-five dollars. I wrote down the contact number and quickly reached for my phone. After a few awkward text messages, I was out the door and on my way.

I soon realized that finding a house I’d never been to in the dark was going to pose a challenge. Even with the address plugged into Debra, my talking GPS, none of the surrounding houses were matching up with the supposed destination. This actually didn’t come as a surprise; the vixen Debra had lied to me in the past on more than one occasion. Throwing my hands in the air, I dialed the seller’s number. After a rather awkward phone conversation, I was led to the right house. Unfortunately, I forgot what apartment she was in, so I had to knock on a few random doors before I came to the right one (I was too embarrassed to call her back, and yes, I know I don’t make sense sometimes – I blame it on Debra). To make a long story short, I finally got the table. So, the thing I want to leave you with is this: conquer the world. Use Craigslist. Meet people you don’t know. From my experience, good things can come from this, like really cheap furniture.