Please Mr. Postman

It came it came it came. Oh Joy! Oh Elation! The worn, stained brown edges of the uncut pages feel like history as my fingers flip through them. The crackle of the crisp pages excite me as I know I will be the first to ever read this particular book, even though it was printed in 1911. I don't get excited easily, but this item has me singularly giddy. It is beautiful not just in it's decorative art, but in the unintentional allure that only age can bring to an object. My dear friend Chesterton, I look forward to reading the entertaining wit and acute observations you are so well known for.


My first ever ebay purchase, a first edition printing of GK Chestertons "Five Types".

Hello, My Name is Claude

Claude entered my life mid-summer when my friend Melissa gave him to me after I commented on how well she'd made him. Then mail started to appear in the Fall. At first Claude took a surprise trip to Europe, and was thoughtful enough to send a postcard. Then his mischief led him to the wonderful world of office supplies. Here is the adventures of Claude to date. I'm sure there will be more to post on another day.










text - "In an attempt to appear more sophisticated, Claude decided to take up one of the world's most popular hobbies, stamp collecting. The words "unique", "Rare", or even "hard to find" never entered his mind.

I'm up in the woods, I'm down on my mind...

I realized today that I havn't posted on here for almost a week. The reasons are two fold. One, I have been working very hard at finishing off a wedding video (which is actually burning to DVD as I type). This project has been a valuable learning experience despite the aggravation that it caused. Two, I have a thesis of a post building in my head, and I havn't wanted to start it till I felt mentally ready as well as time allowing to complete it. That and I'm a little afraid to spend that much time writing an entry. Maybe tomorrow.

Here is something that I have been meaning to share since I started this blog. Vector Park is not only entertaining, it's strikingly beautiful. They aren't quite games, more like interaction based art. I highly recommend trying out the one with man looking through a telescope called Park. It was so expansive and random it quickly rose to the top as my favorite. Here are a few stills from the site to tempt you.

Tomorrow I start my training with Ignite 107.9. As it stands now I will be doing on-air saturdays. Unfortunately, that's about the extent of the job for now, so if I find a better job I might not stick around. But for now, this should prove adventurous and entertaining.

theology unannounced

I love when I am blindsided by revelations or insightful observations from unexpected places at unexpected times. I have been reading Lewis Carroll's Sylvie and Bruno as my presleep reading. It is mostly about dreams and the "eerie" feeling that allows one to imagine the fantastic in ones waking state (or more accurately, semi-waking state). It's perfect kindling for dreams. But for a section of a chapter it seems that Mr. Carroll left the fairies to gather on a later page and gave the floor to religious social commentary.

But by this time we had reached the little church, into which a goodly stream of worshippers, consisting mainly of fishermen and their families, was flowing.
The service would have been pronounced by any modern aesthetic religionist ---or religious aesthete, which is it? ---to be crude and cold: to me, coming fresh from the ever-advancing developments of a London church under a soi-disant "Catholic" Rector, it was unspeakably refreshing.
There was no theatrical procession of demure little choristers, trying their best not to simper under the admiring gaze of the congregation: the people's share in the service was taken by the people themselves, unaided, except that a few good voices, judiciously posted here and there among the, kept the singing from going too far astray.
There was no murdering of the noble music, contained in the Bible and the Liturgy, by its recital in a dead monotone, with no more expression than a mechanical talking-doll.
No, the prayers were prayed, the lessons were read, and---best of all---the sermon was talked; and I found myself repeating, as we left the church, the words of Jacob, when he "awaked out of his sleep". " 'Surely the Lord is in this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.' "
"Yes," said Arthur, apparently in answer to my thoughts, "those 'high' services are fast becoming pure Formalism. More and more the people are beginning to regard them as 'performances', in which they only 'assist' in the French sense. And it is specially bad for the little boys. They'd be much less self-conscious as pantomime-fairies. With all that dressing-up, and stagy-entrances and exits, and being always en evidence, no wonder if they're eaten up with vanity, the blatant little coxcombs!"
When we passed the Hall on our return, we found the Earl and lady Muriel sitting out in the garden. Eric had gone for a stroll.
We joined them, and the conversation soon turned on the sermon we had just heard, the subject of which was "selfishness".
"What a change has come over our pulpits", Arthur remarked, "since the time when Paley gave that utterly selfish definition of virtue, 'the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness'!"
Lady Muriel looked at him enquiringly, but she seemed to have learned by intuition, what years of experience had taught me, that the way to elicit Arthur's deepest thoughts was neither to assent nor dissent, but simply to listen.
"At that time," he went on, "a great tidal wave of selfishness was sweeping over human thought. Right and Wrong had somehow been transformed into Gain and Loss, and Religion had become a sort of commercial transaction. We may be thankful that our preachers are beginning to take a nobler view of life."
"But is it not taught again and again in the Bible?" I ventured to ask.
"Not in the Bible, as a whole," said Arthur. "In the Old Testament, no doubt, rewards and punishments are constantly appealed to as motives for action. That teaching is best for children, and the Israelites seem to have been, mentally, utter children. We guide our children thus, at first: but we appeal, as soon as possible, to their innate sense of Right and Wrong: and, when that stage is safely past, we appeal to the highest motive of all, the desire for likeness to, and union with, the Supreme Good. I think you will find that to be the teaching of the Bible, as a whole, beginning with 'that thy days may be long in the land', and ending with 'be ye perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect'."
We were silent for awhile, and then Arthur went off on another tack. "Look at the literature of Hymns, now. How cankered it is, through and through, with selfishness! There are few human compositions more utterly degraded than some modern Hymns!"
I quoted the stanza.

"Whatever, Lord, we lend to Thee,
Repaid a thousandfold shall be,
Then gladly will we give to Thee,
Giver of all!"

"Yes," he said grimly: "that is the typical stanza. And the very last charity-sermon I heard was infected with it. After giving many good reasons for charity, the preacher wound up with 'and, for all you give, you will be repaid a thousandfold!" Oh, the utter meanness of such a motive, to be put before men who do know what self-sacrifice is, who can appreciate generosity and heroism! Talk of Original Sin!" he went on with increasing bitterness. "Can you have a stronger proof of the Original Goodness there must be in this nation, than the fact that Religion has been preached to us, as a commercial speculation, for a century, and that we still believe in a God?"

There was more, followed by meetings with fairies and an introduction to physical manifestations of mental will called Phlizz, but I had to stop somewhere. I felt that so much of what was written could apply to today. How easily the heart loses its bearing. I would only strongly correct the last statement. Perhaps it should say, what stronger proof of the truth at the core buried beneath it all, than the fact that Religion has been preached to us, as a commercial speculation, and that we still believe in God? I could detail all that I saw in the section, but I feel it speaks strongly enough for itself, and this post is long enough.

Viva

Selfmindead - Rules to Break/Laws to Change

I’m getting bored with this culture and these old traditions
I’m getting bored with this people and their boring ideals

All the real songs never get heard and all the real art is worth nothing
All the real words never get heard and everything remains the same

I’m getting bored with this culture where everything remains the same
I’m getting bored with this people they all remain the same

Stop the cycle
Make progression
Yeah

Stop the cycle
We have rules to break…


Something about this song has always rung true with me. I find it especially true when looking at North American Christian culture. We, despite believing in the ultimate creator, have settled for mediocrity and safety in our creative expressions. Our art seems to be Precious Moments figurines and bands made to sound and look like a sanitized facsimile of something non-Christian. Should not our creativity and art be expressive of and glorious to our God, the source of our life and being?

Here is some of the artwork from the accompanying book by Christopher Koelle to Derek Webb's The Ringing Bell

Very Very Part-Time

Hundred Dolla' Bill Yaaaa'll!
(Sorry, that was just barely in my headphones as I was about to start writing. To perfect to ignore.)

So I am now employed ... barely. I got a job with Ignite 107.9 here in Winnipeg. For those of you not in Winnipeg it is the new Christian alternative station. Despite my previous rants against the radio industry, stating I would never work in it, and rants against "North American Christian Culture", I need to work. As well, I'm looking past what they are, and on to what they could be. A station that is willing to play hardcore is a station that is open to following sub-cultures. So for now my responsibilities are vague at best. I will be on air Saturdays and doing weather reports (um...snow and cold). This will be an interesting chapter.

Now, something pretty to look at. Drool over the beautiful work of Morning Breath.

I Dream I'm Flying Tonight Explodingdog.com

I wish that my abilities were as big as my dreams. I pray that my abilities are bigger than I realize.

Nedroid.com

I definitely said something very similar when I interviewed for a summer job at a print shop. It resulted in me working at Safeway. I wish that it had turned out like this though.

On a brighter note I am going in to Ignite 107 on Monday to discuss the details of my employment. Hurray for paychecks.

Moses in the Wilderness

I love the bible study that I have gotten involved with this year. A small group of deep thinkers including a youth pastor, a bible school prof and a few prodding minds. The most intriguing and searching conversations have come out of our evenings. We have been looking at the early church in Acts, and this Wednesday for me was especially interesting. The topic of church structure came up again, but it seemed more personal this time as we dug deeper into our own church situation.

There is no biblical outline for a church system, so what should ours be? Is our current idea of pastor, ministries, boards, etc something that has developed out of necessity, or a type of control? Should church's have their own buildings? Should we be spending money on them when it could be used in other places? As well, Stephen in the early church considered the temple apostasy and beginning of the fall for Israel. Does having a building lead us to believe that God is contained within the building? But a building allows for us to do so many other things for the church and the community. Is the current North American church structure make it more of a capitalist organization concerned with bringing people into the church so that the pastors can get a paycheck and the building can be maintained? (This only skims the surface of everything we talked about.)

We didn't come to a conclusion, and I doubt we will for a long time if at all. But I do believe that there is something within our current situation that has made Christians lazy and complacent. I am working to change that in myself.

Interesting quotes from the evening:

"It was during the difficult times in the desert that the Israelites changed and met God. Maybe the wilderness was the promised land."

"If the church is a sleeping giant, the question is not how do we wake up the giant, but how did we fall asleep."

She's Dead and Lovely Now

You're The Danger by Jared Nickerson

A week ago I dropped my iPod. I was stepping out of the van after a road trip and I forgot that my iPod was only attached to the headphones around my neck. It swung, detached from the cord and rocketed towards the ground. It landed on it's head breaking the hold button. My iPod still worked, but it's music playing potential was held captive by one small switch. After attempting some percussion maintenance which proved fruitless I turned to the internet. How did people fix things before the internet. After perusing a tutorial, The Siren Thelxiepeia went under the knife. Well, not so much a knife as a sharp putty knife, screwdriver and soldering gun. The Hold-buttonectomy went smashingly, replacing the switch with a blob of solder. It has no hold button now, but it's back from the dead. As such, I am renaming my iPod to either Lazurus, iZombie, or the best suggestion.

If you keep up appearances, you keep up the sweet satisfaction the way that it was

David OReilly's Please Say Something seems to grab me in a way that most internet shows can't. Maybe it's the beautiful animation or maybe it's the unique story telling. Perhaps it is even that deep-seated desire to see a bad relationship fixed (watch it and you will understand). Whatever it is, David OReilly has the concluding set of episodes in the works, and I can't wait to see them. For now he's taken the second and third (of what will be four) seasons offline so that the full work can be used as a short film. Check out season one and fall in love like a cat falls in love with an abusive mouse.



PSS Season 1 from David OReilly on Vimeo.

I Never Wanted You

It seems overstated, but emotions and attractions can be fickle and misleading. We are so fooled by the fairytales that promise you, as the protagonist in your story, your prince/princess simply because you like them. The plot follows the predetermined path leading to happily ever after because it is our right and the natural order of things. Your desire for someone doesn't stipulate that they will like you back. Heartache is inevitable. It's just the situation of unrequited love (and I use that term loosely) that I have seen occurring so much around me over the past year. I realise that this sounds so meloncholy and trite for blog content, it is just that a recent conversation on the topic seemed to strike me with some sort of clarity.

To accompany such a sullen topic I found this photo in my internet stumblings.


A Man of Constant Sorrow The Boat Lullabies

I still have a song to sing

Last night I was able to go see my brothers band, Blue Sky Addicts, open for Bend Sinister. I'm really proud of my friends in BSA as they've honed and shaped their music into some really catchy and enjoyable songs. I really enjoy though how BSA shows always turn into reunions with friends you haven't seen forever. Some because they've been across the ocean and you didn't know where back in the country. The night however was topped off with a stellar performance by Bend Sinister. Turns out that they have a new album. They played most of it making me wish that I had the spare cash to spend on the CD. The 1960s stock footage they had playing the entire show was entertaining, but it felt unnecessary. They already have great stage presence, and there seemed to be no correlation between the music making it more of a distraction.

Tonight I went to see my friend Matt Epp play which was a very unique experience. It was a small house show as part of the Home Routes tour. Some good wine, good music, and good conversations made for another stellar evening. I only regret that I forgot to bring a camera. Trust me, it was wonderful, especially Matt's Bowler.

Here I sit, suffused with joy

My life of late has been filled with little wonders of excellence that have made my my mind and heart burst with elation. Two I must share as they are easier to. These two albums have .... for lack of a better explanation ... made my heart dance.


I've been a fan of Denison Witmer since I picked up Philadelphia Songs at a used CD store years ago. This album captured me on my first listen through. It's a little different than what he has done before, but that's to be expected as artists grow.


I grabbed Detektivbyran on a whim. It's like listening to a slightly more electronic/experimental Amelie soundtrack. It just makes me happy.

They Gave Me a Tank

My parents, my mom especially, have always taught me to take Remembrance Day very seriously. My Grandfather on my mom's side was a tank driver who fought at Dieppe and was taken prisoner. I had always heard that he had kept a journal while he was at war, but have only read part of it. For what I have gotten through so far it is very apparent that he was an amazing writer. There were many others who fought besides my Grandfather, many who died. But, there were many who lived the rest of their life under the shadow of the war, like my Grandfather. It is him that I think of every Remembrance Day. Thank you Grandpa. Below I have a very large excerpt from the beginning of his journal.


Time And Future
Time hangs heavy on the idle hand,
You’ve heard that said before.
By thinking not, and caring less,
Because it really matters not.
We lived our lives – enchanted,
Loved – were loved – Drank wine from priceless pewter
And troubled not to recon with the future.
And then one day we tasted of the other sort
Of vintage, not so pure or proven
The kind that sears the brain and burns the heart,
Yet chills, and almost Kills the very soul
And leaves you – sort of standing all alone, without
A friend – without hope
And TIME the healer of all pain and sorrow
Says this must end, and shows to you
A different morrow, but better still I think,
A brighter future
With life served straight, in priceless pewter.
Oh yess, times change as they must change
Just like the ebb and flow – there’s none can stop it.
And now we’ve TIME to meditate upon
The things we’ve done – and should have done.
But TIME will come again one day.
And what we’ll do there’s none can say.
But I think we’ll love – be loved.
Drink wine from priceless pewter
And trouble not to recon with the future.
- Sgt Forbes Patterson P.O.W.

They Gave Me a Tank – Troop Ten, Ed Bennet was in Command.
Eve of Aug. 18, 1942.
Even as we drifted silently from the harbour an atmosphere of catastrophe seemed to hover about us. I sat as eager and careworthy as the rest of them, on the turret of my tank drinking orange ale with the rest of the crew. “Bloody” was ready for the battle, a mighty monster of steel, even amid the crowded deck of soldiers, she seemed to offer a challenger unbeatable.
The twilight was fastly fading but still you could see the people waving to us from the shore, hundreds of them. “Of course no one knew anything about it” So our officer told us. Soon the shore grew dimmer and in the calm of the channel we could see scores of other boats with us. What a surprise the Jerry was going to have. Soon the drone of voices died down as men in their blankets lay down to get the much need rest they would require in a few hours. I think that very few of them slept. They probably were trying to picture what they would be doing at dawn in the gloom that confronted them. I think a lot of them prayed for the first time in their lives. And most of all dreamed of their homeland, and ones dear to them. Some wondered if they would be afraid, others felt they wouldn’t return, others felt a guardian over them, others didn’t know, they were the victim of circumstances and confined their odds to fate.

Aug.19/42.
Early in the morning I awoke in my hammock by the stir and bustle on board. We would not land for a couple of hours, but in the distance could be seen streaks of tracer filling the sky. No Guy Faulks day ever competed with the picture that was being set up on the French Coast. “Boy! Are we giving them Hell,” said Tosh as he stood on his tank. We stowed our hammocks and blankets on the T.L.C. and attempted to eat a bit of breakfast, The effort was useless. I didn’t take much notice but I doubt if anyone did eat much. They were better than I if they did. The excitement of it all was too much, a fellows stomach just seemed to have a sickly feeling and speared to be right at the back of your throat.
Soon we were getting the first news of the battle on the wireless. Some troops had landed and met no opposition for about five minutes. Then they were getting action and plenty of it too. Now and then the opparator was having trouble in receiving anything at all. While privates and sappers downed their equipment and shouldered many a weighty rook sack, And planes roared to and fro overhead amidst a distant rumble on the coast, we crawled into our tanks and warmed the engines. Carefully trained eyes scanned the instrument panels, anxiously satisfying themselves that all was well. Soon we would feel that familiar crunch as steel met gravel and sand. Then the ramp would be down. Nothing must fail then.
Now the roar of battle was becoming greater. I could discern the familiar rat-tat-tat of the M.G.s and above all the mighty blast of shot and shell. Then the familiar Pom-pom-pom aboard us was going. The Sgt. informed us over the I.C. that we were getting close. Then the T.L.C. was lurching to the tune of the Gerry shells. “We may have to evacuate” said the Sgt. “they are firing on us.” Then came the most hectic time of the battle, the boat gave a mighty lurch, we had been hit. A shell had come through the side and set the first tank afire, wounding the officer (BENET). The gunner exclaimed wildly as the Co-driver and I began to think of evacuating. “Get down” Hurry” This is war” We’ve got a man wounded.” As my comrades extinguished the fire, my one ambition was to be able to see what was going on! Ausey and I were as rats in a trap. Then as the Gunner re-handed me an empty fire extinguisher, came the familiar forward lurch with the grating of steel against gravel. I knew the ramp was already down. As my trembling foot pressed down on the clutch pedal, and my hand automatically grasped the change lever, my nerves steadied. I viewed the rev-counter mounting five hundred, one thousand, fifteen hundred, two thousand. Then came the familiar words. “Driver Advance!” My foot gradually released the clutch pedal and I knew we were rolling off the T.L.C. It was not my hand but one of invisibility that guided me as my fingers touched the tiller bar. “A little left! Steady! Driver right!” Something was making me calm and stealing my nerves. Perhaps after all it was the hand of Fate. I felt Bloody proudly sway to and fro as she mounted the ramp and then defiantly plunge down onto the beach. Over the wire came, “Driver halt, blow your cortex.” Calmly amidst the din of the already raging battle I grasped the plug that would blow the water tight sealing and open my vision hatches onto the scene off Hell.
What I saw I have not enough words to describe but I shall always remember. These two poems are enough.

The Battle of Dieppe
The Calgary Reg’t (Tank) Aug.19, 42.

I You’ve heard many a story
Of battles of glory and fame
So now I’ll tell you a story
Of a battle much the same.

II The channel was lovely that evening
As boats sailed out on the blue
Some of the boys sat dreaming
Their fate they never knew.

III The soft breeze off the ocean
Seemed to refresh you for ever more
As you saw in the dim light of evening
The last of England’s shore.

IV Time seemed to fly so swiftly
As we sailed along the deep
Some of the boys were singing
Few were fast asleep.

V Just as the sky was dawning
The sky seemed to turn blood red
We all sat looking and listening
To the roar of the planes overhead.

VI For we were on an invasion
Of a town on the coast of France
We were told of its easy taking
The Jerries didn’t have a chance.

VII We sat on our Tanks quietly waiting
With radios tuned on for a sound
Soon we heard them saying
Some tanks had landed in France.

VIII It was soon our time to get going
So into our Tanks we got
Soon of the boats we went rolling
While Jerry was making it hot.

IX The sight my eyes first saw
As we landed that terrible day
God but I’ll never forget
As I turned to look away.

X So many lives seemed wasted
As you looked at the tatored and torne
You thought of the things you hated
As you fought on that terrible day.

XI Ten hours we fought like devils
Ten hours hardly able to breath
Amid smoke and the roar of explosions
While above the sky seemed to scream.


XII With the guns in our Tanks still roaring
We were told it was time to retreat
With hope our spirits went soaring
As we returned to that hell on the beach.

XIII It was then that we saw how hopeless
Was our chance of returning home
For our boats were sinking and burning
While a few were headed back home.

XIV We waited for our rescue
On that blood soaked beach at Dieppe
The R.A.F. seemed missing
As Jerry bombed and straffed us to death.

XV We looked and hoped for the sight of the Navy
“The Boats” they said, would come soon
Minutes seemed to drag like ages
It was hell on the beach that afternoon.

XVI Swiftly the tide came nearer
The wounded we couldn’t help
We knew we must soon surender
We were trapped in that terrible hell.

XVII After the guns stopped roaring
While planes still dived overhead
Jerry marched us away from the seashore
Strewn with wounded and dying and dead.

XVIII The Huns shot many a soldier
As we surrendered that day at Dieppe
For they couldn’t hold their hands up
Their shoulders seemed filled with lead.

XIX But now we can say to each other
The few that came through that day
Good work you Canadian Tankers
You gave Jerry Hell at Dieppe

XX Some unloyal person had sold us
Jerry had found out our plan
For days he had waited our coming
And boasted we never could land.


XXI Those that are left shall remember
We do not ask for fame
We gave all we had for our Country
God knows we’ll do it again.

XXII Those that fell in battle
Shall be showered with honor and fame
Their names shall live forever after
For the cause and the life they gave.
- Cpl. J.K.Nash M25266

BATTLE OF DIEPPE
Second Canadian Division

I It was the eighteenth day of August in the year of forty two
We sailed away from England
Though no man knew where to
We had received no orders
No friends were there to see us leave
The second Canadian division
With the blue patch on their sleeve.

II Early the next morning
When everything was still
We saw those tracer bullets
Coming to us from the hill
But we kept right on sailing
And no man will ever forget
The morning that we landed
On the beach there at Dieppe.

III The enemy were waiting
And had taken up their post
We met a hail of bullets
As we landed on the coast.

IV But every man landed
Or at least he tried
Though many of them were wounded
And many more of them died.

V It was early in the morning
When we started in to fight
The mortar shells came at us
From the front, the left and the right.

VI They shelled from the cliff
And bombed us from the air
But the second Canadian Division
Were not so easily scared.

VII We fought hard for nine hours
From five A.M. till two
Our losses were terrific
But there was nothing we could do.

VIII The Navy came to help us
But their boats they couldn’t land
So at last we had to surrender
At Dieppe on the sand.

IX What is left of us are prisoners
Beneath a foreign flag
Here in the heart of Germany.
In this Camp they call Stalag.

X Many of our comrades fell
But we never will forget
They gave their lives bravely fighting
In the battle of Dieppe.

XI When this war is over
And once again we’re free
To our homeland we’ll be sailing
To the land of Liberty.


XII Though many have a battle scare
No man will er’e forget
The morning that we landed
On the French coast at Dieppe.


I felt strange, oh so strange as I sat by my tank on the beach. The din of the battle was over but for the odd stray mortar shell about us, and a few stray cracking bullets overhead. The sea was calm, oh so calm, not a ripple disturbed it. A lone T.L.C. sat with her nose out of the water some distance out trying her best not to flounder. The sky was heavenly blue in the bright sunshine. Was this after all to be the end? Would they come and shoot the lot of us, or send down another hail of mortar and bullets. Yes perhaps this was going to be the end. After all it would not be so hard to die. But what would those back home be thinking. Such a cruel world this, to bring such sorrow upon them. But no somehow I didn’t feel as if I were going to die. Yes! That was it we were going to be prisoners of war.
Just then I awoke to a series of activities. Men were throwing away and destroying their arms, wearily rising as if in a dream and staggering up the beach. Down the beach I beheld a group of men with a white flag. Unconsciously I undid the buckle that secured my belt and holster. It dropped heavily into the sand.
Then I turned my back to the beach of hell, and walked to the promenade. Past dear old “Bloody” for the last time. Battered and beaten a bit, but nevertheless the same old “Bloody”.
They gathered us up and after searching us marched us away to the hospital as the R.A.F. still were straffing and bombing the town. At the hospital the wounded and injured were taken from us, after we were all again searched and counted we began a march. To where, no one knew.

...and I can't stop thinking about it, I'm thinking about it....

So I finally was able to take my laptop to the shop to figure out what was wrong with it. I knew it was the battery that they had sold me, but they had to confirm for themselves. But having my computer gone for a week left me feeling rather unsettled. Generally all my work is done on my computer. And with my acquired workaholic nature I was a little disquieted not having work to do. Perhaps this is something that I should change, my attachment to my computer as well as my workaholism (which really sounds like working while under the influence).

But oh the joys that Value Village brought to me this week. I present to you the Polaroid Automatic 103 Land Camera.


The first instant photo camera released to the consumer market. I picked it up for the amazing cost of $9.99. It also came with 5 boxes of film which moved it from conversation-piece to toy-camera. Of course it has yet to be fully tested since I need to find a new battery.

I as well bought for the same reasonable price a Jelco Zoom 8 SE.

This fine piece of camera history came with 3 rolls of film. Also, not tested, but worth the risk for the price.

Who Said It's Easy?

The past week of my life has been more than busy, more than eventful, and more than rewarding. I poured all my energies into finishing my contract with YFC, leaving time and desire for little else. Of course this means that I am now jobless, but it also means I am $2000 richer.

But life has held so much more than just work. The postal service was the bearer of joy not once, but twice. My degree came in the mail concluding 7 years of post secondary edumacation.



My new ESV study bible came in the mail as well. It is amazing, if not a little intimidating. I did not include a picture of it because it looks like...well, a big bible. It is the inside that is amazing. Here is a video about it to better explain. (I think the guy in the video has a neck disorder that causes him to move continously.)


There are so many little joys that I want to share that it would make this post ridiculously long. I will instead end it here and share them with you in bite size portions in future posts. Till then.

From Now On Your Small Breasts Need Not Be the Cause of Your Embarrassment

Today I share with you the joy of words as art. I just love how playful Linzie Hunter is in turning spam messages into beautiful typography. Apparently these will be collected in a book, "Secret Weapon: 30 Hand Painted Spam Postcards", available soon. Below are a few of my favorites from her collection.

The Novel

Life has been...how might I say it...busy. Enjoyable, but challenging and draining. The best part of my busy life the past week was that my brother and his girlfriend came to visit for Thanksgiving. Every time he visits it feels like he has never left. We ended up playing tourist a bit because of his girlfriend, but it was lots of fun. As always, I will miss him till the next time one of us can visit the other.

I've been reading pretty heavily the past weeks despite the busy schedule. I read Ravi Zacharias' The Lamb and the Führer: Jesus Talks with Hitler. It was interesting on it's own, but more so it made me want to read the prison writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. God bless libraries.

It's interesting how much of my reading has been accidentally parallel. Reading about a past Christian seemed amplified by the other book I chance to be reading at the same time. I have recently joined a bible study with my church and we are covering the history of the early church. In preparation I borrowed a book on the history of the church by D. Jeffrey Bingham from my friend. The preface arrested my attention more than once. I excerpt at length:


Every historian is an interpreter of historical facts, presenting those facts as he or she understands them. The historian attempts to find some meaning or significance in what has happened in the past and to describe a relationship between this person and another, between this event and that one. Historians try to make connections and, out of those connections, to suggest lessons.


In many ways church history is the history of Christians interpreting the Bible.


So, what in history may be of particular use to Christians of the twenty-first century? Let me suggest three things.
First, history can help us put our own experience, knowledge and practice into proper perspective. Each generation is tempted to view itself as the best, brightest and most insightful generation. Each generation of Christians is tempted to see its way of worship, its way of ministry, its way of doing spirituality as the most biblical or practical. History reminds us that our generation is not the only one that has ever lived the Christian life. We are Christians within a company of Christians, both present and past, both living on earth and with the Lord. History helps keep us from becoming infatuated with ourselves. History nurtures the goldy virtue of humility.
Second, history reminds us that actions and ideas have consequences not only in our own generation but also for generations to come. What we believe, teach and practice affects future generations of believers. therefore history helps us to not act or teach impulsively. We must employ caution. We must enter into self-criticism and self-evaluation. History helps keep us from taking ourselves too seriously, as if we had all the best answers. At the same time history helps us take ourselves very seriously, because we affect others.
Third, history can give us new ideas, new ways of thinking, new examples of practice that may be biblical. Because these treasures of life and faith are old, because they have been locked away in that dusty old chest of history, when we finally open it up and take them out, they seem new. Wise Christians should always be historians in one sense. They sit higher and can see further, more panoramically, if they enrich themselves from the past. John of Salisbury (1115-1180), a medieval scholar, spoke of the jewels, the riches, the prestige of antiquity. He was right. The past has bequeathed to us its gems. Note his wise words:

Our own generation enjoys the legacy bequeathed to it by that which preceded it. We frequently know more, not because we have moved ahead by our own natural ability, but because we are supported by the [mental] strenght of others, and possess riches that we have inherited from our forefathers. Bernard of Chartres used to compare us to [puny] dwarfs perched on the shoulders of giants. He pointed out that we see more and farther than our predecessors, not because we have keener vision or greater height, but because we are lifted up and borne aloft of their gigantic stature.

That was very lengthy, but worth the typing I feel. I hope you found the contents worth the reading.

Life has been more than a little busy lately. Unfortunately, I know that it's only going to get worse. The only comfort is that now that I'm in the working world my efforts are rewarded with a pay check instead of a bill. I do miss school though. I enjoyed going to classes and having my days filled with learning.

But life has brought some joys between the work. My birthday was certainly one of them. Though, I was a little disappointed that my newly received espresso cups will have to sit unused for a while. Before I left for the summer I cleaned the espresso machine I received as a very generous gift by running vinegar through it. I had not had a chance to try out the machine since I got back, so I didn't know anything was wrong. Something crystallized in the machine. Quite seriously, there was some sort of crystallized substance formed around the espresso spout part. It has clogged the machine up so it is unusable. I'm hoping I will be able to clean it out so I won't need to buy a new one.

I also went to see Plants and Animals perform with Born Ruffians. This was my third time seeing Plants and Animals and they are always a joy to see live. I especially like watching the drummer who drums in a very sharp but visually appealing way. Their set was far too short, but Born Ruffians were a good pacifier for my disappointment.

Now unless you (who live in North America) have been completely oblivious to the world around you, there are elections coming up. I came across this past week a fascinating interview with graphic novel Louis Riel author Chester Brown, who is a Libertarian candidate in Toronto. I love this not only because of my burgeoning interest in political theory (especially anarchy and libertarianism), but it is an excellent use of the comic form in a nontraditional manner. I doubt any of my friends have not experienced at least one of my rants on the glories of the graphic novel medium and its under appreciation in North America. But as I am too tired to actually fully rant here, I will let you enjoy this short joy for yourselves.



Click on the image for a bigger version.

Today I turn 26. I've never been one to make a big deal about my birthday, so I've rarely done anything for them. I never found them overly important. But, this morning as I was eating breakfast it dawned on me how cataclysmic celebrating a birthday is. When you really think about it, a birthday is celebrating your very existence. It's about the people who's lives you have touched and your place in the world. Knowing this, how could your heart not soar every time someone wishes you a happy birthday.

And as it turns out today was also the announcing of the Polaris Prize winner. For those of you who have no clue what it is, the Polaris Prize is a $20, 000 prize for a full-length Canadian album, judged solely on artistic merit, without regard to genre or record sales (as the site says). Last year's winner was the very deserving Patrick Watson, who I love, so I was very interested in this years outcome. There were some big names on the nominee list including Stars, Kathleen Edwards, The Weakerthans, (my hopeful) Plants and Animals, and other deserving artists. This year went to Caribou for their album Andorra. I haven't heard Caribou so I can't make any comment on the outcome. You can be sure that I will be checking it out soon though.

An extra little tidbit about the Polaris Prize site I recommend checking out is the the limited edition poster art created for each album. I've posted my two favorites below.

Having a blog is something that I have been considering for some time. I hadn't started one before because if I had a blog it would mean that I would need to have something to post on it, not to mention the time commitment. When the pros and cons were weighed it just didn't seem worth it. But, as you may be able to guess because I have started a blog, I now find it worth investigating.

Now don't expect this to be my online diary expounding on my latest relationship or my deepest secrets. I am hardly an exhibitionist. My life will of course be the starting point for most of my content, so I hope what I present of my life is entertaining to those who read. But, my goal is more to spur and document my personal growth and cultural explorations. Having to keep up a blog means that I need something to put in it. I will need to continue to take in and digest ideas to discuss, as well as expanding my cultural horizons so I have more culture to share.

I also believe that I have something to say, as everyone does. It's not that I think everyone should listen to me, it's that I think some might want to.

Joel