Set the Sails

After months of deliberating, praying and contemplation I have resigned from Ignite 107. I was becoming too bitter about the inner workings of the station and it was affecting the rest of my life. A negative emotion poison that was seeping into my general consciousness. I haven't been happy there for a long time, but it had reached a whole new level. But, I do care about the station and the roll I feel it should be playing, so I spent a little over a week writing, restarting and altering my letter of resignation. The first drafts were rather angry and accusing upon rereading, but I eventually ended up with this:

Ignite 107/Goldenwest Radio,

I have been with the station for almost a year now. It has been a beneficial experience and I feel that I have grown as a result of my time here. However, I feel that at this time Ignite is no longer a good fit for me, nor I the best person for the position. You need a person that can share in your vision for the station and has a passion for radio. So at this time I am hereby giving my two weeks notice.

Ignite walks a tricky path. In representing yourself as “Christian” Ignite has placed a responsibility and standard upon itself that is difficult to follow. Your intentions are to minister to people but must still consider the bottom line. I pray that God will bless the station and help it grow into a prosperous business that can represent Christ well and be a support to the listeners.

In my first meeting at Ignite I was told, “we are not going to change the world.” This has stuck with me and bothered me immensely. That is exactly what Ignite should be doing. I am beginning to see this view surface. Take more risks, push more envelopes, be willing to make people uncomfortable or the station will slowly die.

I would like to encourage the station especially in moving the power over the playlist to Kyle. The people on the front lines should be the ones making the music decisions. All the on-airs have a passion for the music and have a vision as to how Ignite can best thrive. Let passion be the driving force. I also encourage you to look beyond CCM. In my experience CCM is a bad system. It draws moral and spiritual safety lines based on distributers, and labels. There are amazing Christian musicians with artistic merit and deep spiritual messages that are not distributed by the easy channels. Reliance on the charts and mainline distribution will create stagnancy and stump the stations possible effectiveness. God is the ultimate creator, let the music on the station be a celebration of that and worship to Him.

In all your actions with staff and the community let the love of Jesus permeate completely. Do not be a business filling a market niche, be a Christ intentioned business.

I will continue to hope for Gods will to be done in the future of both Ignite and CHVN.

Joel Schwab

Hopefully this is a step back to take two steps forward. I don't have any real work lined up yet, but I'm trusting that God has something for me. Regardless of work (or worklessness) I feel energized, empowered and inspired. Being free of the poison alone makes it worth it.

City of Joy

This fell out from the back cover of my bible the other day. I've had it sitting on my desk since then. There are two sets of twins that usually sit with me during church, two boys, two girls. One of the girls, Dorris, gave this to me. It's a map, but the most beautiful map. And that she called it "City of Joy" creates some inarticulate feeling akin to wonder. I don't feel like I have anything else I can form into words.

If wishes were horses, more beggars would ride them.

Ah, disappointment. How bitter you taste and how you linger in the back of my throat. Especially after the sweet whiff of possible freedom and success.

There was an internship at Merit Motion Pictures, a documentary company, I applied for this weekend. It looked absolutely perfect. An 18 week internship with full time hours, and a pay of 12,000 for the load. It involved mostly working with their website, organizing their database, and learning how to work in a production company. My hopes were high. I even have a friend in the company, so the odds were looking good.

The interview this morning wasn't perfect, but I thought it went well. However, the rest of the day I was playing it over in my mind. I should have said that instead. Why did I say that? Did I talk over her there? Did she notice? Each small error got it's own part starring on the stage of my mind in a play of second guess with a with a run of 1500 shows. Needless to say I was a little preoccupied all day.

They were to let me know tomorrow morning, but the email came tonight. They decided to go with someone else. I feel so very defeated. Mostly because I feel that it was my own doings in the interview that lost me the position. There is no consolation but a job. I'm going to go to bed and sleep off this sour mood.

I feel like this today. Melancholic and not making complete sense.

Extract from a romance which is not yet written and probably never will be

To a Modern Poet by GK Chesterton
(The resolution for some reason is very low, so click on them to see them in their full and readable form.)



Books touch that deep down part of me that you might refer as my inner child. They get me excited. It's not just the reading of them, but the tactile experience of them. The crinkle of the pages, the slight grain of the paper rubbing up against the tips of your fingers as you pass your hand over it, and in the case of old books, the smell of history that only something of past generations has. This is a love affair that has been going on for some time.

This past weekend I struck gold. It has become a habit of mine when going into any used book store, as I can often be found doing, to ask if they have any Chesterton. Most often they will have a copy of "The Man Who Was Thursday" or some of the Father Brown collection, both of which I purchased long ago. It just so happened this time that they had a copy of collected poems by Mr Chesterton himself. A first edition printing of "The Collected Poems of Gilbert Keith Chesterton" from 1927 in surprisingly great condition for being over 80 years old. When the owner of the bookstore handed me the book I was positively giddy and the story of the pearl of great price kept running through my head. Thankfully it only cost $25, a steal for such a valuable pearl.

The book held more treasure than I could have guessed. Beyond the accidentally unevenly weighted text on the rough cloth paper pages, included were newspaper clippings from the 20's and 30's. Some about the book, some not. (I love the typo in the second paragraph of this one where they refer to him as Mr Chesterfield.)



DEH Cleveland MD, the previous own of the book whose claim to the copy was found on the inside cover also left notes throughout the book. It is interesting to see what moved this total stranger, but fellow Chesterton lover. Looking through the book it is fascinating to see what poems he marked off with a short line in pencil beside the title. It feels like a strange connection to some person I have no real connection to. It is like I am privy to the ruminating and thoughts of a stranger, an odd sort of voyeurism.



I found this photo in there as well. No markings on it to say who is in the photo. Is this his mother holding his son? Perhaps, it is his grandmother holding him when he was a child. It is left to the imagination to tell the story and fill in the gaps.

A treasure of a book, and I look forward to reading each of it's 356 pages.

Call It What You Will

It's amazing how fast someone can claim a space in your heart. Before you realize it, their presence is anchored into some new alcove in your heart, securing in their friendly claws tightly. Which is why it hurts so much when they leave. Farewell my friend Miyoko. I will fondly remember our conversations over a good glass of wine. Toronto beckons you to your future where better things await. It rained heavily all day. Fitting for the melancholy occasion. You will be missed.



I leave tomorrow for Jon and Danelle's wedding. Still much to do, but oh, what a week that awaits.

Why Can't Art Be Interactive

Can games be art?

Ignoring all the possible debate I could cover that continues to wage war over definitions and facets, I will slam down my opinion.

Yes. Yes the medium can surpass entertainment, not always leaving it behind as it reaches for the higher (superior?) caste.

If experimental film can be described as linear motion added to paintings, why can't games be participation/interactivity added to paintings. The games of Jason Rohrer and Daniel Benmergui, even Braid, the Path and Shadow of the Colossus are great examples of surpassing the basic goal completion to create a thought provoking experience.

Really though, this is not an attempt to argue the point, but an entry point, an incentive for you to try out this game, Windowsill by Vector Park. I bought this game a few months ago, and since then he has made it free for in browser play as well as to download. The game is absolutely beautiful, each section a seperate work of art to drink in and savour. Yes there is a task, a puzzle for each stage, but that is hardly the point of the game. Give it a try and tell me what you think.

This is not an ending

It has been a very long time since I written anything on here. I almost wrote "too long" but then I considered that that wouldn't be true. It has not been that I haven't had anything to write, I have. I have just chosen not to write. And so the amount of time it took for me to write has been the perfect amount of time.

This past month plus since I have written has been filled with auspicious occasions and important events. My brother and his fiancee came to the city for a wedding shower, I bought my first cell phone, and I just returned from an amazing 5 days at Folk Fest. All of this is all the more special because it is my first summer in the city in 7 years. Life happened and I felt no need to document it. I simply felt the desire to enjoy them in their moments and let them pass, because really that's part of what makes them valuable and beautiful. Their fleeting, their temporary existence made them something to be savored in that moment and digested into memory. And in memory they will grow to be something more wonderful as I forget the small troubles and trails that happened leaving only sunshine and smiles. And it all melds into what will be later referred to as the good old days.

So here's to the second half of summer yet to come. May it's days be as wonderful and memorable as the ones that proceeded them. The house is quiet and there is a cloudless blue sky outside. It should be a nice evening.