This Is What Halloween Does To You

Americans are so weird. How consumeristic can we get? I'm no exception, believe me, this is no elitist rant, I bought a scarf I didn't really need yesterday and I had pizza delivered to my door.

But this season is so funny. While I was running yesterday, I couldn't help but notice the exterior Halloween home decor. I normally try to pray when I run, or just think about blessings, but I've got to admit all the crap in people's lawns really distracted me. Why on earth do you need spend $24.99 on a cauldron? It's a cauldron. When else are you going to get the cauldron out? Ok, if it were a real cauldron, different story, but they're plastic.

It's like mom came home after dropping the kids off at school, locked her car, and in the autumn air she looked at her house she calls home and thought, "You know what, this needs something." And all day she thought about it but just couldn't figure out that missing piece to the exterior of her house. But after long enough mental deliberation she said got it.

So later, kids get back from school, Dad comes home, and mom is done making the meatloaf and looks to her family, her kin, and says.

"You guys, you know what that front lawn needs? A cauldron."

After the pause; "I mean, I know this house is beautiful, and I know it keeps us warm, but we really need a freaking cauldron out there."

The funny thing is that if it really happened this way it would make so much more sense. Even worse, we don't even reason with it in our brains, we just buy it and don't question it. We just walk into Freddy's and we grab the paper towels, the milk, and some more cereal, and then we buy a huge cauldron for the front yard. A freaking cauldron.

I was at Fred Meyer yesterday buying some gum, when the guy behind me threw down the divider, and after the divider a pair of bunny ears.

I looked up at him and he quickly raised his eye brows up and then down. He was most likely single and appeared to be almost 30. Oh, and he was buying fake bunny ears to put on his head all while getting totally smashed. Bunny ears. I know that guy was looking around Fred Meyer thinking, "I'm totally going to get smashed tomorrow night, but I can't just get drunk like this..." and then he saw them. Yeah, I need me some bunny ears.

God Bless America.

I'm Not an Artist, But I Did Sweat A Little

NOTE: I wrote this at 7:46 am.

Do you ever wonder if those guys who are alone blowing leaves in the city are paid by anyone?

They seem to just wander and blow leaves into the street or some back alley. I rarely see them with some type of uniform. Even a graphic polo would do the trick.

Anyways.

My Understanding Theater class is largely made up of wannabe actors, circus freaks, and people just trying to fill their fine arts credit. The first day was fun, but at that time I hadn't realized my professor's capabilities of weirding me out.

She's done a lot of things over the last four weeks that push my eyes to the floor and my hand to my forehead, but it's mainly things other people do - just amplified because she's "an artist," to quote her majesty.

So I've just been trying to scrape by, doing every assignment during her lecture and writing play reviews in under thirty minutes. And I've been doing fine. High marks, no complaints - I've been flying under the radar. Until yesterday.

Now, before I take account for this interaction, I want to tell you I've written this poorly because I've done what writers call, "rising descriptive suspense," which includes telling small pieces of information about a character and/or a situation that will affect the scene to come. I want to warn you, this really wasn't all that grand, but it affected me nonetheless, so shut up.

We were done with our "mid-term," which was a 30 question reading exam which I swear she handed to us last week. All the same questions. All the same answers. It took 12 minutes for the class to be lined up and waiting to receive our "reading journals" back (don't get me started...a reading journal? I swear I enrolled in a University).

I'm about seven people back, and when it comes time for me to turn in my test she hands me a play review I did before my journal.

"This was excellent," she remarked sincerely.

"Oh, thank you," I said with hesitation. Excellent is a little strong.

"You have a wonderful way with words, are you a writer?" She asked.

"I am when you tell me to be," I fired back.

"Well I'm telling you to be."

"-"

What? I couldn't tell what was going on so I let the silence hang and pushed my eyes to the floor. She said this with her head somewhat bowed and her eyes lurching forward out of the tops of her glasses. It her tone was not stern, but sort of - I really don't have a better word - sexual?

"Do you have my reading journal?" my nervous laugh forced out.

"Yes," she said. "I think you're capable of more with this. You did a wonderful job, but in reading your review I think you're capable of more in your journal. Ask more questions. Give more insight into the reading. I think you can do just a bit more. Make the text alive!"

By this time there was a long line of people behind me waiting to get their reading journal and a sucker. Her last remark locked me up and I ran out of clever things to say. I took my journal and was walking away mumbling some type of thanks to her when I heard her exclaim, "Wonderful!" is a bird-like cry.

I didn't turn around to see if the exclamation was for me, because at that time I was escaping from Alcatraz for all I cared.

Chasing Daylight Infomercial

I got paid to do this. My church (Rolling Hills Community in Tualatin OR) just recently launched a church-wide program for small groups and sermon series based off of Erwin McManus' book, "Chasing Daylight." Here's how we promoted it to the whole church.

Even if you think church/Christianity/God/Jesus whatever is lame, you should still watch it...

Clown Hall vs. Town Hall

However you feel about Clinton, his wife, their family, his legacy...whatever, I just think we all need to look at how someone should really rock a town hall meeting. Has anyone done this format better than Billy?

Needless to Say, I Left in Bewilderment

So it's back to school again. My third college. It's not fun getting to know a new campus, let alone new graduation requirements. Luckily, there's no culture shock like what came at SPU and Multnomah. SPU was the simple shock of being on a floor of 40 other guys who were totally different from each other. And also handling the massive amounts of male nudity. Culture shock. Multnomah was the total shock of realizing that ministry has become a "fall-back" career option. Hearing the guy next to me in chapel say, "I wasn't really good at math or science, and English was boring, so I thought, 'hey, I like Jesus, why no be a pastor?!'" was needless to say both disappointing and sickening. Yeah! why not be a pastor?! Totally! I don't know if these were the kind of guys the apostle Paul was looking for to lead his churches.

But these things are beside the purpose of me beginning to write. I had the strangest first class period this past week. It was Tuesday.

I arrived on time to my class entitled, "The English Novel," which to me seemed like it would be a great compliment to my major, which is...English. Anyways, we're all sitting there just waiting for our professor to show up, right? And then all of a sudden it's been over five minutes past the start of class. At 10 minutes, everyone can leave...that's the standard rule at Universities, I think.

Around minute seven I smelled something.

I turned around and there was a hunched over bum walking into the classroom. But he is not a bum. Is this him? Well, this will be a great year...I wonder if he washes windows or plays guitar poorly? Everyone quieted down and watched him saunter up to the front of the class. The room became incredibly quiet.

He spoke. Loudly.

"Your professor loves you very much and is terribly sorry." His tone was bold, but somewhat groggy, and his voice sounded a lot like the damp, dirty brown long coat he had around his shoulders.

He began passing out pieces of white paper saying, "Here is your syllabi, your professor couldn't make it, so please take one of these and have a great day."

After this, Bummy gave up passing the syllabus out and just set them on the desk. The room still absolutely silent.

One brave student called out, "Is there any homework."

"Read as much Wuthering Heights as possible."

"How much?" another student questioned.

He just stared at her. Frightening. Is this how I die?

The tension broke when he broke the staring contest and looked over all of us as he exited and said, "Read as much Wuthering Heights as possible. Good day!"

Before I could question if I was on Punk'd or not, he was gone.

Crafty little minx.

The whole room was all the more silent until a student in the front of the classroom looked back at the rest of us.

"What the f---?"

He spoke for all of us.