Another twist in the fabric of Galen's time on earth

An Army Recruiter called me tonight. He offered me: $4000 to join; $70000 for school when I'm done; all my current loans and my last two years at Whitworth paid for by the Army; guaranteed enrollment in the Advanced Individual Training course at the linguistics school at Monterey (one of the best in the world); guaranteed acceptance to Officer Cadet School; a commission as a Captain upon graduating Whitworth with my B.A.; guaranteed assignment in a linguistics related position; guaranteed assignment to the base of my choice (Italy anyone?); and I only have to serve two to four years after graduating from Whitworth. It's an incredible offer, but I feel like they're offering me a bribe.

So these are the questions mulling about in my head right now: If the Army is bribing me to join them, doesn't that prove them to be insecure about their cause? I mean, if they're willing to give me $200,000 to fight in the War on Terror, isn't it obvious they don't consider the war itself to be a compelling reason to serve my country? And if they're that insecure about their own cause, do I really want to devote my life to it?

The second question builds on the first: since I don't agree with their cause in the first place, and would be joining them purely for their bribes, that makes me a mercenary. Can I ethically justify being a mercenary? Especially when innocent people (and guilty people of course) will die because of my involvement? Is getting a full ride at college worth risking causing a human to die?

Then there's this: I'd have to skip out on working at World Vision, even though I've committed there. And I'd have to skip out on some dear friends I've made this year.

BUT... I could go to Whitworth, for free. I'd get free linguistics training, which is great since I can't afford MIT. I'd get to travel the world with the US paying for it. I'd get another $70,000 for grad school later. And I'd be an Officer, with quite the adventure before me.

What to do? What to do?

For the photographers in the bunch

If you like taking pictures and you just aren't impressed by mine, you should go check out MSNBC's recap of the years best pictures. There's a set chosen by the public and one chosen by MSNBC's editors. There's some pretty incredible stuff there. Makes me want to practice a bit more.

Go check them out and then come back and let me know which one's you like the best. I'm curious about what images people like and why.

732 gallons = $1610 and a couple of human lives

According to http://www.participate.net/terrapass my car burns approximately 732 gallons of gas a year. That means I spend about $1610 on gas over the course of a year. That's a lot more than a transit pass. And my Jeep produces 14,321 pounds of carbon dioxide every year from emissions. That's five times the weight of my car.

Normally I wouldn't care, because carbon dioxide helps trees grow, and I like trees; and normally I wouldn't care because it's obvious to me that God has systems in place to ensure the earth never gets too hot or cold to sustain life; but tonight I watched Syriana, and tonight I realized that people are dying so that I can drive my car around for $1610 a year. I'm not ok with that. I'll ride the bus if it means less people will die. The only thing is, I'm not sure riding the bus is going to save lives. And so I feel impotent, sort of like I felt after Constant Gardener, and after Hotel Rwanda.

And now I'm going to eat some toast, and go lay down, and forget all about this. And maybe I'll look into a bus pass.

Zadi's vlog

Go visit Zadi's vlog. This video made me happy, because even with all the crap going on in the world, both liberals and conservatives are still people underneath it all -- even when we disagree, we're still in this together. Also, check out her vid on Hurricane Katrina.

Go visit Zadi!

Scrooge you for judging Christmas gifts by their covers

So I don't like getting gifts, because I don't like saying thank you and then putting something in a drawer. Most gifts are so "it's the thought that counts" and that's annoying. Because if you have to say that about a gift, it probably wasn't a very thoughtful gift at all. I have all the stuff I need, and nearly all the stuff I want, and I really don't have very much at all, but I'm content. Most Christmases and birthdays I tell people no gifts -- actually, I always say no gifts -- but people are determined and still get me stuff. So every year there is a lot of awkward, "Thank you. How nice. Well, I've always wanted one of these, I think, sort of." People feel very good about themselves because they've discharged their gift-giving responsibility, and I'm left trying to find a place to put my new-fangled stuff that I don't want, don't need but must keep to avoid being "ungrateful." It's really one annoying holiday after another over here in Galenland.

I say all this to say that this year is different. I told everyone no gifts, like usual, but people were still determined. However, I have yet to receive a calculator or a Christmas ornament or a bargain-book on the History of Chariots. This year I've received three gifts before Christmas, and every single one has been thoughtful and, well, instead of saying "Oh, how nice," I've said, "Wow, I'm shocked. Someone got me something that A) Won't cause clutter B) I can use C) I actually like." So thanks to those people. You're the chamomile in my tea.

Oh, and, can you believe it, someone I barely know gave me Blue Like Jazz. How the heck did they know? That just made my morning today. Cheers to you Cole.

Time: People of the Year

Finally, role models worth imitating. Read all about it.

A cause for violence

I punch people to make them mad, to see them come alive. Like "Pushing here" on a stuffed animal, and dancing to the music. People are hollow, their faces are masks, store-bought expressions, eye liner, plastic-bottled tears. Like a fancy doll posing at that awards show. She's so sad. Break their teeth or touch them there, piss them off or call them names; and the manequinns growl, shirk their fancy dresses, shout, flip you off, and then you know -- then you know. Then you know them, alive.

It's a week since I lost my wallet.

I lost my wallet. Some nice people gave it back. I had to get gas. To do that I had to open my wallet. When I did, I was surprised. No, nothing was missing. But something was new. The people who gave it back also gave me notes. I really liked them. I almost cried. Or maybe that was the breeze drying out my eyes. Yes, probably that. But thank you. You're all rare like unicorns.

A little fun with the snow and a cameraphone

Rachel really likes her snow. Click the image to watch the movie.

A short list of things to do today

1. Drive through the falling snow at warp speed.
2. Tell the nice lady at Safeway "Merry Christmas", and feel really very merry about it afterall.
3. Have intense discussions repeatedly. Interrogate self following aforementioned: could I have been wrong? How do I know anything? Epistemology my ...
4. Peek through curtain. Is it still snowing?
   
5. Wonder at the snow. Wonder: "What is the meaning of snow?" Enjoy homogenous landscape. For once homogeneous get a good connotation. I like when it snows and everything is soft.
   
6. Find words are inadequate to describe some things, like how I feel right now.
7. Sigh. Maybe that says it all?

Cheers. It's Christmas and we're all alive.

questions I asked myself today

1. How does cheese melt in a quesadilla when it wasn't frozen in the first place?
2. Has anyone actually read the ingredients in toothpaste? Does it scare anyone else that it says, "Do not swallow?"
3. Once everyone our age gets married, what exactly will everyone talk about?

Bon nuit.

A staggering night of heartwarming genius

This is Matt. Matt is an intrepid Austrian hiker.

















Matt is enthralled by a note jotted in Galen's little black book.















Galen and Trevor want some time to think about this.


















Apparently Matt thinks the note is amusing.


















Galen and Trevor are relieved.






















Now Matt is a city slicker and Trevor is a graduated artist. Trevor has grown a moustache in the past seven minutes.















Then Matt changed clothes and died.















Galen died too.




















Trevor is dismayed by these developments.
















Matt resurrected to find out he is wearing a pink boa.

















Kayla is incredulous.



















And now for something completely different.















"Change... the channel..."
- Uncle Bill

Click.

Cheers!

The fog, like fish and visitors, begins to stink after five days.

oh, the decisions

Apple Pie, Pumpkin Pie, Cranberry Pie or Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie?

Thank you, Nordstrom

Posted at the Southcenter Nordstrom

The Wizard's Winter (updated)

And there was another time, when we went to Mr. Saintpatrick's house. Laura's mom never let us visit Mr. Saintpatrick's. She said we shouldn't go to stranger's houses. But I saw them talking once, and they waved at each other a lot, so I guess he wasn't a stranger, really.

That afternoon, we only went into his house because Amber had slipped on the gravel in front of his house. We were running away from this kidnapper who kept driving by getting ready to steal us, and we turned around the corner in front of Mr. Saintpatrick's house and Amber bought the farm. She scratched up her whole body, and the kidnapper was still chasing us in his car, so I knocked on Mr. Saintpatrick's door.

He looked scared when he opened the door; I think I knocked really hard. He looked both ways while he asked me what I wanted. I explained the situation to him and pointed to Amber limping up the sidewalk. When he saw her, he didn't look so scared anymore. He told me to go inside and call Laura's mom, to tell her to come as fast as possible. She said she'd be right over and to not let him feed us anything, but I forgot that part, because when I got off the phone, I saw Amber on the couch and Mr. Saintpatrick was taking off her coat. He wasn't doing anything dirty. He just put bandaids on all of her scratches, and told her he'd make her some chocolate milk with his secret recipe to make her bruises go away. He made some for me and Laura too.

We sat on the couch next to the patient, and he stood by the fireplace with his back to the fire. Across from the fireplace, the news was playing really quiet on his TV. He looked scary with his face flashing colors in the TV light, but when he turned to stoke the fire, he looked a lot like my Grandpa. He had a belly and eyebrows like my grandpa, so I felt safe. He asked us about school, and riding bikes, and did we like our chocolate milk. We forgot about the kidnappers pretty soon. He sat down in a rocking chair next to the fire, and finished his chocolate milk that he was drinking out of a metal bottle with a very short neck.

Amber asked him to tell us a story. He told us about when he was a kid and his uncle taught him how to make it snow. Laura didn't believe him, so she double-dared him to prove it. He laughed a big laugh, like Danny Kaye in White Christmas, and he went to the window and rubbed his chin at the clouds. He looked over his shoulder at us on the couch, and at the news. He smiled at the clouds for a few seconds, like he saw an old friend flying by, and then maybe he did see a friend, because he waved at the clouds a few times and he laughed again. He said to the window, loud enough for us to hear, "Just wait -- it'll snow tonight. It'll snow. Your mom is here now." He opened the door for her, and she thanked him for taking care of us and she almost died when she saw us drinking chocolate milk from a secret recipe. We walked home very fast and she squeezed my hand and Laura's hand really hard. I tried to get my hand away, but Laura's mom wouldn't let go. She was very nice to Amber that afternoon, but not me or Laura. She told us not to go into stranger's houses, and especially not Mr. Saintpatrick, because he was a bad man. I thought about her waving at him a lot when they talked, and him waving at her, and I couldn't understand. I thought about it all afternoon. We were having pancakes for dinner, so I forgot about him until the next morning. When I woke up I had to squint when I looked out the window, because the everything was so bright. There was snow on the lawn and the neighbor's roof, and there were tracks from the neighbor's car. Laura's mom might not like Mr. Saintpatrick, but I don't think he's bad. I don't think he's bad at all. I think he's a good man who knows a recipe for secret hot chocolate and I think he's a wizard who can make it snow.

I want to curl up in a little ball and never have to think of this again.

and you hated prepositions most

about. over. upon. without. for. to. with. under. below. inside. outside. within. regarding. against. across. alongside. within. as. between. from. except. down. like. minus. off. up. past. near. less. save. plus. per. till. unlike. until. while. toward. and on.

A tribute to prepositions, the words that let us have relationships.

can you imagine?

I think the first time we did it was when I was four. We all had Mickey Mouse ears on. Not mine of course. I've never been to Disney Land. My parents wanted to wait till I could remember. By the time I could I was too old to care. Bad idea, waiting for anything. Like working hard all year for two weeks of pleasure. Why not enjoy the work? Then you don't need a vacation.

So we had these Mickey Mouse ears on, from when Laura went to Disney Land. And we're sitting on a brick wall that's holding back a bajillion tons of dirt and probably the whole house too. There's gravel in the flowerbed, and a tree we used to climb leaning out over the grass, and us. It's not rare for the three of us to be together, or sitting in Laura's back yard like we are. But there's this look in our eyes, and you know we're not there right now. I mean, we are. We're posing for a picture, and we're smiling and all. But we weren't there. Our eyes have that glazed look, like a kid who walks in a department store, touching all the coats with his hand as he walks circles around the women's department. You know he's touching the coats because the coats are moving, but you know he's not there. He's probably an actor and he's running his hand along the curtain after a performance. He's waiting for his girl to change, and he's the hero. Boys always make themselves a hero, when they're there and not here. She'll tell him he was wonderful, and the janitor will look at him enviously as they kiss. He'll be envied; he'll have what they want.

And perhaps that's what we had, what we wanted, the first time we did it. In the hedge behind Laura's house we stockpiled the swords, and the treasure that took us all Saturday to bury. Golden goblets, chests of Spanish coins, rubies, probably iguanas and dogs and kangaroo rats because we liked them more than jewels. It was back to the ship, which the others called the swingset, but that was ok with us, because they couldn't see the treasure like they couldn't see the sails. We swung higher than any other kids, because the faster we swung, the sooner we'd catch that merchant ship. The sooner we'd be safe in our fort, spending stuffy summer afternoons counting our treasure in the shade of our imaginations.

I think when I was eight, it happened again, in the rafters above my friend's garage. Construction sites are inspirational to kids like sunsets are to lovers. Every unfinished wall is an excuse to invent something new. This isn't a loft, it's the Olympics, and the American gymnasts will beat the Russians once and for all. And on the ground, a hockey game will begin, as soon as Dad moves the car. But how strong are you? How long can you hold yourself on the parallel bars, and can you turn around? Are you scared? And skinny arms flex like sapplings and we don't fall. Or we're mobsters, and here in the insulation we'll hide our contraband. And then we have to stop doing it when the sheetrock goes up, and there aren't any holes cut into the Olympics. They wouldn't. Adults are so practical. Heating costs and all. Who heats a garage? But never fear, because we'll fight the Texans from our fort in the back yard. Because the Texans are the enemy today, why else? And do you think you could throw a water balloon into the road? Of course I can. I did once, and it hit a police car. No it didn't! Yes I did! Even ask... and now we're fighting ourselves. The Texans go back to Texas becuase it's the Swedish we hate now, and the Swedish hate the Scottish now. And they'll hate the Cherokee later, because everyone has a bit of Indian in them. We shoot bow and arrow too. Because we hunt bears and deer between the fort and the fences. Bears live in gardens these days. But it's dinner time and while we eat macaroni and cheese and hotdogs, the deer will recover their energy, because we'll hunt them until it's time to ride my bike home, where I can't do it, because I can't do it alone.

Now, I can't do it at all. Sex is permissible, but it isn't. Adults can have sex, but adults can't do it. It's not realistic. Condoms are realistic, but flying kites off the back of motorhomes is stupid. Waking up next to him is allowable, but don't associate with dragons. Porn is creative, but pirate ships aren't powered by swings. Grow up? Screw you! You don't know where Laura lived. You don't know where I hid my treasure!

Do you Flickr?

I have a Flickr account now! Six of my zoo pictures are posted there. And maybe more once I develop the second roll.

Click to see my Flickr!