Let me precurse this by saying that I am, by-and-large, an atheist. My beliefs were covered in a previous entry, but I mention them again because I am by no means an theologian; it is wholly possible I may be wrong here. It occurred to me that, should God exist, I am rapidly amassing marks in the 'minus' column much faster than the 'plus' column. I do not go to church, I publicly doubt His existence, and I blaspheme all the damn-time. It thus makes sense, that on the rare occasion I offer up a prayer, it never seems to get answered. The situation typically goes like this: I throw myself to the ground and proclaim: “Oh holy God! I know that I've not been the best servant. I have sinned, I have doubted you, I still do. But if you exist, and you are as compassionate as people say, PLEASE make this hang-over stop.” God will respond with a quiet and mysterious SILENCE. This is then followed by hours of personal misery, a promise to myself to never drink like that again, which lasts until I eventually forget and relapse. The point of this is that if you are not in His good-graces, if your checks are in the minus column, your prayers will fall on deaf ears. Sort of a “If you won't do this for me, I won't do that for you” thing. It's fair if nothing else. So here we are, yet again, in the midst of another election cycle. Everyone's political machines are ramping up and each candidate's respective camps have begun the long process of mud slinging. In the Libertarian corner is Ron Paul, who will stick to his guns and principals until the end (which is when the GOP decides to run a more main-stream candidate-- just like every other year). The Tea-party has Michele Bachmann, who is the only person currently qualified to challenge Sarah Palin for her seat as conductor of the crazy-train. And the religious-right has Rick Perry. By far, the most popular candidate at the moment. This brings us to Governor Perry. Recently, he held a highly controversial prayer rally to try and end the drought in Texas. It didn't work. But worse than that, the state seems to now be on fire. That isn't God ignoring someone-- that's Old Testament God letting you know he is pissed off. So I ask this: If I'm in the minus column, what column is Rick Perry in?
Oh, job hunting. Is there no part of earning a degree more fun that the subsequent hunt to do ANYTHING with it? I'm pretty sure there isn't. While hunting for a 'real job' I stumbled upon an ad for a personal assistant position. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was local and paid (slightly) better than my current gig. I contacted the poster, and received a reply. It was clearly an email scam. Here is our discussion thus far. 05/23/11 05/24/11 He replied: And I responded: I provided my address, phone, and school email so that I can talk to him. I love talking to scammers. My long term goal is to get stuff mailed to me by one. Perhaps this will be the guy! Notice that my name has changed to no longer match my email or previous correspondences. Notice the use of CAPSLOCK, which scammers love. Also note how eager I am to get to work making the orphanage home children so very happy. Even when I am messing with fake people my philanthropic nature shines through. I will post up as our 'working relationship' develops.
This entry will mark a break with my normal style of content. I really don't have much to say about the last 2 months, so here is a one-line synopsis and related question: Midterms, finals, 2 weddings, and 3 funerals. How sad is it to have 2 conflicting funerals and a final on the same day?
I wrote this back in April of 2010, after a particularly sad visit to a friend who was dying from breast cancer. She was the inspiration, but I cannot dedicate this to her, because she was strong until the end, even when I (clearly) was not. Today I met Ghost The person in front of me looks like she belongs in Auschwitz. Eighty some-odd pounds of lost hope; She knows no rescue is coming. In her eyes is pain, Not for herself, For me, Her family, Her husband Their son. I remember my grandfather's photos. The ones from the war. Except there is no barbed wire here or guard towers in sight. Only an oxygen tank and hospital bed. No swastika flags or blind eyes. Only pink ribbons, And a family who cannot look away. The TV is playing “I survived”. It's the cancer episode; She turns it off. Her eyes close and she apologizes. “I don't know why I can't stay awake.” “It's the weather” I tell her. “Has the rain helped the flowers? I've not gotten outside in a while.” I tell her yes. Outside rain falls, Weeds grow, life continues unknowing. I kiss her head and leave
I wrote this for class a few semesters back and decided to share it. It's here for everyone to enjoy, but comments are always appreciated. FWIW I got the idea from a writing contest here on the boards ("A Rebel Fairy" was the theme), but missed the submission deadline. Enough gum flapping, on with the story: The Rebel Fairy By: Kyle Baker Lom looked over his shoulder as the wooded planet fell from view. He glanced at his instruments: Cabin pressure: Holding at one atmosphere. Fuel cells: 89%. Weapon pods: Armed, safeties engaged. The sky rapidly fell black as the X-Thing Starfighter rocketed beyond the atmosphere. Three minutes until the Imperial Death-Moon was in range and the attack would begin. "This is Red leader. All points form up on me, Attack formation Alpha-deuce-niner." "Copy that. Alpha-deuce-niner locked in." replied Lom. The X-Thing listed to port as it moved into attack formation. Butterflies invaded his stomach as the Death-Moon glided onto the X-Thing's navigational display. "Deep breaths. Focus on relaxing thoughts." he told himself. Suddenly the cabin began to fill with the noxious smell of chemical solvent. Lom forced himself to remain calm, and checked his instrument panel for warning lights. Nothing. "Um, Darryll? We may have a problem here, do you smell--" he stopped mid-sentence as he stared in disbelief at his gunner. "Are you painting your nails? "Pfft. Honey, queens paint, heroes polish." He held his manicured left hand up as evidence of impending herodom. Darryll was new. He had only enlisted with the rebel army two months ago. His gunning scores had been incredible through his entry exam; markedly higher than anyone the review board had ever seen. It was on account of his marksmanship, a skill which the rebels badly lacked, that the board eventually agreed to make an exception and allow him to enlist. Soon after, they awarded Darryll the honor of 'Battalion's top marksman'. It was why he came to join the rebel cause that made everyone nervous. Darryll was a former member of the Imperial army. He had been mustered out under the new 'Don't ask, don't tell' program. "Isn't it weird being on the other side?" Lom had asked one day after Darryll was assigned as his gunner. "I don't care who I'm shootin at," Darryll told him, "so long as the reporters catch my good side in the pictures." He then tossed his chin up and hair back in a dramatic pose. "I'm just really good at this. My momma always told me, find what I'm good at and do it." "So why did you join the Imperials first?" Lom had asked. "Their uniforms are fabulous. Walter Lanague designs them. The rebels have a whole... destitute bad-boy look." His hands moved dismissively across Lom's profile. "I mean, you pull it off... um... great. But its not for me." Something about the way he paused before 'great' had made Lom aware of how grungy his tattered flight suit had become. Now, sitting in the cockpit of the ancient fighter craft, Lom felt a sense of pride. The Imperials had mistakenly let the greatest gunner in the universe slip through their fingers. Two minutes from now, the Imperial army would find out exactly how badly that mistake could hurt. All he had to do was get in range and let Darryll do the rest. Piece of cake, he hoped. "Red-six calling Red-two. Red-two do you copy?" "Go ahead Red-six" replied Lom. "Hey you two looked really cute in those matching leather flight suits." quipped Miko, the squadron hot-shot. He was right. Darryll had bought a pair of flight suits from an old school friend. They were costumes from the movie, Battletrek Enterprise, and had been designed by Andraeus Givello. Lom had to admit, he looked pretty good in it. "You get matching handbags too?" asked Leigha, Miko's gunner. "Are you kiddin me?" Darryll asked in an uninterested manner before coolly continuing, "a hand bag would clash worse than you and Miko's matchin mustaches." "Can it you guys, we have hostiles inbound. Red leader to all wings, prepare for combat." Three squadrons of Imperial TRI-fighters blipped to life on the radar. "Blue and gold squadrons, move to intercept. Red squadron continue on attack vector. Watch your wingman and keep an eye open for the laser towers on the Death-Moon's surface. Red leader out." Scattered laser fire began to fill the air. Blue four let out a terrified scream before exploding into a ball of plasma and shrapnel. Darryll finished filing the nails on his gunning hand. A lone TRI-fighter flew past and began firing on Red six. "I know you boys are watching my ass, but could you cover it too?" Miko radioed, "I'm lining up for my pass." "Don't you worry Miko, your ass is too cute to waste." Darryll said as his turbo lasers roared to life. Bolts of coherent ruby light tore through the Imperial ship. "Now blow that moon to hell!" Miko lined his X-Thing up with the reactor exhaust chute. The chute was the Death-Moon's only vulnerability, a long exhaust vent which connected the reactor core to the outside. It was also smaller than a Sulvarian Inex. Hitting it would be near impossible. Miko dove for the target through a maelstrom of turret fire. Leigha focused on the vent and released her payload. The bombs collided with a turret tower, missing the chute completely. One after another the Red squadron fighters completed their passes over the chute. Each pass resulted in a spectacular explosion but none found their way down the chute. The radar screen pinged to life as five more squadrons of TRI-fighters launched into the fight. The hopes for a rebel victory were growing bleak. "Red two, you have the last shot at this. No pressure or anything, but if you fail the rebels forces will be defeated. We'll keep these fighters off you as long as we can. Good luck." "Thanks Red leader, we won't let you down." Replied Lom. He keyed off the radio and began his approach. "Hey Darryll. You can hit that chute, right?" "Lom, I've been shootin loads down exhaust chutes longer than you've been flyin." Lom tried not to consider how else Darryll may have meant that. "Relax Lom, I have sooo got this." Lom began to dive at the chute. Below, laser turrets spat fiery death at the X-Thing. Above, squadrons of X-Things and TRI-fighters fought in desperate combat. Inside the cockpit, Darryll took aim and fired the payload of bombs. The entire rebel force held their breath. "Screw you. Bigots." A muffled "Poomfft" emitted from the chute. Moments later, a sudden fireball erupted from the opening. The entire Death-Moon began to crack apart. An internal ammunition store room exploded, and soon the Death-Moon was no more. Back at base Lom and Darryll were welcomed as heroes. Reporters took photos of both Darryll's good side, and his better side. Lom received compliments on his stylish new look. During the celebration Miko congratulated Darryll personally. "I could almost kiss you right now." He told Darryll. Darryll smiled and winked, "If you don't ask, I won't tell."
One of the most difficult parts of writing is revising your work. In general it is my observation that people do not know what they need to do. Someone says, "Revise this paragraph", and so the author simply rewords a few things (leaving the flawed content behind). I also noticed that the review room is dreadfully empty. Most threads in there (I'll be bold and allege a solid 85% of first-page threads) have not seen any action in over a week. On a forum dedicated to writing, that number seems pretty sad. So here is a solution: CRITIQUE WEEK. The rules are simple: For one full week, all participants will critique at least one story a day. Each day's critique will focus on a different aspect of critiquing, so participants get practice finding (and correcting) seven of the most common errors. Why should you do it? Because you want to be a better writer, don't you? Learning to spot errors in other's work makes you better at spotting them in your own as well. Because we have lots of people who are putting their work out in the public arena and not getting the constructive feedback that will keep them from making the same mistakes over and over to ad nauseum. Because it will get you off you ass, out of the lounge, and back into practice WRITING. The list of benefits goes on and on... I'm excited now, show me more neat stuff about CRITIQUE WEEK!!! When is it? Critique week will start on October 18 and run until the 24th. That's 7 days of solid reviewing and pure love. There sure are a lot of sub forums in the Review Room, and each one has lots of threads. How do I decide where to begin? Anywhere in the review room is perfect. Bonus points if you find a thread that has very few critiques already offered, and double bonus points if it's in a less popular forum. The idea is to give feedback to people who need it, and the person with 3 pages of discussion is less needy than the person on page 3 with only 3 posts in their thread. You mentioned something about critiquing styles...? Not so much style as focus. Each day do a full critique, but force yourself to pay extra attention to the daily emphasis, as seen below: Monday:Commonly confused words - Check for common spelling errors (there/their, oar/ore, affect/effect, etc) people miss these more often than you may realize. Tuesday: Narrative angle and distance - Does the narrative style work for the story? Would a different POV work better? Is the narrator too close or too far removed from the action? Wednesday: Dialog - Are conversations natural? Is the author Walloftexting? Thursday: Language - Does the story contain language that does not fit the characters or that seems awkward ($5 words and foreign languages can fall in this category) Friday: Pace/Tension/Flow - Does the story progress at a rate that is appropriate to the story? Are there scenes which are too intense (or not intense enough)? Saturday: Tense - Big one here. Is the story told form a consistent tense, or is the author switching between past/present/future constantly? Sunday: Depth check - How deep are your characters and plot? Are they shallow and '2D' or fully thought out and real? What do I get out of this? Aside from a warm fuzzy feeling, self-confidence, and improved skills? I'll probably make a cool "Critique Week Participant" Avatar for everyone, thats cool right? So what are you waiting for? Got off your butts and get ready for a week of AMAZING. Maybe this spark will start a fire of writing and PUBLISHING. Maybe you could be that success story. Maybe you just need something better to do. I'm not judging you *(unless you don't participate, in which case I am judging you like you wouldn't believe)* JUST TO CLARIFY: The point here is to increase the amount and quality of reviews on this site (and others). Take your time and offer SOLID good feedback. Everyone has an opinion, everyone is capable of critiquing, every critique helps the author. And here are some cool Critique Week avatars!!!11one
I wrote this for my Myth and Lit class. The assignment was to write a persuasive blog-style paper that 1) Convinces the reader to read a given piece of literature (in this case, the Homeric Hymn to Hermes) 2) explains/defines what literature is (its harder than you think) 3) explains/defines what myth is 4) shows how the chosen work is myth and lit. Max length was 3 pages, so I had to work fast. For interested parties, this earned an A- (exceptional grade for this instructor) and was only really docked for missing its full potential, which was a result of its short length. Enough gum-flapping, here it is: How Homer makes Starcraft better: The value of literature What should you do on a Saturday night while you are at home and all the good-looking people are at a club, dancing close, and getting sweaty with each other? You should read the Homeric hymn to Hermes. I know, I know, Starcraft 2 is out and you just figured out how to Zerg rush again, but maybe there is more to life than Mountain Dew and Blizzard Entertainment's latest gem. Did you ever wonder WHY the Zerg might be so focused on conquering humanity? It's because we have what they don't: a literary record. Okay, maybe I'm giving an imaginary adversary too much credit, but think about it. Humans have a rich history that defines who we are and where we've come from. The Zerg were created in a lab and released into the universe. As amazing as it may seem, Hermes, as depicted in Homer's hymn, is very much like the Zerg. The reason we, the Terrans, are not the Zerg is that we have literature to define us. In the hymn, Homer presents us with a newly born god named Hermes. Hermes is the only god that exists but has no real place. All the other gods reign over everything already, and a god without stuff to rule over is no god at all. So Hermes set out into the universe to find his place and win the respect of everyone. Along the way he invents cool stuff like lying, music, and a few rituals. In the end his big brother and father recognize him, he is contented and happy with things, and eventually Hermes moves to Olympus to be with the other gods. (Homer) Compare that to the Zerg. They were created into a universe already filled with powerful species. Their creators made them powerful and intelligent, but gave them no respect or freedom. A race with no respect or freedom is no race at all, so they rebelled and set out to carve themselves a place in the universe. Along the way they invented better creatures and structures, but the problem is, that is as far as they can go. Unlike Hermes they don't understand where they came from or who they are dealing with. Therefore, they can never be respected and can never rest. Literature like Homer's hymn, is what separates the Terrans from the Zerg. Okay, so maybe you believe me that literature is important, even to fictional alien races. Why bother with Homer? You can gather the same lessons from things like sparknotes, wikipedia, and the game's user-manual, right? Wrong. Remember all those tedious pages of back-story that you skim read while waiting for the game's launch? The ones that were basically a manual, combined with an advertisement, and then dressed as cheap sci-fi story. That's not what I mean when I say literature. Jim Meyer argues in his paper, “What is Literature?”, that literature cannot really be given a regular definition because it means something different to everyone. He proposes a 'prototype' system where things become increasingly literary as they meet more and more of our expectations regarding what literature should be. According to Meyer, to be 'Literature' a work would have to have some of the following characteristics: The more of these the work has, the closer to 'literature' it becomes (Meyer, 4). Sure, the user-manual was formatted, was a written text, and contained some value for the end user, but that is not really what literature is all about. User-manuals are literature in the same way that tomatoes are fruit: technically they meet the criteria but no one outside of academia really cares. What does all this mean? It means that the Hymn to Hermes is more 'Literary' than a user-manual because it is carefully styled in meter, has ascetic value, and can be interpreted in more than one way. Why it matters is the difference between the Zerg and the Terrans. The Zerg would manuals: raw collections of information that instruct members of the hive what to do and when. Terrans have literature that explains our history and means something to each reader. Literature has value beyond its immediate intended use. But hold on to your butts, because the rabbit-hole gets deeper. Hermes' hymn is more than just literature, it's mythology too. Myths tell a culture who they currently are. Myths are what separate the confederates from the UED forces or the Protoss from the Dark Templar. Homer packs the hymn to Hermes with cool side stories and ritual procedures that the ancient Greeks had to follow. Ever wonder why you need to build Overlords instead of some other base unit? Zerg Mythology (if it existed) would explain that. Just to clarify, mythology and literature are not the same thing. Sure, the hymn to Hermes contains elements of both, but they are two very different things. Literature tells us where we came from and shows us where we are going. Mythology shows us who we are right now. Mythology is literature, but not all literature is mythological. The whole all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares thing. So fire up your favorite browser and hunt down a copy of Homer's hymn to Hermes. You already read this far and those damn South Koreans will just kick your butt at Starcraft anyway. Why not better yourself and learn to understand your fellow man in the process. After you understand Hermes you will realize that Starcraft will never earn you a place in the world, but that using your mind to impress the neighbor (and his daughter) totally will. Works Cited Homer. The Homeric Hymns, second edition. The Johns Hopkins Press. Baltimore and London. Translated by Apostolos N. Athanassakis. Meyer, Jim. “What is Literature?”. Work Papers of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, volume 41. University of North Dakota. http://www.und.nodak.edu/dept/linguistics/wp/1997Meyer.htm . 1997.
I wrote this originally on October 2, 2007 and recently rediscovered it. I present it here, unedited, for WritingForums.org's reading pleasure. Since the dawn of time, we humans have been a list making species. How many sabertooth tigers are casing me, how many people are in the tribe, how many teeth do I have left, etc. As human civilization has progressed most of these lists have fallen into antiquity (except the teeth one; that is still valid in parts of the southern USA) but staying true to our nature, we have developed newer and more complex lists. Of these lists the grocery list is arguably the most important to the general populace. Grocery lists were first invented in the year 2146 B.C. by Antigonus-Lysander Eustathios, an ancient Greek inventor, who also invented such amazing things as the letter 'æ' and sleeves (although sleeved togas did not catch on until th 2000s B.C.) Antigonus (as he was better known) was inspired to create the grocery list after several failed trips to the market to fetch olives for his wife, Tryphosa. Antigonus found that if he inscribed the needed items to his coin purse he was reminded to buy them at each pub he stopped at along the way. In in an interesting tangent his neighbor and drinking companion, Seleucus, invented the grocery bag and then later the wheel-barrel as a means to bring the listed items and companions home (after a night of heavy drinking.) And so today I, Kyle Joseph Baker, Son of Larry and Brother of Thomas, failed to learn from history. I set out to HEB (a local grocer) to obtain shaving soap, orange juice, and iced cream; returning instead with 3 apples, a 6 pack of St. Arnold's root beer, and some tea. My mistake? You guessed it, no shopping list. Such is my life.
As a child my first real memories of religion are of 'playing hookie' from church so that we could spend more time with Dad on Sunday. Dad was a salesman and would work long hours during the week; his only solid day off was on Sunday. We had to make a decision to spend a full day with him or go to church and see him for half a day. I'd say it was a good fifty-fifty split on weeks with or without church. We were members of a small cozy church in rural Texas, just south of San Antonio. Our family had been members for many years before I was even a flash in my parents eyes. I was Baptisted there, although I do not remember it. I remember the preacher fondly, his bearded face was always friendly and his eyes seemed to be full of love. I remember he often preached for too long. Later on, we started to visit other churches. Mom told us that other people worshiped differently than the Methodists and wanted us to see how, despite the differences, they all were the same. At this point I believed strongly in God, although I doubt I had any idea who or what He was. I was told God existed and that he loved us all. I accepted this as fact. He made the world and all of us; he gave Mom her freckles, Dad his limp, and Crissy her birthmarks. I had no reason to ever doubt any of this, and I had only ever heard Him talked about by Olan; I think I knew he was somehow connected with Santa but the link was not important enough to sort out at such an age. Being South Texas, 'variety' meant different Christian institutions. We visited the local Baptist church, the Lutheran church; churches I can't remember. Later on, through the Boy Scouts, I became quite familiar with a local Catholic church, which was our troop's sponsor. I remember being told that God would only let us into Heaven if we worshiped at this or that church, or in this or that way. The vacation bible school at the Baptist church made God seem like an angry guy who was just looking for any reason he could find to cast us all out; but they also said he loved us and was all forgiving. It was kind of confusing. I have a vivid memory of one lazy summer afternoon (post bible school) sitting in the yard and seeing a strange car roll up the long dirt road to the house. Tom and I ran inside to get Mom. It was a car load of guys from the Baptist church who had decided to come and talk to us about God. Mom greeted them with a 12 gauge and told them to leave; we had plenty of God already. At some point, I am really not sure when, we just stopped going to church. We would still go on special occasions, Easter, Christmas, and the like, but for the most part we never went. My best friend growing up, I met at school in the first grade. When we met he was Catholic, but he had become a practicing Pagan by middle school; I found it fascinating. I had read about the ancient Greeks and Romans and their paganism but his was different. Honestly I still do not know too much about it, but it opened my eyes to a different version of faith. Through high school I began to take an interest in Buddhism and eastern philosophy. I became of the idea that no church or religion had gotten it 'right'. God existed, he loved us, and he wanted us to all be happy and fruitful. If you wanted into heaven you had to lead a good life, believe in some from of Him, and be a good person. You did not have to attend a church, just feel him in your heart and understand what he wanted of us. I tailored a God to fit my lifestyle. An important side note. I can recall one point in my life which stands out more than others. Aside from the normal "Please let me pass this test. I'll be a good Christian from now on, I swear!" bargaining with God, a temporary revival of belief which I believe every school child experiences the night before a major test, I only ever asked God for something once. Around the age of twelve or thirteen, my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. I don't remember the type or where all she had tumors, but I do recall the night that I realized she was not going to get better. I was laying on my bed looking out the window at the moon. The sky was clear, the moon and stars shone brightly through the crape myrtle which grew against the side of the house, a warm breeze was softly blowing through the open window. At some other point the scene would have been beautiful. I remember silently crying. It was the saddest I had ever been, and would remain that way for many years. Desperate, I asked God-- who was all wise, all loving, and all powerful, to spare her life. She meant the world to me, I had spent a great amount of my childhood with her. I had to that point, and to this day, never known a person to be a loving and kind as she. Surely a wise god would see the value of such a person's continued existence. Surely a god of love would want such a person to remain. Surely a god, who was all powerful, could cure her cancer without effort. I prayed and I bargained. I cried. A few months later she died; all loving, caring, powerful... all lies. I hated God. Time has a way of healing all wounds. Anger fades, and soon I had reached an uneasy peace with the Lord. He kept to his end of the universe and I kept to mine. High school brought a new world and new things to worry about. My hatred subsided. I think I was Agnostic by that point; isn't agnosticism really just a fancy word for 'confused about the concept of God'? I had lost Faith and my questions pertaining to the universe could be answered by science. I still prayed when I needed something, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It feels now more like an insurance policy. In community college, I can recall two major formative moments. The first was in my philosophy class when I HAD to think about God and religion. I came to wonder what God really was, I actually thought about what 'All loving, all caring, all forgiving' meant. I learned how so many cultures had all reached the same conclusion about God in one form or another. A spark reignited in my heart. Where there was now an empty space, I wanted God to return; yet my brain, a strong follower of science and tangible proofs, would not accept Him. Still my heart longed for the peace which the love of God brings. I lied to myself and said I was a believer. The next moment occurred shortly after September 11th, 2001. I heard on the TV that the Muslim world hated us. Islam was an angry religion full of violence, who had tried to topple our nation; at least that is what the talking heads were telling us. I knew nothing about Islam. They worshiped a rock in Mecca. They prayed often. Ossama Bin Laden was a Muslim. At one time they were the most educated people of the world, keepers of knowledge. They were teachers, doctors, philosophers, and writers. At some point they changed into a largely uneducated people who had lots of oil and fought each other for it. I had a typical American understanding. I decided to do something very unamerican and attempt to form an educated opinion on the subject. I bought a copy of the Holy Qu'ran at Borders. I received many sour looks from people while I sat and read at the barber shop across the street. I'll admit that I never finished reading the Qu'ran; school, work, and life took their toll (I am more American than I gave myself credit for). But I read enough to see that it was not so very different from the Bible (which I also never finished), in fact they shared many stories. If both books shared the same all caring, all loving, all forgiving God than I had nothing to fear of the Muslim world; they were our brothers and sisters in the Lord. Life returned to normal. Then Tony died. I received a phone call early in the morning; I was told Tony had died over night. Disbelief. I called around for confirmation. My heart sank. I called back for details. Time stopped, my world collapsed. The pain and shock resulting from the loss of a loved grandparent can be reduced by a number of factors. They have led a long a fruitful life. Often there is sickness leading to the death, allowing time to prepare. Friends who have just turned twenty one and die suddenly on spring brake do not fit this mold. In times of great loss and crisis many people find comfort in God. Atheists do not get this luxury. I decided, subconsciously more than anything, that I wanted/needed God back in my life. I needed answers. I needed Faith that the world would not hurt me every day. I searched for God, but I found there is no return to Eden once the apple is eaten. Once you convince your mind that there is no God you can't go back. I searched for God regardless. So where am I today? I believe in Man. Man created God to make the world a safe place, to reward us when we do good and punish us when we are bad. To be in control of the things which we are incapable of controlling; to bring order to chaos. The God we created led man to the create civilization, society, and order. As man changed, God followed. Man creates God, God builds Man into his image. What then is God? God is an idea; God is the name given to all that is good and positive about the universe and life. Love, forgiveness, safety, reason. God is what we all hope is in the hearts of our fellow man. God [love] is why we choose to raise families. God [forgiveness] is why we can move along in life despite our many mistakes. God [reason] allows us to make sense of a chaotic world. And this is where I differ from many other Atheists. To me Atheism is not a disbelief in God; its a pure belief in humanity. It is another church in rural south Texas. I have learned there is no wrong path to God. I had been searching for God for more than two years following Tony's death and I never realized that he had been with me all along. God is in the hearts and souls of humanity, it is the common goodness that connects us all. We can no more separate God from humanity than we could people from a city.
When I was a child I had a dream of what my life would be. I wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to fly. I wanted to take the High road to China. To fight in epic dog-fights 10,000 feet over the Earth. When other boys were first getting into cars and could tell the year/model of anything on the road, my head was in the sky. I could tell the type of plane by the roar of its engine. I knew who made the largest plane in the world, I knew what planes were trainers and which were combat planes. I idolized the Red Baron stunt planes; after enough UPCs off the back of the pizza box I even had a full set of die-cast models. I still remember those moments; the feeling, the desire, the texture on the wings of those models. I had a dream. Years later that dream was gone. It was not an overnight change, but gradually somewhere along the road, I stopped caring about airplanes. Now we had a computer, now I had electronic entertainment. I was a Pirate! Or I was Wibarm. There was Kings Quest and the Black cauldron. Each day I could be some new hero out saving the world. The glow of the CRT became my inverted-barrel roll. As more time passed I found myself wanting the next great game and the next great system to run it on. The Tandy was set aside for the 386, which gave way to the Packard Bell Pentium 133. Then Quake II came out and I needed still more power. My dream became playing any game I wanted; and all that stood in my way was money. Driven by that fiscal need, the dream changed again into a practical cause/effect-cost/reward sort of dream. So my brother and I saved our money and read up on part reviews and DIY computing. $800 later we entered the nerd age with a bang. I could see it so clearly: this computer stuff was easy, all I had to do was make custom computers for other kids like me and I'd be set for life. I was around fifteen and the world was really THAT simple. Soon the dream was BCPC, Baker Custom Personal Computers. We had a cool logo and a tax ID number so that we could wholesale parts. But the dream was making computers and enjoying the latest-greatest in games; a euphoric escape from the hum-drum routine of school life, not running a businesses for profit. Soon BCPC became a neglected hobby and a will-work-for-food style low income computer help service. And that was not a dream at all. The real world had invaded my dreams and much like the pioneers in the days of yore, my dream packed up and moved to new frontiers. There is really only one frontier vast and cool enough to save any child's soul: space. If Star Trek taught us anything it is that there are no boundaries to the cool things lying past our ionosphere. Around the age of seventeen my heart returned to the sky, engaged afterburners, reached an escape velocity of 6.95 miles per hour, and set a course for Alpha Centari at warp ten. But reality has a way of catching up to you as you get older. I realized that graduation was eminent and that my grades and lack of piloting skills would keep me out of the shuttle's cockpit for a while. In fact becoming an astronaut would probably take me forty plus years. That was more than twice my entire life at that point, and who has that kind of time to dedicate to a long shot? Besides college was fast approaching and a mixture perfume and gasoline had clouded my mind; Captain Picard would have to wait. So it was that my dream became something practical and one which was reasonable to expect as attainable within a short span of time. I wanted to go to college, have a cool car, and a hot girlfriend; the order which those were to be attained was negotiable. By the spring of 2002 I was squarely on my way to success. I was in school at Palo Alto community college, had bought a 1992 Toyota MR2 with t-tops, and campus was full of potential. It was there that I met Lynette (possibly in a breezeway which was somehow constructed under a tree in the middle of the quad) and soon we fell in love. This was possibly one of the greatest disasters of my life. Not that I regret any of it, and not that any of it was bad, but suddenly I had reached the dream I had set out for. I had won at life and was wondering where to go from there. The natural path would be: get a bachelor's degree, a career, married, and have a family. But that was not a dream, that was what people do when they are ready to set their roots and eventually die. I was too young to settle down (let alone die) and still had no idea what I wanted to do when I grew up. I began to drift. I was a dog who had been chasing cars and finally caught one. Well ****, what do I do now? It may seem easy to find a new dream, but once the practicalities of life get their talons in you its hard to get away. I decided I wanted to become an engineer, my dream was to own a research and development firm and to work for myself solving the world's problems. Of course the money would be great and... well it never went much farther than that. Looking back I feel like that dream was more of selling out. What kid seriously dreams of owning his own business? Of making lots of money? Of being president of the home owner's association? These things are not dreams at all. Dreams are fantastic, they inspire us, keep our heads up when the chips are down. Dreams exist outside of money and power. Yeah kids dream of being King, but not for the same reasons adults so. Without a dream there is no fuel for the soul. Slowly the color bleeds out of life and we become the faceless robots of modern society. Around half of all first marriages between adults in the United states end in divorce. The divorce rate between children on the playground is decidedly lower; closer to zero percent some would estimate. What is the difference? Children still have dreams, their tiny souls are alive and full of fire. Adults have bills, debt, meetings and approved actives on weekends (as long as the wife says its ok.) Without a dream to save us we all die young; our bodies left carrying out routine, following the instructions of the society which ultimately killed us. No wonder people drift apart.