New Pickup!

"Christmas comes early this year," as the saying goes. This has been pending for some time, but it's now official and releasable to the blog world. My father bought me a brand new red Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck today! I'm going to pick it up this weekend. This is the culmination of my old Buick being on sabbatical due to mechanical trifles. Matt will probably get it; it's better to keep it close to home in its old age. More to follow.

Too Old!

I am both (a) too old for and (b) too intelligent to pull a stunt like this. I coughed and said to myself last night at 9 p.m., "Hmm. What material is on the Money and Banking test tomorrow?" Needless to say I've been studying ever since. It's now 8:30 a.m. the following day. I did hate my life around 4:30 a.m., but it's okay now because my tired body is apathetic. I don't think I've ever crammed for a test to this extent before. Last minute papers and projects, yes....but not being like, "Okay, I don't know any material from the last month of class." The thought of how dumb I was/am brings a smile to my face.

But then again, I'm like, "I really have been studying for my other classes." Apparently I just neglected this one, since it's the last exam before finals, though I do have a few projects due next week. It's great to wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and say "Hey man you look great...well you don't look great, but you feel great. Well, that's not true, you actually feel vile, but...nevermind," and walk away.

The End of the Third Age

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,
for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
and the Black Gate is broken,
and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!

-"The Steward and the King," Return of the King

I have finally finished the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It is the finest fictional story I have ever read.

I think what I liked most was the dialogue. Whenever Middle-Earth characters speak, they have something of value to say, and it's always constructed in such a way as to give great weight of significance to the speech. I think that's our fascination with Tolkien. That life can be that important. That deeds and speech can have great significance, and not be vain. Yes, dark times come. But they come that they may give us something to struggle for.

Relatively Speaking

Relatives, relatives, relatives!

My roomate Jean-Francois Renson (Jeff) and I headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday last Wednesday. I just now got back to my room.

Wednesday was the Folses' house, Thursday (Thanksgiving day) the Joyners' house, Friday the Bates' house, and Saturday the paternal Claytons' house.

I feel a little over-socialized, but it was really great seeing all my loved ones and eating out three times (plus Amanda and I's date) and eating many other home-cooked meals.

The devotional time we had with my Mom's side of the family was wonderful...I was so blessed to experience that together in that manner for the first time ever with that side of my family.

Also, my dad, Matt, and I went to a juvenile correction facility (prison for kids age 13-18) in Jefferson parish. Dad played guitar for worship, and I shared a message.

I saw my good Slidell friends Natalie and JB, as well. Long live the Barrel of Crackers! Love those guys.

I watched Akeelah and the Bee for the first time...good movie. At my great aunt and uncle's house in Mississippi, I got to roam the cow pastures at their "farm"...liberating.

I started doing a little Christmas shopping, as well. I did not study or put a dent in Return of the King though. (How long have I been reading that piece of literature?!)

Oh! And I saw my great friend and mentor Cindy Collins at Church of the King today...I love the Collinses so much. I pray God's blessings upon her and solicit your prayers as she goes to Portugal this week to speak before a governmental committee, opposing pro-death (a.k.a. "pro-'choice' ") legislation. She is also going to Holland and Belgium after that for conferences.

Speaking of Belgium...my Belgian roomate Jeff and I had a great time with each other...getting to know each other better...and the Mautz and I just had a great evening. I'm going to go to the library and get some reading done.

Two weeks and then finals examinations!

And then two weeks later I leave for Christmas break in Colorado!

Overcommunication!

It just now hit me, as I sit in the computer lab of Middleton library, where I have been for several hours, somewhat successfully studying Cost Accounting.

All these graphs and charts of highly-aggregated information on powerpoint slides. My cellphone starts ringing. I look a row of computers over and the girl there is checking facebook to see recent pictures of her friends. No, wait, now she's looking down at her iPod to change the artist. Now she looks back at her screen, satisfied with the new sonic input assaulting her eardrums to browse a little more facebook, and now...she brings up a powerpoint slide on some sort of science she is studying. I look at my screen and have several webpages open...e-mail, facebook, cost accouting powerpoint slides, blogger...My recently used calculator sits next to my recently used mobile phone. The keyboard is on top of my textbook, which is next to my notebook, which is across from my booksack, which is above my folder.

Overcommunication! Is it any wonder we're tired and stressed out, when we make our brains responsible for so much information during our lifetimes?! It makes me wonder how they did research and education without the internet. How did they do it? Not having at one's fingertips a vast array of articles, charts and graphs, textbook websites, self-help websites, and online encyclopedia on how to track equivalent units in a cost system? I guess they just thoroughly researched something. One thing at a time. They didn't have to worry about their friend calling the mobile, or sending a text, or checking e-mail, or knowing several online files' worth of information. My brain is overloaded! Need! To! Specialize!

An Afternoon Nap

I lay me down in my well-defended city
A fortress of walls impenetrable
And expect repose from work and duty
Only to be assaulted, to find myself waking
To a sudden and unlooked for battle
Of wits and emotion and intellect.

Phantoms appear out of the grey mist
And I wrestle with the devil and his angels
As well as my own personal fears
And contrivances, half of which
I have formed out of the bowels of my own
Wild and untamed mind.

And joys interspersed push me on
To fight in this hazy world for what is right
As I find myself making every possible mistake
And sometimes being the ideal self
I have always wished for and then
I feel the sweat and the wild thrashing.

When I open my eyes to the truth
I realize that the victory in this forgotten world
Is but in vain, that I have wrestled
With a fate that I will never face
And sorting through this web of nonexistent experiences
I rejoice to face a world much less challenging.

Colds, The Cold, and Ole Miss

The common cold. My remedy so far is this and I like it:

1) Large doses of orange juice. At least once a day.
2) Immediately start eating healthy...smoothies, salads, etc.
3) Sleep. Take naps if you don't sleep at night.
4) Socialize. It gives your body the desire to survive...love is the movement.
5) Orange juice.

I love this cold weather we've been having! It makes me want to be romantic, listen to Coldplay, run around and be physically active, be with other people, and wear awesome clothing.

Last night. Okay. That was possibly the best LSU football game I've seen since I've been in college. I seriously thought the students might rush the field at one point. We did beat Ole Miss, but by the skin of our teeth. Much too close for comfort. When we scored that game tying touchdown with 10 seconds left, I definitely got punched in the nose amongst the crowd-surfing exuberance that followed.

The Contra Affair...

I made it through my test on income taxes and leases last night. Every intermediate accounting test I've taken has gone something like this: we are allotted two hours and it takes me 2 hours and 15 minutes. That's when they kick everyone out. Last night was no exception. Next semester's internal audit class will probably be the hardest course I ever take. There are 8-hour tests sometimes, the syllabus says! Check out the syllabus here. The LSU Center for Internal Auditing is the top interal audit program in the country. And apparently the level of difficulty reflects that. The drop rate is 50%. The syllabus says something like, "If this is the not best course you ever taken, we have failed!" I hope to get a good internship, though...and see how much I enjoy auditing...or don't. It might be the hardest course at the business college. But you'll never know until you have a go.

Last night after the test...partay! Actually, I went back to the room and pseudo-slept for about 20 minutes. James was in the room, too, sleeping, with the light off at 7 p.m. When he woke up we lay around lazily until Jake called. Then we went over to his apartment, drank coffee and played Halo, and watched Gladiator, my favorite movie of all time.

Furthermore, we played SUPER CONTRA. This game has been all the rave for Jake and I this semester. Last night I beat it with him for the first time, to the sound of applause. It's one of those old NES games that draws a crowd, making everyone cheer you on. I can't remember a time playing it with him that there haven't been 10 people screaming and groaning because we're dying or cheering us on. Whole lotta fun.

I slept somewhere between 9 and 11 hours last night. Going to the LSU vs. Ole Miss football game in a couple hours. Last home game of the season. This semester's wrapping up soon! I still need to study for that Cost Accounting test Tuesday...then the Thanksgiving holidays are in sight. I'm taking my roomie Jeff home to the folks for Thanksgiving dinner this year.

The Struggle to Study

I find it amazing that Hurricane Katrina is now viewed as an event devastating enough to be listed next to the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001. In my accounting textbook: "For an established company, a major event such as a labor strike, rapidly changing regulatory and competitive forces, or a disaster such as 9/11 or Hurricane Katrina can cause expenses to exceed revenues--a net operating loss."

But I need to focus not on that, but on what I am studyig. What am i studying again? Oh yes. How to account for taxes when there is a net loss on the income statement. Super.

I am sick again. Headache, sore throat, etc. Tonight I'm going to sleep for a long time. I was so tired when I woke up this morning, I grabbed my deodorant stick to apply it to my toothbrush, instead of toothpaste.

Okay, I need to get back to work now. My test is this afternoon. Then I have a cost accounting test Tuesday. One test at a time. I think we're going to watch Gladiator tonight. That's my favorite movie of all time.

A Story About Copious Amounts of Water

The morning air outside was fresh. A new day beckoned me to leave the confines of my bed. I chose a new pair of jeans and a new crisp long-sleeve striped collared, button-up shirt with which to clothe my Irish Spring soap-scented sentient self. And a new pair of black LA Gear sneakers shod upon my feet, I grabbed my sack of books, ran some light blue hair gel through my one-inch thick head mop, took a peak in the vanity glass, and locked the door behind me. I took three stairs at a time ready to learn accouting for 3 hours, followed by lunch, one-and-a-half hours of World War II history, and 3 more hours of accounting project work.

A dismal gloom met me as I looked across the East Laville lobby and through the glass door. A steady downpour greeted my icy gaze. Rain, rain. My lips curled in anger, I took four stairs at a time back to my room, quickly fumbled about for my high school cross-country black hoodie, covered my head with its hood, and dashed out into the elements.

A miserable 10 minute walk to the Center for Business and Engineering Administration ensued. Jumping into seas of water much to copious to be considered puddles, I felt my clothes weighing me down. Each step became heavier, wetter, and more accursed than the last.

Slightly late to class, I walked in, like a supersaturated wet noodle, and sat behind the uproarious laughter of Jonathan Buras. As class began, from my spot at the back of the classroom, I took off my shoes and socks. Wringing out my socks, a river of water began to weave through the desks. Rolling up my pant legs, I began to shiver. Every square nanometer of my body was wet and chilled.

--

6:00 p.m. Still drying out.

--

6:00 p.m. Next day. Dead graphing calculator. Books and notebooks, as well as high school hoodie still thoroughly soaked. Finals will be interesting this semester.

--

Lesson: Have 10 $1.00 umbrellas on hand at any given time. Or alternatively, don't try and be a hero and go to class at LSU when heaven is crying.

Pwned!

I have to say, I totally PWNED those n00bs this week. By n00bs, I do mean my WW2 and Business Law tests. Pure pwnage on tests is great.

Extreme Accounting

Extreme Accounting...doesn't that sound delicious?

My friend James and I, along with 3 other accounting students, gave our presentation as part of the PricewaterhouseCoopers Xact Competition yesterday. Basically, two weeks ago, PwC came to campus and gave every team competing a course packet, describing a scenario. The country of Coresenna wanted to change their entire accounting regulatory environment from one governed by rules to one governed by principles. That may sound simple enough. But do not be deceived. It was challenging.

We spent two weeks researching, writing the script for the 12-minute presentation, getting a packet of solutions created and printed, making the powerpoint, and preparing for 10 minutes of questions by a panel of the "Prime Minister" and members of the "Coresennan Business Alliance" (PwC fellows posing as governmental figures).

After two weeks of constant work, we presented. Our hopes were high. We did a great job. But a great job doesn't always assure victory. The competition was swift.

We did win two things out of this: a great learning experience. And. Dinner at Mansurs on the Boulevard. A world-class dining experience.

So I now have a life again and maybe if you're my friend, I'll exchange words with you and not say, "I"m going to work on that project." I'll say "I've got to actually work on a class project" now. Wink wink nudge nudge.

A Prayer for the Broken

How can the broken be healed? For those who are most able to be the healers are themselves broken. Those who can bind up are the most brittle. Those who are strongest are the ones who are the most sensitive. Those who shoulders are leaned upon most are the most exhausted.

Brokenness, brokenness! All is laid waste. Joy and mirth, wine and song, they all languish.

If the cords of friendship are strong, they are eventually knifed through my indifference.
If the fire of romance is hot, it burns only to be extinguished by selfishness.
If the hope in the future is certain, it is certainly a wax pillar in the sun.
If words of purpose are uttered, their voice is lost in the roar of the sea of frivolity.

Set aside an afternoon for a man to tell you his joys and you will be free before evening. Invite a man to number his sorrows and you will weep with him into the night.

I am a generation. I am desperation. I am the voice of anger, tears, vile sorrow, vanity, violation, hatred, self-absorption, and apathy. I am a material generation, desperately tired of my senses. If I taste drink, it turns to ash going down my throat. If I hear the stories of famous men, my ears ring like a bomb blast deafening my ears. If I feel the touch of a woman, my body is repulsed into solitude. If I smell the cologne of a man, my nostrils inhale the smoke of the industry that produced it. If I see a fluorescent sunrise, I only hope for the setting sun so I may return to my exhausted and waking slumber.

And, yes. I slumber. I am sleepwalking. I appear to be able to hold everything up, to pull everything together. But gravity pulls me down, down further into the quagmire. For my American Dream, Gravity. For my implanted physical makeover, Gravity. For my frolicking youthfulness, Gravity. For my lust and my allure, Gravity.

Envision a valley. An arid and searing vale. In this desert, there is no moisture. Only thousands of grains of tiny sand. Across each searing speck of dry soil lies a pale white bone. A valley strewn with bones. Bones that need to be reassembled. Bones that need flesh and blood and sinew and the breath of life. Can these bones live? Can these bones rise once more?

From a distant land we hear this rumor of love. We await a magic and mystical kiss of life. But we do not believe it. We have forgotten what love is, and who among the living can now remember it? But we know our hope lies in love. We want to show love to those who need it, but we ourselves are the needy. Love for my brokenness. Love for the brokenness. Love for the broken. Can this brokenness be made solidarity again? Only you can tell, oh Lord.

To Write Love On Her Arms.

In view of my recent mulling over the brokenness of humanity through my own thoughts and conversations with friends in emotional pain, I am always looking for inspiration. I came across a good story on the internet. The story of Renee, who had a self-mutilation problem. She had a problem with love. She felt no love, so she did not love herself. Who's going to reach people like her? This generation is going to have to rise up and answer a lot of unanswered questions. It needs a manifestation of the power of God. Before we can manifest this to the world, we've got to heal ourselves. We've got to heal people like Renee, love them into communion with us, and thereby with the Savior. I think we're doing a terrible job right now. I am praying God will give me part of the puzzle and a venue for which to share that with everyone else. The people who nursed this girl back to health did not totally go about this the right way, in my humble opinion, but they're doing something. There is a generation of young, immature, 20-year old baby Christians who knows they should be doing something to love this world back into shape, but they don't know how. We've reached the point of desperation and being fed up with the sins of our fathers, but this is a crisis point. We're very vulnerable. All I can say is that God will have to sovereingly move to put us back together. Until then, we languish...


"Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her. She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm. The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms. "

-Taken from the website.