Rummaging through a pile of documents on my computer, I found this thing I made over spring break.
Click here to see the picture.
I think that after reading too many online comics, I decided I had to try to make one myself. Or maybe I made this because two of my sisters were drawing funny Paint pictures for the screen saver, and I wanted to join in. Either way, it was a temporary bout of insanity. I mean -- it took me FOUR HOURS to make this stupid stick figure thing. FOUR HOURS of drawing circles and messing around with colors and formatting text in Paint! It cured me of any aspirations to comic-making excellence, at least -- I've got better things to do than stare at a screen and edit pixels for hours.
However, it is a bit of a pity that this thing will never get off the ground. Because I really did have something of a plot planned out, which I think would have highly entertained my sisters when they saw the screensaver again. After a few brief strips poking fun at the Hillsdale in general -- the crazy ID card holders, the political philosophy of the place, the fact that Democrats are as rare as Saga-food-likers -- it was going to get "serious." With a whole convoluted mess about the unique atmosphere of Hillsdale attracting an evil force and allowing it to gain a foothold here. ("It's apparently got something to do with southern Michigan, Tolkien and Lewis fanatics, Libertarians, and eagles. Definitely eagles.")
And Saga-workers are actually undercover good-guy guys. They make the food evil on purpose. To get the evil force to believe they're on its side. (You always wondered about Saga Steve? See how normal YOU are after leading a face-to-face resistance movement against ultimate evil year after year!)
However, as Saga Steve himself will attest, after watching my pathetic attempts to illustrate menu boards, my artistic ability is about -3 on a 1-10 scale. So this award-winning plot shall never see the light of day. Which is probably a good thing.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The Super-Secret Insider's Guide to Clock Tower Sneaking
OK. Friday's lunchroom conversation focused heavily on one of the Great Hillsdalian Dilemmas: How to Sneak into the Clock Tower.
It's there. It's cool. It's extraordinarily tempting. And people apparently go to quite drastic measures to get in. I mean...who wouldn't want to get in there and record their name with the great Clock-Tower-Sneakers of the past?
As I have a job up in financial aid, and as the lunchroom conversation got me curious, I arrived early for work and spent 5 minutes doing some in-depth investigation of the matter.
So! Before you go on one of those 1:00 AM expeditions, involving (apparently) something about a sewer-tunnel and the registrars office, you might want to read this first.
THE SUPER-SECRET INSIDER'S GUIDE TO CLOCK TOWER SNEAKING. WITH PICTURES!!!
1) You need the key.
It's not enough just to get in the building! Apparently, after having too many students sneak in, they locked the place up pretty tight. There's a padlock on the trap door. An "NQ3 MasterLock," to be precise. Which looks pretty much like this.
(I'm not sure what the keys look like, though, having never seen them).
So unless you miraculously find a way to get the key, or can miraculously pick an NQ3 Master-brand padlock, or have the inclination to smash the lock to pieces (doing actual PROPERTY DAMAGE), it's not worth your time to sneak into Central Hall. No key, no clock tower, end of story.
2) You need the key.
3) YOU NEED THE KEY!!!
4) All right. Assuming beyond believability that you do get this key, the rest is absurdly simple. You don't even have to resort to breaking into the building at 1:00 A.M. Just go at lunchtime, when no one (or hardly anyone) is there anyway. 12:00 to 1:00 P.M.
The trick is to get to the back stairway. This is quite easy. There's not locked door or anything. Go down to the basement level, and go through the waiting room down there, past the brown table. There's a hallway -- go into it, and take the last door on the right. You should find yourself in the back stairwell, by the shredding machine.
As shown here. (Pretty much, at least -- there's a couple more unimportant doors and such):
Don't worry about all the office doors on the hall -- they're never open. They're slightly cracked, but that's about it.
Anyhow...once you get into the stairwell, start climbing until there are no more stairs. You should arrive at a level that looks like this:
Climb the ladder, and go through the trap door.
5) Where you will need the key!
So...yeah. This is sort of my backhanded way of discouraging anyone from trying this, especially the midnight-through-the-tunnel-into-the-registrar's office plan. Because unless the keys are in there, all you'll have succeeded in doing is breaking into Central Hall. When you don't even need to break in.
It's there. It's cool. It's extraordinarily tempting. And people apparently go to quite drastic measures to get in. I mean...who wouldn't want to get in there and record their name with the great Clock-Tower-Sneakers of the past?
As I have a job up in financial aid, and as the lunchroom conversation got me curious, I arrived early for work and spent 5 minutes doing some in-depth investigation of the matter.
So! Before you go on one of those 1:00 AM expeditions, involving (apparently) something about a sewer-tunnel and the registrars office, you might want to read this first.
THE SUPER-SECRET INSIDER'S GUIDE TO CLOCK TOWER SNEAKING. WITH PICTURES!!!
1) You need the key.
It's not enough just to get in the building! Apparently, after having too many students sneak in, they locked the place up pretty tight. There's a padlock on the trap door. An "NQ3 MasterLock," to be precise. Which looks pretty much like this.
(I'm not sure what the keys look like, though, having never seen them).
So unless you miraculously find a way to get the key, or can miraculously pick an NQ3 Master-brand padlock, or have the inclination to smash the lock to pieces (doing actual PROPERTY DAMAGE), it's not worth your time to sneak into Central Hall. No key, no clock tower, end of story.
2) You need the key.
3) YOU NEED THE KEY!!!
4) All right. Assuming beyond believability that you do get this key, the rest is absurdly simple. You don't even have to resort to breaking into the building at 1:00 A.M. Just go at lunchtime, when no one (or hardly anyone) is there anyway. 12:00 to 1:00 P.M.
The trick is to get to the back stairway. This is quite easy. There's not locked door or anything. Go down to the basement level, and go through the waiting room down there, past the brown table. There's a hallway -- go into it, and take the last door on the right. You should find yourself in the back stairwell, by the shredding machine.
As shown here. (Pretty much, at least -- there's a couple more unimportant doors and such):
Don't worry about all the office doors on the hall -- they're never open. They're slightly cracked, but that's about it.
Anyhow...once you get into the stairwell, start climbing until there are no more stairs. You should arrive at a level that looks like this:
Climb the ladder, and go through the trap door.
5) Where you will need the key!
So...yeah. This is sort of my backhanded way of discouraging anyone from trying this, especially the midnight-through-the-tunnel-into-the-registrar's office plan. Because unless the keys are in there, all you'll have succeeded in doing is breaking into Central Hall. When you don't even need to break in.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Iriem
I admit I've never liked the spring before. I can't say exactly why, though there are certain images associated with that word -- wet and heavy days, full of mud and sickly yellow-green shoots and humid gray skies. Maybe there's some brighter days in the mix -- but those aren't much better. For one reason or another, I've always dreaded the approach of that season. And the sickly gushing joy that everyone seems to derive from it.
So am I recanting my heresy? No. Not a bit. I still detest that obsession with "rebirth" and "renewal" and whatever other cockamamie things people say (as they put on their sunhats and start planting bulbs in muddy gardens). Whatever this is up in Michigan now, I don't know. But it's not "spring." To associate it what that word is an abuse of any aesthetic principle.
So I'm going to call it "Iriem." Or "Tavel" or "Ardel" or something else; I haven't exactly decided yet. But not "spring."
Iriem is the Indian Summer of the early months. Not in the fact that it's "warm," per se. But more in the fact that it is sudden, unexpected, and absolutely beautiful. If Indian Summer is a breathtakingly warm bit of summer in the fall, Iriem is a breathtakingly cool bit of summer in the spring.
It comes on you wholly unexpectedly. Maybe one day of transition, maybe even not that much. One day you're huddling off to classes in your hooded coat, trying to stay out of the icy mix of snow and rain. Two days later you are sunbathing on the lawn in form of your dorm. After the 3rd and 4th day and 5th days, you realize this isn't some freakish March week. It's here to stay.
Every moment of Iriem is heightened and beautiful. Evening and morning are cool (though not chilled). The sun is warm. Midday is almost hot. Perhaps it's the rapid heights and valleys of temperature that throw everything into such sharp relief. The wind. The prickling grass. The brilliant sun. The bark of the trees. Conversations flitting across the quad.
I never feel that I have to be outside on these days. I've still the winter habit and inclination of holing up inside. But once I go out, I can't come back in. A breeze hits me. I'll realize the sun's there, and I'll see groups of students flopped on the grass around the quad. Or it will be evening, and I'll stumble into an unnaturally light and bright grey night.
It's not exactly "overwhelming" or "overpowering." It's more silent than that. But there's a feel of something heightened, something beautiful in it that catches the senses. It's causing me, at least, who usually rushes frantically from class to class, to stop and linger a moment. To take in the yellow of a leaf, or the shadow of a telephone pole, or the bare twigs of a tree. And seeing them, to be able to do nothing but throw my head back, and say, "Dear God -- to live in a world where such things are possible."
So am I recanting my heresy? No. Not a bit. I still detest that obsession with "rebirth" and "renewal" and whatever other cockamamie things people say (as they put on their sunhats and start planting bulbs in muddy gardens). Whatever this is up in Michigan now, I don't know. But it's not "spring." To associate it what that word is an abuse of any aesthetic principle.
So I'm going to call it "Iriem." Or "Tavel" or "Ardel" or something else; I haven't exactly decided yet. But not "spring."
Iriem is the Indian Summer of the early months. Not in the fact that it's "warm," per se. But more in the fact that it is sudden, unexpected, and absolutely beautiful. If Indian Summer is a breathtakingly warm bit of summer in the fall, Iriem is a breathtakingly cool bit of summer in the spring.
It comes on you wholly unexpectedly. Maybe one day of transition, maybe even not that much. One day you're huddling off to classes in your hooded coat, trying to stay out of the icy mix of snow and rain. Two days later you are sunbathing on the lawn in form of your dorm. After the 3rd and 4th day and 5th days, you realize this isn't some freakish March week. It's here to stay.
Every moment of Iriem is heightened and beautiful. Evening and morning are cool (though not chilled). The sun is warm. Midday is almost hot. Perhaps it's the rapid heights and valleys of temperature that throw everything into such sharp relief. The wind. The prickling grass. The brilliant sun. The bark of the trees. Conversations flitting across the quad.
I never feel that I have to be outside on these days. I've still the winter habit and inclination of holing up inside. But once I go out, I can't come back in. A breeze hits me. I'll realize the sun's there, and I'll see groups of students flopped on the grass around the quad. Or it will be evening, and I'll stumble into an unnaturally light and bright grey night.
It's not exactly "overwhelming" or "overpowering." It's more silent than that. But there's a feel of something heightened, something beautiful in it that catches the senses. It's causing me, at least, who usually rushes frantically from class to class, to stop and linger a moment. To take in the yellow of a leaf, or the shadow of a telephone pole, or the bare twigs of a tree. And seeing them, to be able to do nothing but throw my head back, and say, "Dear God -- to live in a world where such things are possible."
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Calvinism
My roommate asked me the other day if I were a Calvinist. I hedged my answer, and came away sounding quite bad (or at least a bit incoherent), saying something along the lines of "Well...it's the tradition I was raised in...I'm OK with it...I guess you could say I'm a Calvinist..."
There were a lot of steps missing from that answer. The following is an attempt to hash them out.
1) priorities, limited time, and other present concerns
There's a lot of things to worry about and figure out in the realm of Christian doctrine, not to mention in life in general. There's only so much you can worry about and focus on at the one time. And, at the moment, Calvinism isn't that high a priority on my list. The truth of Christianity in general was a bit more of a preoccupation for some time. Right now I'm rather busy trying to figure out the nature and purpose of the church and its relation to the "world" (whatever that is). And the answer to the whole "what must one do to be saved" deal (which REALLY isn't as simple as it looks, once you get into Catholicism and Protestantism and "those who have never heard"). And what exactly Christ's death accomplished (just a payment? Or is there a reshaping of the entire cosmos going on, too?)
These things, admittedly, do touch upon the Calvinism/Arminianism/sovereignty/free will debate at times. So I do end up doing some thinking about them. Eventually, I think, I'll have to hit the issue head on. But right now, it's "out of focus," in the background, overshadowed and influenced by other concerns.
2) agnosticism, necessary assumptions, and moving forward
I don't know with any confidence that Calvinism is right. I haven't examined the issue for several years. I suppose I could just say "I don't know" or "I'm a weak agnostic on that issue." But, as I'm hammering through some of these other questions, I've found it necessary to have some base view of salvation to refer to and amend.
Maybe some people can manage to live in a constant agnosticism, floating in a murky grey fog until they've thoroughly examined and solidified an issue, then moving on to the next one. Gradually getting the fog to coalesce and clear, one area at a time. After about five years of pretty much living like that, I know that I can't in most cases. It's hard enough murking up one area at a time and resolidifying it.
So, needing some background view, I'll find something possible and viable, amend it when necessary, and toss it out the window and try again if the amendments start turning into epicycles. (At least that's how it should work in theory...)
3) viability and conservatism
It's possible to prove Calvinism from Scripture. And it's got some solid church tradition behind it. It's not some totally wacko cultish doctrine. I don't know if it's right -- but it's a workable, pretty coherent way of understanding difficult passages of scripture. As are more Arminian-leaning views, too.
But, as I was raised a Calvinist and not a semi-Pelagian, I use Calvinism as my base view. I don't usually change my views for no reason other than changing them. Since Calvinism is still viable, and since I'm not interested, at the moment, in deliberately examining (and changing if necessary) this particular inherited view, I'll shrug and stick with Calvinism for now.
That's basically what I mean by "it's the tradition I was raised in." If it's still workable, and if it's not too important at the moment, why not stick with it for now?
So far, I've found no earth-shattering reason to abandon Calvinism. It works, it's possible, it's what I'm familiar with, I have to choose something, so huzzah for Calvinism. Until it turns out that it or an amended version of it doesn't fit reality. Which is a very possible outcome. There are some things that are giving me pause, and time will tell whether an amending of my understanding of Calvinism will suffice, or whether it's so flawed a system that I do need to wipe the board clean and start over with a fundamentally Arminian-leaning view.
There were a lot of steps missing from that answer. The following is an attempt to hash them out.
1) priorities, limited time, and other present concerns
There's a lot of things to worry about and figure out in the realm of Christian doctrine, not to mention in life in general. There's only so much you can worry about and focus on at the one time. And, at the moment, Calvinism isn't that high a priority on my list. The truth of Christianity in general was a bit more of a preoccupation for some time. Right now I'm rather busy trying to figure out the nature and purpose of the church and its relation to the "world" (whatever that is). And the answer to the whole "what must one do to be saved" deal (which REALLY isn't as simple as it looks, once you get into Catholicism and Protestantism and "those who have never heard"). And what exactly Christ's death accomplished (just a payment? Or is there a reshaping of the entire cosmos going on, too?)
These things, admittedly, do touch upon the Calvinism/Arminianism/sovereignty/free will debate at times. So I do end up doing some thinking about them. Eventually, I think, I'll have to hit the issue head on. But right now, it's "out of focus," in the background, overshadowed and influenced by other concerns.
2) agnosticism, necessary assumptions, and moving forward
I don't know with any confidence that Calvinism is right. I haven't examined the issue for several years. I suppose I could just say "I don't know" or "I'm a weak agnostic on that issue." But, as I'm hammering through some of these other questions, I've found it necessary to have some base view of salvation to refer to and amend.
Maybe some people can manage to live in a constant agnosticism, floating in a murky grey fog until they've thoroughly examined and solidified an issue, then moving on to the next one. Gradually getting the fog to coalesce and clear, one area at a time. After about five years of pretty much living like that, I know that I can't in most cases. It's hard enough murking up one area at a time and resolidifying it.
So, needing some background view, I'll find something possible and viable, amend it when necessary, and toss it out the window and try again if the amendments start turning into epicycles. (At least that's how it should work in theory...)
3) viability and conservatism
It's possible to prove Calvinism from Scripture. And it's got some solid church tradition behind it. It's not some totally wacko cultish doctrine. I don't know if it's right -- but it's a workable, pretty coherent way of understanding difficult passages of scripture. As are more Arminian-leaning views, too.
But, as I was raised a Calvinist and not a semi-Pelagian, I use Calvinism as my base view. I don't usually change my views for no reason other than changing them. Since Calvinism is still viable, and since I'm not interested, at the moment, in deliberately examining (and changing if necessary) this particular inherited view, I'll shrug and stick with Calvinism for now.
That's basically what I mean by "it's the tradition I was raised in." If it's still workable, and if it's not too important at the moment, why not stick with it for now?
So far, I've found no earth-shattering reason to abandon Calvinism. It works, it's possible, it's what I'm familiar with, I have to choose something, so huzzah for Calvinism. Until it turns out that it or an amended version of it doesn't fit reality. Which is a very possible outcome. There are some things that are giving me pause, and time will tell whether an amending of my understanding of Calvinism will suffice, or whether it's so flawed a system that I do need to wipe the board clean and start over with a fundamentally Arminian-leaning view.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Hillsdale Slogans
Jason's Hillsdale slogans are sheer genius. What more can you say to stuff like this?
Hillsdale College: More Eagles Per Capita Than Anywhere Else
Hillsdale College: Where the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' Policy Applies to Democrats
Hillsdale College: Where Everybody Knows Your Name...And Last 4 Boyfriend
Hillsdale College: The Administration Knows What You Did Last Summer
Hillsdale College: Training Minds for the Libertarian Agenda since 1844
Hillsdale College: We Can Speak More Dead Languages Than You Can
Hillsdale College: Where the 'Bring Back The Byzantine Empire Club' Actually has a Member
Hillsdale College: Where Your Best Hasn't Been Good Enough Since 1844
Hillsdale College: More Eagles Per Capita Than Anywhere Else
Hillsdale College: Where the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' Policy Applies to Democrats
Hillsdale College: Where Everybody Knows Your Name...And Last 4 Boyfriend
Hillsdale College: The Administration Knows What You Did Last Summer
Hillsdale College: Training Minds for the Libertarian Agenda since 1844
Hillsdale College: We Can Speak More Dead Languages Than You Can
Hillsdale College: Where the 'Bring Back The Byzantine Empire Club' Actually has a Member
Hillsdale College: Where Your Best Hasn't Been Good Enough Since 1844
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Regimes
And another not-so-serious discursion:
According to Dr. Morrisey, a regime consists of three elements:
1. the politea – the structure of its government
2. the politeuma – the people in charge of it
3. the ethos – its citizens' habits of life and mind
He's apparently even written a book on it. And it's all fine and good, until you procrastinate and stay up all night writing an essay test about the ethos and politea of the United States people and their Constitution. Upon completion of which, all you can really think of is something like the following.
1. the politea – a properly British midday snack of hot beverages and sweet biscuits
2. the politeuma – a courteous girl with an unusual name
3. the ethos – a devoured stallion
According to Dr. Morrisey, a regime consists of three elements:
1. the politea – the structure of its government
2. the politeuma – the people in charge of it
3. the ethos – its citizens' habits of life and mind
He's apparently even written a book on it. And it's all fine and good, until you procrastinate and stay up all night writing an essay test about the ethos and politea of the United States people and their Constitution. Upon completion of which, all you can really think of is something like the following.
1. the politea – a properly British midday snack of hot beverages and sweet biscuits
2. the politeuma – a courteous girl with an unusual name
3. the ethos – a devoured stallion
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