Ah, Chris. What a guy. Who better to record the wild chronicles of his life than himself? Within these posts are stories and jokes, thoughts and wild conspiracy theories. As Chris grows and continues to view life as nothing more than an extended comedy sketch so will this blog continue recording the weirdness of the life led by one really epic guy.
Hey there, my loyal few who still read my blog, and those hello to you, that random person who is reading this (probably from googling something about Combat Arms). I know I haven't blogged in a while but, well, I just don't think my life is quite as interesting as it used to be. I'd like to blog more often though, so let me tell you about my favorite new pastime. In February I was hanging out with some of the guys and my friend Bryce was on his laptop. Sounds of ricocheting bullets and exploding frag grenades floated to my ears. "This is awesome!" he told us, "It's a free-to-play multiplayer online first person shooter!" Because of his enthusiasm and because when watching over his shoulder I saw that this actually looked like a pretty high quality game I decided I would try it out in my free time. About a week later I downloaded it and fell in love.
As this picture will tell you, it's epic. I mean, everyone knows that cool guys don't look at explosions (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sqz5dbs5zmo), but not just anyone can walk away from an explosion while ridiculously armed to the teeth! So basically I love this game. You have over a hundred weapons to choose from, as well as a very customizable character. And you could play this game for years without spending a single cent, and even the people who do pay to play don't get such an unfair bonus as to make it no fun for the rest of us.
One of the other things that I really like about this game is the community. As the United States government knows far too well (Yay conspiracy theorists!) the best unifier is a common enemy, and the Combat Arms community has that. Combat Arms has a slight problem with hackers. Now, I'm not tech savvy so I don't really understand how they do it, but there are always hackers in Combat Arms doing all sorts of unfair and terrible things. This has led to all sorts of groups and movements within the Combat Arms community, the largest and most respected being the CBL, or Community Ban List. This group takes reports and evidence regarding players who had been accused of hacking and then mark players as either clean or dirty. I recently joined the CBL and am really enjoying talking on the forums in my free time.
Well, anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading about why I love Combat Arms so much. You probably didn't, but oh well, I can't think of much else exciting to write about. I think I'm going to start trying to write a blog post at least once a week from now on though, and not always about video games. Anyway, I must be off.
P.S. I'm not completely without ulterior motive in writing this post. Thought Combat Arms sounded awesome? Interested in trying it out? Well, Combat Arms is currently holding an event rewarding players who recruit other players, and also the players who are recruited (Info here: http://combatarms.nexon.net/News/View.aspx?boardNo=101&contentNo=008GJ). If you join Combat Arms be sure to mention that I, KuriJaVaba, recruited you. Add me as a friend in game and I'd love to play together.
I must begin this post as I have many times before, with an apology. I realize that many of you may be offended by my use of the term "boob" in reference to breasts. In fact, some of you might even be offended by the fact that I would even write about breasts in the first place, but bear with me. The use of the term boob is mostly for laughs and I do actually have a serious point in here somewhere so keep reading and hopefully you'll laugh and think.
So, I defy the power of boob! What does that mean? Well, let me tell you of my last great skirmishes with the kingdom of breast. I am a guy, and as everyone knows guys generally feel pretty drawn to breasts. This is why as a Christian guy who thinks that he should keep his eyes from staring at any breasts but his wife's I say things like defiance and skirmishes and fun terminology like that.
Once upon a time last week I went to a renaissance fair in Colorado, and as anyone who has been to a renaissance fair has probably noticed they are pretty kinky places. Something about reenacting a time before the age of political correctness seems to make everyone's minds turn to sex. So that means most of the women are "wenches" and wear these tight bodices that cause their breasts to mount an escape attempt over the top. Besides the fact that this looks terribly uncomfortable for the boobs in question it is also somewhat uncomfortable for me. So surrounded by this sea of breasts I made a decision-I shall defy the power of boob!
In our society the power of boobs are abused in many ways. The power of of boob sells beer, Axe shampoo, shoes, and anything else even slightly aimed toward men. Even Victoria's Secret, which I would think is primarily advertising to women, seems to utilize the power of boob to a great extent. So I decided that it might be a good idea to defy this power. If this is one of the most potent powers used in against my sex than it is my duty to defy them!
This is not to say that I am on a misogynistic rant and think that boobs are inherently evil. No, quite the contrary. I actually think that the power of boob, like all abused powers, has potential to be used for good. In fact someday I plan to completely give myself over to the power of boob as wielded by my wonderful wife. But until then I think this is a terribly abused power, more dangerous than nuclear weapons of mass destruction. Don't believe me? How many men throughout history have been effected by weapons of mass destruction? A couple million? A few billion? Not sure. How many men have been effected by the power of boob? Let's turn that question around, how many men have NOT been effect by the power of boob? Ummm, pretty much none. Not to be prejudiced, but I'm only talking straight guys here because I'm straight so I think we get each other.
So there it is. I think it is time that I began to defy the power of boob. In fact, I think maybe now would be a good time for you to join me in this little act of defiance. Let's all defy the power of boob! Let's not let it influence our purchasing choices, let's not let it be a factor in the women we go after. What if we were to forget about boobs and only focus on actual quality of product and women? Whoa, I think my mind just exploded. That would be a totally different world. Let's do it!
I hope you enjoyed my thoughts about boobs. I enjoyed typing the word "boob" sixteen times (yeah, I counted) because I'm still just that immature. If you thought this was awesome then please comment and let me know. If you thought this was terribly offensive and plan to hunt me down and cut off my sinful fingers so I can never type the word "boobs" again then I must also ask that you would comment and let me know. A little heads up would be nice.
Anyway, I must be off. I have to be up at 4 A.M. tomorrow morning to fly back to Bangor! Yay! Goodnight everyone!
Hey everyone! There is nothing cooler for a college student to do then write a manifesto. This would be a lot cooler if I hadn't stolen the idea from some other people, but still, I'll feel cool. I have decided that officially starting at the end of Mayterm, but partly starting now, I will spend one year with only 100 possessions to my name. I originally saw an article about this in The War Cry or YS or something and thought it was so cool that I googled it, at which point I found out that it actually originated with another blogger, David Michael Bruno, who wanted to cut some of the excess out of his life too. (http://www.guynameddave.com/100-thing-challenge.html)
Now some of you may be wondering why I would do something like this. I am an infamous packrat with a love of buying trinkets and oddities only to throw them away or put them in a draw for 6 months, how is it even possible to limit to 100? Well, that's why I've decided to do this. When I cam to America for college I had 2 large suitcases, 1 small suitcase, and a backpack. I now can't fit even half my stuff in those original containers. I have more than doubled my stuff in two years! At this rate by the time I graduate I might need to have a whole second room just for my stuff. It's stupid, and it's oppressive, and it needs to stop! So I'm going to put an end to it. Starting (hopefully) today I will limit myself to no more than 100 things. Everything else will be dealt with somehow, thrown out, donated, given away, something. But I just need to to something.
So that is my challenge for today. I am sorting my things and keeping only 100. Now, before you think I'm truly insane allow me a caveat or two. I have a few things that I'm not counting.
1. The essentials: Tooth Brush Shampoo Etc,
2. Books: I will confine myself to only what can fit on my three shelf bookshelf (which counts as one of my 100), but whatever fits doesn't count. I just can't get rid of all my books, I need them for schoolwork and also just because I love books. Also, textbooks don't count to that limit or to the 100 item limit, I need textbooks even if I don't want them.
3. CDs Similar to what I am doing with my books I will confine myself to what can fit into my CD Case (meant to hold 80) because if I get rid of all my CDs then I'll just download all my music and that leads to all sorts of ethical arguments and...I'm keeping my CDs.
Other than that everything, my bags, my nerf guns, my electronics, it's all counting towards my 100 things. This should be interesting...Wish me luck. I'll update my blog with my list once I've got it all sorted out, but until then,
Last year I took writing of fiction and really, really enjoyed it. Over the summer before I had been inspired by the creepy Russian culture hall near my home in Narva and had wanted to write a story about it. Fiction class gave me that opportunity. I wrote three different variations of this story and took forever to put it on my blog because I couldn't decide on which version to share. I finally decided on my final draft, the one my professor liked best. I hope you like this story, it's definitely not one of my best, but I still think it's okay. Plus it features my friend Anneli as the friend of the protagonist, who I guess you could call me. Anyway, enjoy!
The Culture Hall
As we neared the pillars and the ghostly orchestra reached my ears I began to have second thoughts. When I told Anneli I thought it would be fun to explore this place together I hadn’t meant I would actually do it. This place was downright creepy, but now I was here with Anneli and there was no turning back.
It wasn’t that I truly had anything to be afraid of. It was just an old building. As I stepped between the pillars and into the glass strewn courtyard I ran my hand across the cracked surface of the pillar, shivering against my fear. The glass was like hail beneath my feet, crackling and crunching as it was ground into the cement with each step I took, sounding especially eerie next to the warbly Russian Soprano that had just joined the orchestra floating past my ears. As I stumbled over one of the more tangled of the weeds littering the courtyard I thought back over what had led to me be heading towards the rusted ladder of a fire escape to climb through a shattered window.
It was strange being an American in Estonia. I had moved around a lot when I lived in America, but nothing that prepared me to move to another country. After 4 years of living in Estonia and learning the language and culture I was fitting in pretty well, but then we moved again, and I was just as unprepared. We now moved to the city of Narva, a primarily Russian city right on the river border that separates Russia from Estonia. Just when I was getting the hang of Estonian, I had a new language to deal with.
The language of the invaders.
After years of trying to become as Estonian as possible I was not a fan of Russians, their harsh language grated on my ears like the shards of glass and cement grated against the soles of my shoes as I pushed off from the ground, hoisting myself onto the ladder and beginning to climb. Once I reached the top I reached down to help pull Anneli up. As my hand closed around her wrist and I tugged her up I looked at her and tried to remember why I had ended up here with her.
When I was exploring my new city I had stumbled upon an abandoned square in a park, the ground covered in cracked and crumbling cement tiles. . On either side of this empty square sat the memorial busts of some famous Russians. Even if I could read Russian it would have done no good, as the Cyrillic lettering had become scratched and worn away through time, neglect, and vandalism. But the most interesting thing I had seen sat beyond the busts.
As I turned away from observing one of the more magnificently mustachioed busts of some Russian writer or revolutionary I saw four giant pillars, their paint peeling, leaving large patches of dingy gray cement among the whiteness of the rest of the pillar. Atop these pillars sat a roof, with some inscription facing outwards. Even without any knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet I could tell that large portions of this inscription were missing, rubbed out by weather and time.Behind and on either side of the pillars crouched a three story building which greatly conveyed a sense of faded glory. The space between the pillars and the building created a courtyard of weeds and shattered cement. Like the pillars and the inscription this building was clearly once quite beautiful. But now what windows weren’t boarded up were broken, and not only was the paint peeling but small chunks of the wall had fallen out, not enough to break through to the inside, but enough to cause me to question the structural integrity of this old building. Directly in the center of the building was a large metal doorway, two hefty metal bars crossed over it to keep intruders out. A fire escape crawled up the right side of the courtyard, leading to a broken window on the third floor.
I had stood transfixed, unable to look away from this building. It was eerie and unnaturally shadowed, as if the sun were unable to reach this particular part of Narva. I walked towards the courtyard, seeing shards of broken glass spread intermittently throughout the weeds. As I reached the pillars I reached out my hand and stroked the cracked paint and chipped cement, leaning forward to rest my head on the pillar.
My forehead touched the cool cement of the pillar and I jumped as the air was suddenly filled with an eerie orchestral melody sounding as if it were echoing from within the heart of the building. The melody sounded as if it were being played off a very old record. The whole world seemed unable to move, my breathing stopped, my heartbeats froze. I felt trapped. After a few moments of standing frozen to the pillar an old woman’s voice drifted slowly into the melody, slowly singing what sounded like an old Russian love song.
As soon as I first saw this building I was afraid. It was an old Russian culture hall, the former home of Soviet propaganda and Communist lies. But once I heard the music I completely spooked. I turned and ran.
Later when relating this story to my best friend Anneli it ran quite differently. I don’t know why I wanted to impress her, but I felt I had to sound manly about this place. I couldn’t say, “I was out exploring our new city alone and I ran away like a little girl when some crumbling building started playing an old love song.” Instead I felt that I should be tough and overcompensate. Anneli had moved to Narva with my family to work as my parents’ translator, and as the one important thing I had ever taken with me on a move I felt that she was all I had left. So I told her I found this cool old building and that we should go in and explore it. When I said this I thought she wouldn’t actually do it. She wasn’t intending to call my bluff, but in the end she did.
As I climbed through the jagged edges of the smashed window on the third floor I tried to decide if I regretted try to act tough. I decided yes. I was terrified. As my foot hit the floor the ethereal voice dropped to lower key as the song became even slower.
“What’s it saying?” I asked Anneli.
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning as she strained to make out some meaning from the warbling voice. “It’s too echo-y. It’s definitely Russian, but it doesn’t sound like anything I can recognize.”
I walked into the empty room and heard the crunch as Anneli dropped onto the shattered glass and weak wood behind me. I walked to the one door in the room and as I opened it the voice dropped until it creaked almost like the rusted hinges of the door. I switched on my flashlight and looked into a long hallway, the maroon wall paper peeling revealing the yellowish bile colored wall underneath.
Outside the one doorway to the room was a staircase leading down to the second floor. “That wood looks pretty rotted, do you think we can trust it?” said Anneli, a slight note of worry creeping into her voice. I was afraid, but I couldn’t let her see that. In answer to her question I stepped onto the first decomposing step and put my full weight on it. Seeing that it held me we moved on down the stairs, turning left into a small room.
The room we stood in now had a large rectangular window on one side, with an old film projector thrown haphazardly on the floor below it. On one wall was a picture of Joseph Stalin, a yellow hammer and sickle floating to the side of his mustached face against a background of a waving red Soviet flag, his dark eyes watching our every move with a malicious dictatorial hunger. Outside the window of this projectionist’s box were rows and rows of seats facing a large screen. This was where the propaganda films were shown during the Soviet years. The orchestra and soprano were loud in this room, bouncing and echoing around the walls.
On the left and right sides of the screen hung Soviet flags, faded and dirty from time. The rows of seats were tattered and several were knocked over. As I looked down into the theater it seemed almost as if some of the cloth cushioning on some of the seats had been ripped or torn, but I convinced myself that it was only a trick of my paranoid mind, already creeped out by the surroundings.
Then I saw a movement down in the theater. As I watched, a young child, he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, crawled out from behind the front row. The boy had dark tousled hair and pale skin, wearing a dirty and torn black t-shirt and grimy jeans. I tapped Anneli on the shoulder and put a finger to my lips to tell her to stay quiet. As I pointed to the child Anneli jumped, a gasp fighting its way past her lips, surprised to see him there.
“Hey, what are you doing down there!” yelled Anneli. I tried to shush her but when I tried to clamp my hand over her mouth she pushed me away. When Anneli realized she was getting no response from the child she repeated herself in Estonian, then finally Russian. My heart seemed to stop. I knew I couldn’t make Anneli shut up, but that kid scared me. I don’t know why I was so afraid, but I wanted to run away.
As soon as she began speaking in Russian the child slowly began to turn, until he was looking right at us. I looked at the child, and jumped when I saw that it looked as if he had no eyes. My heart started again, only to beat as fast as I wanted my feet to beat against the ground as I ran away. The room was dark, and I could barely see the child, so I just told myself that it must have very dark eyes and it was a trick of the light. I would tell myself anything to fight off panic.
I shook myself, and looked over at Anneli. She stood frozen, her eyes transfixed on the eyes of the child. Apparently she had seen the trick of the light too. “Anneli,” I said. When she didn’t respond I repeated myself more urgently, “Anneli, come on, let’s go explore somewhere else, that kid is creeping me out. There’s nothing we can do about him unless we go downstairs.”
The ceiling above us creaked. I reach out and grabbed Anneli’s arm. Anneli jumped quite visibly when I touched her skin. As soon as Anneli looked away the child in the theater silently turned and padded off into the darkness. “Are you okay?” I asked, worried.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” said Anneli, forcing a tight smile onto her face, “Let’s get out of here though. This place is creepy.”
I concurred completely and we walked into the room on the other side of the projection room. As we walked into this room we saw a little girl, standing with her back to us, directly in the middle of the room. Her simple black dress was graying from dust and age, and had slight rips throughout it, exposing ivory skin underneath.
The girl slowly began to turn, her steps in time with the continuing music, her straight shoulder length hair floating strangely beside her head. Once she had turned to face us I brought my flashlight up to see her face and was horrified to see two empty eye sockets staring at me. Slowly the girl’s cracked lips moved and in hollow whisper she said one word, “Durak!”
In my very limited Russian I understood her to have just called me an idiot, but at the moment I was too concerned with her lack of eyes to be offended. “DURAK!!” she yelled, and as her voice raised to a screech she began running toward Anneli and jumped onto her chest, knocking her down. As Anneli fell at my feet the girl’s head shot forward to bite Anneli and I instinctively kicked the girl right in the head.
I stumbled back, gagging as the girl’s head went flying from her neck as if it were connected with a wet sponge which I had just torn with my kick. Anneli screamed as the girl’s body fell limply against her chest. Pushing it off of Anneli I grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. I pulled Anneli with me as we ran through room after room, looking for a way out. As we ran I could hear the sound of little feet running all around us.
My world seemed to move in slow motion. The heavy thumping of our running feet sounded like the repetitive beat of a bass drum, with the many lighter feet of the eyeless children playing the drum roll of a snare drum. As we ran I saw a staircase leading down. Surely there must be a way out, I thought to myself.
Bolting down the stairs we ran into what appeared to have once been a large entrance hall, the murals on the walls chipped with age and the tile floor covered in long, scar-like cracks. There were many squares where windows once were but were now boarded up. Rusty nails stuck through some of the boards from the time when they were poorly nailed into place. I saw the rectangular form of a door, boards crossing over it and nails dangerously sticking out at odd angles. Mustering my fear and turning it into strength, I ran at the door and jumped into the air, putting my full body weight behind my kick.
My foot connected with the door, and I felt a jab of pain in my heel as a nail dug through the sole of my shoe. The door gave way, and I stumbled through into a piles of weeds and rotting wood.
“Are you okay?” shouted Anneli, running over and crouching beside me. “Can you run? We need to get out of here, we need…” her voice trailed off as she raised her head and looked out over what we had just stumbled into.
Despite the aching in my body I slowly sat up and looked around. My jaw dropped as I surveyed our surroundings. We were in a weed filled yard surrounded by a crumbling high concrete wall. In the middle of the yard was a rundown children’s amusement park, with giant swings, spinning teacups, and even a mini rollercoaster. On top of the controller’s shed of the mini rollercoaster sat two ancient speakers, and from these speakers emanated the eerie soprano and her orchestra. The amusement park was crawling with children, all swinging and playing in time with the music.
As we watched the rollercoaster slowly began to creak along the tracks, full of blank faced children sitting in utter silence. I sat horrified, unable to move.
“We really need to go now,” said Anneli, her voice a shaky squeak. “Come on!”
Anneli grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to my feet. We turned and ran for our lives back up the stairs and into an empty room. Suddenly a little boy dropped down from a hole in the ceiling and landed on my shoulder. The boy wrapped his arms around my head, making it impossible for me to see.
“Anneli, help me!” I yelled, my voice slightly muffled by the child on my head. Suddenly I heard a loud cracking noise and followed by a swish and a thwack, the last of which I felt quite strongly against the side of my head. As the now limp boy slid off the side of my head I saw Anneli holding a piece of wood from the boarded up window in the room. A shaft of moonlight shot in from the space where she had torn away the wood. I kicked away the rest of the wood boarding up the window and look out at the one story drop.
Behind us I saw a large group of children moving toward us, some crawling, others slowly walking. We were trapped. “Anneli, we have to jump!” I said, grabbing her hand.
“Okay,” she said, looking over her shoulder and shaking as she stared fear in the eye, “one, two…” we jumped.
And with that shocking statement I begin my first blog post in a long time! Hello blogospheria, I'm back.
Now, before you panic and start trying to tell me how fat I'm not allow me to explain. When I say I have a problem with body image I don't mean what you think. Problems with body image usually means thinking that you're ugly, or fat, or some other depressing thing, which even if true is not a nice thing to have stuck in your head. In my case it is, quite horribly, the opposite.
Recently I was introduced to the gym here at Houghton by my friend Chad. So far we've worked out together a grand total of once, but we have an awesome work out plan that I'm sure we'll follow through on...if we're not too tired or busy or lazy. But anyway, on Saturday I went up to the gym by myself to work out (Chad had gone that morning without me because, even though we had planned to go up together, I slept through my alarm. Curse you alarm, curse you!) and I saw something awesome. Somebody was running on a treadmill while reading a book! Two birds with one stone! So I decided that I would try it sometime. While, tonight was that time. I grabbed my sneakers and shorts, shoved them into a bag with my book, and walked up to the gym.
Now let me tell you about my body image problem, which is basically the problem of what I was picturing when I went up to the gym and what I have in my head when I think about working out with Chad. In my head I see myself going up to the gym and within days having gigantic muscles. As I use those muscles to lift 5 gazillion pounds I will gleam with sweat that is not sweat but is actually the tears of the Greek gods who have come to realize that thier chizeled features will never able to match mine. Then girls will come flocking from around the world begging me to take off my shirt and show off my muscles. At first I will refuse, but then I will simply flex and the shirt will tear into tiny shreds and I will rip it off and use it to wipe the gods' tears from my sexy brow. The girls will squel in delight and I will have to tell them that I am not availabe and they should all go away and maybe go hit on Greek gods or something. Then I picture myself picking up the entire library and reading it as I run 70 miles an hour on a treadmill made out of fire and unicorns. By the time I'm done people will say, "hey Chris, how was your workout?" and I will reply "not bad, I read 20,000 books and ran 50,000 miles. Definitely a few million short of my record, but not bad for an afternoon." Because my enormous muscles will now be achy and the Greek tears coating my body will be begining to get nasty I will jump through the second floor window of the gym into the pool and swim 10,000 laps before saving a child from a shark by exploding the shark with my fists.
See? Problem. Now I will tell you what actually happened today. As I said I went up to the gym, sneakers, shorts and book in hand. I felt pretty pumped and jogged up the stairs, ready to jump onto the flaming unicorns and run for hours. Before going into the gym I looked in and saw that all three treadmills were taken by extremely muscular girls, whose sweat did in fact look like it may have been cried by Aphrodite as she realized she was not as buff as these girls. As I looked around the rest of the gym I saw more people of the buff variety working out and looking like they could crush me just by sneezing within a mile of me. Rather than walk my scrawny and out of shape self into the gym to wait I decided to hightail it out of there.
This kind of reminds me of the time on Saturday when I picked up some 20 pound free weights and was grunting to use them and I felt all awesome and like I was super buff weight lifter man. After I did 10 reps I returned the weights to the rack just as a girl about half my size came up and effortlessly picked up the 30 pound weights.
So anyway, I just thought someone out there might like to here about some of my latest humbling misadventures. Going to the gym is a lot of fun, and I like feeling healthier and more fit, but it is definitely humbling. I hope you all enjoyed the story. I enjoyed writing it. It's nice to write just for myself. I did kind of pick on Greek gods a lot, but I doubt they care.
Anyway, I must be off. I still have that reading to do and I think I'm going to commune with my fat a little to make me feel better about not be able to go run. Goodbye world!
Hey there, my loyal few who still read my blog, and those hello to you, that random person who is reading this (probably from googling something about Combat Arms). I know I haven't blogged in a while but, well, I just don't think my life is quite as interesting as it used to be. I'd like to blog more often though, so let me tell you about my favorite new pastime. In February I was hanging out with some of the guys and my friend Bryce was on his laptop. Sounds of ricocheting bullets and exploding frag grenades floated to my ears. "This is awesome!" he told us, "It's a free-to-play multiplayer online first person shooter!" Because of his enthusiasm and because when watching over his shoulder I saw that this actually looked like a pretty high quality game I decided I would try it out in my free time. About a week later I downloaded it and fell in love.
