One Year in Portland & My Adventures in Retail

Yesterday marks one year since Jenny and I moved to the beautiful city of Portland, Maine. Overall it has been a really good year. We moved here for Jenny's job at the Salvation Army's Divisional Headquarters and over the past year have really come to view Portland as home.

Though I am now quite happily living the dream in my job as a Youth Director at the Salvation Army I haven't always had it this good. We moved here for Jenny's job but I came into this city unemployed and desperate. My current job is the fifth I have worked this year. I bounced from temp, to seasonal, to sales, and finally retail before leaving for my current job. My retail job was probably the one I enjoyed the most, though each was it's own special kind of adventure. Today I'm in the mood to write about the adventure of working on retail.

I worked at CVS in downtown Portland. CVS is a great company to work for and I was blessed with a fun manager and a laid back team. The only real difficulty the job presented was in the customers. Maybe it was our location, or maybe every CVS is like this, but for some reason our store seemed to attract a very certain type of customer. It's a difficult type of person to describe without describing how they act. You know the kind of person who takes something off the shelf and then tries to return it because they "lost the receipt." It's the type of people who looks at the tabloid covers as if it's news. One week a tabloid ran a cover story claiming all sorts of new and bizarre sexual revelations about Bill Clinton. "Oh Billy," one customer remarked, "what have you gotten yourself into now?"

My biggest customer pet peeve (aside from the gentleman whose t-shirt literally had porn printed on it) were the ladies who view a bra as an extension, or even replacement, of their purse or wallet. I could easily identify these women through the iPhone peeking through the top of their shirt. A woman would come to the counter, plop down a couple sodas and reach down the front of her shirt and begin the inevitable search. You would think a bra would only allow storage for a few items, maybe a phone in one cup and a small wallet in the other, but these women seemed to store everything  from chapstick to coin purses in there. The worst part of this search would be the way that, inevitably, the longer the search took the further down the woman would have to pull the front of her shirt. Also frustrating is the fact that as a cashier there's not a whole lot of options while waiting for customers to find their money. You either look at the customers, look down at the counter, or you try to find some spot on the ceiling that might hold your interest. But part of good customer service is maintaining eye contact and staring off into space can be considered very rude. It's a very awkward situation to be stuck in.

The worst time was a particularly warm summer day when a large woman with a peach fuzzed upper lip dropped a couple of beers on the counter in front of me. "Umm, could I see your ID?" I asked, praying that her phone was the only thing stored under her shirt. My hopes were dashed as she plunged up to her forearm into her chest searching for ID. About thirty seconds of uncomfortable fumbling later she produced a state ID that did in fact confirm she was old enough to drink. I handed the ID back to her and once again her hand leaped into the abyss. Another long wait and she produced an EBT card. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, you can't use food stamps for alcohol purchases." I informed her. "Oh, right" she said and hesitated for a moment before using her other arm to search. Apparently one side was devoted to cards and the other to cash because a moment later she produced a damp $20 bill. She handed it to me. "This bill is wet," I thought. "She pulled this bill out of her boobs and it is wet and in my hand and I feel unbelievably uncomfortable right now." She looked in my eyes with a smug defiance as if daring me to show any discomfort on my face. I jabbed a finger at my register and waited the endless half second for it to open and the shoved the bill in as if it might bite me. I gave the woman her change, which was dry just the way I like it.

Ethical Marriage: A Year Without Bacon

"Tastes ethical!"

This was my wife's reaction a moment ago as she took a sip of some fair trade hot cocoa that I tracked down at our grocery store. Marriage is weird. Like super, super weird. If you're married you probably already know that. If you're not married it's probably pretty obvious from where you stand. I'm kind of dense, so I'm still very confused by a lot of the strangeness that is marriage. I've written about this type of thing before.

To me the most weird (I need to use that word less) part of marriage is how different two people are and yet how completely their lives and decisions become intertwined. For example, I suddenly can't just go to the grocery store and buy the cheapest of everything because that food isn't just for me and that money isn't just mine. Not only do I have to take my own preferences and thoughts into account with each decision, but also those of another person. And that is why I have not bought bacon for a year.

Let me repeat that for overly dramatic effect. I, Chris Clark, a manly man with hair on my face and chest, have not bought bacon, as in bacon bacon, for 1 whole year, 365 sad days. A year without one of my favorite artery cloggers. A year without the internet's favorite food.

Don't panic. It's okay. I have some bacon now and will be cooking it on Monday. What a relief! But why has it been so long since I had meat candy at my disposal for easy consumption? Simple.
 

So, my wife is what most people refer to as a "good person." I knew this when I married her. Heck, her kindness and passion for social justice were some of the things that I found so attractive. It's not that I'm a bad person, or that I don't also have a passion for social justice, it's mostly just that I really like food and really hate doing hard things.

Jenny and I have been completely switching to fair trade and ethically sourced foods. This is something that, in theory, I am very much in favor of. In college my good friend Gordon and I spent a considerable amount of time attempting to get our school to boycott Coca-Cola due to their many unethical practices, and to this day I avoid Coca-Cola products. But Jenny is taking things a little bit farther than just skipping a few unethical corporations. We're slowly eliminating everything unethical from our pantry and refrigerator.

This has meant largely cutting meat out of our diet, at least when Jenny cooks, as well as switching to fair trade coffee and chocolate. When it comes to fair trade that means I have much more limited options and that I can no longer buy brownie mix for brownies or chocolate chips with which to make cookies. I'm just thanking God that I finally found fair trade hot cocoa or else my life would have a sad lack of chocolate.

But today something beautiful happened. Portland has of the oldest farmers' markets in the nation and, in my opinion, one of the best. It's really great. You can get almost anything and it's all local and mostly organic and ethical and all that good stuff. So my wife, being the great person she is, loves shopping at the farmers market and we now buy our meat exclusively from our local farmers. It's more expensive, but it's nice to know we're not supporting factory farming. Jenny read Eating Animals this past year and has become completely committed to getting our animal products ethically. We mostly only use meat in my lasagna, which is just so good that we can't give it up. So aside from that one dish we've mostly been living a meatless life. Until now.

Today I tagged along to the farmers market. I normally stay at home and play video games (I buy all my games digitally via services such as Steam to avoid the slave labor production of physical discs and boxes. That's my halfhearted attempt to jump on the ethical bandwagon anyway.) But today I went along to pick up a bunch of veggies as well as a pound each of pork and beef. And then I saw it. As my wife bought a large bag of vegetables I wandered over to a cooler with a sign saying "Smokey Bacon." It was so beautiful. Local. Ethically sourced. Bacon. It's everything Jenny loves and everything I love all in one tasty, meaty package.

Now that package is sitting in our fridge waiting for me to eat it. Marital differences can be hard to reconcile, but when opportunities arise where there can be both compromise and bacon it's just too good to pass up.

Change '1962' to 'Hannaford' and '2011' to 'Farmers' Market' and you see why I sometimes struggle with getting ethically sourced food.

Reboot: Starting Fresh

I think it's time for a re-introduction.

Hi there. Nice to meet you. No really, the pleasure is all mine. My name is Chris and, as I'm sure you've guessed, this is my blog. My blog that, for numerous reasons, I have mostly abandoned. Until now. Rather than writing a post which is half apology and half whining about why I couldn't be bothered to keep blogging (which is an embarrassing number of the last 5 years of posts) I figured I should just start fresh. Let's put the last 7 or so years and 593 posts in the past and actually get back to writing.

So, back to that re-introduction. To the right you will notice the question "Who is Chris?" paired with my relatively snarky answer. If you ever forget who I am I would refer you there. In the meantime read this.

Kurt Vonnegut, my writing hero, says that in writing always "Start as close to the end as possible." So I will start as close to the end of this story as I conceivably can. Today. If I could start by telling you about tomorrow, or the real end of my story, the end end, I surely would. But I don't know the end so I can't tell it.

Today is August 21st, 2013. The sky over Portland is utterly clear. From my office window I face South towards Mt. Washington, which lies somewhere in the area where the blue turns into a vague off-white on the horizon. On my desk next to me lie four stacks of Sunday School material and a clipboard with a boardgames inventory on it. I'm a Youth Director as of just over a month ago. It is no exaggeration when I say this is my dream job. Youth Director is a vague job title to most people, even Christians, but it simply means I'm a youth pastor without any aspirations to becoming a fullfledged pastor.

It's easy to understand why I love my job when you break it down into it's core parts.

It's like we like each other or something equally gross

Things I love:
God, my faith, and The Salvation Army
Working with other people who love the above
Working and hanging out with children and youth
Playing games
Storytelling and teaching
Efficiency and organization

Things that are a part of "work":
See above list

Suffice it to say that I am very happy at this point in my life.

Work isn't the only part of my life. I'd be remiss if I were to leave out my wife. In introducing myself I must also mention her since she's sure to be mentioned in my writing a fair amount. My wife's name is Jenny and we were married June 9th, 2012, shortly after graduating together from Houghton College. She's a pretty cool person. She sells stuff on Etsy. I spend most of my time with her and our cat, Sneaky.

So, I mentioned we graduated from Houghton together. We also met there. I guess I should be pretty grateful to Houghton for that. Jenny majored in Intercultural Studies while I doubled in Writing and Psychology. I majored in writing intentionally. Psychology happened by accident when I realized just how few academic credits it took to complete a Writing major.

That brings me to the next point of introduction. I am a self-proclaimed writer. I don't know what people define as being a "writer" these days. Anybody can sit down and pound out some narcissistic blog post (just look at me!) but I think the term implies you're actually good at it. Or make money that way. Or something. So I guess to be fair I'm an "aspiring writer." Due to the low volume and quality of writing I actually produce I often think I'm more of a transpiring writer.

"Wow, you're awfully down on your writing!" you say, "But look at this blog post! This is the best thing I've ever read in my entire life!" Well, it's nice of you to say that. I'm sure it's true. At this point my view of college is that it gave me a wife and a wrecked sense of self-esteem regarding my writing and not much else. I don't have a lot of confidence in my writing at the moment, but I'll get there.

Anyway, I've saved a final piece of introduction for last because it's the least interesting bit. I love video games. I love them so much it hurts sometimes. Hurts my wallet mostly. This morning I woke up and saw that Origin had put Mass Effect 3 on sale. I've been waiting months hoping it would go on sale. So excited. To return to my point, I love video games. I play them a lot. If you also like video games we should play them together. I particularly want someone to play Planetside 2 with. Get in touch with me.

I think it's about time to wrap up this post. Just to jump off that last paragraph, here's a non-sequitur: let's be friends. I've been lamenting the fact that I have very few friends in the Portland area who I really spend time with. If you want to play video games: get in touch. If you want to go get bubble tea: get in touch. If you want to hang out: you get it.

Thanks for reading.

Edit: I'm also mostly inactive on Twitter! Check it out @KuriJaVaba

Just a quick statement on guns, video games, and correlation fallacies.

Sometimes I make a Facebook status I'm so proud of that I just have to save it. So, my dear reader, enjoy this little gem of research.

 

Video game spending per capita/year in USA=$40+
Guns per 100 residents in USA=88.8
Gun related murders in USA per 100,000=3.6

Video game spending per capita/year in South Korea=$100+
Guns per 100 residents in South Korea=1.1
Gun related murders in South Korea per 100,000=0.04

If we're concerned about gun violence we either need way less guns...or way more video games! Your choice America!

Sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_firearm-related_death_rate
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Number_of_guns_per_capita_by_country
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/worldviews/wp/2012/12/17/ten-country-comparison-suggests-theres-little-or-no-link-between-video-games-and-gun-murders/

I'm a Writer, Shouldn't I Be Writing?

So, I really need to start writing again. I'm running out of excuses. I mean, I wrote this (and 5+ other typewritten pages) in my notebook between dials at work. I have the time, especially since I have such inconsistent hours at work. One thing I've been thinking about when it comes to a possible return to blogging is that if I am to be a blogger again I should really try to be a part of the larger “Blogosphere.” I mean, I know quite a few people with blogs and I think that maybe blogging should happen in community, reading each other's work. That's pretty much the complete opposite of what I used to do, writing in a vacuum and expecting readership to pull in from the gravity of my charisma and awesome writing. I've never made the effort to really read someone else's blog. I mean, come on, blogs are boring! So, I guess I'll try to do better this time. Yeah, see that “Fellow Chroniclers” section on the lower right (you may need to scroll down) I think I'm going to try to be friends with them.

 Part of why I'm hopeful that I'll make time to write is my nifty new Excel sheet. At church last week  Major Ditmer spoke about tithing. This is always a tricky subject but one I usually tune out for the most part. But this week as I spaced out I started thinking not about tithing money, but time. Now, that is where I struggle. Giving up money is easy. I mean, I spend it all the time. Easy come, easy go. But my time, ah yes, with that I am a total scrooge. Once time is spent you can't get it back. There's no ATM for time and I can't go to work to earn more of it. Time is the currency I spend at work to get money. It's the most valuable resource I have!

So how do I generally prefer to spend that most valuable resource? Well, I love video games. Coming from a guy who just explained how precious and fleeting time is this may make no philosophical sense. But hey, this isn't about philosophy. This is about fun and the epic Steam game library I've built over the years waiting for the day when I would an epic computer equal to the task of running them all with the visual glory God intended when he invented video games on the eighth day. Today is that day. Now I am finding it most difficult to pull myself away from my glorious new gaming experience into the mundane-ness of most of real life.

The point is that I recognize that I balance my time budget like the US government balances their money budget and before I end up with a 16 trillion hour time debt I realize I'd better get a handle on things. So Jenny, my Excel smart wife, helped me make an excel sheet that would split my 168 weekly hours into percentages:

10% God time (Time tithing!)
10% Chris time (Video games! Woohoo!)
20% Jenny time (She's my wife, of course she gets twice as much of my time as I do. Plus, time with her is almost always better than my games anyway)
30% Work time (Not only does this include bringing home the bacon, but also things like blogging like I am now. Basically a collection of things which, though they may be good or enjoyable, I probably wouldn't choose them over video games even though I should.)
30% Sleep time (Sleep takes up a depressing amount of my time. It's like income tax for my time! After living with these percentages for a week I think I'm going to have to rearrange it because for my last night I only have 3 hours of sleep left in the budget...)

Now that I've set up my time as a trackable and spendable commodity I've been way better at time management. Raptr, a gaming service, sent me my weekly gameplay report and told me I had played about 50% less than I usually do. That's probably a good thing, as much as I hate it. I mean, my natural hoarding instinct is finally a HUGE help as I focus on working to hoard up gaming time for binges.

So, there it is! I have realistic plans to help me ensure I blog more. Now lets see me do it. I hope you're looking forward to it, because I am.

The Library Gang

Hey.

Currently the apartment Jenny and I share is depressingly devoid of internet. To me this often feels like living on a planet that is devoid of all life. To combat my cabin fever I have been spending a considerable amount of my time at the Portland Public Library. To be more precise, I have been spending a considerable amount of time using the library's Wifi. I need my Facebook fix, man.

During my internet binges I have become familiar with "the regulars," those people who spend their days haunting the library and doing whatever middle-aged men do on laptops in libraries. It's quite an interesting group of people so I decided I would write about them and, by extension, share them with you. Allow me to introduce you to the "library gang."

First up there there's felt-fez guy. Felt-fez guy makes noises whenever he feels emotions. Sometimes he makes noises because of computer problems and will get tech support from silver ponytail guy. Silver ponytail guy just sits and stares at his computer. I never even see him type anything or move his mouse. I have no idea what he's doing. Then there's bald-goatee guy. Today he didn't even have a computer. He just sat there.

There is also The Incredible Orb. You see, The IO isn't one of the cool kds. He's not really part of the gang; he just orbits. While we chill in fiction The IO sits next to the DVDs and music, right where you can look through the shelves and see the Somalis yelling at each other in the teen section. When looking at The IO he doesn't strike you as fat, just incomprehensibly round. An incredible orb.

I see The IO more consistently than I see any of the others. He's always there, always in the same spot. When I told Jenny about him she said "Maybe he works online? Like stock exchange stuff." Today as I walked past him he was very clearly on Neopets. Of course this made me wonder how my own abandoned Neopets account is doing.

Then of course there's that one weirdo, leather jacket-comb guy, who's actually here to read. All the time. He reads the paper. A lot. Like, maybe he's a workaholic newspaper editor and just has to read it that fourth time to be really sure. Today I saw him with a book. He reads with the book or paper in his right hand and a plastic comb in his left. Occasionally the situation on the top of his head will get just a bit too raucous for his liking and he'll use the comb to settle everyone down.

Lately the library has been missing the first member of the gang I ever saw. I call him Mister Pornography, or Mr. P. for short. I met Mr. P. on my first day in the library. I had just become the proud bearer of a key-chain sized library card and was prepared to begin borrowing. I headed over to the graphic novel section and, while flipping through Batman comics, I noticed him.

He sat facing the window at the long desk adjacent to the graphic novel shelves, his back, and the bright screen of his netbook, facing anybody who walked within twenty feet. His paling hair hung in kinked waves nearly reaching his shoulders and, over those shoulders, the content of his screen was very clearly in violation of the library's rules as well as what many would call "common decency."

Mr. P. sat reclined like he was on his couch at home, the angle of his body doing nothing to obscure the screen. He flipped from image to image with the utmost swagger, as if he were the head librarian of the pornography section, master of the Dewey "Blow Me" Decimal system.

Today I watched a new guy get kicked out for looking at porn. I think that's probably what happened to Mr. P. This new guy was nothing like Mr. P., though. I felt bad for him. He looked so ashamed as the security guard made him pack up his stuff. He could tell that the entirety of the gang, as well as myself, were watching and listening to everything being said.

And that, friend-o, is my life.

Jobs anyone?

Well, a sticky note on my desktop tells me I have 18 jobs I should apply for tomorrow. After filling out four applications today I guess I'm ready to tackle some more tomorrow. That's right, three months out of college and I'm still unemployed. It's frustrating to be sure, but I'm nowhere near hopeless yet. Well, I guess nowhere near hopelessness is a little bit extreme. I'm still like a month from hopelessness. That's more accurate.

You see, I'm writing this blog post because I'm feeling more hopeful than I have since last week when Jenny and I were turned down for a job we had been really hoping for. But of course life is never just that easy.

But now I have some things to be excited about! Yesterday I passed my driving exam (on my fourth try) and got my license! I was just fed up with failing so I just went in and did everything perfect. I hit a grand total of zero babies and scraped zero cars and parallel parked like Mr. P. A. Rallel himself. It was wonderful. I do think I freaked out the tester by thanking him so emphatically for passing me, though. I don't they usually have people try to kiss them on the job.

And the other excitement? Tomorrow I am going to use my fancy shmancy new job to drive my beautiful wife, Jenny, to a job interview that I believe she is wholly qualified for. So one of us might be employed tomorrow!

Yet the fact remains. I need a job too. In the past three months Jenny and I first honeymooned, then house-sat, and now we have been in repose at her parents house until such a time as we have somewhere else to go. To be honest I am exceedingly excited to move out and start our life in earnest. Also, once we have jobs I can get a new computer. That Dell XPS 8500 looks mouthwateringly sexy from where I'm sitting.

So, aside from the three applications I am dropping off tomorrow I am also willing to just have you hire me. That's right, YOU! I LOVE YOU! Like, seriously, whoever you are, my resume is a thing of beauty and eligibility and my e-mail is always hoping for job offers. I'm multitalented, very talented, and buckets of fun to work with. I would especially welcome offers to work as a video game writer, rock star, facial hair model, or general nice guy (every office needs one). Trust me, you want to hire me.

Anyway, that's enough for one post. I'd love to hear from you in the comments or an e-mail. Until next time, this is Chris, you're friendly neighborhood rambler, asking that you keep in touch.

Married Spirituality is Weird

Okay, it's more than that. Marriage is weird. But marriage in general is two big for one post, so let's focus here.

I've been trying to figure our how to articulate this for a while and it took an episode of Modern Family and, as usual, pulling out my notebook and writing during church. I remember reading somewhere that Brian Jacques came up with part of Redwall in church. It's a good place to get the writing juices flowing. Even if it makes you look terribly un-devout.

The episode of Modern Family, Punkin Chunkin (Which iscurrently available for free on Hulu), had a nice little food for thought moment at the end. You know how sitcoms do that sometimes; They're like "well, that certainly was a silly episode but we've managed to squeeze a moral in here too. You can thank us later for BLOWING YOUR MIND WITH PROFUNDITY!!" Yeah, just like that. Anyway, the moral of this story is that there are two types of people in the world: dreamers and realists. You would think dreamers would marry dreamers and realists would marry realists but that's often not how it happens. In fact, in Jenny and my marriage that's not how it happened.

Jenny is a dreamer. She went to church today in a tie-dyed dress. I wore a black t-shirt with a black button up shirt over it. Yes, black on black. I'm that bad of a realist. Meh, gift and a curse. Jenny and I view the world in very different ways and plan in very different ways. For example, neither of us know where we're going with our future. I've been looking at apartments and found quite a nice and affordable one in Schenectady. The other day Jenny said, "After we're done in Fillmore why don't we just move to Schenectady and see what happens?" I am a realist (or pessimist) so I think we'd be better of applying to every McDonald's on the East Coast and moving wherever they're hiring. We're under-qualified, inexperienced fresh college grads. No one wants us.

But, my realism aside, we do need to do something. That's where being different is good. Jenny gives me something more than McDonald's to dream about, and I try to make her dreams work.

But didn't I start out by saying marriage is weird? Yeah, I did. Though it is good it's also just bizarre. To be joined together with, be one entity with, another person who thinks so utterly differently (and often what I would consider illogically) than I do is at times just downright uncomfortable. Differences that compliment each other are good; but differences are still differences. It's a big adjustment.

Now, the title of this post mentions spirituality with, up to this point, I haven't talked about. As I mentioned earlier I wrote a lot of this in my notebook at church so I have to talk about spirituality, at least a little, or else God may smite me for letting writing distract me during church.

Jenny is "non-denominational." All the cool kids are these days, at least at Houghton. I'm the loser who stuck with my denomination because I feel at home, and called, here. Nothing against non-denominational people, it just is, and has been, an adjustment to be marrying one.

Today during church Jenny took communion. For any non-Salvationists reading this you're probably thinking, "well, duh, that's what Christians do at church, right?" Well, not Salvationists. Not me. The Salvation Army isn't against communion, it's just not a tradition we practice for a multitude of reasons I don't have the space to go into here.

So, what do I do during communion? It depends. Sometimes I pray. Other times I pull out the Bible and read. Still other times, like today, I write. But I just sit there. Whether it's a "pass around" communion where the body and blood come past us or a "come and get it" communion where everybody lines up (this is where I am most noticeable in my non-participation) I do my own thing and people often notice. It's not bad or a problem, it's just a little awkward. To not be partaking in a ritual that's happening all around you is a strange experience. What makes it a step stranger is that my wife does participate.

Jenny and I spent hours and hours in the early stages of our relationship discussing our faith. We both know what the other believes and respect each other in the areas where we differ. Every time we are in a church and there is communion Jenny offers not to take communion if it makes me more comfortable and every time I answer in complete honesty that I don't mind if she does and that it's between her and God, not between her and I. This in my mind would be like if I was reading in 2 Corinthians and Jenny said that made her feel uncomfortable and would prefer I read in 1 Corinthians. Both books are good, and it's between God and I where I read. In the same way though it's a little awkward communion is between Jenny and God, and I don't think I should have say. Just because communion is a tradition I don't practice or because it has a significance to Jenny that I don't fully comprehend is no reason to make her miss out.

So Jenny usually takes communion.

What's weird to me is that as a married unit we have become one. We pray together. We read the Bible together. We sleep together. We are one, yet fundamentally different. Inherently different in some areas. We are two different people in one marriage entity--yet still two.

To some people this might be a bigger deal. To me it's about as disturbing as the fact that she prefers to play Soul Caliber II on my X-Box (that's what's been keeping her occupied while I write this) while I stick to Blacklight: Retribution on my laptop (even if this four year old machine means I have to run the game on minimum everything). It's just strange to be discovering new ways in which we are unified every day and at the same time finding new ways in which we are different.

Not bad, just--different.

Anyway, that's my rambling for today. It feels good to be blogging again. If you, my dear reader, know of any job opportunities please, please, please let me know. I am quite unemployed.

Looking forward to writing again soon. Comments are always welcome!

Married!

Photo Credit: Jodi Renshaw--Studio 36

June 9th, 2012 (like two weeks ago) I got married to Jenny, my lady of four years. Man, I am happy. In May I graduated from college, and now I am moving onward and upward with my wife. Man, if that doesn't feel weird--calling her wife--I don't know what does.

Well, now that I am married and graduated I (once again) feel that I should take up blogging again. I graduated with majors in psychology and writing and I can't really practice psychology right now but at least I can write. Remember the days when I would publish a post, or more, a day? Remember when my blog was a unashamed and uncensored stream of consciousness mess? No one does. That was four years ago. Before college.

Well, I'm hoping to recapture the raw joy of writing that I had before college. I learned a lot in my writing major, including that people are actually reading this and that many of them are thinking I look quite stupid. Basically I became a much better but much more fearful writer. But the only way to get back into my groove from four years ago is to just do it. So here I go.

Jenny and I are super lucky. We are, without a doubt, having the best honeymoon it is possible to have. I say 'having' because our honeymoon is still going on. Why? Well, because our honeymoon is a month and a half long. I know, I know. That sounds too good to be true, right? But it's not! Jenny and I spent the first week of our honeymoon in Searsport, Maine and loved it.

The 'Sea Breeze Cottage' in Searsport

Our first two nights were spent at the Carriage House Inn which was a lovely bed and breakfast just perfect for lounging around and going for walks by the beach. Also, the Carriage House Inn is well documented as being haunted (See pictures 6-8)! Supposedly there's at least two spirits there, but we didn't notice anything. The innkeeper was very nice though and we enjoyed our conversations with her during breakfast.

After leaving the Inn we spent the rest of the week in the Sea Breeze Cottage, a privately owned cottage that, due to early June technically still being off season in Maine, was both gorgeous and affordable. Pictured on the right is Jenny walking up to our cottage. As I took the picture I was standing on the steps leading to our very own private beach! We had everything we could ever want! The cottage was beautiful and located close to downtown Searsport. We could walk to the grocery store and restaurants downtown and enjoy exploring the small, but interesting town.

Jenny was excited to eat the meal I cooked for her!

Speaking of walking to the grocery store, one of the nicest things about having our own private cottage was being able to cook food for each other. Both Jenny and I enjoy cooking and are pretty good at it. We cooked all sorts of tasty food while we relaxed and enjoyed the cottage.

One of the most exciting things we did during our honeymoon in Searsport was rent a couple of kayaks and kayak four miles out to Sears Island. We landed next to a jetty where we ate our lunch before walking inland for a while. At this point I need to pause and point out one of the many reasons why I married Jenny: while we walked inland we discussed time travel in depth and argued several different theories of time travel. It was invigorating and awesome. Yeah, I kind of like my wife.

Jenny standing on the jetty on Sears Island

Jenny and I really enjoy kayaking and, though eight miles was a lot (four there, four back) we really enjoyed ourselves. I had only been kayaking once before, and that was on a lake, not the ocean. The waves made things more exciting, by which I mean I was freaking out for the first couple minutes thinking Jenny and I were going to die. Once I got into it I really started enjoying myself, though. I have always loved riding my bike, and kayaking is like biking on water. It's fast, it's fun. Man, I want a kayak.

Anyway, I never did explain how Jenny and I are having a month long honeymoon. I am writing this from my new man cave/laundry room where I set up my computer in Fillmore, New York where Jenny and I are house sitting until late July. As two unemployed newlyweds this house sitting is essentially just more honeymoon. I must confess I am quite happy about that. Well, my wife awaits so I must be going now. Thank you for reading and hopefully I'll write more soon!

Death, Grades, and Callous Frustrations

I'm finding it hard to focus today. Not only do I have to write out an article for the Star, Houghton's student newspaper, I also have to write a relatively long and boring paper for experimental methods. Both of these are due tomorrow and I'm just not in the mood for writing either of them. I'm nervous and distracted.

My grandmother was hospitalized the other day with some unexplained internal bleeding. It goes without saying that this isn't exactly an ideal situation. My grandmother is quite old, in her 80s, and my grandfather died about two years ago. Basically, it's just not something I want to go through again right now.

Here's the biggest problem. I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing that pisses people off and alienates family but I'm just going to say it. I am extremely callous about death. I take a very Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five , approach to death. So it goes. Death happens. Get over it. From a fairly young age most people realize they are mortal and, to me, I don't understand how death doesn't become an acceptable part of life at that point. I haven't had an unusually large amount of death in my life, yet I've always been very accepting of it. It's not even a faith thing with me. I don't accept death because it's "going to be with God" or being "promoted to glory." I'm okay with death because this is what happens. This is what has happened for all time and this is what will happen to myself and every single person I ever meet, know, or love. I don't fear or mourn death because it can't be avoided. Death is an intrinsically natural part of life.

"So," you might say, "why is this a bad thing? This gives you an advantage when a family member dies. Death holds no sting for you, you lucky punk." That is true to an extent. I like the fact that I'm okay with death. I like the fact that I can accept something that is so natural, yet so devastating to most people. But it is a problem when everybody around me is different. Nobody else is callous about death, and I can't understand why. It's just outside the realm of my experience.

When my grandfather died I didn't want to go to the funeral. It was inconvenient. The funeral was taking place during finals week in the spring of my sophomore year. Also, I personally felt no need to mourn, or "say goodbye," or anything like that. But my dad wanted me to be there and, though death doesn't make sense to me, I love my Dad and if my presence could help him it was worth the sacrifice (Though it was a sacrifice. I ended up with a 2.0 that semester because I nearly failed all my finals). Jenny, my fiance, came with me. That helped. I needed her to be there to remind me to act sad and be caring and attempt to be sympathetic. Also, I kept falling asleep during the funeral and Jenny dutifully woke me up every time so that my cousins, several of whom were crying, would not notice.

So, I guess that's why I'm nervous and having trouble focusing. It's hard to focus on academia knowing that tomorrow I might receive a phone call saying that my grandmother is dead and I am expected, needed, to drop everything and do some sort of duty. Especially after the academic debacle that was the result of the last grandparent death I'm really not looking forward to dealing with this again. Terrible, callous, inhuman jerk that I am I would just like the dying to be put off until it can be made convenient for me. Not now. Not during my final semester as I am finishing up two majors. I do not have the time. I do not have the energy. I do not have the skill or the knowledge to deal with a family coming to terms with loss, especially when I came to terms with the loss years before it happened.

That's my predicament. I will now spend the rest of the night, possibly pulling an all-nighter (though I would rather not. My right eyebrow is twitching as I write this. That's not healthy), writing and being miserable and nervous about what the future holds. Awesome.

Well, there you go. Whining ago. I should change the name of my blog to "The Whinings of Chris" to more accurately reflect the content. Despite the fact that I may be offending people, particularly my family (I'm going for the family black sheep/outcast position. Can you tell?), by admitting that I fell asleep during my grandfather's funeral and that I don't personally care or feel disturbed about the possible upcoming death of my grandmother it feels good to get it out there. I don't understand why death upsets people, but I do understand how my not caring about something they do care about could upset them. So, I guess I apologize if I hurt or offended anyone.

Anyway, I should probably stop rambling now. I have nothing more to say. Ramble, ramble, ramble...done.