About Reading

I had a thought today about the importance of reading good storybooks. Everybody should read a good storybook once in a while. Personally, I tend to divide literature (or Media in general, now that I think about it) into two general classifications. The first type I shall call the narrative. The second I shall call the letter. Now you'd have to forgive me if someone else used these terms in a different way. I am merely trying to explain what is going on in my mind. Anyhow, a storybook would land in the first category: the narrative. A more popular term for this is "fiction," though I believe non-fictional narratives exist as well.

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Here are some pictures of Halloween; I wanted to get this out before it got too old. Who or what were we supposed to be?

Usually on Thursday nights here in Grand Rapids, Meg and I join other young adults for a house church meeting. It's a cool little group. (We got connected to it through Mars Hill Bible Church, and we've been going to Mars Hill and the house church for a few months now.) I would like to describe this group to you. I've consistently wondered how similar this group is to a "tribal fire meeting." Yes, that is the metaphor I have found most useful to process my Thursday nights. I've never been to a real pow-wow so I don't know how accurate that image would be. However, since I have been to campfires, some of my experiences do carry over to form my perception of a tribal fire. Our house church is like a tribal fire because: 1. Time slows down when the sun sets. I imagine tribe members slowly taking their places on the logs around the fire. Some draw out the carved pipes, and after a few patient puffs, begin to pass it along. It's time to relax after a hard day's work. 2. Nothing else seems to exist but the tribe and the fire. It's dark plains for miles and miles around. One sees nothing besides faces, the fire, and the stars. One hears nothing but the stories being exchanged above the crackle of embers. We younger ones may call this "being fully present."

This is the funniest image and caption I've seen in a while. Humor is such a peculiar thing.

1. Is the tickle element found in the misspelling of the word "freaking?" Or is it because of the meaning and image conjured by the word "freak"?

2. The boy's expression is definitely out of the ordinary. Is he in the midst of excruciating pain or exhilaration?

3. Maybe the tickle element lies in between that incongruence. The caption is positive, but the image is (perhaps) negative.

4. I hope this little treatment of humor doesn't spoil your enjoyment of that little gem of an image. Why do I have to be so analytical, gosh!

All this while I had this high and mighty assumption that I was an avid media consumer. I thought I was being exposed to a wider variety of media than the average Joe. Inside I secretly hoped that I had the potential to be the next Marshall McLuhan. I thought that with my advanced insight into the human condition, combined with my brilliant mind, I could be the next golden child of communication. Ah, the timely slap of humility! Various factors revealed the deficiencies in my thinking, and I can't be sure I'm "all that" anymore. Well for now, my dream of publishing books and cooking up flawless principles of communication isn't totally quashed; but it is toned down. I still have much to learn and much media to ingest. One of these days, I will secure my own YouTube account and join the conversation.

What's new, world?

I failed the test of the tribe of the people of the Big Water. In about one week I shall be welcome in Michigan no more. I travel west; I shall try my luck in Chicagoland. Perhaps that tribe would welcome this little ragamuffin.

West it is then. West it is.

For today I accepted an offer to be a web editor for a magazine publishing company in Illinois. Let me tell you, that was a really long process but I'm so thankful for the outcome. Some of you have been praying along, and I'm thankful for your intercession as well. By the way, please forgive the deceivingly sombre tone of my entry. (The only reason behind my tone is me listening to the Once soundtrack. It never fails to make me sober). I'm actually quite happily relieved.

And I was kidding about not being welcomed in Michigan. Most people here have been graciously patient with my antics. Michigan is a beautiful state with a lovely city: Grand Rapids. I've grown quite fond of it. The surprising thing is, I haven't even seen that much of it! What a "smarvelous" three months I've had here though. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't miss it. I'd be lying if I said I had no memories here.

I know some days I'd be wiping off a briny drop from my cheeks while recalling it all.

Darn that soundtrack. 

Couple a' days ago I bought an early Christmas present for myself. It was The Adventures of Huck Finn for $5.99. I remember my dear ol' professor, the intriguing Dr Floyd telling the class about his appreciation for Huck Finn. He claims to read the book at least once every year. He'd sing its praises from the mountaintop, over the hills and everywhere, I'd be willing to bet. The following were the first words I saw when I opened the cover of Huck Finn.

Notice:

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

By Order of the Author, Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.