tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-819573425892824402024-03-14T09:04:07.434-07:00DAYDREAMSHarrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-62053715056991344232013-03-07T23:06:00.002-08:002013-03-07T23:06:17.207-08:00If The Valley were a movie one day...<i>The Valley</i> is the very first large-scale story I ever started to conceive. The plot has undergone a continual evolution since it had its beginning, thought the lead characters have remained the same, and even grown in depth and roundness since they were born. My thoughts have brushed the idea frequently, but this is the first time I've ever sat down and attempted to cast it. I shall perhaps post a very thorough casting one day, but for now, here are some of the main characters.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cade Lynwake</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The quiet, introspective main character. Orphaned as a child during a Drel-Gorman raid, Cade's quest to find his sister and unlock the secrets of his father's past turns into a desperate fight for the freedom of his homeland, The Valley. His heightened sense of hearing and rock-like endurance and strength make him almost untouchable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">played by Liam Hemsworth</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Glade Thornhart</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cade's foster brother and incognito savior. Glade left home as a boy in part to watch over his "little brother" and in part to fulfill his dream to become "the greatest archer in the world." Years and years of practice and training have resulted in incredible skill with a bow and an unbroken winning streak in archery competitions throughout the Valley. Known everywhere only as "Archer" and loved everywhere for his laid-back and friendly personality, Glade has connections and resources everywhere in the Valley. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">played by David Anders</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Rose Feldspar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Only child of Alan and Cora Feldspar, ranchers outside of Brookton and Cade's second foster family. Adventurous, artistic, and just a bit on the ditzy side, Rose has been in love with Cade since he first came to her family. But, alas, Cade is quite clueless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">played by Bryce Howard</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thara Yarlion</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The daughter of the village blacksmith, and two or three years older than Cade. Once the only girl in a large family of older brothers, Thara, now a woman, is also an unmarried only child, her brothers having been slowly killed off or taken captive in Drel-Gorman raids. When Cade starts doing moonlight work to help her quickly aging father, Thara and Cade form a close but quiet friendship. Glade Thornhart is smitten with her at first sight, but his charm and good looks don't work on her like they ought to, and he continually attempts to impress and charm her, to the great amusement of everyone else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">played by Evangeline Lilly</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">King Drel </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">King of the warmongering Gorman horse-riders of the mountains. At first just and abstract enemy, the King of those who killed his family and terrorize his homeland, Cade will find his conflict with Drel is deeper and more personal than he could have imagined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">played by the great Patrick Stewart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">more to come.... maybe...</span></div>
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<br />Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-54184411221019563272013-03-01T08:16:00.004-08:002013-03-01T08:16:59.021-08:00Never Ask "Does That Make Sense?"<i>My brother Dan emailed me this quick article. It impressed and challenged me, and I'm sure it will do the same for you.</i><br />
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Just as a chef is attuned to the subtleties of flavor and trends in the culinary arts, a presentation coach is attuned to the subtleties of language and trends in the communication art. One trend I've noted recently is the expression, "Does that make sense?" often used by a speaker during a conversation — or a presenter during a presentation — to check whether the listener or audience has understood or appreciated what the speaker has just said. Unfortunately, the expression has two negative implications:</div>
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<strong>• Uncertainty</strong> on the part of the speaker about the accuracy or credibility of the content<br /><strong>• Doubt</strong> about the ability of the audience to comprehend or appreciate the content.</div>
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"Does that make sense?" has become so pervasive, it joins the ranks of fillers, empty words that surround and diminish meaningful words, just as weeds diminish the beauty of roses in a garden. Most speakers are unaware that they are using fillers, and most audiences don't bother to think of their implications. The phrase has attained the frequency — and meaninglessness of:</div>
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<strong>• "You know..."</strong> as if to be sure the listener is paying attention<br /><strong>• "Like I said..."</strong> as if to say that the listener didn't understand<br /><strong>• "Again..."</strong> as if to say that the listener didn't get it the first time<br /><strong>• "I mean..."</strong> as if to say that the speaker is unsure of his/her own clarity<br /><strong>• "To be honest..."</strong> as if to say the speaker was not truthful earlier<br /><strong>• "I'm like..."</strong> the universal filler which says absolutely nothing</div>
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Responsible speakers or presenters, in their well-intentioned effort to satisfy their audience, have every right to check whether their material is getting through. However, instead of casting negativity on the content or the audience, all a speaker has to say is:<br />"Do you have any questions?"</div>
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While all of the preceding cast doubt on the competence of the presenter or the audience, another group of phrases and words casts doubt on the content itself:</div>
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<strong>• "Sort of"<br />• "Pretty much"<br />• "Kind of"<br />• "Basically"<br />• "Really"<br />• "Actually"<br />• "Anyway"</strong></div>
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These, too, have taken on the frequency of fillers. Sometimes these words can have a purpose. Writer Maud Newton recently analyzed the late David Foster Wallace's predilection for "qualifiers like 'sort of' and 'pretty much.'" She deemed it a "subtle rhetorical strategy" to make a critical point and defuse it with irony. As a prime example, she cited the title of one of Wallace's collected essays: "Certainly the End of Something or Other, One Would Sort of Have to Think."</div>
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Presenters do not have the luxury of indulging in irony or — with all due respect — the literary talent to engage in such artful wordplay. Qualifying words lessen the importance and the value of the nouns and verbs they accompany. Those nouns and verbs represent the products, services, and actions of the business — the family jewels — that the presenter is pitching, and a presenter should not diminish their worth. Parents do not describe their children as "sort of cute."</div>
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Instead, follow the advice of the Strunk and White classic, <em style="font-style: oblique;">The Elements of Style</em>: "Use definite, specific, concrete language." To accomplish this you must diligently delete meaningless words and phrases from your speech, a task easier said than done due to their pervasiveness. One way to kick the habit is to capture the narrative of your next presentation with the voice record function on your smart phone, then play it back post mortem and listen to your own speaking pattern. (You're in for a surprise in more ways than one.) You will have to repeat this process several times before you start correcting yourself, but do it you must. </div>
Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-39080137780959921302013-02-16T09:12:00.002-08:002013-02-16T09:12:43.906-08:00On GunsMy Facebook news feed inevitably contains several gun-rights pictures and other such posts. Most of them are something along the lines of "more guns means less crime," or "taking innocent people's guns doesn't make innocent people safe."<br />
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Now don't get me wrong: I too am a Second-Amendment-er. But often we fail to recognize the fallacy in some of our gun-propaganda. Yes, gun's don't kill people, and people who want to kill people will find a way to kill people if there are no guns. But the unfortunate truth is, that fewer guns <i>does</i> mean less crime. Yes, we understand that guns don't <i>cause </i>crime, and that taking away guns won't absolutely solve our crime.<br />
But think about it. Take 300 million depraved sinners and give them the 2nd Amendment and it's gonna get nasty <i>real</i> fast. Take away all the guns, and you eliminate the portion (significantly sized portion) of murders and crime that involve, or relate to guns.<br />
Brittain has very strict gun laws and they have a minuscule number of gun-murders per year than does the US. Yes, they have plenty of murders involving other weapons, just like we do. But they have all but staunched the gun-murders. They have reduced their crime.<br />
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So yes. In the horribly depraved state our country is in, guns amplify the problem. They are very dangerous tools. But while taking away the guns would dampen the problem, it also opens the door to a much, much more frightening possibility. Tyranny.<br />
Because the 2nd Amendment isn't about duck hunting. <i>The 2nd Amendment isn't even about every day self-defense, ya'll. </i>The 2nd Amendment is our safety, in the case we experience something like Germany did under Hitler, and are unable to fight back or defend our selves. <i>Against our own military</i>.<br />
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That means the 2nd Amendment, if taken seriously, should guarantee us the right to purchase assault rifles. Yep. Assault rifles. I'm not going up against marines with just a handgun and a 22 rifle. We get whatever they get.<br />
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That's what the 2nd Amendment is for, folks. It might be a nasty, dangerous country to live in with all those guns runnin around. But I can deal with that if I've got one of my own. And I'd rather deal with that than be helpless against a tyrant.Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-273739548355715812012-11-26T17:12:00.003-08:002012-11-26T17:12:56.473-08:00A way you've probably never thought about Twilight. <br />
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<b>By Roger Ebert</b><br /><br />If you’re a vampire, it’s all about you. Why is Edward Cullen obsessed to the point of erotomania by Bella Swan? Because she smells so yummy, but he doesn’t want to kill her. Here’s what he tells her: He must not be around her. He might sink his fangs in just a little, and not be able to stop. She finds this overwhelmingly attractive. She tells him he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. I don’t remember Edward ever saying that to her. Maybe once. He keeps on saying they should stay far, far apart, because he craves her so much.</div>
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Should a woman fall in love with a man because he desires her so much? Men seem to think so. It's not about the woman, it's about the man's desire. We all know there is no such thing as a vampire. Come on now, what is "<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=REVIEWS01&TITLESearch=Twilight&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Twilight</a>" really about? It's about a teenage boy trying to practice abstinence, and how, in the heat of the moment, it's really, really hard. And about a girl who wants to go all the way with him, and doesn't care what might happen. He's so beautiful she would do anything for him. She is the embodiment of the sentiment, "I'd die for you." She is, like many adolescents, a thanatophile.</div>
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If there were no vampires in "<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=REVIEWS01&TITLESearch=Twilight&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Twilight</a>," it would be a thin-blooded teenage romance, about two good-looking kids who want each other so much because they want each other so much. Sometimes that's all it's about, isn't it? They're in love with being in love. In "<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=REVIEWS01&TITLESearch=Twilight&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Twilight</a>," however, they have a seductive disagreement about whether he should kill her. She's like, I don't especially want to die, but if that's what it takes, count me in. She is touched by his devotion. Think what a sacrifice he is making on her behalf. On Prom Night, on the stage of the not especially private gazebo in the public gardens, he teeters right on the brink of a fang job, and then brings all of her trembling to a dead stand-still.</div>
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The movie is lush and beautiful, and the actors are well-chosen. You may recall <a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=search1&SearchType=1&q=Robert%20Pattinson&Class=%25&FromDate=19150101&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Robert Pattinson</a> (Edward) as Cedric Diggory, who on Voldemort's orders was murdered in a graveyard in "<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=REVIEWS01&TITLESearch=Harry%20Potter%20and%20the%20Goblet%20of%20Fire&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire</a>." Maybe he was already a vampire. Pattinson is not unaware of how handsome he is. When Bella and Edward, still strangers, exchange stern and burning looks in the school cafeteria, he transfixes her with a dark and glowering - nay, penetrating - stare. I checked Pattinson out on Google Images and found he almost always glowers at the camera 'neath shadowed brow. <a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=search1&SearchType=1&q=Kristen%20Stewart&Class=%25&FromDate=19150101&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Kristen Stewart</a>'s Bella, on the other hand, is a fresh-faced innocent who is totally undefended against his voltage.</div>
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Bella has left her mom and stepdad in hot Arizona, clutching a potted cactus, to come live in the clammy, rainy Pacific Northwest, home of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Her dad (<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=search1&SearchType=1&q=Billy%20Burke&Class=%25&FromDate=19150101&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Billy Burke</a>) is the chief of police of the very small town of Forks, Washington (pop. 3,120). His greatest asset: "He doesn't hover." At high school, she quickly notices the preternaturally pale Cullen clan, who in some shots seem to be wearing as much Max Factor Pancake White as<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=search1&SearchType=1&q=Harry%20Langdon&Class=%25&FromDate=19150101&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Harry Langdon</a>. Edward is 114 years old. He must be really tired of taking biology class. Darwin came in during his watch, and proved vampires can't exist.</div>
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There are other strange youths around, including American Indians who appear not too distantly descended from their tribe's ancestors, wolves. Great tension between the wolves and vampires. Also some rival vampires around. How small is this town? The Forks high school is so big, it must serve a consolidated district serving the whole table setting. The main local Normal Kid is a nice sandy-haired boy who asks Bella to the prom. He's out of his depth here, unless he can transmogrify into a grizzly. Also there are four grey-bearded coots at the next table in the local diner, who eavesdrop and exchange significant glances and get big, significant close-ups but are still just sitting significantly nodding, for all I know.</div>
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Edward has the ability to move as swiftly as Superman. Like him he can stop a runaway pickup with one arm. He rescues Bella twice that I remember, maybe because he truly loves her, maybe because he's saving her for later. She has questions. "How did you appear out of nowhere and stop that truck?" Well might she ask. When he finally explains that he is a vampire, he goes up from 8 to 10 on her Erotometer. Why do girls always prefer the distant, aloof, handsome, dangerous dudes instead of cheerful chaps like me?</div>
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<div style="background-color: #e7dab0; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
"<a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/classifieds?category=REVIEWS01&TITLESearch=Twilight&ToDate=20121231" style="color: #003366; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Twilight</a>" will mesmerize its target audience, 16-year-old girls and their grandmothers. Their mothers know all too much about boys like this. I saw it at a sneak preview. Last time I saw a movie in that same theater, the audience welcomed it as an opportunity to catch up on gossip, texting, and laughing at private jokes. This time the audience was rapt with attention. Sometimes a soft chuckle, as when the principal Indian boy has well-developed incisors. Sometimes a soft sigh. Afterwards, I eavesdropped on some conversations. A few were saying, <i>"He's so hot!" </i>More floated in a sweet dreaminess. Edward seemed to stir their surrender instincts.</div>
Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-84690098549656813242012-11-07T21:11:00.000-08:002012-11-07T21:18:23.212-08:00On the 2nd Amendment<br />
Guys, I'm all about gun rights, and I understand the dangerous implications when governments start slowly taking away people's guns (Hitler and Austria, par example). I agree with the logic that says if one bad man in a movie theater with a gun tries to start shooting people, then three good men with guns in the same movie theater is a quicker and more effective way to save innocent lives than waiting for the police while the bad man kills 10 more people.<br />
<br />
But the second amendment is not about you having the right to strap your 44. on your leg and walk down the street (though, if read literally, I suppose it does provide for that). It's about the necessity for a <i>free state</i> to have a (well regulated) militia. The second amendment isn't about personal weapons. It's about the <i>freedom of a state</i> and that it's necessary to have a well-armed militia in order to have a free state.<br />
<br />
If you want to take the 2nd Amendment seriously, forget your handguns and hunting rifles. That amendment more closely advocates an M4 over the fire place in every household than it does Joe Blow carryin his revolver into town.<br />
<br />
Put a government provided assault rifle in every home, and THEN maybe you can think about cutting a little military funding. Who wants to invade a land full of Americans packin M4s? And more practically speaking, who wants to rob a house where Daddy might come bustin outta the bedroom at any minute with an assault rifle?<br />
<br />
So yes - the second amendment plainly says: "The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." And that means you have the right to own guns and carry them. But you have to understand <i>why</i> you have that right. And it's not just to be 'Murican and shoot things. It's so that if your free state is in danger, you have the right and privilege to take up arms and defend her.Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-48545382147318560982012-10-30T09:29:00.003-07:002012-10-30T09:29:59.944-07:00LimitlessHave you every thought about how much stuff you know? How much stuff you remember? We start learning as soon as we pop outta the womb and it never stops. Your brain is like a never satiated hungry monster: it just eats and eats and eats - stakes, pizza, green peas, carrots, that exotic Hawaiian dish - and never stops. And it keeps everything. Sure some stuff spills over the side if you're not careful and you might loose some crumbs of that delicious cupcake. But it takes it all in. You learn grammar, history, memorize numbers, authors and how to spell words. You take at least 2 years leaning a language in highschool, but does that mean your language capacity is filled at two languages? Nope. You learned Spanish in highschool? You could go to college and learn German if you wanted to. You don't have to erase some of the phone numbers you've memorized from your memory in order to have room for the table of elements. You can handle that too. Want to memorize the entire book of Romans? Heck, bring it on. And you can even keep Foot Prints on the Sand and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and that Emily Dickinson poem you learned in 10th grade lit. Oh, and all those songs you listen to on the radio? Sure, we got room for that. Lyrics, music, poems, you name it. Pile 'em all in. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And don't worry. No matter what else you shove into me I can take it. And on top of that, you'll always remember that 2 + 2 = 4. Heck you'll even remember that 8 x 8 = 64, 5 x 12 = 60 and the square root of 144 is 12. You'll never forget that Hitler was a bad German and started WW2, the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor, Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, Isaac Newton discovered gravity, we beat the British at Yorktown, "Four score and seven years ago", and that 8 planets orbit our sun: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune. (Sorry, Pluto.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Eat it up. It's good for you. Don't worry. You're not just an 8 gig brain. You're not even just a 64 gig brain. It's limitless.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1sCLlBCLXtRGrgl_cn7MHGGJG_y9Z2oIBREfQHYFQrrjZHmbHtEiRGPU17qYumcUEZwvtY5VsVRc80WWft_MVT6gHn0QUr2q0HmoO63nzWgyNexy_Vr-nOtDixZHRYefkgl3YYV520r9/s1600/royalty-free-knowledge-clipart-illustration-33977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1sCLlBCLXtRGrgl_cn7MHGGJG_y9Z2oIBREfQHYFQrrjZHmbHtEiRGPU17qYumcUEZwvtY5VsVRc80WWft_MVT6gHn0QUr2q0HmoO63nzWgyNexy_Vr-nOtDixZHRYefkgl3YYV520r9/s320/royalty-free-knowledge-clipart-illustration-33977.jpg" width="304" /></a><div>
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It won't stop till you stop, so why stop?</div>
Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-58609350782935402332012-10-24T09:55:00.001-07:002012-10-24T09:55:20.489-07:00Shut up, it's a sunset.It's been a wonderful summer afternoon, it's getting dark, you step out on your back porch and BAM: sunset. For some reason we just shut up. We stand still and we just stare at it for a little while... <br />
<br />
A scientific definition of a sunset could be: nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and argon with electromagnetic radiation filtering through at a near right angle. <br />
<br />
Woopie. There's nothing really scientifically phenomenal about sunsets. It has to be a uniquely human thing to be mesmerized by a sunset, an innate, biological, perhaps even emotional/spiritual response to. <br />
<br />
Blood. <br />
Fire.<br />
Flowers.<br />
Love.<br />
Anger. <br />
Light. <br />
<br />
The day is over and it's time for things to wind down. Yet just at the close of day, just as the sun disappears over the edge of earth, he bids us goodnight with a fiery farewell. Just as the cool blue sky of day grows dreary and gray with the leaving sun, it comes alive again on the horizon, glowing with a peaceful, relaxing pink, or a warm, comforting red. <br />
<br />
And it takes our breath away. <br />
I guess it's because it's beautiful. What do you think? <br />
<br />
And no, that's not a rhetorical question. There is a comment box. <br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQssyDuuszTEB1Yp8JmplhiE3H7eWeXZeyf3cJlvNedSDLkfrmlgG_hhKtBlByl1wabKnQFgW4y2X2oytGJ4pUjm-19keLM7oy-WJ62sWO28WtD8DKJz_u2Thb2EtwiZBBrnedtnBIIcPo/s640/blogger-image--858443790.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQssyDuuszTEB1Yp8JmplhiE3H7eWeXZeyf3cJlvNedSDLkfrmlgG_hhKtBlByl1wabKnQFgW4y2X2oytGJ4pUjm-19keLM7oy-WJ62sWO28WtD8DKJz_u2Thb2EtwiZBBrnedtnBIIcPo/s640/blogger-image--858443790.jpg" /></a></div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-59648644073906569232012-09-25T21:45:00.000-07:002012-09-25T21:45:06.439-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fbCmriIbf6G8Z5BlWXAGxxIJlaXB1YZh0TJbY911jnfwTOc-DCuvyohsZFFKT7Qcytr5CCcc2Ny7Dx36ZzstCe65IJCskAJmkOD2LyaYuJa5_x93_ple0gXop8VMG5QmtAAH7K7wrElf/s1600/goodone1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fbCmriIbf6G8Z5BlWXAGxxIJlaXB1YZh0TJbY911jnfwTOc-DCuvyohsZFFKT7Qcytr5CCcc2Ny7Dx36ZzstCe65IJCskAJmkOD2LyaYuJa5_x93_ple0gXop8VMG5QmtAAH7K7wrElf/s1600/goodone1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-11428299950198485492012-09-25T21:27:00.000-07:002012-09-25T21:27:00.514-07:00I Am Number 3This is God's world. Everything we have, everyone we have, we are just borrowing. God gave you your parents to nurture you and to teach you. They are not yours, they are God's, and when he wants them back, he'll take them home.<br />
<br />
Some friendships last a lifetime, some years, some months, some only a few days. But no matter how long, how deep, every relationship is significant and meaningful. Be grateful for them all, and TAKE ADVANTAGE of them. LEARN from them. LOVE them. SHOW GOD to them. It's not about you, it's not about me.<br />
<br />
I am number 3. God is first. God IS first, whether you put him there in your heart or not (so just be correct and put him there). Others are second. I am third.<br />
<br />
It's not about me, it's about GOD.<br />
It's not about me, it's about THEM.<br />
<br />Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-9721460501997057502012-09-19T20:37:00.001-07:002012-09-19T20:37:13.389-07:00Dude. Blogger on my iPod. This blog shall revive.Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-60223035790813433912012-07-24T10:59:00.001-07:002012-07-24T10:59:52.500-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6AYZZhslHVC6_4uSH0_mfqOv15Gn9r0Q3bpUuqfo-0-EIkTJVcssGbJHCzzQRKYSdZO8DCdVxuaBu-4mQRC1pNUC5jVcbaUhbM6B94xfzgd5eQpphU3YWnVB8h35ggaC84C4hrdM1gVW/s1600/PUSH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6AYZZhslHVC6_4uSH0_mfqOv15Gn9r0Q3bpUuqfo-0-EIkTJVcssGbJHCzzQRKYSdZO8DCdVxuaBu-4mQRC1pNUC5jVcbaUhbM6B94xfzgd5eQpphU3YWnVB8h35ggaC84C4hrdM1gVW/s320/PUSH.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-58404386663479300942012-05-23T16:57:00.001-07:002012-05-23T16:57:13.334-07:00Addendum [They Say We're Too Young]It must be said that most individuals at my age are not mature enough to be married anyway (myself included).<br />
Fact.<br />
Done.<br />
This perhaps can also be blamed in part on society, but that doesn't make it not true.<br />
<br />
Take that into account with not being equipped, and most of us should probably just chill out about love. Our time will come, and there are things we could and should be worrying about in the meantime (i.e. our walk with God, our family, our job, our grades... our room....)Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-51444776568587521632012-05-23T08:48:00.002-07:002012-05-23T08:48:06.094-07:00They Say We're Too YoungThey say we're too young to get married. To even be thinking about relationships. <br />
Well they're wrong. Or should I say, they're not entirely <em>right</em>. <br />
<br />
We're <em>not</em> too young. The problem issue isn't <em>us,</em> the issue is <em>society</em>.<br />
<br />
Back in the middle ages, people got married when they were like 8 years old, and that definitely IS too young. But for the most part, people married when and who they wanted too. What mattered wasn't how old they were. Their bodies were ready, their minds were ready... a young man of 16 was fit for marriage. He was probably a prince, or the son of a baron or something; so finance wasn't an issue. He and his wife got everything they needed from their parents: money, home, servants... The rich had no occupation in that age, and neither earned nor needed any wages. They were personally prepared, and they were fully equipped, so they got married.<br />
<br />
We chuckle at ourselves sometimes for being so caught up in love, and wanting love, feeling like we <em>need</em> love, wanting that "other half", and say, "This is so pointless, we're far too young to be thinking about love."<br />
<br />
We're wrong. We think about love because we <em>are</em> old enough. Our minds and our bodies are ready for love, it's the next natural desire we have, and it's good and right (if we keep it in check, of course). The problem is, we aren't equipped to be <em>married. </em>Being married requires money, it requires a home, it requires security, non of which we are fully able to provide at our age. <br />
<br />
Society is quite structured that way, and there are few exceptions to the rules.<br />
<br />
You turn 16, you can drive.<br />
You turn 18, you can smoke, vote, and join the army - you are a legal adult. And you go to college.<br />
You turn 21, you can drink, and you're out of college or about to be.<br />
<br />
Now that you've been thru college you have the education that you need to get a good job. So you get a good job, start making money, and buy a house. Now you're pretty much set to get married whenever you want to. <br />
<br />
That's why alot of people get married somewhere in their twenties. It isn't because you're not old enough to get married till you're 23ish. It's because generally we're not <em>equipped </em>to get married until then.<br />
<br />
That's society, not us. Not necessarily a bad thing. <br />
<br />
So, late teens/young adults. You <em>are</em> ready for love. So don't call yourself silly for wanting it and thinking about it. <br />
But remember, you're <em>not </em>equipped for marriage. So let that guide and moderate how you approach love. <br />
<br />
I know. Society Sucks. But it ain't changing any time soon.Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-28730999313527556042012-04-30T15:50:00.004-07:002012-04-30T15:50:56.127-07:00<div style="text-align: left;">
It's not about me.</div>
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It's not about me.</div>
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It's not about me.</div>
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It's not about me.</div>
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<br /></div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-13345955591547853192012-02-24T21:25:00.000-08:002012-02-24T21:25:19.207-08:00ZIMA - Chapter Two: Croton<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t move. Finally Garret and the fire team from Croton
drag the massive meyka off me and help me to my feet. Garret grabs my shoulder
and puts his face mask against mine, yelling over the howl of the wind,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are
you okay?!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nod and pat his shoulder in confirmation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Still with his mask still up to my
face he smiles and nods back. “Let’s get inside!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We head inside escorted by Croton’s five man fire team. The
big iron doors roll shut behind us with a low boom, shutting out the wind and
cold. It’s dark inside, and we’re standing in a wide hallway, almost a tunneled
road. This hallway leads straight to the hospital, which serves doubly as the
Registry. The Registry is how Croton authorities keep account of everyone who
has visited and his currently in the outpost. The fire team escorts us into the
Registry office where we are directed to log into the system. I tap my name in
on the screen and my record pops up showing my name, origin, affiliation, and
number of visits. The record looks something like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "OCR A Std";">NAME: OWEN STRONG</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "OCR A Std";">ORIGIN: BETHEL</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "OCR A Std";">AFFIL: FREELANCE</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "OCR A Std";">VISIT#: <u>11</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Below that would
be a legal record list of past infractions, but since we’ve managed so far to
avoid any trouble during our visits, it’s blank.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once Garret and I
have finished, our escort welcomes us to Croton, and the captain, seeing that
we’re not newcomers, spares us the customs rundown. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We head into the
infirmary to check on Kelly. The hospital infirmary, unlike the rest of Croton,
is well lit. The walls and floors are a clean, light grey steel material.
Several curtained beds line the wall on the right and left, all of which are
empty except for the one which holds Kelly. She’s out of her trek suit and in
her wool overalls lying on the bed with her broken leg propped up and in a
brace. The doctor is standing over her and John is sitting in a chair next to
her, holding her hand. They all look up when we come in. The doctor steps
around the bed to shake my hand, and it isn’t till then that I realize I don’t
recognize this man. Apparently Croton got a new doctor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“George Newton,” says the doctor
with a smile, and shakes my hand. He’s a young man, maybe late twenties. His
face is narrow, with kind, round eyes and a largish mouth, and pale, thin hair.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Owen Strong.” I like him
already.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Our patient’s doing
wonderfully,” he says, resting a gentle hand on Kelly’s leg. “It’s only a minor
fracture. She should be up and trekking in a month.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A month is a
short recovery time, but I’m not surprised. Kelly heals remarkably fast, we all
do. In our genes I guess.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You plan on staying long in
Croton?” continues Newton. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just as long as it takes her
leg to heal. We’re headed home.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bethel, right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How’d you know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, I just read it on Kelly’s
ID card, but I would have known anyway. Bethel breeds gentle people.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t help but laugh at that
one. “If that’s the case, then Kelly’s the exception.” But now that I think
about it, it’s true, really. Bethel people are gentle people. John is the
perfect example, and even Kelly, though she’s probably the most violent
individual in Bethel, has peaceful roots. And there have been times when I’ve
never known a gentler person. I remember the day we found an elk calf in the
woods outside the valley. Its leg was broken and it had been mauled by a
bearcat, but it was breathing and alive. Scared as all get out but still alive.
And Kelly just whispered soft to him, talking to him like he was a sleeping
baby. She got down on her belly and inched toward him till he let her touch his
nose. And then slowly, and so so gently, she picked him up and carried him
home. I swear, he might as well have been floating on cotton the way she picked
him up and carried him. She nursed him back to health and raised him, named him
Kimble. He would come when she called, eat out of her hand, sleep with her.
Then one day he just up and left. I’ve never seen Kelly so sad as those next two
days after Kimble left. But only for two days. After that she was back to
fighting Garret, and building forts with me (out of which we would shut Garret,
which made him angry). But I’ll never forget that day she carried Kimble home…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Garret and I take our leave of
the infirmary and go to the dorms to get a room. In our room we de-suit into
the clothes we wear underneath the suits. Kelly and Garret have wool-lined overalls
and jackets. John and I have what’s more like a jumpsuit. It zips up in the
front and has a fur collar. I keep my fingerless gloves on, reach into my pack
and pull out my Magnum .45 and shoulder holster. I like that gun. I always wear
it when I’m out of my trek suit, especially in Croton. You never know when you
might need a side arm here. I strap it on, with the gun under my left arm and
we head over to the pub for some food. The mainstreet is fairly empty. I few people
meander about, and some workers drive by on a mule with what looks like
building materials. Garret says what we’re both thinking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re kinda early for the home
drive. Guess that’s why nobody’s here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Usually when we
come here, Croton is practically bursting with trek teams from all over. It’s
hard to get the supplies you need, and even harder to avoid trouble. But it’s
good business for Croton. The outpost is pretty much half way between anywhere,
and the only major one out in the Wasteland.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pub is just
down the street to our left, marked by a little orange neon sign. We’re their
only customers and they treat us like dukes. After we scarf down some warm
food, with full bellies, we sip our drinks and lounge in our chairs with
nothing but time to kill. Garret kicks back with his boots on the table and
falls asleep in no time. Now that he’s asleep, I can think freely, and his
snoring only annoys me slightly. I think about what I always think about when I’m
on my way home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think about
Sophi. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That black hair,
those big green eyes, that laugh…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I get home I’ll
see Sophi. And that will make the trip worth it.</div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-80295104745754703742012-02-24T07:56:00.001-08:002012-02-24T07:56:51.093-08:00"Despair is only for those who know the end beyond all doubt. We do not." - Gandalf the GreyHarrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-45066672574998000492012-02-15T22:53:00.001-08:002012-02-15T22:53:46.688-08:00If the summer cloud passes rain, so let it rain...Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-20948538145045891722012-02-08T19:33:00.000-08:002012-02-08T19:33:37.069-08:00LifeIt's not about me. It's about You.<br />
It's not about me. It's about Jesus.<br />
It's not about me. It's about my family.<br />
It's not about me. It's about my Mom not having to break her back everyday because I'm lazy.<br />
It's not about me. It's about my little brother Davis growing up to be a loving, selfless, God-fearing young man.<br />
It's not about me. It's about my friends.<br />
<br />
IT'S ABOUT <strong>ME??!! <em>WHAT??!!! </em></strong>There are SEVEN BILLION other people on this planet, and it's about ME?! I'm a 17 year old boy who works at Chick Fil A, there are 7 billion other people in the world, and it's about ME?!?! How in the world did I get that idiot idea??? If that isn't the most illogical, ludacris thing you've ever heard, then you're as selfish as I am. <br />
<br />
There was a man who suffered the most humiliating, painful death of his time for worthless idiots like me who thought life was about themselves, and I live like it's about <strong><em>ME?!</em></strong> ARE YOU <strong><em>SERIOUS?!?! </em></strong>What have <strong><em>I </em></strong>done for people?<br />
<br />
I've never thought of myself as a particularly selfish person. I mean, I don't mind befriending the weird kid, I share a room with two brothers, I let people drink my Dr Pepper and eat my fries, and I take turns like a good boy. <br />
But recently I was enlightened to a whole new aspect of selfishness. What selfishness is really all about. And it's about being <em>more</em> concerened about getting to check my Facebook or advancing to the next level in Mass Effect 2, or even writing my next song or story, and being <em>less</em> concerened about whether or not my Mom has to do a little extra laundry, or dishwashing, or clean my room for me because she's sick of having to wade through a floor covered in clothes. It's me wanting to do what <strong><em>I </em></strong>want to do, and accomplish what I want to accomplish <em>even</em> at the expense of my <strong><em>mother</em>. </strong>As if she doesn't sacrifice enough for me already. It's me pushing my little brother away, who's begging me to do <em>something</em> with him because he's <em>sooo boooorrred! </em>because I want to record this song. Or I want to browse Facebook for a while. And then I have homework. And then I have rehearsal. So even if I said I <em>would</em> play with him in just a second, I don't get around to it because I'm "too busy". Because apparently, making my little brother happy and spending some quality time with him is not as important as making my<em>self</em> happy by being on Facebook (and honestly, most of the time it doesn't even make me all that happy). Meanwhile, my brother is down and bored because his big brother won't play with him. How horrible is <em>that?</em><br />
<br />
I hope and pray God will help me turn this around and be less selfish. No. self-<strong><em>less.</em></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><em>It's not about me. It's about Him.<br />
It's not about me. It's about them.</em></strong><br />Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-49157981760919598522012-02-08T06:55:00.000-08:002012-02-08T19:33:53.782-08:00Tips for Prince CharmingIf you want to be Prince Charming, start by treating every girl like a princess.<br />
Let me explain.<br />
"Treat every girl like a princess" has almost become simply a metephor for "treat 'em good".<br />
But I mean in literally. <br />
<br />
Think of it this way. Every princess belongs to an earthly King: her father. That King has his own dominion, his own recourses, and a surprising amount of power when it comes to protecting his daughter. But not only that, every princess belongs to the Heavenly King, who has ALL recourses, ALL power, and is perfectly just and righteous and loving.<br />
Now don't freak out. Or on second thought, maybe you should freak out. But <em>don't </em>run away! I mean, a King wants to give his daughter to a worthy prince at <em>some </em>point, right? But until then, that daughter is ROYALTY. That doesn't mean you can't spend time with her, talk to her, laugh with her or touch her arm for fear of losing yours. But it <em>does </em>mean that she deserves honor and respect. Your job is to make things easy for her, like sitting down in a chair, or carrying her 50lb book bag to her car.<br />
<br />
We also like to think of ourselves as dashing young knights on powerful charges. Great! This will encourage you to be serving and chivalrous. But wait! The King expects knights to <em>protect</em> his daughter; not only her safety, but her purity as well. That means from other people, but more importantly, from your<em>self</em>. She ain't yours until the King gives her to you. Trust me, you'll know when that happens. There's a big ceremony and everything, and she'll probably kiss you, even if you're not paying attention because you're lost in those big, beautiful eyes, and the feeling of her hands in yours. Don't worry, the kiss will snap you out of it. Either that or put you in a coma. I'm not really sure which...<br />
<br />
So. Treat every girl like a princess. Like a REAL Princess.<br />
<br />
Consider this <strong>5% Thinkings of Harris</strong> and<strong> 99% Wisdom of Older</strong>, <strong>Wiser Men</strong>. (That left over <strong>4%</strong> is just <strong>Common Sense</strong>)Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-15005188954374416022012-01-31T18:00:00.000-08:002012-01-31T18:00:21.709-08:00Excerpt from Quo VadisHe would rather that Lygia act thus out of love for him, his face, his eyes, his statuesque form, - in a word, for reasons because of which more than once snow-white Grecian and Roman arms had been wound around his neck. <br />
<br />
Still he felt all at once, that, were she like other women, something would be lacking in her. He was amazed, and knew not what was happening to him; for he saw that new feelings of some kind were rising in him, new likings, strange to the world in which he had lived hitherto.<br />
<br />
She opened her eyes then, and, seeing that Vinicius was gazing at her, she approached him and said, -<br />
"I am with thee."<br />
<br />
"I saw thy soul in a dream," replied he.Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-46608602769759544002012-01-31T11:30:00.001-08:002012-03-20T12:51:46.170-07:00ZIMA - Chapter One: Meyka<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out here it's so cold, if you're not wearing a thermal suit
you'll be frozen solid in less than four seconds. The wind rushes at a constant
30mph, and the snow is up to our knees. We're running low on food, and Kelly
needs rest and proper medical attention. John has been awfully patient with
her. She isn't used to depending on someone to carry her, and it's driving her
nuts not to be the one that does our hunting. We're ten miles out from Croton.
Unless the weather takes an unprecedented plunge overnight (and it has often)
we should make it fine. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I start to feel bad for John, carrying a grumpy,
broken-leg Kelly for miles. But then I remember that I'm carrying Kelly's pack
and her twenty-three pound 50cal rifle to boot, and Garret has all of John's
gear, so we're all about even. Kelly doesn't weigh much anyway. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We'll camp in those rocks overnight and should reach Croton
well before nightfall tomorrow. The only thing I'm worried about at this point
is meyka. I keep seeing their tracks, and yesterday we ran across a fresh kill.
They're out there, and they'll be getting hungry again soon. Game is scarce.
Even for Kelly. If you've never seen a meyka, picture a white bear with arms and legs like a wildcat only
thicker and big buffalo horns. But not a cute and cuddly polar bear; these
bears are all muscle, and they've got those horns, and they charge in packs. We're
vulnerable enough without having to carry Kelly, and with her laid up, and John
carrying her, we're practically free lunch. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We've reached the rocks and Garret smacks the back of my
mask to get my attention. I swear, every time he does that, I could...</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our coms went out for some reason during the last blizzard,
and shouting is useless with this wind. I suppose he has to get my attention
somehow, but I sure wish he would just tap my shoulder or something. I turn
around to see what he wants. He makes a "Y" sign between us with his
hand and takes a tactical stance with his rifle, motioning towards the rocks.
He wants to know if we're going to scout it out before taking Kelly in. I have
to admit, I'm a little chagrined that he jumped the gun on my lead, but he's
right. It's always been one of my mandates to check out a camp site before
going in, even a familiar one. Call me over cautious. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rocks end up being as empty as I expected they would be,
and I start setting up the tent while Garret goes to fetch Kelly and John.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tent is designed to insulate, and inside it's warm,
especially once we get the little heater going. We get Kelly settled
comfortably with her leg propped up, and John sits close to her. I can't help
but feel a little envious of Kelly. Kelly and Garret are siblings and my
cousins. The three of us grew up together. Kelly and I had always been
inseparable, and we made a good team. We
used to team up on Garret and it made him so mad... somehow Garret and I had
always had this friction between us, and been best friends at the same time.
And then the whole Kelly and John thing got going and our little trio turned
into a foursome. It's different. And I have to admit I miss Kelly. I mean, I'm
around her all the time, but she's just not there like she used to be. Don't
get me wrong. John is a great guy. He's tall, blonde, strong, patient, and
caring. Solid. Just the kind of guy Kelly needs. I've known him for a while
now, and it feels right having him as part of the team. He's sort of become our
anchor. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But sometimes I miss the old days.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After eating a bite, we bed down. Everyone is too exhausted
to say much of anything, except Kelly who keeps grumbling as she tries to get
comfortable with her braced up leg.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * *</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the morning the wind is stronger and the temperature has
dropped several degrees. There were meyka tracks all around our tent and we
left the rocks in a hurry. After a few of hours trekking I can see Croton
through the wind and snow. We're only about a hundred yards from the big iron
gate when Garret hits the back of my mask again, this time really hard. I start
to turn around and yell at him, then I see why he hit me so hard. A pack of five
meyka is on our trail and they're gaining fast. John throws Kelly up over his
shoulder and starts running for the gate as fast as he can manage, and Garret
and I are right behind him. I unstrap Kelly's hunting rifle from my back and
start loading as I run, my heart pounding. I sure hope they see us coming and
open the gates. 50 yards from the gate I turn around, drop to one knee, and
scope down at the oncoming meyka. The report of Kelly's rifle can be heard even
over the wind. My shot finds it's mark, and there's one less meyka on our tail.
Only Kelly's rifle is powerful enough to bring down a meyka with one shot. As
quickly as I can, I pull the bolt and chamber another round. Again the rifle
bellows, and another bear drops. But now the remaining three are too close for
comfort. I get to my feet and run after the others, letting out a sigh of
relief when I see the gates opening. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">30 yards... John and Kelly are crossing the threshold and a medic
team comes out with a stretcher to take Kelly inside. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">20 yards... Garret turns around to check on my progress and
suddenly starts shouting (or at least it looks like he's shouting) and pointing
behind me. I steal a glance over my shoulder just in time to see the meyka
leap. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I could swear time slowed down at that moment. The meyka is
bellowing as he leaps toward me, claws outstretched. Without thinking I dive to
the side, pulling my foot long Trek Knife from its sheath on my leg. As soon as
I hit the ground time speeds back up, and I hear the welcome crack of Garret's
rifle, one, two, three, putting the beast down for good. I scramble to my feet
just in time to face the second meyka. He tackles me back to the ground, taking
a snap at my shoulder, his hot breath fogging my mask. I manage to bring my arm
up and ram my blade up through the bottom of his jaw. The meyka goes limp and
I'm trapped beneath him. For a moment, I think I'm done; I can see the last
meyka bearing down on me. Suddenly, a volley of rifle fire fills the air. The
meyka is riddled with bullets and plows into the snow, two feet away, dead.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-----------------------------------------------</span><br />
<i>zima - polish word meaning <b>winter</b> </i><br />
<i>meyka - adapted from bulgarian </i>мечка <i>meaning</i> <b><i>bear</i></b><br />
<br />
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</div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-57122868057889400382012-01-25T19:46:00.001-08:002012-01-25T19:46:44.473-08:00haiku<span style="font-family: inherit;">Groovy music rocks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I like room-cleaning to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I still have homework.</span>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-5347011412346387322012-01-22T21:40:00.000-08:002012-01-22T21:59:38.889-08:00thingsyou may listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhZnwmGpPME" target="_blank">this chill song</a> while you explore the post. in fact, i encourage it.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2woSNgcbaWg2eH7-NBtlEjTVknOTPAprGElFnK119lyImu1fqc6thkgnkoBOU9vXsXbCFrfKkdK_9pxlWeXiDsHNtJoNm8bFZ4-Nv58-FPhcaWWe70-4lbinBrDmXrJfNuWry_PssJxF/s1600/6673614781_3d1a59fd6c_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2woSNgcbaWg2eH7-NBtlEjTVknOTPAprGElFnK119lyImu1fqc6thkgnkoBOU9vXsXbCFrfKkdK_9pxlWeXiDsHNtJoNm8bFZ4-Nv58-FPhcaWWe70-4lbinBrDmXrJfNuWry_PssJxF/s640/6673614781_3d1a59fd6c_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Always be nice to those younger than you, because they
are the ones who will be writing about you. <br />
<em>-Cyril Connolly</em> <em> </em><br />
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Eye contact is the best accessory.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lfN8awHbOdJoyRgL5-EzZFvzGHASk_I1SsW8ac_LkyKA4lQ8cGy43wcVggK_vZYl0N9ku_S3Ha1Cw6s8A-xJwDWKr1EduW9Fn_sQwDVeauA29wtOch-cD_gJa-XYQzMN1P6bBS_Ug5qO/s1600/2464859674_a366f055c4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lfN8awHbOdJoyRgL5-EzZFvzGHASk_I1SsW8ac_LkyKA4lQ8cGy43wcVggK_vZYl0N9ku_S3Ha1Cw6s8A-xJwDWKr1EduW9Fn_sQwDVeauA29wtOch-cD_gJa-XYQzMN1P6bBS_Ug5qO/s1600/2464859674_a366f055c4.jpg" /></a></div>
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<dt class="quote"> </dt>
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The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me
with dread. - <em>Blaise Pascal </em></div>
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<dt class="quote">You cannot depend on your eyes when your imagination is
out of focus. - <em>Mark Twain</em> </dt>
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(they're actually the same size)</div>
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<dt class="quote"> </dt>
<dt class="quote"> </dt>
<dt class="quote">Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which
escape those who dream only by night.
</dt>
<dd class="author">
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</div>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-14141723517593991072012-01-16T10:15:00.001-08:002012-01-16T10:15:57.697-08:00Little Red Riding Hood (like you've never read it before)<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift<br />
wetter murder inner ladle cordage, honor itch off<br />
lodge, dock florist. Disk ladle gull orphan worry putty<br />
ladle rat cluck wetter ladle rat hut, and fur disk raisin,<br />
pimple colder Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.<br />
<br />
Wan moaning, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut's murder colder<br />
inset.<br />
<br />
"Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, heresy ladle basking winsome<br />
burden barter and shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking<br />
tutor cordage offer groin-murder hoe lifts honor udder site<br />
offer florist. Shaker lake! Dun stopper laundry wrote! Dun<br />
stopper peck floors! Dun daily-doily inner florist, an yonder<br />
nor sorghum-stenches, dun stoper torque wet strainers!"<br />
<br />
"Hoe-cake, murder," resplendent Ladle Rat Rotten, and<br />
tickle ladle basking an stutter oft.<br />
<br />
Honor wrote tutor cordage offer groin-murder, Ladle Rat<br />
Rotten Hut mitten anomalous woof.<br />
<br />
"Wail, wail, wail!" set disk wicket woof, "Evanescent<br />
Ladle Rat Rotten Hut! Wares are putty ladle gull goring wizard<br />
ladle basking?"<br />
<br />
"Armor goring tumor groin-murder's," reprisal ladle<br />
gull. "grammar's seeking bet. Armor ticking arson burden<br />
barter an shirker cockles."<br />
<br />
"O hoe! Heifer gnats woke," setter wicket woof, butter<br />
taught tomb shelf,"Oil tickle shirt court tutor cordage
offer<br />
groin-murder. Oil ketchup wetter letter, an den -- O bore!"<br />
<br />
Soda wicket woof tucker shirt court, an whinny retched<br />
a cordage offer groin-murder, picked inner windrow, an sore<br />
debtor pore oil worming worse lion inner bet. Inner flesh,<br />
disk abdominal woof lipped honor bet, paunched honor pore oil<br />
worming, an garbled erupt. Den disk ratchet ammonol pot honor<br />
groin-murder's nut cup and gnat-gun, any curdled ope inner<br />
bet.<br />
<br />
Inner ladle wile, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut a raft attar<br />
cordage, an ranker dough ball. "Comb ink, sweat hard,"
setter<br />
wicket woof, disgracing is verse.<br />
<br />
Ladle Rat Rotten Hut entity bet rum, and stud buyer<br />
groin-murder's bet.<br />
<br />
"O Grammar!" crater ladle historically, "Water
bag icer<br />
gut! A nervous sausage bag ice!"<br />
<br />
"Battered lucky chew whiff, sweat hard," setter<br />
bloat-Thursday woof, wetter wicket small honors phase.<br />
<br />
"O Grammar, water bag noise! A nervous sore suture<br />
anomalous prognosis!"<br />
<br />
"Battered small your whiff, doling," whiskered dole<br />
woof, ants mouse worse waddling.<br />
<br />
"O Grammar, water bag mouser gut! A nervous sore<br />
suture bag mouse!"<br />
<br />
Daze worry on-forger-nut ladle gull's lest warts. Oil<br />
offer sodden, caking offer carvers an sprinkling otter bet,<br />
disk hoard-hoarded woof lipped own pore Ladle Rat Rotten Hut<br />
and garbled erupt.<br />
<br />
MURAL: Yonder nor sorghum stenches shut ladle gulls<br />
stopper torque wet strainers.</span>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81957342589282440.post-41606459132015661462012-01-11T20:24:00.000-08:002012-01-11T20:24:49.314-08:00Weekend List of Things To DoTHURS.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>School</li>
<li>Work</li>
<li>Ben-Hur</li>
<li>(Homework vs Sleep?)</li>
</ul>
FRI.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Homework</li>
<li>Fix keyboard</li>
<li><strong>Record Music!!!</strong></li>
</ul>
SAT.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Record more music</li>
<li>Work on speech. </li>
<li>Go to work.</li>
</ul>Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490263997745521800noreply@blogger.com1