Part II: The Spectacle Receptacle

! ! ! ATTENTION ! ! !

2006-09-24T23:29:00.000-05:00

Please redirect your web browsers and feedburners in the direction of:

http://blog.clintrule.com

Our blogging life will continue with substantially cooler features. If you have the time to learn some largely useless rudimentary php and html and regrettably spend hours trying to make various third-party plug-ins and themes work, you might consider making the move to WordPress as well.

Soak up the old Spectacle Receptacle while you can, as I will be redirecting spectaclereceptacle.blogspot.com to the new Spectacle Receptacle in a matter of days.

Wart & Peace

2006-09-18T22:31:00.000-05:00

Today was a good day. I uprooted a wart that has been waxing and waning on my finger for the past six months. After several different methods of removal, I decided to try the straight application of salicylic acid. That treatment started two days ago. The bottle, being a puny entity, suggested a single drop be applied twice a day and proceeded to claim it would be a journey of about five weeks.

That is all well and good, but what of the microwave generation that wishes the fungi removed about 4.7 weeks sooner?

Needless to say I drowned the wart in acid like a drunkard drowns his sorrows--straight, for two days, and to the disregard of loved ones' behests.

By this evening, the infected area had softened up. Probably not anywhere near enough to remove even the top-most epidermal layer, but since when has raw meat not-yet-ready to be partaken of really stood in my way? So, I grabbed my trusty pin needle and pair of tweezer and set to poke-tweeze-repeat mode.

I hurt. I bled. I got light-headed. I physically removed all empirical traces of the wart.

I now have a crater in my finger reminiscent of high-altitude photographs of strip mines. It's a lack I love. I would do it all over again if I had the chance--masochistic satisfaction, friends. In fact, I cherish the moment so much, I chose to continue it and even memorialize it through a little something I like to call art.

OUtstanding Student Father Scholarship

2006-09-13T10:20:00.000-05:00

May have found something strange enough to merit your looking at. You decide.
Strange. Very strange indeed. I am beginning to really dislike OU. I received this in my inbox this morning.

OUTSTANDING STUDENT FATHER SCHOLARSHIPAll undergraduate student fathers who are currently enrolled in at least 12 hours and plan to enroll full-time for both the spring 2007 and fall 2007 semesters are eligible to apply for this award. Selection will be based on outstanding achievement in one or more of the following areas: academics, university and community involvement, leadership, service and honors and awards. Applications are due Wednesday, October 11, 2006. The selection committee will be composed of the executive officers of the OU Parents' Association. The award includes recognition at the Parents' Association Business Meeting on Friday, November 10, 2006 and carries a $1,000 ($500 per semester) cash award.

Okay... see if my morning time train of logic makes any sense whatsoever. I have no doubt there are some outstanding student fathers. I have no doubt some of them attend OU. I have no doubt some of them are wonderful fathers and still maintain a great GPA and have won awards. But I wonder why an award about how terrific a father one is includes outstanding achievement in: 1)academics 2)university and community involvment 3)leadership and 4)service and honors awards. I was in a sorority, I know how these things work, and to win these things in other competitive fields (I don't know how tight the competition is in the student father field), you have to be really involved. I mean, to the point that you are going to meetings for leadership things at the very very least twice a week at night until things pick up and then you'll be attending every night and doing countless hours of community service whilst keeping up your grades. Thus, amounting to having about a 60 to 80 hour a week job. This is entirely possible for a lot of people. Some people are simply wired like this. But I have to ask myself. . . How outstanding of a father are you really being if you are never home??? I wonder why the categories don't read: 1)generally reads to his child 2)disciplines his child in love 3)has figured out a way to support his child financially 4)loves his child. Oh, right, because you can't count those intagible things up on a computer.

I am simply a student wife and I find that immensely more difficult than my unmarried student state. I have all but abandoned various OU activities and general "student life" to devote more time to my new family life (I am still enrolled full time mind you, I simply don't go to 5 clubs and if it is between talking something out with my husband that we have been fighting about and finishing a project or paper perfectly for the next day.... usually, we talk. And Clint is: potty trained, makes money, and cleans the house (to name a few in an entire slew of things he does for me). Hmmm....

It isn't so much that there is a sholarship and award for it.... it is the categories that one must fulfill in order to win the award. BAH!

Icari

2006-09-05T21:23:00.000-05:00

time to move on

2006-08-31T18:34:00.000-05:00

In class last week:

Professor: "The belief in predestination is an unstable worldview that the human mind simply will not come to terms with and has therefore died out in the world. "
Nicole's reaction: . . . Silence.

What would you do? Anyone? I need help.

Money Matters

2006-08-24T19:19:00.000-05:00

Let's see. I've been breezing through college with a blessed full ride scholarship and parents who were more than willing to foot any extra bills, exactly like many people here at OU and exactly the opposite of a lot of others.

Today was a doozy. The first thing I saw this morning when I got up, pretty much, was an e-mail from the University of Oklahoma telling me ever so politely that my bill was up online and I could give it a happy peak if I wanted to see the not so happy damage. And damage there was indeed. I won't go into specifics, but to me (and for our budget).... this was a whole lot of money. Panic immediately ensued. The stream of consciousness thoughts: we can't afford this, my parents have to pay for this, how crule of them not to, we need to be saving money, how will we ever be able to meet our budget/pear our budget down if I keep wasting our money, waste, yeah waste, this is a huge waste of money, I could be working full time and we could be making money instead of having to pay it out to someone, what will we do, oh dear.... depression.

I immediately called Clint. I am so lucky to get to talk to him pretty much whenever I want to during the day. He quickly assessed the situation, drenched any feelings of guilt with love through the gospel and assured me that everything is more than fine both pragmatically and emotionally. He is so wonderful.

But back to money. It is important to have a budget, it is important to save, it is important to be able to retire at some point in one's life and to be able to serve your family by providing necessities and (some, not all) wants for them. But how much more important is it to know that God is Sovereign, that He will (and is) provide(ing) all our needs. How much more important is it to be a mom or dad or husband or wife or friend who isn't at the office 18 hours a day?? I realize there are seasons of extraordinary buziness, of course. I have had these seasons, and I expect I will have more as will my husband. But (an illustration a friend and my husband often use to put things into perspective) when I'm on my death bed am I going to look back on my life and say, "Golly Moses, I really wish I would've spent more time making money." Hmmm... I'd say no.

Again, work is important, responsibility is important, but money is not God. Keep praying that idols will be uncovered daily. It is a good thing. It is indeed.

Note: Both Clint's parents and my parents are extraordinarily generous with us and any feelings of them needing to do more financially for us are completely unfounded and irrational... in case that wasn't clear.

Anniversary

2006-08-17T16:21:00.000-05:00

Clint and I recently went on a vacation/one year anniversary trip. First we headed to North Carolina where we were greeted by Matt Howell and we had the wonderful priveledge of spending a weekend with recent newlyweds, Matt and Kathryn. They were so generous to give the very large majority of their weekend to us (including taking time out for studying, relaxing, and getting ready for the coming week)! Everything was wonderful. It is great to be around friends who ask such great questions. I love to hear Clint answer questions from other people because I learn so much about him. Of course spending time alone as a couple is invaluable, but I think we don't get enough really great interaction with other couples. Hearing what Matt and Kathryn had to say about the answers we were giving them and about their relationship was very thought provoking and helpful. Thank God for such honest, loving friends. These serious conversations juxtaposed with all the laughing and yucking it up, which seems to be inevitable when hanging out with the Howells, made for a pretty incredible weekend.

Next up, Russ and Katherine were so generous to meet us and take us back to Russ's parents' house. I cannot believe their generosity. You might know, they had been in India for a month, flew back for Katherine's father's wedding, drove to South Carolina to hang out with family and friends and do work, and in the midst of all of this they took time out to pick us up and host us. Wow. We had a wonderful time with the Edwards as well. Russ was our guide/driver up into the mountains where we slid down a big rock. I didn't go the first time because the water was so freezing, but when I thought about the shame it would bring to my brother if I didn't slide I decided I'd best go. It was fun and freezing. My brother will be proud.

Next up, we stopped in Chapel Hill, North Carolina in our rental car that I drove the whole entire way to see my cousin, Brooke, who is there getting her Ph.D. We got to see the lab where she works and even got to see a strand of something do something when injected with something - pretty cool. It was great to see her and to catch up on family news.

We ended our trip in Washington D.C. where we stayed with Clint's sister. She was our tour guide/driver all over D.C. which was very helpful. We saw art and monuments. Hooray for free admission to most things in D.C. The first night we were there we had our first anniversary dinner on the roof or top floor of Hotel Washinton, we sat in the open air looking over the White House and the Washington Monument as the sun set. It was lovely. I'm glad I was eating there with Clint and that we were celebrating one year of being married. I can't even imagine how horrible it would have been to have waited until this summer to get married. We went to the aquarium in Baltimore the next day and saw sea horses and sharks and frogs and bats and lots and lots of other things. I recommend acquariums. Then I got to meet Chris Earls, who is kind of an adopted family member, on Clint's dad's side of the family.

As most of you know, we made it home without anyone blowing up the plane fortunately. And I look forward to starting another year of married life together. Hooray.

Noise Rant

2006-08-15T09:29:00.001-05:00

Have you ever considered how unnecessarily noisy software is on television shows and movies? Many a year ago, I had to watch three consecutive hours of television and documenting station breaks, commercials, promos, and so on for a broadcast class. The third hour had me watching CSI--don't ask me which city or country, as I don't care. For those unfamiliar, CSI follows decades of TV police dramas. Anyhow, I remember not enjoying it. But, I thought it extremely funny how many bleeps and bloops the investigators' software made.

Zoom in on a fingerprint = whoosh
Scan a hair sample = long, ascending beep
Enter key = blip

Apparently the CSI labs across the nation are just big, cacophonous, concentration-destroying workplaces. But, perhaps the low, blue lighting, the stylish glass walls, all the beautiful 20-40-somethings, and the numerous big-screen monitors, all of which seem to be commonplace with the laboratories and headquarters in the modern police drama, would make up for the unnecessary computer noise.

Ever since seeing that CSI, I have noticed that almost all movies and tv programs cannot resist the noisy software. Perhaps there is a media heritage to all this. Think back to 50's and 60's sci-fi for a moment. Do you not conjure up images of noisy supercomputers with huge panels with expanses of back-lit buttons, flashing randomly? How about all of those analogue beeps and blips? It's all the same--just digital nowadays.

There are actually companies "out there" that are contracted to create the fake software for TV and film. It makes you wonder if the computers at these companies have OS's that are cram-packed with these noises bound to every keystroke.

And, on a sidenote, how about the send/receive noises on instant messaging programs? Who in the hell thought it a good idea to make that default to the program? Vomit.

Someone (Josh Spears? Ryan Brown? Norman Maynard?) once told me that one of the professors they knew had all their keys (on their keyboard) bound to noises extracted from one of the keyboard-like interfaces on the U.S.S. Enterprise. Having to work within an audible vicinity would fast get my foot into a noisy, head-kicking mood.

You Too Can Make Me Happy...

2006-08-14T14:48:00.000-05:00

...by taking me to the following movies.

The Science of Sleep - September 22

Children of Men - September 29

Marie Antoinette - October 20

The Fountain - November 22

"They send in the biggest piece of equipment they can find..."

2006-08-02T09:31:00.000-05:00

What the man in the following video did was wrong, yes. But, wow, what ambition and ingenuity--you don't obtain a bulldozer, weld large steel plates on it, and reinforce it with concrete in one overnite fit of rage. In that regard as well as observing the goings-on from a storyteller's POV, I cannot help but feel some sort of excitement and admiration. Blame it on the heart-breaking amount of time I have logged playing Grand Theft Auto.

a few gems from studio lighting

2006-07-26T18:23:00.000-05:00

the first three photos I took. a HUGE thanks to meghan earl for her loving help. the last two were taken by my classmates, Carin and Raquel, and they are funny.

Making Talkies

2006-07-25T09:03:00.000-05:00

I had the good pleasure of playing the role of sound guy for a short narrative video my friend Matt Leach is creating in the Tulsa area. The story revolves around a man and his fresh mustache against societies suppositions about mustaches. I had the privilege of acting the part of a drug dealer--complete with mustache.

My face is a bit burned and my legs, rather sore. Nonetheless, it was fun spending time with a number of folks I hadn't seen in a while. It was also gratifying to finally see some of this sound gear I've been purchasing put through some rigor.

Cruise Blues

2006-07-21T12:23:00.000-05:00

Today is my mother's birthday. Happy birthday mom.

Nigh on a year ago, my family (mom, dad, my brother, steven, and sister-in-law, liz) went on an Alaskan cruise in celebration of a momentous birthday for my mother. My father had been planning this surprise trip for my mother for almost a year. I spoiled the surprise when I decided to get married in August and my father thought that my mother might freak out if he did not tell her we were taking a trip two weeks before I was to be wed, and she would have.

So, off we set to our last family vacation with an unwed Nicole. Mom, Dad, and I all bunked in the same room. Mom and Dad slept on two tiny beds that were secured to the floor whilst I slept on the metal bed that dropped down from the highest part of the ceiling about two feet over my mother's sleeping head.

I mentioned this bed was metal. I did not realize the full extent of the implications of sleeping on a metal bed on a ratteling, rocking ship until it was time for bed the first evening. I crawled in already feeling not very sleepy because my parents wanted to go to bed at about 10 and sad because I was missing soon to be husband, Clint. The bed began making the loudest racket I have ever heard in my life. Unbelievable.

I could not stop it. I tried to grab things with my hands and apply pressure to cease the rattle, I tried shoving my sheets in various holes and cracks, I tried pulling the metal railing down onto the bed and sleeping on top of it (which did actually stop some of the noise but not all of it but then it was just uncomfortable and still loud). I laid there for about three hours when after breaks to get up and try to read in the two foot wide bathroom, and crying and screaming into my pillow, I finally decided I had quite enough, and I was going to go for a walk and find somewhere to read my book.

I went outside. The freezing air bit into my skin, and I hunkered down against the wind to try to navigate my way around the huge ship which this already-horrible navigator had been on for less than 12 hours. About three minutes into my walk I was addressed by a short, lively woman wearing a bright yellow jacket with YOUTH PATROL written in bold black letters across the front. I assume they are on the look out for lost children, pranksters, vandels, and youngsters looking to have a cruise ship rendevous with another teenager whom they will never see again. She called me "honey" and led me inside the ship to a restaurant that had muffins and juice sitting out.

It was an oasis; it was warm and the only noise to be heard was that of the chatter of a few tables of Asians with jet lag. I was happy to have a friend, yet I knew this friend thought that I was probably sixteen, eighteen tops. I doubt that being twenty one qualifies someone to be led around by the YOUTH PATROL. She sat with me for a few minutes. Luckily, at the time I was reading a book entitled Gender which tipped her off to the fact that I might not be as young as she originally suspected. This I was glad of, as I did not feel like being treated as a young'un when I was getting married in a few short weeks. She was very observant and altered her tone just slightly so that she did not highlight the fact that she had thought I was much younger.

She was very kind. We had a nice chat, and, after discovering that I was in college and getting married in a few short weeks, I believe she decided I was neither a threat to the ships security nor to myself and could safely be left alone. I sat reading my book, sad and missing Clint but at least relieved that I wasn't surrounded by the clanking of metal in my sleeping space.

A few minutes later I was pleasantly surprised to discover my friend had returned to offer me a treat of Rocky Mountain Chocolate Facotory Fudge. She said it might help me sleep and I was ecstatic. I took my treat from this stranger who I was pretty sure was not running some sort of sex scandal on the ship and with relatively no fear of being drugged or poisoned. As I entered delerium I though, "If it does have some sort of drug in it, at least I will be able to go to sleep." And I was happy. I took out the picture of Clint that I was using as a bookmark and smiled. Perhaps this trip would be okay after all.

Microphone Checker

2006-07-18T09:51:00.000-05:00

My new wireless lapel mic arrived last nite. It's no newborn baby, but I quite like it. Below is a couple clips of the lovely Nicole modeling the mic for my mic checking purposes. I purchased the mic, as it is a great way to pick up audio for wedding videography. Simply hide the mic pack in the groom's coat, and you will be able to pick up the groom, the bride, and the officiator(s) during the ceremony.

Raptism

2006-07-18T09:18:00.000-05:00

I extracted the following entry from The Pastors' Corner section of the Objective Ministries website. My intent is not to stir up controversy, as I think the following can be enjoyed thoroughly from either side of the issue.

Paedobaptism Is "Wack:" Towards A New Urban Waldensianism For The Young Generation

I dropped by our main auditorium yesterday while taking a much-needed respite from some vexing research into the history of Baptist succession, vis-à-vis Waldensian protoanabaptism, to investigate Pastor Fred Hoskins' Cinco de Mayo party, which had attracted quite a few curious people from the local Catholic community seeking to learn more about Jesus. Besides wanting to sate my hunger with some corn chips and avocado dip, I was also curious to hear what sort of music Fred had lined up; I find his ministry most intriguing in the way he repurposes popular forms to spread the Gospel to the youth.

When I came in, he was performing a hip-hop song, or rap, with Mr. M.C. Eschatology of the rapping group Jiggy4Jesus. ("Jiggy" is an urban-youth term meaning "to be in touch with what's happening" -- apparently, it's been lately added to the OED; I shall have to see that the Mt. Fellowship library gets new volumes!) While I have heard some rapping before, I had never given much thought to its value in correcting the spread of erroneous doctrines in today's generation. However, after hearing the song that Fred and M.C. performed, I have had my eyes opened to the pedagogical possibilities of this modern form of syncopated doxology.

In what can only be a sign from the Lord of the importance of my inchoate research, the song they performed was called "Baby Got Baptism" and was about the very same erroneous doctrine of paedobaptism (or "infant baptism") that many of the Waldenses themselves endeavored to correct -- and which, sadly, is still promulged throughout most of the world. Fred was kind enough to give to me a CD with the song that included printed lyrics -- co-written by him and Mr. Eschatology, a few verses of which I'll reproduce here (do not be put off by the unusual spelling; it is part of the hip-hop vernacular):

She got baptized but she don't know why
All she can do is coo an' cry
'Cause when a girl gets elected inna bitta haste
An' don't know His Saving Grace
She gets sprinkled
Inna shallow font
No full immersion, just a front
She's not Jesus acceptin'
Ain't nuttin' but a baby wettin'
No, gotta axe Him be your Save-ya
Your Faith professa'
Tha Bible tried to warn yall
Nevermind your Pope, who's all
"Me so holy!"
Well, forget ol' St. Austin
Council of Mela don't mean nothin'
Mark sixteen, sixteen... belief before ya get tha sheen
Ya gotta know Him
To get tha ball rollin'
Ya met, wet, then born again with no regret
I'm tired of heresies
Saying baptism's all you need
Salvation is by Grace through Faith, ya know
But baby knows zero, so
Mothers (praise!), fathers (praise!)
"Suffer them to come to Me" (hallelujah!)
But sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle don't do a thang
Baby got baptism

An excellent argument against the error of paedobaptism. I think I shall play it on Sunday during my sermon so the congregation can become jiggy to urban youth hermeneutics.

# # #

¡RELEVANCE!

Centrism!

2006-07-10T15:08:00.000-05:00

You are a
Social Moderate
(55% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(38% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Centrist

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Not sure how accurate these results are. Tests such as this are always very difficult, as I can find twenty different ways to read each question--all of which affect what my responses will be.

Clintematic Nicoleodeon

2006-07-10T10:41:00.000-05:00

We watch a considerable amount of movies. I don't consider it worthwhile to try to cram all of our recent viewings into yonder 'watching' section. This being the case, I care now to--as best I can recall--to produce a list of the movies we have recently consumed complete with a plot outline and my own quick blurb about each. Perhaps it could be of use to you. If not, it will at least force me to further digest.

Murderball
A film about quadriplegics who play full-contact rugby in Mad Max-style wheelchairs - overcoming unimaginable obstacles to compete in the Paralympic Games in Athens, Greece. Nicole and I both enjoyed this film. The true conflict of the movie seems to be about how men learn to live as quadriplegics. Plus, the movie did not merely allow but encouraged me to stare at quadriplegics, so now I won't feel the need to do so in public.

True Romance
This rock'n'roll adventure story tells of two unlikely lovers who accidentally double-cross the Detroit mob by stealing valuable contraband. The newlyweds flee to Los Angeles where they are sought by both gangsters and cops. The screenplay was written by Tarantino and the film feels a lot like a Tarantino flick, although it was directed by Tony Scott (Man on Fire, Enemy of the State, Ladies & Gentlemen: The Best of George Michael). There are many big names on the cast. However, the bigger the name, the smaller the part. Samuel Jackson, Brad Pitt, and Christopher Walken have a combined screen time of about ten minutes--all very minor parts. The stars--Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette--have not been heard from in about ten years. All of this is fitting in that this film has been very much overlooked, but Nicole and I both considered it worthwhile--especially if you are a Tarantino fan.

Natural Born Killers
Two victims of traumatized childhoods become lovers and psychopathic serial murderers irresponsibly glorified by the mass media. I liked it. I am not a 'natural, born' Oliver Stone (JFK, Alexander) fan, but I do like what he did with this film. The cinematography is appropriate and well-done as it mixes in various mass-media styles from Hollywood to studio sit-coms to saturday morning cartoons. The leads--Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis--deliver fine performances. I appreciate the statement stone is making in the film. Plus, Leonard Cohen is all over the soundtrack.

Maria Full of Grace
A pregnant Colombian teenager becomes a drug mule to make some desperately needed money for her family. I did not like it. Nicole did not like it. But, there is a lesson to be learned from this flick.

If you want to have a successful movie, write a script that largely takes place in another country (preferably one that can be easily cast in the shadow of the US), so that it appears to have the genuineness of a foreign film. It is okay if you are American, just make sure to have the script written in a native tongue. Your lead must either be a woman or an emaciated child. Place your star in a social situation in which they are oppressed and used by men--directly and indirectly. Have your star committ a 'just' but major transgression to transcend her situation. Don't resolve your story--just have it end arbitrarily.All of what I just listed, for whatever reason, seems to be the ticket in our present cinema culture. It has been become formulaic.

Anyhow, our heroine--oppressed--decides to work for a drug trafficker as a mule--swallowing 'pellets' of cocaine in order to sneak them into the US undetected by customs. Other than deciding to deliver harmful substances, Maria also lies--a lot--to the people that are trying to help her out. I don't recommend it. Nicole and I grudgingly refer to this trash as Maria Full of Shit.

The New World
A Terrence Malick-scripted drama about explorer John Smith and the clash between Native Americans and English settlers in the 17th century. I am a huge Terrence Malick (The Thin Red Line, Days of Heaven) fan. He is easily my favorite director. The New World is his second film from his return with The Thin Red Line from his 20-some-year hiatus from the industry.

I will first admit that I need to watch The New World again--this is the nature of Malick flicks. However, I have the gut feeling that it is just not up to the standards that Malick has established for himself. While it does sustain his standards of breath-taking cinematography, the story falls short.

Malick has the extremely unique talent of creating stories that keep the viewer engaged but at a distance from the characters and action. While I certainly do not believe that objectivity is possible for scientists or storytellers (especially moviemakers), Malick seems to be able to convey story in a strangely pure manner--undoubtedly from his adherence to phenomenology--that refrains from allowing the story to be intentionally bent in order to make a statement. With The Thin Red Line, Malick points at not just the horrors of war. He also points out the horrors of human relationships and the horrors of nature in general. If he is making a statement at all, it would be something like, "Look at all of these things. Look at all of these actions. Is it not strange/incredible/confusing that they are even merely existing/happening?" Believe it or not, it actually makes for a decent movie-going experience.

But, it didn't feel like he maintained this trend as much with The New World. Perhaps, since it is heavy on the love story, it is tough to keep your audience at a distance. I'll try it again sooner or later.

The Machinist
An industrial worker who hasn't slept in a year begins to doubt his own sanity. It is an overlooked psychological thriller of pretty high-grade. However, I am just not a big pyscho thriller kinda guy. It is somewhat reminiscent of 21 Grams and Memento. If you liked either of those two, you would probably enjoy The Machinist. I just don't much like flicks where you have absolutely no clue what is going on the entire time--I am certianly okay with not having a number of pieces missing. But, it's difficult for me to watch so much ambiguous content, hoping that (a) the end will tie it all together, and (b) the tying together will be well worth having watched so much ambiguous story. Fortunately, it does tie together, but I don't know if it quite satisfied my standards of the forementioned (b). One of the most notable aspects of the film is how incredibly emaciated Christian Bale is--I am talking Auschwitz, here.

For those who are unfamiliar with Christian Bale,his recent role was that of the hunky hero of Batman Begins.

A Prairie Home Companion

look at what goes on backstage during the last broadcast of America's most celebrated radio show, where singing cowboys Dusty and Lefty, a country music siren, and a host of others hold court. I enjoy APHC--specifically, Garrison Keillor's stories. Upon hearing about this flick about a year back, I remember feeling excitement. However, I was disappointed with the product. As was my wife. It seems like they used the elements of the radio show that would have the hardest time transfering to the film. First and foremost, the movie follows a broadcast of the show--a live radio show. But, it is not the actual show (sharply, in that it is lacking most of the actual shows personalities, but also in that it lacks a lot of the shows content), and it is not at all live. So, if the intent was to capture the essence of the actual show, they failed by excluding such large aspects of the radio show.

They, of course, try to weasel in characters or themes here and there that reference the show. One of the more prominent of these being the slap-stick detective Guy Noir who narrates the (wanna-be) plot. He is played by Kevin Kline and it is simply embarassing to watch this man attempt physical comedy. There are also the guest musicians, all of which are actors playing as musicians. So, you sit watching these entire songs thinking (at best), "Say... this person is very talented at singing--for a Hollywood actor."

There was also the character of an angel in the film. Her performance made those of the 'Touched by an Angel" series seem oscar-worthy. It is that bad.

I guess I would recommend it to someone who is absolutely in love with APHC. I could not imagine watching and enjoying it without knowing anything about APHC. It just all seemed a little too self-reflexive in exclusive ways. If only they would have created movie following several narratives flowing through GK's imaginary Lake Wobegon.

How Should We Then Live?

This is Dr. Francis Schaeffer's spectacular series on the rise and decline of Western culture from a Christian perspective. It's the case with almost every adaption in existence: the book is better than the movie. This is certainly no exception, but it is fantastic to watch having read the books. It is a two-disc set that has, if I remember correctly, eight episodes [each 30-minutes long]. The first two or three episodes--covering very early Christianity--are somewhat weak as far as graphic content goes. This is understandable, as there just isn't a lot of cinema-friendly content these ages have left for us. Unfortunately, this leads to a number of cheezy re-enactments. But, come disc two, Schaeffer and son are at the top of both of their games.

# # #

Unless the editor-in-chief finds my slandering and literary bigotry unsuitable for her magazine, keep an eye out for my handiwork as film critic in Boyd Street's future issues.

The Digital Age - Rethinking the Photo Album

2006-07-08T19:14:00.000-05:00

Clint and I recently purchased a digital camera. We have been using it both for business and for family photographs. -- Contact us for portrait or wedding information = ) --

This means we are taking a lot more pictures than we would if we were using film. At lots of the events where we have taken pictures recently we might not have even taken any at all had we not had our new digital. This leads me to a personal dilemma. I like photo albums. I think they are important. I like having a real object, an image on paper, to hold in your hand and examine. I like how photos from different decades have different color casts and tints, how the object itself speaks about when it was taken. However, it is simply not practical to print out and organize all the photos we have been taking - even over the past month. Thus, we are rethinking the photo album.

I have decided that every six months to a year I will go through our photos on the computer and pick out the best, or most important ones. Oh say, between one to ten defining shots from each event. Then I will combine these into a photo album (all labeled with date, names, and event on the back of course) and we will have an album for each year. We might have to start having more than one album a year when we have kids... but for now I should hope this would be more than plenty. The question is: Will I do it? Can I truly discipline myself to tackle this task once or twice a year or will it be too overwhelming that I simply dismiss it for another date never to accomplish the task?

I hope I will do it. What do the rest of you digital (or even film) users do with your photos? trash, albums, boxes, or just keep them on the computer or on disks? Maybe I can make a date with some of you folks to organize photos together that way I will actually do it. Let me know.

Update

2006-07-08T18:57:00.000-05:00

I was recently inspired by the Edwards update to give a Rule update.

1. Clint Rule has designed a website for some of his wonderful creations. It is clintrule.com for those of you interested in checking it out. I am proud to say he did the whole thing by himself. He is learning flash animation (as mentioned previously) and will be making me a website as soon as I can get some of my photos together.

2. I recently quit my job at The Brett Weston Archive (brettwestonarchive.com). I am taking lighting class during the month of July. Rebecca Robertson (rebeccalorrine.com) has been so kind as to use me as her assistant for a few weddings this summer, which I am thoroughly enjoying. We will be photographing tomorrow as Andrea Schultz is wed to Tommy Dillard.

3. My grandfather passed away on Friday, June 30. Clint and I have been spending quite a bit of time in Edmond doing things such as: helping my parents clean house, cleaning out my old room as to make room for some of my grandparent's things, and just generally spending time with my family. My grandfather's funeral was this Friday. Time to mourn and remember together is so important. It is so nice to be able to reminisce about my grandfather with my family. It was also really wonderful to simply spend time with all my family and to have Clint there with us. -- Clint and I handle being in large groups of people in completely different ways. This was cause for a long drive this weekend to discuss how long we are to stay with the family, how and when to take breaks, etc. If anyone has any advise on this matter, we would love to hear it, it's a toughy for us. -- We also had an event on Saturday with my mother's side of the family as her cousins from California were in town. All in all, lots of togetherness.

4. Perhaps we don't really have as much going on as the Edwards . . .

More Than Words

2006-06-28T23:22:00.000-05:00

My First Flash Animation

2006-06-28T21:40:00.000-05:00

CLICK HERE

Dogville & A Breviary of Sin

2006-06-26T13:37:00.001-05:00

There exists a brilliant film by Lars von Trier called Dogville. Those who have seen it are among the blessed.

There exists a brilliant book by Cornelius Plantinga, Jr. called Not the Way It's Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Those who have read it are among the blessed. I thank Brother Matt for recommending the book.

There is a cross-section of these two demographics that are nigh divine. The two articulate each other very well.

And, so writes Cornelius...

In general, we ought to pay evildoers, including ourselves, the "intolerable
comment" of taking them seriously as moral agents, of holding them accountable
for their wrongdoing. This is a mark of our respect for their dignity and weight
as human beings. After all, what could be more arrogant than treating other
persons as if they were no more responsible than tiny children or the mentally
maimed? What could be more offensive than regarding others not as players but
only as spectators in human affairs, including their own? What could be more
condescending, stultifying, and inhumane? What could be more patronizing than
the refusal to blame people for their wrongdoing and to praise them for the
rightdoing, and to ground this refusal in our ssumption that these people
have not caused their own acts or had a hand in forming their own character?

Cornelius continues...

In his Lyman Beecher lectures, William Muehl recalls the humanist passions
of Arthur Koestler, a onetime defender of communism who later became its
critic. What began to distress Koestler was that in the Soviet communist
system the concept of blame disappeared. Nobody blamed reluctant communists. Nobody blamed peasants who resented the loss of their freedoms or who resisted conversion to communism, for surely they had been corrupted by faulty social and economic conditions. Nobody blamed critics of the party line, for surely they had been brainwashed by capitalist propoganda. Instead of blame, party officials offered their opponents pity and reeducation. Of course, the cradle of such pity often turned out to be a mental hospital, and the school for such reeducation a concentration camp--places at least as confining and dehumanizing as any conventional prison. But at least none of the inmates was to blame for being there. Koestler found all this blamelessness progressively disturbing. "Before long it began to become clear that those whom we do not blame we do not regard as responsible. those whom we do not regard as responsible we do not see as fully human. And those whom we do not see as fully human we are willing to twist and manipulate to suit our own convenience."

[POSSIBLE SPOILER BEYOND THIS POINT]

The interesting twist that Trier shows us in Dogville is that the character of Grace who insists on everyone's being blameless does not force the residents of Dogville to become less human nor does she force them into institutions--as did the fore-mentioned Soviet communist party officials. Rather, she is always trying to edify them and place them on almost-godly pedestals, constantly placing herself below them. However, they naturally become 'less human' (in that they do not adhere to social manners and pleasantries, but also 'more human' in that they are acting more and more readily on their depravity) in the context of her blamelessness.

Family Reunion [Part 1 of 3]

2006-06-15T15:53:00.000-05:00

The weekend before last held the 15th (I believe) Walker Family Reunion. My grandmother was a Walker before becoming a Rule. Thus, Nicole and I participated. For the third time, the event was held in my hometown of Elk City in western Oklahoma. The main events were held at my uncle's homestead just north of town. It was a delight.

The siblings (and sibling-in-law/wife) trek out to my uncle's land in our father(-in-law)'s new VW Thing.

[CONT'D IN 'PREVIOUS' POST]

Family Reunion [Part 2 of 3]

2006-06-15T15:52:00.000-05:00

And so began the well-established tradition of firing the many shotguns at many, many clay pigeons.

I discovered I am attracted to my wife in new and exciting ways.

Our gracious host, Fred Rule. Note how he dwarfs the weapon.

My brother Joe participating in the family reunion's No Child Left Behind Program.

Father and the brothers Rule.

[CONT'D IN 'PREVIOUS' POST]

Family Reunion [Part 3 of 3]

2006-06-15T15:51:00.000-05:00

The John Wayne shrine (complimented by a rodeo lamp) located in my uncle's homestead.

Dot is deaf.

[ATTN: COURTNEY JEWETT - DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT]

This is Cindy. She got hit by a car over a year ago. Looks like a full recovery, no?

...Not so much. Apparently, she won't stop picking at it.

Mi familia.

Learning How To Be Sick

2006-06-12T12:28:00.000-05:00

I used to hate being sick. The entire time of my illness I would spend either sleeping or obsessing about how much I was missing and what I would be behind on when I got better. Clint has taught me a higher road. Sure, I will cry every so often when I learn I will be sick for awhile and I have to go to the doctor - for some reason that always sends me to tears like someone is pronouncing a death sentence - but for the most part I have been much more pleased with my sickly experiences as of late.

I am totally free to laze around; furthermore, I am suppose to. Commanded to be lazy, how wonderful, how fantastic. I watch movies, read books, read blogs, play with new toys (such as our wonderful new digital camera), call clint and talk to him while he is at work. In general, it isn't so bad. Of course there are things I would like to do and can't - i.e. cook, certain chores, go outside, work out, I especially get tired of being by myself and not getting to hang out with people - but hey... I've got my entire life of wellness for that. Let's live it up sick style.

And also be thankful for getting well.

Are You Ready to [read my] Ramble?

2006-06-04T21:56:00.000-05:00

Online gaming, for my expected audience here, is probably not a terribly new concept. An acne-faced 13-year-old brat somewhere in New Jersey schooling an acne-faced 13-year-old somewhere in Washington state in a first-person shooter and consequently talking trash is no longer a novelty for most. The world of massively multiplayer online games [MMOG's]--what I aim to discuss in this post--are only slightly newer and might be a bit more alien.

Wikipedia proclaimeth:

A Massively Multiplayer Online Game (MMOG or MMO) is a computer
game which is capable of supporting hundreds or thousands of players
simultaneously, and is played on the Internet. Typically, this type
of game is played in a giant persistent world.

MMOs enable players to compete with and against each other on a grand
scale, and sometimes to interact meaningfully with people around the world. The
friendships made on MMOs are sometimes as real as those in the real world, and
generate a large amount of online 'social capital'. However, most MMOs require
players to invest large amounts of their time into the game (drawing one away
from the real world), and are most suitable for the more serious gamer. Still,
almost anyone who enjoys video games or human interaction can enjoy an
MMOG.

The most popular/notorious genre of the MMOG would be the role-playing stripe [MMORPG]. These are the ones from which you hear the horror stories of people racking up years of actual time logged into the game (sometimes unto the death of themselves or even worse). Furthermore, this is the genre that has given birth to a new kind of sweatshop that has its minions playing these games "farming" an MMORPG's currency or items of value to be sold for real money. And, let us not forget the stories of murder (you know... real murder).

These facts are terrible things. We should be aware of them, as the MMORPG genre is gaining a tremendous amount of momentum (World of Warcraft alone currently has more than six million active subscriptions).

But, my point is not to make this some call to a twisted, fundy boycott. As long as I understand the Bible to take a "use-but-do-not-abuse" stance on alcohol (with an untold number of 'active subscribers' worldwide for centuries and centuies and being the culprit for some pretty ugly goings-on), I would find it hard to condemn the game rather than the abuser.

Bare with me a while longer, as I have yet to reach the reason why I am posting--although, you must confess that the journey thus far has been worthwhile, no?

In order to continue my post, I now have to admit to having participated in an MMORPG--World of Warcraft. I had held off for many a year, despite my fascination with the potential of the genre. One of my employees gave me a week-long free pass, and I was hooked. I quickly purchased the game and started logging the hours. About five months later, I quit altogether.

Here is why. I (as well as my wife) realized that my boredom with the game and my addiction (or soon-to-be addiction) were simultaneously increasing--strange but true. My boredom is to summed up by the fact that [a] there is no real narrative/story/plot in these MMORPGs, and [b] (consequently) you start hitting the existential wall very soon.

"Of course you are hitting the existential wall," some might say. "The world you are operating in doesn't really exist."

While that is true, I am speaking from an insider's perspective. My point is that, even granting this 'metasphere' with its own reality, it still feels pretty damn pointless. The lack of a larger purpose (in this case, a larger narrative in and with which to interact) causes all of those wonderfully scary verses for which Ecclesiastes is known to begin popping into my head.

Thus, all becomes selfish pursuit. You consider your character a career--something to be constantly buffing up for nothing more than to be able to buff up some more. This is where the addiction happens. The game becomes work.

The end in mind is hardly that of bettering the community. Redeeming, destroying, or advancing/introducing any kind of larger plot the metasphere is not something on the minds of most players. Basically, they are existing for the mere novelty of existing, waiting for the expansion pack in order to accrue more wares.

Unfornately similar to so much of what I tend to experience in real life. Please allow me to continue.

An MMORPG by the title of SecondLife [SL] has been around for a couple years. It is by no means a Tolkien-inspired RPG. SL is a contemporary metasphere... and that is it. You buy stuff. You chat with other folks. You might sell a good (such as property, housing, or skank-tacular clothes) or service. It is the ironic quintessence of materialism. There is no large purpose but to spend money. And, did I mention that these people are spending real money in this game? (the front page of the SL website keeps a running tally of the amount of money that is transacted in the SL world--it breaks $200,000 daily.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. But, wait... perhaps all is not so vain--at least not in such a democratized, homogeneous way.

Way back in the day when Where Are My Pants? (a band of which I was once a member), we had a slip-shod website. The guestbook entry form had a number of shallow, odd questions in order to invoke entertaining answers. We figured we could sprinkle a bit more humor to the form by juxtaposing a very though-provoking, deep question against all the silly, shallow questions. The question had to with the matter of no longer having great, extraordinary men in our societies. By 'great' and 'extraordinary', we did not only mean 'exceptionally beneficent' but also 'exceptionally evil'.

Then we allowed them a 25-character text box to answer the question--ROFL!!~!~`1

SL, despite that fact that it tends to brag on its "social pleasentries" [I say "blech"] and the possibility to generate revenue in the game [I say "blech"], teeters on being a truly brilliant social experiment or another sedated MMORPG. For this glinting of brilliance, one must seek out the alternative media of SL. Therein are stories of those who are trying to redeem their virtual world, stories of those trying to destroy their virtual world, stories of people taking advantage of people, and stories of ol-fashioned depravity set in a virtual world. SL residents have the ability to code, free from any constraints of SL developers, things into existence--be it a Pokemon poster or a functional nuclear warhead. It depends upon the talent of the resident. Residents are also able free to do just about anything they want as well. There are very few constraints.

While I certainly don't necessarily condone a number of actions covered in the above stories, it affirms the presence of substantial free will ['gasp'] enough to not only accomplish impressive feats but to introduce and advance story in the MMO environment. It also allows for the rise of the 'exceptional men' that are lacking in our societies.

When I was slightly more immature in my thinking, my response to reading Schaeffer (or someone like him) and his (their) perspective on the rotting foundation of our increasingly anthropocentric society was something along the lines of,"Hell! If they refuse the existence of the sovereignty of [the Christian] God, then tell them to stop camping out on Christianity's front lawn. Grant them their due anarchy, and, yet again, we shall see what people group rises from the ashes of Rome." As a young, single, collegiate man living in the very fortunate, present-day U.S. experiencing the "cage stage" of Calvinism, anarchy seems like something I could handle--especially if it resulted in an excellent illustration of how incredibly correct I was.

But, I don't so much desire anarchy nowadays. I have come to be at ease with merely knowing how incredibly correct I am. But, I can't help but want to see this fantasy play out in a virtual world. I'll be honest; the privilege to witnessing the nuances of a society spiral out of control excites me. Thus, I hope against hope, the developers of SL refrain from allowing the metasphere to become disturbingly homogeneous. Perhaps if I catch word that the SL environment is growing epically erratic, I shall join in and attempt spreading the gospel... by way of a holy crusade that crushes all the opposed. I will issue an invitation for companions for said crusade in my church's sunday morning announcements.

Give me back the Berlin wall,
Give me Stalin and Saint Paul,
Give me Christ,
or give me Hiroshima.
-Leonard Cohen, "The Future"

Missing Clint

2006-05-22T13:23:00.000-05:00

Summer Conference was wonderful. Florida for a week: great teaching, great fellowship, great beach (although I have to agree with others that I was quite sick of it after a few days, especially being sand blasted for hours on end due to the extreme winds and having sand stick to my skin . . . I abhor that). But it was a blessing to be there and I tried to block out the bad parts. Anyway, I missed Clint like I was missing part of my own consciousness. I missed sitting with him, eating with him, having his arm around me when I was cold, forcing him to smile at a joke when I already know that he thinks it is funny but he isn't really outwardly expressing it, smiling at him, having him to make fun of me and call me mean names. I missed having him to filter my thoughts, emotions and actions. In general, I rely on him a lot to help me digest things. Thank God for cell phones.

When I got back I wanted it to be all smiles and fun times. Sitting on the couch together for hours, eating icecream, laughing until our heads fell off. It simply wasn't the case. Clint had a terrible case of allergies when I got home. We popped two benadryl into his mouth and put him to bed while I washed the "I've been in the car for 17 hours" smell off of my body. The next day, there was church early in the morning and after church for about 2 hours we just had to deal with our sin. I confessed things to him, he confessed things to me. In general, it was not fun. But how wonderful it was. I am trying to learn to love all of Clint, not just the parts I want to be there. How can he be my best friend if he can't tell me things? How can I support him in every endeavor and be his helpmeet if I don't know what to help him with? How can he do the same for me? Quite simply, we cannot. So, heres to loving all of your spouse and your spouse loving all of you.

Somethingness

2006-05-19T09:33:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, I surfaced from my subterranean office to take a leisurely walk around campus and enjoy the weather. I really is a wonderful place to walk. This is something I should do much more often.

With the birds and their song being a presence impossible not to notice, I was moved to ponder Christ's teachings about the sparrows. I first thought about the instinctual fear birds have towards humans. I've never seen the movie (and this statement will remain intact for the remainder of my years), but I have existed in Disney's America long enough to have seen the clips of Snow White gracefully singing and walking about the forest as small songbirds flitted about on her appendages. I wondered if Adam and Eve had the "privilege" of being swarmed by birds. I would be all for it if the birds could/would do my bidding.

Then I started thinking about the sidewalk. I thought about how this very sidewalk fits into God's design. Although, I will fail to even begin to understand the multitude of purposes it is assigned to in the larger scheme of things.

On the whole, my scriptural ponderings, as you can see, were not exploding with profundity.

Much later that evening, I found myself at the Cox Convention Center in downtown OKC. It was late and I was packing up a metric buttload of audio-video gear belonging to the production company for which I do very scant, part-time work. That nite, I had the privelege of running camera for a high school graduation. There is not a terrible lot to say about the event.

So, I was transporting packed gear from one side of the arena to the company van on the other side. This little trek led me through the orchestration that was the setting up hundreds of chairs, performed by a number of the convention center's employees. It was an interesting group--A heavy-set, middle-aged man in overalls, a man that was probably much younger than what his grey-bearded, haggard face made him appear to be, and a tall, skinny woman who, upon looking at her, you would have a fairly good idea as to how her skeleton looks.

I will confess. Upon seeing such people in such occupations, I oft feel a sense of pity mixed with notions of existentialism. I wonder what it is that gets them out of bed--what it is for which they are living. I think of the Leonard Cohen lyric,"You're living for nothing now; I hope you are keeping some kind of record." It just seems like an alien existence, and I want to know what that looks like. It needs to be logged, so I can marvel at how they exist amidst the nothingness.

Fortunately, I caught myself that nite. Well, the Word--not I--caught me. The memory of my pondering on Christ's teachings of the sparrow while enjoying a beautiful day struck me. I was forced to realize that these people are not alone, and they are certainly not existing in a void. How arrogant it would be for me to think that I am the only sparrow. To think that I am of the few that believe enough to perceive beauty and meaning and worth in the things around me.

I was forced to realize that God cares for these people to the extent that he continues to give them breath and expose them to meaning and beauty and work and responsibility and family and friends. It is I, in my humanity--my creaturehood, that deny the Creator's meaningful blessings that surround these people. I steal away this meaning in order to "build up" my faith in Christ as the only means to experience these forementioned good things. In my twisted way of thinking, this is an evangelical tool (on which I, in my cowardice, never act upon--which might be a good thing), as I can intellectually slam these peoples' lives as utterly empty existence. Plus, it is easier to write someone off as hopeless when you perceive they exist in another world in which there is no meaning.

But, my way of thinking is just not true. The truth of the matter is that I live in the same world they do. I exist on the same plane. Believers certainly have the gift of the Spirit, the Word, and the fear of God that grants them access to special revelation. This does not consequently mean that the unbeliever has nothingness. Even if they choose to think they have nothingess, why should I join in and help "suppress the truth" with and for them.

I manage to deny God's general revelation and mentally alienate people a lot. Furthermore, I assume unbelief a lot. I fail to understand the Gospel and all the blessings by which I am continually surrounded. Thus, I fail to understand the people by whom I am continually surrounded. I can relate to God, because he became a man. And, yet I refuse to believe I can relate to other men?

Having only thought about these things amidst the noise of working, I felt pretty crappy when I prayed before going to bed that nite. I finally really repented. I was thankful for the Word and the work of the Spirit. And, overall, I was assured by having severely felt my need for Christ that day.

Fred Rule [Clint's People Series]

2006-05-16T08:43:00.000-05:00

Fred Rule

My second person in the series is closely related to the first. Fred Rule is the older brother of my father, Jim Rule. Whereas my father was known as 'the miniature quarterback' in central Kansas, small-town, high school football, Fred was known as the hulking linebacker that split his own helmet apart from striking an opposing player.

He has a voice to match, deep and gruff. The man speaks in meters of good ol' fashioned curse words and strangely-affectionate racial slurs. It's a voice that can make small children stumble and fall and question if they have done anything against the will of Fred in the past year. In his presence, my brother and I have cleaned our plates unto misery for fear of a rebuke for being wasteful.

He lives with his wife, Marlene (an ex-barrel racer from Montana or Wyoming--I can't remember which--that has a son who is a tip-of-the-top rodeo clown), a couple miles north of Elk City. They have a number of horses on their land. Fred is a veterinarian. About two years ago, he extracted a wicked cow disease (not 'mad cow'), because he put a knife--the knife with which he was carving open a cow to operate--in his mouth. He almost died.

He is notorious for hurting and consequently operating on himself. If I am not mistaken, he actually stitched up the back of his head on one occasion. He is also known to 'prescribe' animal medicine to those near and dear. I have had the good pleasure of receiving such aid. He has frequented rodeos--oft times as an official rodeo veterinarian--for a very long time. Many years back, he was approached at such a venue by a representative of Marlboro. He was considered a possible candidate to be the next Marlboro man. Supposedly, he was disqualified, because they thought his nose was too large.

You get the picture. Now, on with the story.

About two years ago when my wife and I were merely dating, she asked me if I had an uncle named Fred. I told her I did and asked as to why she asked. To our pleasant surprise, Fred had recently scheduled an appointment with my wife's father--an endodontist (specialized dentist of sorts)--on account of some tooth issue that would require the surgical know-how of an endodontist. I thought that the situation would be another way for me to relate to and conversate with Nicole's father.

A number of months passed, and I found out that Fred had cancelled his appointment. But what of the searing oral pain? Apparently, Fred had solved the problem himself with his veterinarian knowledge and a Dremel tool. A lasting impression of my bloodline for the soon-to-be in-laws.

Hot Dog on a Stick

2006-05-15T16:12:00.000-05:00

Blame it on the summer lull here in the library, but my web surfing delivered me to the far corners of the internet today. I don't at all remember how I got there, but I did--the official Hot Dog on a Stick website.

The site is what you would expect from the food vendor that has made its employees don the same, ridiculous, multi-colored, awkward, unappetizing, circusian outfits year after year. Cheap with a senseless color scheme.

HDOAS Employee looking for a reason not to stick her head in the deep fryer.

Hot Dog on a Stick is apparently celebrating 60 years of battered excellence this year. And, to celebrate, they are hosting a contest on their website. All one has to do is submit their favorite hot dog story.

The prize, my friends? ...Heaven. That's right--a year's supply of free food straight from the gaping, motherly maw of HDOAS.

So, I reached deep in my overflowing bag of hot dog history, memorabilia, and general fondness. Ladies and gents, my submission...

The subject of Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog is a
controversial issue. The constantly changing fashionable take on Oral Robert's
five-hundred-foot hot dog demonstrates the depth of the subject. Remarkably Oral
Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog is heralded by shopkeepers and investment
bankers alike, leading many to state that it is yet to receive proper
recognition for laying the foundations of democracy. It still has the power to
shock so called 'babies', who just don't like that sort of thing. Keeping all of
this in mind, let's examine the major issues.
Of paramount importance to any reflection on Oral Robert's
five-hundred-foot hot dog within its context, is understanding the ideals of
society. Society says that every man must find their own truth. While one sees
Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog, another may see monkeys playing
tennis.
Politics, we all agree, is a fact of life. Comparing international
relations since the end of the century can be like observing the two, equally
popular approaches to Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog. If the reader is
unaware of these, they need only to turn on the television, or pick up a
newspaper or popular magazine.
Let us consider the words of that silver tongued orator, one of
the great political analysts Aaron Rock 'A man must have his cake and eat it in
order to justify his actions.' Primarily, he is referring to Oral Robert's
five-hundred-foot hot dog. It is a well known 'secret' that what prompted many
politicians to first strive for power was Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot
dog.
I wait anxiously. What will the next few years bring for Oral
Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog?
In conclusion, Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog may not be
the best thing since sliced bread, but it's still important. It replenishes the
self, ensures financial stability, though Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot
dog brings with it obvious difficulties, it is truly Oral Robert's
five-hundred-foot hot dog.
I shall give the final word to star Elvis Beckham: 'My Daddy loved
Oral Robert's five-hundred-foot hot dog and his Daddy loved Oral Robert's
five-hundred-foot hot dog.'

James Hunt Rule [Clint's People Series]

2006-05-14T15:01:00.000-05:00

Over the past four years and especially having recently entered into the matrimonious realm, I have been giv'n and, thusly, grown increasingly aware of the privilege of relating to my parents as fellow adults. They, of course, are still due my respect, as I am still their son. Fortunately, my growing older and experiencing more and more makes it easier to find respect and admiration for my parents.

It is also interesting discovering how similar I am to my parents. It is probably the case with most men and their fathers, but I do feel that I can identify more and more with my father. On the whole, I enjoy the notion. But, I digress. My point is to say that I have really enjoyed better understanding my dad as of late. And that is why I have chosen him to be the first in the series I am calling Clint's People. (plus, he saved my life within the first couple days of my birth)

James "Jim" Hunt Rule

He grew up in a small town in central kansas. He flew KC-135's for our country during Vietnam. He worked for American Airlines until recently retiring. With the help of a full-time housewife, he raised up three childrens that are yet to really shame his name. He now spends his days taking care of and improving his house, helping his children move, browsing Wall's Bargain Center, jogging only in the mid-day heat, and committing all kinds of time to helping out his church, the Elk City First United Methodist Church.

Truly, truly, I am realizing this to be a portrait of what I believe to be success. The following story does nothing for me but deepen my belief in this idea of success.

During my senior year in high school, I convinced my father that we should purchase a Volkswagen Westfalia (or 'westy') for my collegiate transportation. Both of us having a weakspot for older Volkswagens and bargain hunting, soon landed one on eBay. We, with discounted rates on account of my father's job, flew down to Houston, made the transaction, and began driving the van back to Oklahoma.

It was a nightmare. It broke down a couple of times. It took days. Not even two years later, we sold the westy. On the whole, it was a good riddance.

And so they say, "You can't keep a good dog down."

Lo and behold, I received a very interesting story in my inbox this past week.

[The following is extracted directly from an email written by my mother]

Dad has been searching the internet for a VW Thing since he sent
the bug to Norman. found one on Thursday, left yesterday morning at 3:00
a.m. and flew to Palm Springs, California and bought a yellow one.
It's well over a thousand miles, it was 101 degrees when he started home. drove
thru the dessert at 45 mph, to keep it from overheating. no AC, it
has a hard top but the windows are out of it so he wears earplugs because
traffic is roaring past him on the interstate. he would stop at places
with shade and put the hood up and take a break and call, because he can't hear
the phone while he's driving. one stop, for a cooler, ice and pop, ]was at
a combination gas station antique store.
At one point he called to say he thought he'd head up north to flagstaff for some elevation and cooler air, but later said he'd decided to stay on course for phoenix since he didn't even have a flashlight or any tools if he had car trouble on the less traveled route at night.

He called me at one point to tell me he was driving by giant seguaro cacti in the moonlight in a perfect temperature, the full moon illuminating everything. says the dessert is only worth anythinkg by night. daytime there is nothing to hide the trash. he was having quite the experience.

He's been needing an adventure but it's too bad it is by himself.
The Thing needs a little body work. I kept asking him why all the many picutres the guy sent never had a photo of the left side, only the one left fender that had a "minor' glitch from where a tire fell off.

He's says "they're bonding" on this trip. he also said he thought he could get the 'minor' bodywork done for cheap in elk city and list it on ebay and make a thousand dollars. i said 'let's do."

Maybe he has finally something that will make him ebay savvy and have a new hobby of selling, not buying.

"Most excellent," I say. "Most excellent"

Introducing Clint's People

2006-05-10T13:38:00.000-05:00

Most would never suppose it from my demeanor, but I actually do enjoy people. Just think of all the things for which I have people to thank: roads, amusing videos, cities, internets, pogs, a number lakes, Razor Gator, books, the late Nickelodeon Studios, freeze tag, Hardee's, the printing press, NASCAR. I could go on, but I think my point is established. People are worth my while.

That is why I have decided to start a sub-series on the blog devoted to people. The series, Clint's People, will feature one (or maybe a couple) person(s) at a time. A short description of the person will be given followed by a story involving the person. Expect heart-warming brilliance.

Will you be the first Clint's Person?

On Working and Not Saying No

2006-05-05T15:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel used at work. I must add a disclaimore right off the bat that I am afraid to publish this post for fear that it will be a whining, bashing session. This is not at all what I intend. The people that I work with and for are wonderful. My immediate supervisor is especially considerate of me when I arrive late, get sick, take time off for school and frankly when I'm just not working as hard as he knows I could. That being said, I will continue my post as a discussion of the work force in general, illustrated through my specific experience.

For those of you who don't know, I received an internship at the beginning of this semester at The Brett Weston Archive in Oklahoma City. I receive 6 hours of credit and I also get paid by the hour to show up for 20 hours a week. Not a bad deal, some might say, and that would be correct. Although the long drive (when I said Oklahoma City, I meant north Oklahoma City . . . almost Edmond); the freezing cold, windowless enviornment (they have to keep it cold and dark to help preserve the photographs); and the fact that according to the University I only have to work for 12 hours a week to receive 6 hours of credit (but they won't hire people who can only work 12 hours a week) are all factors that I don't enjoy.

I think it is the work relationship that I really abhor. Especially, boss to employee. Perhaps, some might say, that is just because I'm the employee. There could be some truth to that I have no doubt. But I would, however, submit that the problem still runs deeper than this. Simply, they are not looking after my general welfare and I am not looking after theirs. They are looking to get as much time and work out of me as they can, especially that I am now well-trained for the position and that simply doesn't serve me as a whole person. I am looking to get the hours and the pay that I want without having any more than the minimum demanded of me. They don't ask me like my husband or Doug or Julie or Della or countless others in the community: Are you getting enough sleep? Is this where you want to be? Do you need more time for relaxation, friendships, or simply for sanity? No, they simply say: "It would be great if you could work more hours this summer" and somehow along the way I find myself saying yes even though everything inside of me is saying no.

Perhaps it is, in part, the situation I don't like. It seems, if you haven't graduated or if you have just graduated you should be willing to do anything/sacrifice anything for "a good opportunity" and "a great thing to put on your resume". And I'm just a little tired of it. But how could it be any different because they are right. And I know I have to put in my time. It is a good opportunity, a great thing to put on my resume and a nice pay check in my pocket. But I do wish that our relationship could be more comprehensive. More true communication. Not buddy-buddy. Not parent-child. Not spouse-spouse. Maybe the problem is that I don't know what to expect from the corporate work force. Or maybe the problem is I just don't know how to say no (and this could very well be the entire problem).

So... my question. Have any of you who are almost graduated or just graduated experienced a similar situation? And what about you more experienced folks, do I just need to suck it up and snap into the real world? And what about saying no? Again, a cry for help.

And for a quick update. I have finished Out of the Silent Planet and I'm on to Perelandra because it was next, it was there and it was recommended. Thanks for the encouragement.

Bid Day

2006-04-29T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today was the University of Oklahoma Property Control Surplus Auction (aka 'the awesomeness'). Brother Doug and I spent a number of hours basking in the glory of all the crap. It was all there--photocopiers to couches to servers to spectrophotoscopes to barbecue to sailboats to those little vehicles campus mail people drive around. It was intense.

There is a gene in my body that makes me enjoy good deals. I don't necessarily have to be acting on these bargains--just to bask in and admire them is enough. My father is like this as well. He is retired and spends a considerable amount of time in Elk City's local Wall's Bargain Center [Wall's is a nation-wide outfit the buys goods from other stores before they ever reach their shelves for various reasons (smoke-damage, water-damage, design malfunction, shipping truck wreck, surplus, etc.) and re-sells them at low, low prices], and I envy him for this. My wife pin-pointed this trait in me recently. I really can't explain its existence. Perhaps it is some hunter-gatherer leftover trying to express itself in the consumer age.

Anyhow, I snapped a couple of pictures of auction happenings before some authority figure informed me that I was not allowed to do so. I have since researched the topic of rights and photography. It appears that I may have been in the clear since the auction was public. I may have experienced coercion. Neat.

I will share my controversial pictures. Reel in awe at the subject matter that is apparently so sensitive that I am not supposed to release it to the public.

Master of the proceedings. A true salesman. Before opening bids on the item ImageMaker 2000 [a piece of broadcast equipment that is often responsible for the graphics that display the names of interviewers and interviewees in your local newscasts], he--excercising the brilliant sales tactic of verbal minimalism--announced "you can make images on it." Also, one of his offspring tattled on my taking pictures of the event.

Just like my degree, this mixer was rendered obsolete by OU's new J-school. I believe it is a Yamaha. I used it to record the beginnings of an OURUF album that has been on hold for over two years.

They sold these monitors by the pallet. I gazed upon these and thought,"Yeh... Perhaps I should." But, then I remembered the harsh nature of reality.

Look! Arts!

Look! Spectrophotometer!

Good riddance, OU. Buyer, beware.

I walked away with a nice office chair, a Technics SL-1200mkII turntable, and a flash reflector thingy for Nicole's photographic portaiture endeavors. Doug walked away with a nice office chair and two nice desks sized for his ankle-biters. An enjoyable time was had.

A Russ-Shaped Hole

2006-04-29T10:51:00.000-05:00

It was nice to have it filled even for a short while.

Out of the Illiterate Planet

2006-04-27T20:11:00.000-05:00

Reading. Everyone knows reading is good. On and on people will go about how much they love to read. Frankly, reading can be tedious. It can be boring. It can remind you of how much you haven't read and thus depress you and make you not want to read. Sometimes I find I have been reading for minutes and I will have no idea what I've just read.

But I am on a 3 step plan to start reading more. Really. Why? Not because someone said read this or that. Not because of some deep heart felt conviction about bettering myself for the sake of my family. No, Simply because we don't have TV and I have watched just about every episode of Seinfeld, Family Guy and Arrested Development that I can watch for awhile (except when I watch them with Clint... then I could watch them all again because his presence is just that intoxicating. It is true). Anyway, Reading is a last resort.

Step one: pick a short, light-hearted fiction book that someone I know has read and says it is good. (Done - "Out of the Silent Planet" by C.S. Lewis recommended by none other than Clint.) Step two (this one is a doozy): actually read it. Step 3: pick another book, not too much longer than the first (which rules out a lot of books) that someone I know has read and says it is good.

This is my request and plea for good books. Good books that are not tedious, boring or just plain stupid. Preferrably fiction, or of a narrative nature. We're talking about reading for pleasure here, not for education.

Think about it and post. My reading future depends on good recommendations. Help.

The Dreams Of Which Stuff Was Made

2006-04-26T12:56:00.000-05:00

For the most part, I have--in general--enjoyed the experience of moving. I lived in the same house for the first nineteen years of my life. Thus, I have no lingering negativity that perhaps comes from being moved away from friends. Rather, I have excitement about experiencing something new. The promise of new ways to organize all my belongings and opportunities to revamp my computer setup. Furthermore, I have found that an abode never really manages to be as clean, organized, and/or tidy as the first couple weeks of my existing therein.

However, there has been a inner-nagging that grows with each move I have made over the past four or five years. It all started with comments from the likes of Brother Brian Hewes on the my having a lot of stuff in my dorm room. I shrugged off Brother Hewes' comments on account of his being a self-proclaimed minimalist. Yeh, yeh... I'm an American... We all have so much stuff... blah, blah, blah... But, my other friends (a group comprised almost completely of Americans) have come to make comments about how much stuff I lug around.

Upon our recent move, I have felt the pang of conviction in this regard. So, I have forced myself to rid myself of a lot of this stuff. Books, furniture, monitors, VHS tapes, computers, luggage, and much, much more. It's been a liquidation event. I have even rid myself of my cherished ukulele and new-wave, red synth ("Could it be worn like a guitar?" More appropriately--"Could it not be worn like a guitar?"). I want to get rid of more, but--the fact of the matter remains--I got a lot of really useful crap.

Anybody have any hard-and-fast rules when it comes to getting rid of their stuff? (please don't waste your and my time if your rules are neither hard nor fast)

The Temptation of Friendship as an End

2006-04-10T11:31:00.000-05:00

The wedding of good brother Matt Howell to our enchanting sister Kathryn Drinkard happened this weekend. Happen, it did. I am henceforth encouraging all my bachelor friends to marry southern women. Apparently, they know how to get their wed on.

Even in the midst of epic accomodations and a legendary reception, the high point was being in the midst of so many friends that have been spread across the nation over recent years. I always get excited about such gatherings for the reason of reuniting with such friends, but this notion managed to land a distinctive blow this time around. I imagine this is on account of the periods between seeing such friends (especially simultaneously) are growing exponentially.

Friendship was as a strong fragrance over the weekend. It was all around, and all around was, thusly, near dream-like. To see these faces in a shared context has, unfortunately, been growing so unnatural.

I imagine it is such instances of rare frienship and brotherhood that give way to fraternal orders (and their subsequent demise as latter generations join under a banner unto them which is likely hollow and impersonal). I would gladly (although erroneously) establish a commune with these men. I would be happy to return to a dormitory-style living situation as long as these men lived in my room and on my hall. There is no insufficiency I could imagine in such a situation.

But, this is undoubtedly where I begin to err. I am something of a loner, socially-speaking. It then speaks volumes of the friendships (and/or my selfish nature) I've been given that I could turn them into idols. I oft rebel against the notion of the actual, sanctificial stepping-stone nature of friendships. I want friendship to be an end in and of itself.

Much like marriage, friendship can be such a difficult means to understand. I will live with my wife for many years, and my friendship with these men will persist as well. My wife and I will carry each other through mile marker after mile marker of sanctificial passages just as my Christian brothers have done and will do much the same. But, it is Christ that has known us long before the pillars of the earth were established and it is Christ that is truly carrying us. Consequently, Christ is who we are called to love first and foremost. But, I want to love my wife, and I want to love my friends--these things which I can hug and can hear laugh and see grow.

I want to harden the transient and put it in my pocket. I want to tell God to take his curse and Great Commission elsewhere and to leave my friends alone. Stop committing me and these men to obligations and responsibilities and desires that send us so far away and steal away our time together.

But, this is that all-too-cliche' idolatry. This is that nasty love of the creation over the creator.

Fortunately, God is merciful and grants us life-giving paradoxes. For if I cling to the glints of life that I see in my friends, I will surely extinguish them. But if I cling to the Father Almighty, the life-bringer from which creation finds its ability to glint in the first place, I will surely find what for I am truly looking and so much so that I may overflow unto my brothers. If I put my brothers behind Christ, I will be putting them on the best pedestal.

How can friendship grow with no understanding toward the ultimate personification of friendship?

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If
you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my
Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy
may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each
other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down
his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no
longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business.
Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father
I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed
you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you
whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other. [John 15:9-17]

From the vine that connects the brotherhood, Christ provided the wine of the Spirit at Matt's wedding. I am thankful.

----///----

My apologies to all my friends not pictured. Above are merely the fortunate few that were able to be at the wedding.

The Trinity of Amenities

2006-03-31T15:58:00.000-06:00

The joys of living in Parkview have been vast (see previous post). We have learned much about each other whilst living here. We have learned how to interact with one another better. I haven't thrown any pillows in awhile and Clint hasn't refused to talk to me in the midst of an argument in awhile. One may be wondering, "How does this relate to amenities?"

I will tell you.

The Lord saw fit that our first home would not be outfitted with several of the modern amenities many of us have become so used to. We have gone without a dishwasher, washer and dryer for the past nine months; the "trinity of amenities" if you will. We are both looking forward to gaining these devices in our new apartment; however, I am sure our Sovereign Father knew what he was doing for us whilst we lived without them.

I had to learn that I could not do everything by myself. Biblical submission does not equal never asking for help from your husband. I learned that doing the dishes out of anger to get back at Clint for not doing them was niether glorifying, nor satisfying. Plus, Clint always found out my ulterior motives in the end anyway. I have been so thankful to learn not only how to ask my husband for help, but how to ask friends for help. Blessings have been poured out on us as we experienced the love of Christ through his body as the women at The Bird's Nest offered up their washer and dryer to us time and time again. We have learned that even if parents say they will not do your laundry anymore, there is just something that draws them to help when you come to their house with six or seven metric buttloads of laundry. Thank God for loving parents. I am so excited about our new amenities, but I will always look back on these first months of marriage fondly as I remember how much we learned by going without.

Dislocation

2006-03-28T19:31:00.000-06:00

It is official as of about two weeks ago. The University of Oklahoma is shutting down the Parkview Apartments complex and, thusly, giving us the cordial boot. This means we will have lived in our first shared home for a mere eight months before they rip her to shreds. The university claims the military-base, pill-box buildings are much too old and have outgrown their use. Considering the number of new apartment complexes the university has thrown together and is throwing together as of late, I believe the issue is rather that they have discovered how much money they could be raking in from upscale apartments.

Unfortunately, this trend (hinted at by the destruction of Yorkshire and confirmed by the upcoming destruction of Parkview) is leaving students with fewer low-cost living accommodations. There is a substantial amount of foreign families living amongst us here at Parkview. Yorkshire was synonymous with foreign student housing. These people are running out of friendly (financially and socially) abodes. It appears that as universities grow to function more and more as big businesses, they tend to function more and more as big businesses.

And, of course, the cockroaches... Who will lend a compassionate ear to the plight of the soon-to-be homeless cockroaches?

Nonetheless, we figured we should pay homage to our first home and give the new blog some fodder at the same time. It saw us laugh and cry. It witnessed me graduating from college. It has seen Nicole undertake and make bold strides in the hobbies of cooking and sewing. Its smoke alarm would trigger when we would use the oven, but it reminded us of the safety it provided. It allowed us to smell the rankest of odors from the fish sauce used in our Asian neighbors' food, and it allowed us to hear our other neighbors' bedroom activities. It granted us [an all-bills-paid] grace to crank up the air conditioning and leave it running in manners that would drive most fathers out of their minds. Above all, it gave us T-1 internet access.

Geocaching in Southwest Oklahoma

2006-03-17T23:04:00.000-06:00

I'll be honest. There will never come an instance in my life when someone will refer to me as an outdoorsy type. When I grow a beard, it never reaches the point of 'woodsman' or 'lumberjack' but rather lingers around 'coffeehouse yuppie' or 'binge videogamer'. The point in every man's life in which his son first sees his father's frailty and imperfection will come swift to me upon any of my paternal advances into the wilderness. Furthermore, in my life, there have been many, many things that would have killed me had I been born a mere century earlier--some threats, a mere quarter century earlier--void of many technological advances for which I have the interior of buildings to thank. Even if I were as 'skeptical' and secular as individuals came, I would find it hard to support evolutionary theory without the overwhelming notion that I am advocating that which should rightly destroy me for the 'better good', on account of my persistent failure in dealing with what the world throws at me.

Simply put, I should be dead by now had it not been for forces outside of myself.

Nonetheless, my wife and I made it a point to spend sometime with the great outdoors over the break and put ourselves in opportunities to rely on such outside forces in more apparent manners. Our destination (although half-day trips don't have destinations so much as turn-around points) was the Quartz and Wichita Mountains in southwest Oklahoma. Our goal was to do some hiking intersperersed with some general looking about. Is this not the point of hiking--to find a good spot from which to look at stuff?

Fortunately, brother Jake Spencer not but a few days before the trip mentioned to me a hobby with which he had recently aquainted himself. The name of the game is geocaching. Basically, a person [let's say a 50-some-year-old man from Woodward who works in a portable office building for an drilling company] prepares a 'cache' which is typically a container [recommendedly waterproof] that contains a finders' log and, if size allows, some various trinkets [plastic toys, Desert Storm buttons, hot wheels, etc.]. On a weekend while the wife is working the long nursing shift at the assisted living center, this man will take said cache and a global position system [GPS] unit out somewhere [anywhere], and he will then hide the cache and make note of the coordinates of his hidden cache on his GPS unit. He will then submit the coordinates and perhaps a riddle/hint as to the whereabouts of his hide to the official geocaching website.

Then, dozens upon dozens of other 50-some-year-old men descend upon the posted coordinates and make it a priority to find this cache in the near future. When found, the finder will log their find on the finders' log and is welcome to take a trinket from the cache as long as he replaces it with another trinket. There are, of course, many other nuances of the 'sport', but this captures the essence of geocaching.

The idea sounded brilliant (despite my lack of an oil field job and my relatively green age). Geocaching could provide a more solid objective to hiking beyond finding a place from which to look at stuff. So, I borrowed a GPS unit from brother Luke Loeffler and had brother Jake take me on an inaugural geocache hunt right here in our very own Norman. We couldn't reach the first cache on account of being freaked out by a homeless guy in the woods. The second cache we sought after just could not be found despite brother Jake's finding it weeks before.

I did not let this get me down.

Nicole and I spent the night in Elk City to visit my parents. It was nice. We played Settlers of Catan with my parents.

We set out for the southwest Oklahoma the next morning. It was threatening rain and fairly cold. We found some caches in Granite [pop. 1,844] nonetheless. One cache we found was behind an enormous granite mosaic monument to 'Giants of the Plains' [see photo]. It appears it was originally intended to be a series of such monuments, but I assume they stopped after one. Will Rogers alone will have to suffice until the bustling town can produce enough interest for, say, a Wiley Post or Taylor Hanson monument.

We continued on to Baldy Point, a 'mountain' in the Quartz Mountain 'range'. There were three cashes to be found. By this point, a respectable rain had started. The purpose of finding places to look at stuff from would have been crushed by such rain. But, one must realize, we had an objective--waterproof containers of piddly trinkets--to be had by way of a cool gadget [GPS unit]. Not going about our duty was not an option.

Fortunately, it stopped raining after we found the first cache--a third of the way up the 'mountain.' We made it to the top thanks to the convenient trail and found the second cache. It was large enough for me to fit a Where Are My Pants? CD in it. Nicole and I chuckled.

Now... what happened after that point is a debated issue. Some would say that the course I chose would make affirm at least some percentage of me as an outdoorsman. Others would say it proves the opposite.

The top of Baldy Point is neither peak nor plateau but something betwixt the two. This betwixtness stretches for about an eighth of a mile. However, I did not know this. For all I knew, it could stretch for a quarter of a mile. Lo and behold, the GPS unit revealed that the next cache was less than a quarter mile away.

The faces of Baldy span from sheer (actually used for rapelling and rock climbing) to gradual enough for Nicole and I ascend with minor effort. After hopping over rocks and cacti, we made it to the other side of Baldy. This side was deceptive. It was somewhere between sheer and gradual. The GPS was pointing down that side of that mountain while Nicole and common reasoning were pointing back down the side from which we came. But, we had come too far (.16 miles) to go back to the other side of the mountain. I insisted we would be fine.

So, down we went. Sliding on and crab-crawling over the rough but slick granite boulders. About a quarter of the way down, the heavens opened up. In no time, a stream appeared flowing down our 'path(s)' over whatever extremeties we were using to grasp the 'mountain'-side. Nicole's shoe came off at one point, stuck between two bolders. After an hour of soaking descent, we reached the bottom.

To both our pleasure (in that we weren't to be lost) and displeasure (in that we could have made it to this point by substantially easier, drier, and probably quicker means), there was a trail near where we ended up. After getting our bearings, the GPS unit was pointing me about twenty feet back up the 'mountain'. I looked up at where I imagined the plastic container to be hidden. I looked back to a soggy, unhappy Nicole. She shook her head. I shook my fist at the 'mountain'. We departed.

Later, we ate a burger and some barbeque in a ghost town called Meers. Apparently, some mining outfit in Colorado had a surplus of equipment, so they sent it down to the Wichita Mountians, dug out a mine, and sprinkled it with gold nuggets from Colorado--thus, rendering a gold rush. Meers was established in a flash and disappeared just as quickly. All that remains is the restaurant. Inside the resaurant is one of the most sensitive seismographs in the country, installed by the Oklahoma Geological Society. I paid with a check. The cashier had me make it out to 'Meers'.

God bless southwest Oklahoma.