Vacation Bible Brainwashing

First, I want to ask anyone who has the talent to contact me about putting eight or so songs I have onto sheet music. I would like to have them sung at church and other like events.

Second, I talk today on a short topic that many parents will find angering.  I speak out against the brainwashing corruption that is Vacation Bible School. Through the use persistent repetition of the same phrases over and over again, I feel that the children of good-willed parents are being brainwashed to believe in Christianity. Ever since I was in third grade, I tried to botch this program, and was expelled every year for my conspiracy.

Even then I did not sway form my goal; every year since the fifth grade graduation of the institution, I infiltrated the ranks of the compulsors, to attempt to master their ways to better know how to take it down.

I realized the mask of the program was simple: to give parents one week without children. Forget the thing about God and such; that was the bonus of the daycare. The parents just thought it was innocent and pure; I knew different.

Honestly, I am not alone in this conspiracy. This year, as lead speaker for VBS, I related hackneyed expressions from the bible to hackneyed expressions in the culinary industry. Sick clichés mixed with the most banal bible verses to create a monstrosity of a soup. Of course, the only type of chef capable of such evils is Italian.

So, one more day I will subject myself to the position of “brainwasher”. The clichés and terrible songs will continue, a mix of terrible dance style mixed with sign language coming together, making anyone who partakes in the activity feel brought to shame. The arts and crafts, mixed with a lead who’s just too happy to be sane, may kill me.

If I post something in the next week, you’ll know I made it. 

Pastors and Reassignment

Today, Wesley Chapel and Christ United Methodist Churches lost their pastors. They didn’t die, or quit the religion, no. They were called to other churches. In the United Methodist tradition, pastors are seen as invited members of the church, and they sometimes get transferred. This is by a process known as the Methodist Trail of Tears. The congregation and the pastor stand at the altar, and, when they are ready, they release the floodgates in their eyes and the resulting tsunami launches said pastor to his next congregation. The congregations need only about a year to build up enough tears, but Christ UMC’s pastor had three. Rest assured Reverend Keith Lawder had no shortage of gifts to float on when the dams broke.

Reverend Bocian, as of sixty-five minutes ago ex-pastor of WCUMC, chose to go out happily, though I wasn’t there for his last service; I was too busy wearing an apron at my own church. I feel awful for saying so little, but I only went to WC’s services for about two months, and I hadn’t built an attachment.

Keith Lawder, though, impressed me every service with the depth and humor of his sermons. He has a story for every day of the year, and more besides, and he used them masterfully to paint wonderful examples of the written word in our minds. I could spend many feverish letter-types to talk about all he’s done, but I would rather not, and leave the mind to conjure an image of the man. Just a hint: he can play the William Tell Overture with his teeth.

At the end of the service today, we did the customary tradition of preparing the charges to blow the dam. We all got around Rev. Lawder, and, after the pleasantries, the unpleasantries, and the send-offs, the dams started breaking. I myself was mentally scrolling through my playlist of memories, and two or three would repeat, so I focused on those.

Reverend Keith in the confirmation class, talking about how he loved teaching this. I could tell he wanted to be asleep, though he would tell you he wouldn’t.

Reverend Keith stating how we would always be in his heart. He told us this the month before he told us that he was told he was to be reassigned to another church a month ago, but couldn’t tell anyone. At the time, I wryly thought, “yeah, but how many churches have you told that to, and forgot?”

Reverend Keith, falling in the frigid dunk tank at our fall festival. He wore his wetsuit inside out.

As the film of this last memory tapered off, and the credits began to roll, the skies clearly let loose on the congregation. Then I detonated the charges, and buried my face in the man’s chest. After clearing drenching his nice coat in my tears, I stumbled out of the church, into my car, and kept weeping. Though my mouth would not contort into a smile, I was weeping for him.

The great thing about being a Methodist is, after a while, if you live in the same area, you can come to a different church and inevitably meet friends who had followed one pastor to his new church, then decided to stay there. Furthermore, pastors have the most friends out of anybody I know. The weeping for the loss of a pastor is never seen as weakness, or looked down upon. In fact, if your levees don’t break in the hurricane, I personally feel you haven’t paid enough attention. Because, if you weep uncontrollably, you recognize the great man of God you have just lost, the priceless wisdom suddenly gone. Back when Reverend Chuck Savage (who in my eyes will never be equaled by another man) left our church, Reverend Keith knew that the congregation knew that nobody would ever be as great as he.

Honestly, even through these three years, I think Rev. Keith could’ve caught fire in mid-service, and yelled his message through the flames, and he still would not have equaled the passion exuded by Rev. Savage. Rev. Savage, though, could’ve caught fire in mid-service, and yelled his message through the flames, and he would not have equaled the passion exuded by Rev. Keith. Furthermore, if one were to compare pastors, one would miss the point of the Methodist reassignment. The point is that the congregation listens to the message, not the pastor. When congregations listen to the pastor, there is the legitimate and proven fear that said pastor may influence said congregation’s beliefs. I doubt though, that such events are the case for the majority of pastors.

Though I think too much on a heartfelt topic. May the road rise to meet you, and may the wind be at your back, Reverends. 

Model Rocketry

    Today I turn my eye on my favorite hobby, and one that I feel has a bad reputation. Decades of stereotypical destruction has diminished this valuable and wonderful hobby to one reserved for the estranged of society. It is a hobby of long waits and exciting minutes, a hobby of patient preparation and sound-fast ballistics. I speak of the hobby of Model Rocketry. In today’s world, this hobby has been pushed to the sidelines, the stereotype of a rocket being used more than the observation of the actual product to base judgments upon the hobby. Sadly, the truth cannot be more opposite. Though Model Rocketry is seen as a dangerous, lethal hobby based on the stereotype of the rocket, it is actually an intriguing, unique hobby that teaches values of community, consequence, and ballistics.

    Bombs bursting in air. Air raid sirens. People running from something so fast they can’t see it. Entire sections of forest in Vietnam disappearing in a haze of fire and pressure. These are still prevalent views in society when somebody says “rocket”. Let me paint a different picture.

    “The summer is already half burned away, a trail of bliss in its wake. The monthly launch is this Saturday, bring your friends. It’s over in Hoschton, only an hour out of town. It’ll be hot, and it’d be a good idea to bring waterproof boots. On the day of the launch, a row of cars parks toward a runoff creek, which drains into a river bordering the field. The smell of soil hits my nose as I leave the truck, and begin hammering stakes into the ground on the right, 15 feet away from control panel, two feet apart, in groups of four . I put four more stakes on the left side, then walk out another thirty feet, where I put eight more in the same manner. four larger setups are placed farthest away. Then, people attach the pads and  launch rods, blast deflectors, and wires. As this occurs, people catch up on how they were doing, laughing and making mistakes while laughing, then quickly fixing said mistakes. After everyone helps set up the myriad of wires, the event can begin. people sign the cards, and put them on the signboard. After a wish for luck, they slide their prize down the rod, hook it up to the igniters, and go back to the line. when all is ready, the first sweat beads would have been dancing down their faces, heralding the start of a hot summer day. As the first dozen rockets arc for the sky, the day continues to build. rocket after rocket goes to its altitude, a symphony of smoke and heat,  on an already beautifully hot day.”

    Okay, did anyone believe that? To be honest, it sounds romanticized, and, since I am advertising rocketry in this post, I might as well tell you it is. One day, we had to carry everything a quarter mile because the park rangers wouldn’t let us drive on the field. Did I mention the heat index was in the 90’s on this day? But I digress.

    Let me give you an example of the disjointed view of rocketry:

“My father went into my middle school principal’s office and asked if he could post up flyers for the rocket club. He explained the safety measures, the $2 million in liability coverage, etc. The principal was ecstatic, and said he’d pass it by the board. One day later, the principal called him into his office and said ‘The board said that what you’re proposing is way too dangerous, and could harm the children. If you were to propose a more family-oriented activity, I’d run it by them again’. At this time, an eighth grader walks by, her leg in a cast. My father asked her what she did to herself, and she replied, ‘Oh, it’s just a break from soccer practice. It’ll heal in a couple weeks’.”

    If you don’t see the irony in that statement, you can take your computer and give it to a river.

    The thing that keeps this hobby from progressing is its stereotype. When I say “rocket”, most people see the V2, or the Apollo program, or a smoke trail leading into a mushroom cloud. Any and all of these are correct assumptions, though I’d beg to append “lethal”, “large”, and “explosive” to the front of these examples. In my basement, my family has over twenty-five rockets, but of a much smaller scale, and of much less deadly intent. The rockets in the hobby of Model Rocketry are flown with much smaller motors, are made from wood, plastic, and varying strengths of fiberglass (NEVER metal), and are required to come down less than twenty-two feet per second. In order to accomplish this, we employ ejection of a parachute or streamer (a sliver of cloth or plastic). The motors are prepared professionally in a way that inhibits any malfunction, and there is a minimum radius from the rocket that must never be breached while the pad is live (such radius is formed by calculating how far a piece of shrapnel can fly from a rocket, then adding a large percent. It’s specific to each motor). Each rocket is screened by an experienced person in the hobby, and if said person does not see the rocket as fit for launch, he can point the applicant to someone to help him.

   If the rocket passes all of above said statements, it gets set onto the pad, the igniter is set up, and That Moment happens:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMRZP6HIg48

    Now, whereas rocketry is easily the most thrilling hobby I can think of, it also teaches consequence of improper preparation. this is the same rocket, but the launch happened much differently:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8qkUB5ueD0

    Rest in peace. As far as I know, the men who built that have rebuilt it completely since this video’s post. I will NOT miss its next flight. I do not believe I have seen it fly. At least, not successfully. I digress again...

   The rocket above was, if the motor was built commercially, worth at least a thousand dollars. My father had a stake in that rocket, and when it CATO’d (CATastrophic Overload (of the motor)), he lost upwards of a hundred dollars. In any size rocket, as in any hobby, you run the risk of it getting damaged. Rockets, though, just break more often. A broken fin when it lands, or, if ejection does not occur, the rocket breaks into a thousand pieces on impact with earth. My father always tells audiences that rocketry helps kids get unstuck from their computers and “Nintendoes”(thanks, dad); he also tells audiences that it teaches responsibility and consequences. “If you build it wrong, it won’t be allowed to fly. Sometimes, we let it fly and it still doesn’t fly right. Rocketry teaches people [consequences of their actions].”

   Time to end this. Model Rocketry has been obscure and ridiculed for too long. I can’t exactly say the stereotype is undeserved because, most likely, someone’s been killed by explosive missiles today, or at least this week. The distinction is made between the lethal and model varieties of rockets. The model rockets are, well, models of the actual thing. You don’t see model boats casting nets, or model submarines sinking model warships. It’s just a hobby, much like any Varsity sport. Also, Model Rocketry’s track record is much cleaner than any Varsity sport’s. Ever since its inception, nobody has died, or been severely injured by a model rocket malfunction, including said rocket coming in from altitude (or, Lawndarting), the motor exploding (a CATO), or anything else. (three people got severely injured, and none of them were following procedure: one man fell out of a tree, and two others got electrocuted recovering their rockets.) The hobby is growing fast in North Georgia, and I hope to see it grow much, much larger. In Southern Area Rocketry (SoAR, NAR # 571), the membership was less than thirty ten years ago. now it’s over 150. How much larger can it grow? I promise you, most schools in Georgia have never heard of Model Rocketry before. It’s one of those exceptions. I’d like to see that flip. More on this topic later. 

Religion and Not

A few days ago, the best army in the world finally put a bullet through Osama’s head. New York is still celebrating, and the West Pointers are in their highest euphoria in decades. Even with an unlimited budget, and an endless flood of religious fanatics, one man cannot hide in this world. It took seven or eight years, but a great feat’s been accomplished.

Springboarding off of that topic, I turn an eye of introspection upon religion’s place in today’s world. Today, people find religion to be overrated. Atheism, in any form, is the fastest growing worldview in this world. There are many doubters about religion’s effectiveness.

Honestly, God doesn’t do too good a job of giving us something to believe for. Believing in a god that doesn’t help is what most people see believers as, and that viewpoint leaves much to be desired. Why believe in a God that lets millions of cancer patients die, after years of pain and agony? That’s how my grandfather went. Why would you believe in a God that allows this to happen to his most devout believers? I keep being told I will be asked these questions one day, and I myself could probably explain my way through an answer only after much confusion and blasphemy.

Before I jump into that mess, though, let me strip this down to the basics. Religion was, is, and hopefully will be an attempt to explain the world round us. It gives us an answer to most questions in everyday life. Throughout the years, with the absence of an explanation for anything else that could be mistaken for a rational answer, people turned to the mythos of the world to explain. With the advent of science, people started to believe that religion couldn’t answer everything. Science does provide rational, realistically based answers for pretty much anything, and the questions we all have are one by one being answered by this new god.

Also arriving with science was the advent of rapid communication. When one student in Washington, D.C. got kidnapped on the way to school, parents in Georgia started panicking and demanding more bus stops to reduce the walks. This was mainly the result of the media omitting “in Washington, D.C.”, making the event happen in your backyard. Communication similarly spun the few stories of Catholic Clerical pedophilia to make it seem like all Catholic priests followed suit. Suddenly, every God-fearing pastor is secretly molesting the altar boy.

The most popular worldview is the movement of Secular Humanism, which grew out of the post-world war clean-up. An entire religious race was all but wiped out, and much of Europe was in shambles. People who asked where God was asked louder, and many answered the question themselves. Secular Humanism tells that truth is relative, subject to change, fluid. It focuses on the person: YOU are your own God, and the world is your fishbowl. Truth is what you make of it. There are many inherent problems with this line of thought. First being that, if truth is relative, then the line of fallacy is very blurry. The murderer felt the deed was obviously okay, though the jury found him guilty. The second problem is that, if you’re the god of yourself,  you’re obviously not bulletproof.

Even if the movement of Secular Humanism claims to have “universal values and truths” that came to be from thousands of years of civilization, such views still leave much open to consideration. With the thousands of years in mind, are we speaking of the societies of the projects, or of Hollywood, or of Capital Hill? I don’t aim to assume any of those value sets. Also, in a community without set boundaries, such as secular Humanism, even these truths and values are subject to interpretation.

So why do I harp about the values of religion? Why do I speak of this nebulous, nonresponsive being called God? Why do I believe in a worldview that restricts me to one rigid way of life?

First, I would like to make a disclaimer: In speaking of God, I do not mean the God of any but the Christian doctrine. Though I say this, I am defending all religion. Don’t worry though; I’ll attack all the religions later.

Okay, onto the rebuttal. Let me get my bible out…

First off, the major religions are solid. They each have doctrines which have stood the test of time. If nothing else, they are a great way to grow your family. Nothing brings people together like religion. Well, except soccer, football, hockey, NASCAR, skydiving, school, doctor’s appointments, (etc, etc, etc.).

Religion brings people together because it gives them guidelines to live by. I can’t say religion prohibits interpretation and self-explanation, but in the Christian Bible, I find it difficult to interpret “love your neighbor” as irrelevant and wrong. There are many values that, when left to personal introspection, leads to many different opinions that clash. Again, the murderer disagrees with the jury. The reason you can’t just go on your on tangent with religion is that you run the risk of having a God’s wrath. Sure, many people are having the best time on Earth without their God, but no matter what you believe in, you still run that risk of some sort of Hell. Thus, religious people keep themselves as close to good as they can. This keeps them in line.

So, for nothing else, you can manipulate religion much more easily than non-religion to make people believe you. In Fahrenheit 451, Jesus was used to promote the government’s products. The television would show Jesus Christ telling the population how he loves using a certain type of detergent, and the population would follow. It really is a beautiful strategy.

Now, I defend my faith. Christianity today is seen as extremely hypocritical. Whether it’s the story of one priest’s molestation of the altar boy, or the Westboro Baptist’s hate-filled view on our soldiers. Terry Jones’ burning of Qurans leads people to believe the exact opposite of Christians: that we are all hate-filled people. Sadly, the reputation of the church leaves much to be desired. A thousand years of baggage bogs down the Catholic authority.

Christianity, out of all the religions, is the only one that speaks of loving your neighbor—AND your enemy. It’s a great ideal, though it doesn’t mean that you can let your Christian brother off the hook every time he kills someone. Nope, you can still go to prison (though I feel like, if anything, the judge should be afraid of his soul the most.) if you blow away the next guy.

On Earth, you receive the fruits of your labor harshly. The same does not apply for salvation, though; you can believe that anyone can reach heaven. My youth minister always says “you’ll be surprised at who is in heaven and who isn’t.” We all expect Osama Bin Laden to burn in Hell forever. A friend of mine, though, walked up to me and asked me for his opinion on something.

“JBlancs, when I heard the news that Osama was dead, my first thought was ‘I hope he met Jesus before he died’. Is that okay to think?”

Obviously, Osama isn’t the first person you’d expect to find in heaven. Neither is he the person many would expect to, upon expiration, rise to heaven. I personally believe he’s roasting quite nicely, though it’s not my place to play judge.

Speaking of death, I leave you on a note of death. Religion, at least my religion, allows mourners to mourn less; instead of you losing your mother for your entire life, you lose her until you kick the bucket. I have been to two Christian funerals, and the one I remember was much less somber than most others have witnessed. You cry a lot less when you feel like your loved one is with Him who you both love.

I get the feeling I’m going to go deeper into this topic later.

So, let’s wrap this up, because I’m starting on my third page and I wouldn’t read more than three and a half. Religion is a great controller. It (Christianity) also makes your life easier, because you know that there’s something after death. It makes deaths easier to suffer. I guess I could call Christianity “the counterbalance to Capitalism”. Atheism and Secular Humanism are both growing about as fast as the national deficit, and people are paying about the same attention to each. The problem is that, just like the deficit, these worldviews go nowhere, and are self-destructive. Religion keeps you grounded, reliable. It gives you a larger family to help and to lean on. And religion is dying faster than Osama with a bullet through the eye. 

Love, Sex, and Friends (with benefits)

First, a BIG shout-out to my now one-thousand views! Here’s to another thousand!

Secondly, my youtube channel is starting to get some notoriety, mainly because of the spectacle: Rocketry.

http://www.youtube.com/user/JHBlancs
Thirdly, a public disservice announcement:

Affections are at the top of any high schooler’s mind, and I am no exception. Whether it’s staying on the top of the current rag gossip, or trying to climb the social ladder, people generally love to take an account of who they are interested in, and who they aren’t. I myself tend to take into account as my interests anybody who knows me more than the census bureau. Strangely, anybody who knows me better than the census also knows I am about as open to love as I am to census agents.

Love comes in three general types: friendship, romance, and sex. Friendship is like love, but more openly polygamistic and mellow. It’s obviously a much-thought upon topic, since it’s the basis of everything. You won’t form an alliance with your worst enemy, unless you happen to be in a world war and in need of some considerable dictatorial muscle. Civilization didn’t form from enemies bonding. It formed from friends with a similar interest in a better life. Though, when it breaks, people don’t like it, and find the other person responsible. See: Middle Ages.

 Friendship is like boat tape… when it splits, you come away with much less skin.

Common interests (or, CI’s) are the foundation. They’re what make everything else work. Yes, school does find its way into this group, and if you disagree, ask yourself how much of your time you spend ranting about how much aid teacher sucks. Friends without common interests don’t last long. They devolve into acquaintances. Not that there’s anything wrong with such… as a rocketeer, I find myself with many acquaintances. I’d like more friends…

Another way these relationships can go, in the absence of CI’s, is straight to sex. Nothing wrong with that, but what happens when that gets boring? Then one of the two parties decides they need to break up, and the boat tape . Teenage romance often leads down this dark, sticky road. Sex is like Elmer’s glue… it keeps stuff together on a good day, but if you put too much on, then you end up with a pile of white, crusty stuff that smells bad. Also, it doesn’t work on plastics at all. Again, nothing wrong with a sexual relationship, unless you happen to be carrying around a religion, which I do…

But, with the right combination of mostly CI’s and an attraction to someone else (that I’ve only felt maybe twenty times; the feeling was reciprocated only three of those), a deeper relationship can evolve. This is somebody you trust, somebody you care about, and, if you want a clinical description, I’ve heard Wikipedia has a reliable page about it. Google has 4.46 million answers to a query on love. Bing has less. Also, don’t type “love” into the image query without a filter. Big mistake.

Love, just like friendship, won’t last based on sole romance. In this example, I guess love = sex.

A subset of this reason is the nature of the two. Both have been hailed for as long as humanity has walked and humped on the earth, and it doesn’t look like either are going to step off the pedestal. But, religion has also been spoken highly of. Most religions hold sex outside of marriage to be unwise, for good reason. Generally, religions carry good warnings—but such is the mettle of another post, later.

The other reason why sex and love don’t work out alone is much more physical. Ya see, every month, there’s this thing girls have called a “period”. I won’t go into details, but basically the girl transforms into this angry, six-headed monster that doesn’t want to even think about sex, or romance. She gets crabby, and… other synonyms of crabby. Most guys don’t understand this. Then they get their boat tape ripped to pieces.

Love, unlike sex, or a friendship, is a struggle. With friendships, you don’t have to work at it, because you aren’t about to get all jealous if one of your friends is bored of you, and decided to chill with someone else for a while. Unfortunately, something called morals and ethics (cough-religion-cough) restrain you from feeling the same way if your lover does the same. Both ends of the relationship are locked in a constant war to on the other’s heart. 

At least, that's what my pastor, my father, my youth leader, my principal, and every old couple have told m

Winning

Sometimes I have a hopeful post. I don’t rant, or berate, or vent, sometimes. Most of the time, I do. But recently I’ve realized that, in order to fool people into thinking I’m a half-decent individual, it’s required of me to lend you some pleasant advice. I hope you can refrain from laughing long enough to read this.

As the above paragraph suggests, I am moving onto a lighter topic, one that inspires hope. It’s powered advancement since life existed. It’s been the sole purpose of a couple of world wars. It’s seen the fall of nations and the rise of just as many. I speak, if you haven’t guessed by the aptly named title, Winning.

For some people, it’s the center of their life. Winning becomes a religion, and only utter defeat will squelch their insanity. For others, they feel all possibility of victory, even in the smallest feat, is impossible.  The rest of the world, those considered… “normal”… are just trudging through.

If you consider yourself part of this normal caste, then here’s a hint: pressing alt+F4 will make your computer so much faster. So would throwing your computer off the side of a ten story building.

Okay, are they gone now? Good, that makes this post so much easier.

To the winning-obsessed people: I would throw in a Charlie Sheen joke here, but that man has had so much limelight he glows in the dark. Instead, I say that, if you treat victory as your god, then when would you stop? Case in point, Josef Stalin, in order to keep his massive power, imprisoned seven million people. Adolf Hitler lit the Roman candle of war for power, for victory. The Cold War was just for “winning”. So, unless you want to be a GE CEO, put down your scepter, hang your cloak and crown, and chill.

To those who feel life is impossible, I first must ask you to earnestly stop having yourselves featured in "New Paranormal Teen Romance" novels. Twilight was bad enough (Even though the book was slightly entertaining(that topic is for another post))
I have a quote from Muhammad Ali.

“The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”

He speaks of victory as gained before you meet the other person. Ali was such a great boxer, people were terrified of him. His fists were lethal in the ring. He used this to his advantage. “When people get in the ring and they see me, and they know they’re gonna lose, they’ve already lost half the battle”, he would say.

I walk into school and, right before going up that first painful flight of stairs, I’d tell myself, “If you tell yourself it’ll suck, it’ll suck.” I relate this to my friends, and they cling to their fatalistic guns. It might just be because I told them.

Anyway, victory shouldn’t be something avidly searched for. I also don’t believe it should be avidly avoided. Rather, Victory is meant to be a culmination of events and your effects on humanity. And, like anything that just happens, your effect will increase if you keep at it. It’ll ripple, and even a small ripple will eventually show in the whole lake. Of course, if you keep dropping bigger and bigger stones in the lake, the splash will be huge.

And there the analogy falls apart. I was going to say they the bigger the splash the better, but the 9/11 attacks were a pretty substantial splash. Somebody took a car into the lake at highway speeds, and it skipped a few times before breaking apart. On the other hand, the Golden Voice man made a substantial splash, as does every celebrity.

Now that I wasted five minutes of your time, you can go on to your substandard existence with the uncomfortable feeling that I know exactly what you’re thinking. 

Cloud 9

Sharing a building with an urban karate dojo, a small, quaint shop has set up, since last year. The front is all glass, with a high grey McDonalds-style countertop braced to the window panes. The seats assigned to this countertop, so high my legs dangle a foot off the ground, are four in number, backless, white and chrome. Walking in, though, you first notice a sign saying “Start here” in sloping, curving letters. The poster is blue. The second thing you notice is that the shop is nestled in a giant, blue-tiled U-shaped wall that funnels everyone through its bow.

Upon inspection of the dispensers on the wall just past the sign, and the small mountain of large, bowlish cups, I felt for a second that this shop had stolen the Golden Corral’s yogurt machines. Upon pouring some of the chocolate yogurt, just one of ten or twelve flavors there, I notice a consistency in the yogurt that told of greater quality than the yogurt I used to want to go to Ryan’s solely to eat. After dumping half of the condiments available into the cup after the yogurt, paying for the yogurt, and having it skewered by a spoon, I notice the other half of the available delicacies. Cupcakes with the largest tops I have ever seen dotted the landscape behind a glass pane. The server, who, according to the receipt, was named Michael, told me about the cupcakes. He was loading twenty of them into a holder, “for the people who’re fixing my car. This is just a little thank-you”, he said. Touched by this, I went to sit down at the aforementioned counter-top.

Before I sat down, I noticed the lights. They hung from the ceiling, all white, layered like a tight Sydney Opera House, or one of those pink wildflowers, except white as anything. If ever I wanted to shoplift, I had the most incredible urge to. Those lights are maybe the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

As I ate, I noticed the bear I had left there, for donations to a cancer society. The bear was purchased at the Super Target just five hundred feet from the shop, the animal crackers inside eaten, the container washed out,  a hole cut in the top, and a sign asking for change taped to both sides. This bear was slowly being filled, and last I’ve seen of it, it’s eaten maybe a modest sum of kindness. I spoke to the bear and, as I ate the yogurt, he and I had had a very nice conversation. He had spent most of the day being watched by nearly everyone who frequented the place, weighing down several issues of Snap! Roswell, a couple of flyers, and, of course, the kindness inside. The bear and I moved onto other topics, and as I finished my yogurt, I asked if I could get m good friend, the bear, anything to eat. In polite response, he told me he helped me quite enough. What a bear.

I bid Michael adieu, leaving the shop in a great mood. As I went to my car, I turned to look at the name of the shop: Cloud 9. A vernacular used to relate moments of great elation joy, and peace. When you’ve reached the highpoint of your life, when you’ve just gotten married after winning the lottery, when you sink a hole in one for all eighteen rounds. When you get an A in every final, and get that scholarship that nobody ever gets. Then, you’re on Cloud 9. Purchasing a cup of yogurt and only paying six dollars gives you much the same elation, apparently.

Then I realized I forgot to get my punch card punched for that purchase. You owe me a punch, Mike.