I Hang My Head

I am discombobulated by the things Christians do.
Whether we'd like to think so or not, we've created a Christian subculture with a bunch of really weird terms, and rituals, and norms.

We don't even really think about it, but to a stranger "shake your neighbors' hand time" has got to be the weirdest thing ever.
Stand up now, sit down now and side hugs and high fives.
There are a million examples of how the church is its own culture, and it's its own society. There are countless unwritten rules about functioning in the church, and around other believers.

But more perplexing than the church's separate, distinct culture, is the prefabricated culture that they try to expose the world to.

Through use of media and apparel, Christians have attempted to "spread the good news" but instead have spread nothing but discomfort and awkwardness.
Whenever Christians take something secular and slap Jesus' name on it, I still wonder if its really helping anyone....

I am a Christian, but these billboards make me squirm a little in my chair.
And while Christ is the Lord of my life, I would not be caught dead in one of these tee shirts . (Ps. can you really guarantee 100% purity?)
Last year whenever some friends of mine and I stumbled upon the websites Repent Amarillo and Repent America I literally got embarrassed on the behalf of believers everywhere.

The following videos have captured the devout awkwardness I'm referencing on film.

First, the protestants...


and now for our catholic counterparts...


You can finish laughing.
Or judging.
You're bound to need a few seconds to finish whichever reaction you had.
Sometimes, after a few minutes, if you started off laughing, you'll end up judging, or vise versa.

So, anyways...

I'm not sure why Christians do all these awkward things.
Part of me thinks its cause we're too lazy to really live out the gospel and share it with our lives, so we think these things will do it.
The other part of me thinks that the church will always attract the home-schooled crowd, and thus produce really questionable interactions with the non-sunday-schooled world.

As it turns out, my friends and I looked up prayer works interactive referenced in the second video, and we're thinking its a hoax, but I feel like I made my point.

Why bother with the ridiculous trinkets, and awkward statements?
Maybe if we shed some of the weird Christian culture norms we could relate to the world instead of just cleverly flash them with theology and attack them with our ideals and ridiculous youtube debuts.

or maybe I'm the only person in the world who changes the channel immediately when I see that its 700 club.

Either way, my advice for this blog:
Check out Stuff Christians Like.

A Good Percentage

As a kid I was always encouraged not to talk to strangers. They could be kidnappers or perverts, or democrats.

Okay, the last one was a lie.

Its probably even more commonly discouraged now than it was in South Carrollton in the early 90s.

I mean, I knew most everyone in our neighborhood, and all through grade school I remember gathering herds of my peers to play street hockey, tag, chicken fight, water-wars, or basketball after school. I was allowed to run down the ally to the Tippett's house, or up the street to the Sprauge's, or occasionally down the hill to the Houlahan's. Our neighbors, The Youngs, would sit in lawn chairs out on the curb, or on the porch and smoke and talk with my parents and the folks across the street.

I'm still convinced it was the front-entry driveways that made the difference. You couldn't get in or out of your house without getting to know the neighbors. It turned into a sort of soap opera over the years, with everyone intermarrying, or having illegitimate children, and adoptions, or probation officers, and inheritances. Now that I think about it, were Nadine and Lynda gay? Did Andy sell pot, or just smoke it? So many questions are still unanswered. Crazy neighbors.

But, yeah, Jeanatte Way was a good place to grow up.

While our street got increasingly more shady as we pushed towards the year 2000, overall it was pretty much a "be home before the street lights pop on" type neighborhood.

There were a few houses that I wasn't allowed to go play at (partially from my Dad's racism, and partially, probably from good judgement.)

Scruff McGruff the crime dog came to R.E. Good Elementary back then and explained crime, and drugs, and alcohol as best he could to our tiny, innocent minds. But hounded, (da da chhh) even more than any of that, "Don't talk to Strangers."

But can I be honest?

I love talking to strangers.

If there's a person next to me at the DMV, or in front of me in the grocery store line, or who walks the same route on campus as me, or happens to be jamming to the same song on the radio at a stop light....

I wanna know how their day is going.

I wanna say "hey."

I get a strange joy from making total strangers laugh.

I'm in the business of making people's days better.

To me that equals laughter.

A good day, is one that I had a belly laugh.

This desire to talk to people and be friendly comes with a price.

I constantly make an idiot out of myself.

I'd say its 75 percent good response, 25 percent bad.

Maybe even 80/20.

Bad Time:

A few weeks ago I went to Target with Robbie Lynn, just to grab a few things. Whilst walking through the women's clothing section, a stranger called out to me.

"Girl, where you get yo hat?"

I turned to see a young, maybe 20 year old, black girl with her hair half pulled back, square black glasses, and a big, poofy coat with fur around the rim of the hood, pointing her long nails at my head.

I politely explained that I'd in fact bought the hat at this very store weeks earlier, and pointed her to the hat, glove, scarf, and wallet section, before continuing with my shopping.

I picked up a few more things from all over the store, and then headed to the check out line.

As I passed the end-shelf, filled with movies, candy, batteries, and other trinkets for last minute purchase, I saw the profile of a young, maybe 20 year old, black girl with her hair half pulled back, square glasses, and a big poofy coat with fur around the rim of the hood, tapping her long fingernails on the debit card machine in the line in front of me.

"Did ya find your hat okay?"

"What?" She responded harshly.

The girl working behind the check out counter, who also happened to be black, tilted her head at me, judging me up and down.

"Your hat? Um...did you go to the... hat section..." Still looking at the confused, and apparently grumpy strangers, I asked Robbie, "Wrong person?"

"Yep," she answered, "I saw it happening but there was nothing I could do about it." The cashier, and the customer just looked at me like I'd just punched a baby.

At that very moment, as if my social interaction fail wasn't stinging bad enough, the girl I thought I was talking to came up behind us in line.

I turned and looked at her.

Young, maybe 20, with her hair pulled half back, square glasses and a big poofy coat with fur around the rim of the hood, holding two or three hats in her long fingernails.

If I had a do-over, I still would've said that they were the same person.

But it was far too late to recover.

By the time I got to the check out line, the cashier was ready to spit into my clothing bag for being such a racist. She glared at me from the other side of the red counter with narrowed eyes thinking, "how dare you assume there is only ONE black girl in this store."

Hey, it's Amarillo.

I stand by my assumtion.

AND they were dressed exactly the same.

Please don't spit on my new dresses. PLEASE.

Good Time:

-Ask how the Parking Toll booth guy is doing, Free VIP parking at Six Flags. Thank you, sir.

-Friendly with the thugs that run Joe's Pizza Pasta and Subs, get a calzone for a quarter, and free mob protection for life.

-Politely say hey to each resident that wanders by the desk on the bottom floor of the dorm, they will make homemade cookies, or share their fondue with me.

-Sweet talk the lifeguards, take the tube down the slide, or ride on your belly.

I'm not saying I do the nice things for the perks.

BUT

I'm saying, you get a little farther in life with a smile

than with a bad attitude and a frown.

Its no coincidence that frown rhymes with drown, or scary clown.

Those are all bad things.

Things may not turn out exactly how you wanted them to.

Some strangers don't want a laugh.

Sometimes you'll be nice and get no discount at all.

But the motive is not the reward.

Thus, I press on with attempt to make somebodys day, today.

The Important F's

SoooOooOOo,

I'm an R.A., (a fact that has been well established throughout my writings,) and I don't really make good money doing it, (which you may or may not have known.) While the benefits of my job include free living, and a meal plan, and I get paid a mere $50 a month, (a set rate, I might point out, that did not rise with tuition or minimum wage.)
This means that whenever its "fried food fridays" in the caf, or a weekend when all they have is leftover "pork chops" under heatlamps, then its a drag to trade in dollars for dollar menu items.
I'm not saying I'm too good for fast food.

I love fast food.
It is collegiate protocoll to eat like crap, and to do it at 3 am.

But I'm saying, its my own personal protocoll to not go into debt for a drive thru burger, or delicious chicken express tenders snack pack.

The best solution to still eating good, but eating cheap is to take advantage of what we in the college world like to refer to as "free food."

Many older, wiser, richer members of the community take pity on our ruined digestive systems and they get the little old ladies of their churches to cook us hommeade meals.

Christians in West Texas love handing out free food in exchange for a (n awkward) gospel presentation. The baptists, the methodists, the catholics, I've even gone to the church of christ on the occasion that they're handing out cattle call bbq.
If you play your cards right you can go to the same campus ministry twice in one week.

Another great source of free food is through residental living itself.

I am supposed to put on programs for the dorm, and in doing so there are often snacks. I usually plan my program menus around whatever I happen to be jonesing for.

I'm gonna be honest, I have pretty immature tastes, so its usually the variety pack of gushers and fruit by the foot, toaster stroodle and pizza rolls; which all happen to be items that I consider meal-replacement worthy if eaten in bulk.

The most recent program in my dorm was the cross hall video contest.

While initial reaction excludes the notion of free-food, the winner of the inter-floor competition gets a pizza party.

I do love pizza.

Food is the first important F in my life.

When you're in college you need your fuel to think all those impressive thoughts, and lets face it, if I'm going to gain the [junior] fifteen, I'm doing it with cheesy bread.

But anyways, after convincing my residents in the need for pizza...we decided to make a video.

And here it is, produced by my residents for the competition. (you must know that my floor "theme" this year was based on a moderately inappropriate SNL skit with Adam Sandberg and T-Pain called, "I'm on a Boat." Essentially, my floor is decorated with beach stuff, and quotes from the song...which you will now hear, and see reenacted by West Texas' own confederacy of dunces.)

As you can tell, I do what I can to make sure that everybody has a pretty good time since freshmen are required to live in the dorms, anyways.

I am addicted to fun.

If its not fun, I don't like it.

I'd say that whenever I'm living my day to day life, Fun is one of my important F's.

I'm almost always willing to sacrifice looking cool for a really good laugh, even if it makes me super immature. Farts are funny. Deal with it, world. Yes, I'm 20, I laugh out loud at cartoons. I also enjoy my life more than most people do, so I'm good with the trade-off.

We didn't end up winning the video competition.

While we were in a close second place, the 5th floor beat our reenactment of "I'm on a Boat" with their amateur but spot-on imitations of the Cross Hall RAs.

Whenever I saw the video imitation of myself, I cried I laughed so hard, and then I suffered from identity crisis shortly after.

I didn't know if I was me or if, in fact, Taylor Langston my impersonator was me.

("Identity theft is not a joke, Jim!")

It really was like looking in a mirror.

Just as entertaining was watching the 5th floor segments on residents impersonating my coworkers. They nailed each of our personalities exactly, copied our manurisms, and adopted our tics.

I would post the video, but it's kinda only funny if you are friends with us.

Friends.

Yet another important F.

Where would we be if we were to walk through this life without partnerships with people who get us?

No where that's fun, I bet.

And probably no where that serves food, cause no one wants to eat alone.

Hmmm. All in all its been a good week for these particular Fs.

My goal as of lately is to not just coast until I'm on Thanksgiving break in a mountain cabin with my friends,

but to embrace the hilarity to be had in the mean time.

I'm just saying.

Live the Dream.

Count your Blessings.

Love your Fs.

Pagans and Whatever

Most people take 1 o'clock classes.

I, however, despise battling desire for an afternoon nap while trying to take notes on an inevitably uninteresting after lunch lecture.

THUS 1 o'clock classes were not in the forecast for this semester. Instead, I have a 2:30-3:45 class Monday through Thursday.

One of the two varieties of class I take at this time is a foreign language that I like to call Deutsch. (Which, of course, is German.)

The thing about foreign languages, though, is that there is constantly homework. The professors often like to know if we're understanding the concepts, memorizing the vocabulary, and properly putting sentences together.

As someone who has never been very talented at planning ahead, I usually do said homework an hour before class on the day of.

Every Monday and Wednesday I go to the JBK (student center) for lunch around 12 and eat with my friends, and they all trickle out to take tired notes, and I am left alone with my buch.

I usually go on the side of the JBK where there aren't sick-nasty food crumbs laying in puddles of chick-fil-a grease on the tables, and face the main walkway so I can people watch in between written exercises. (or yes, sometimes instead of written exercises.)

So, today at noon, as is my tradition I went to the JBK, ate lunch, and set up camp at a square table.

About the same time I sat down, a cute blonde girl, about my same age, came in with a lady who seemed to be of the "I'm going back to school," variety, and after quite noticeable debate they chose to sit at the table directly next to mine.

I judged them almost immediately, because the woman, who was probably in her late 30s or early 40s, started talking about knitting.

Bo-ring.

So I continued to use the verb Sein in a sentence. Er ist Amerikaner...

Without warning however, my academic headway halted when I heard the words, "I'm a nude model," escape the lips of the young, now sort of round looking blonde.

I pursed my lips to keep in the laughter, but more importantly, the Dr. Pepper.

Obviously, I continued to pretend to be working on my homework, but I tilted my head and proceeded to intrude on these strangers' private conversation.

Apparently the young blonde models nude for an art school in Amarillo. Its not unheard of. In fact, it is quite common. But its still funny.

She was explaining how much it pays, and how often she models, and I was just thinking it was the greatest thing I've ever heard. WAY more interesting than these dialogues I'm supposed to memorize.

Then the conversation took an interesting turn.

I can't remember the exact segue that led us there but the conversation starting to sing about the injustices, intolerance, and interference of Christianity on the rest of the world.

These strange women discussed popular Christian beliefs. They talked about the probability that Jesus truly was who he said he was seeming highly unlikely.

And they talked about how if you could truly have a relationship with this Jesus, why so many of his avid followers are "assholes."

"Christians don't love people," The blonde girl observed, "Every church I've been in, people were hateful, or indifferent because I can't understand. Their Jesus talked about love, but it seems like the only thing Christians don't do. "

The conversation proceeded to take yet another interesting turn, as the middle aged Hispanic woman asked if the other believed in any God at all.

"I'm a practicing Pagan," she explained. "Its interesting, because I experience all sorts of religious persecution for my beliefs. I've known people to lose their jobs over this sort of thing. But Paganism is my religious practice."

"We begin our life circle services with guided meditation where we clear our minds so that we can be open enough for the truth. Then, we go outside and worship the trees. This is symbolic, because the earth has given so much to us, and we want to give back to the earth. So each of us picks a tree, and we worship it."

I had no idea people really worshipped trees.

This is the sort of thing you laugh about on the movie The Proposal.

I continued to eavesdrop more intensely, as the young pagan explained how some Christians showed up to pray for them during one of their pagan rituals.

"They stood in the street and yelled things in the name of Jesus at us, calling us wicked and and sinful. They prayed for us loudly, completely interrupting our time with the trees. And so we decided to go back in and partake in more mediation. We encouraged no one to speak with them, because if we make it fun for the Christians they'll keep coming back. But some snotty 17 year olds, who had never been to any of the life-circles before went out there to talk to them, but it pissed most of the elders off.

We realize that the 17 year old kids were just dabbling in it, but for the rest of us this is our religious practice, and we don't want it to be interrupted by Christians every single week. Its annoying, and intolerant.

I just can't respect evangelicals. They act as if their way is the only way.

As if their Jesus really lived, and as if He is capable of helping them to love..."

They moved into talking about the wrongs perpetrated by the church, and known Christians. They pointed out flaws, and short comings and asked one another how Jesus could be who he say he is, if people who know him do that.

First of all.

I guess I am intolerant.

Because I know that my God is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Jesus is the ONLY way. NO ONE gets to the Father except through Him.

Your Oak Tree isn't gonna do that.

That's the way it is.

If that makes me intolerant, I'm okay with that, because THAT is the TRUTH.

Second of all.

Young Pagan, I agree with you.

Christians are indifferent, or hateful, and sometimes both. We make poor life choices, that don't reflect a growing relationship with the Lord because we're screw-ups.

The policies put in place by Christian government are whack, the laws broken by clergy men make me sick to the stomach, and the greed that is rampant throughout the institution of the Christian church is disgusting. We allow injustice on our watch, we fight over dumb crap that rips apart our churches, we have board meetings about flip-flops, we play "holy spirit" for each other and guilt each other into legalism, we fall short, we are judgemental, and we are trashy sell-outs.

BUT

Our GOD is full of Grace for these very things.

He is perfect.

He takes all of our mess ups and turns them to Good.

He seeks out the one sheep.

He loves like no one person on earth.

He changes hearts.

He breaks down walls.

He is above sin.

He loves the lost.

He desires to bring the lost unto himself.

And He is Deserving of All Glory, Forever, No Matter What your Tree Thinks.

I agree with you on all counts of human fault.

I agree with you on all counts of Christians not lining up with Christ, me being the worst of them.

But I know that my God is the only way.

Yet, We can't judge the Lost for Being the Lost.

Just like she accused us of, we cannot call out to the lost from the street.

We've gotta get up in their business, earn the right to be heard, and love in a way where they see the gospel, not just hear it. I know I'm right, but I'm not better. The lost need Jesus.

We must pursue the Lord, and love the people he created, even the ones that are crazy.

Alright, Christians: Game On.

Get Out There and Love.

Ps. I did okay on my German Quiz. Thanks for asking.

Pss. I think if I worshipped trees, I might choose to live somewhere other than Amarillo, Texas. Just Saying.

Fair Warning

Quite frankly, I've always loved pranks.

I think they're hilarious, and I take them as well as I dish them out.

This was no different.

I'm the RA on the 3rd floor, and for some time I've been discussing with some of my co-workers how to improve entire-hall community, and we thought that a prank war would be perfect. Floor vs. Floor Pranks.

I was initially going to organize the first hit, but as always, I got distracted by something more immediate and never followed through.

Wow, what a shock, Abbey didn't finish a project.

I thought this was going to be one of those "lets go on a road trip," or "lets do community service" ideas that was just going to drop off of the side of the earth into the oblivion of good, but un-pursued plans.

As it turns out, a ton of people were pursuing the plan all around me.

There was a 5 man conspiracy to keep me away from the dorm on Sunday.

Though I usually stay away after church because I spend my time napping and watching 30 Rock with my boys, I still should've noticed the red-flags in their forms of secret phone calls and out of place text messages concerning my where-abouts. (Honestly, I didn't read into the anything too much because whore island is officially borrowing Guitar Hero, so I couldn't blink, or look away from the TV, or step down off of the coffee table long enough to read a full text message.)

By the time I returned to my room at approximately 9:14pm, I'd gotten got.

I walked into the lobby to find some 6th floor girls wrapping everything in foil.

Thinking I'd foiled their plans (da da chhhh) with early arrival I called out condescendingly, "I'm going to go in my room and I'm just gonna let ya'll finish."

Alas I opened the door to the real prank.

E.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. I own is wrapped in foil.

Individually.

Picture frames, pencils, keys, books, DVDs, coins, pillows, my furniture, my bed, my closet, my fridge, my trinkets, my headbands, my speakers, my phone, the cord, the rug, the window, robbie's blanket pallet on my floor, my bunny, my drawers, a bobby pin, my toothpaste, a sock, everything. (Except as you can see, my dirty towels, and the snuggie. The dirty towels would've locked in yucky moisture, and everyone has more respect for the snug than to try and wrap it up like leftovers.)

IT WAS AWESOME.

Easily the most intricate prank I've ever seen.

All I did when I saw it was turn to the girls in the lobby and give them high fives, because they earned at least that for a job well done.

I've been unwrapping things as I have need for them, but for the most part, I want the prankstresses to get their glory from this for a while, because it is very, very impressive.

Alas, they did start a war that they're going to lose.

I am a Martinkus.

You don't turn my room into a spaceship and not get pay back.

First I give you High Fives.

Then I give you what you gave me but 10 times worse.

Watch It.

Go to HELC

The HELC is the "Hastings Electronic Learning Center," at Wext Texas A&M. Its an underground dungeon full of computers and usually studious asian people. There is a network of tables and chairs creating something of a maze throughout the entire basement of the Cornette Library and it is a place of refuge for procrastinators such as myself because it is open 24 hours a day.

I needed the HELC.
This week I had a German test Monday, I have a Colonial Latin America Test Tuesday (today,) and a 10 page term paper due for class Wednesday. So all weekend I studied the German, Monday night I double dipped a study group for Latin America at 5 in the library, and a group at whore Island at 8 for term paper moral support.

So the last 2 days have been planned down to the minute.
But I really just wanted to be able to finish the term paper so I could breathe......
So last night after midnight, and a little catch phrase study break at whore island, and miniture airsoft war (of course), I decided I was just going to pull an all-nighter and finish my term paper in the HELC.

So at 1:30am- what do you need to start an all-nighter.
A 40 of Starbucks Coffee, that's what.
A can of Mocha Java Yummy Caffinated something or other did the trick.
It tasted like heaven to me. (I'd like to thank Alsups for their variety of beverages.)

Go to HELC.
I sat at a computer and I guzzled that starbucks like it was a happy hour limeade from Sonic.
Knocked out 5 pages of my term paper.
Outlined the Essay I'm planning on writing for my test this afternoon.
Memorized terms pertaining to Colonial Latin America.
Outlined the next 5 pags of the term paper.....

Wow, all of a sudden it is 7:30 am and I've been uber-productive.
Get another coffee.

At this point I headed back to the dorm, because on top of my school work I also have to find and discuss living situations with every resident on my floor in before my deadline today at 5.
So at 8 am, bright-eyed and bushy tailed-- I marched my perky butt from door to door with the smell of HELC and mocha all over me asking residents about their plans for Spring 2010.

At one point I got distracted by the pretty colors on the lobby TV so I wandered over to it to find Dora the Explorer looking particularly cartoon-y and awesome, as if she was waiting for me to hang out with her. She kept asking me questions about her journey, and because I didn't want Dora to get lost so I sat indian style, three feet from the TV with my hands in my lap like I was six years old.
I stayed there, not blinking for a while but then I could almost hear my mother telling me to scoot back even though she lives six hours from here and so I habitually scooted twice, and stretched out my legs in front of me, still not blinking.

I love cartoons.

"Dora, you have to go through the forset, over the river and THEN to the farm.
Ask Backpack, he knows.
Backpack and the Map are tight.
They'll tell you where to go.
I don't know why you're asking me.
I stayed up all night," I explained to the television screen aloud.

I'm delirious.
Still.
But more so a half hour ago, because the caffine from the Double Shot Expresso was involved.

So a resident of mine comes into the Lobby and says, "G'morning."
In my mind I responded with a perfectly clear, "Good morning," right back to her, but I'm pretty sure now that it came out as "gumurnin!"
I then went on to explain the paperwork I had to fill out, and why, but my very well spoken, articulate, and alert speech was interupted by "You're acting like you're drunk, and it's hysterical."
"I'm not drunk."
"You sure?"
I paused and thought about it really hard.
"I stayed up all night with coffee and asians in the HELC."
She laughed at me and went to class.

But I've got a Homework Hangover.
I don't think asprin or tacos for breakfast is gonna help.
I think I've just gotta work through it.

I went to the depths of HELC and back.
And I lived to tell the tale.
But I'm here to say
There's nothing but sadness

on the sunrise side

of academic an all-nighter.
and lots of giggles.
cause EVERYTHING becomes hilarious.

School Advice

This semester I am taking 3 History classes and German. I fancy myself a lover of History, and a decent writer so honestly I was excited about my schedule.

Last Spring I'd taken Dr. Braisington's Western Civilizations class and really enjoyed it a lot.

Braisington is arguably the best teacher I've ever had. He demanded excellence, knew all his facts, inserted appropriate opinions and taught in every sense of the word. He cared about his students, unlike any teacher I'm yet to meet, and expanded our views on history and refined our skills as writers.

It was tough.

Even though it was a 2000 level course, I worked harder in that class than any other class I've taken in my 2 and 1/2 years at WT.

This is a picture of the notes I took in his class. As you can tell I wrote as small as possible- and had to go back and highlight details to study for his test.

Whenever the class schedules came out for this fall I was super excited. I scanned through all of the history classes available and was pleased to find a course completely dedicated to 1914-1945 in America.

It was a night class, which I wasn't thrilled about, but I couldn't wait to talk about all the interesting things that happened in the United States during those years. WWI, the roaring 20s, prohibition, gangster warfare, social changes, the great depression, trying to dig out of the great depression, WWII...

Yeah....

Lets just say this class is less exciting than I thought it would be. Professor De La Trinidad is probably the worst teacher I've ever had in my entire life. I could probably fill pages with her faults, but I think instead I'll just give you a visual to compare and contrast to the last photograph.

These are the notes I took in her 3 hour lecture.

As you can tell it's titled: "Places I would rather be than night class." Some of the drawings include "baby-sitting satan," "drinking bong water," "watching christian horror films," "exile," and "having diarrhea."

Interestingly enough I got an "A" in Dr. Braisington's class and I currently hold an "A" in Professor De La Trinidad's class.

The way I feel about school is grossly contingent on my professor, and whether or not they're a dunce.

Ask Around About Professors.

Its Better to be Challenged than Bored.