Mind before Matter

There's something especially fascinating to me about the human mind. Give it a second to wander and suddenly you're miles away from the spot where you're standing.

I think we're all artists in one way or another. The creative parts of our mind jump into action and muse us to our medium. Some may prefer oil on canvas to create their art, others a '68 Camaro geared for potential. But I've found that all I need is a laptop and a flashing cursor awaiting a set of letters and punctuation.

The wander of my human mind today came in two simple words: "what if". The possibilities for an individual's life are truly endless. Some may not be as feasible as others, but the mind knows no barriers. "What if" allows it to transcend all roadblocks and glass ceilings. Tell me that's not just a little liberating! So welcome to my wander. Let's see what's hiding there today.

What if I was an astronaut? My days would be spent training on every simulation known to NASA, my nights pouring over data and mission plans. When the day of the launch came, I would step proudly from the transport vehicle as camera flashes captured my fleeting fame. I would wonder why neon orange became the official NASA jumpsuit color and pray for the day that they would adopt sleek Captain Kirk uniforms. Strapping into the command capsule, I would pictures all those before me and all those to come. Fear would certainly grip my gut as solid rocket boosters thrust my crew and I into space. Throw in a spacewalk and a few zero-gravity liquid meals and you have a dream come true.

What if I was a writer? I would live in a small, humbly-adorned apartment in New York City, decorated in a style that is evident of my sporadic income. My characters would be built by active observation. Afternoons in Central Park, evenings in Times Square, and my notebook would be chock-full of potential players in my stories. Random notes and thoughts would eventually gather into coherence. I would toss the final product onto the shelf and hope I had targeted a market that would ask me back for more.

What if I was a rancher? I would get up each morning at 4:30 am. The house would be filled soon enough with the aroma of hot coffee and smokey bacon. Only a few hours later, that smell would be replaced by morning grass and cow patties. Oh, what an odor. Moving them along with only a horse and dog as my allies, I would pick out one of the weakest one and nurse it back to health. And I would pick out one of the healthiest and imagine what a fine steak it would be.

What if I was a father? I would live for the sound of big laughter and tiny sneezes. My arms would be tired from piggybacks and rocket tosses, but I wouldn't care. I would be stern and disciplined, but open to the possibility of bribery. "Don't tell Mom" would be in my vocabulary but only used once every 5 years. I would be proud of the things my kids were experts at and more proud of the things that they weren't. Most importantly, I would cherish every moment, because it would only be a matter of time until kisses by dad weren't cool. But I would still give them anyway.

What if I was President? What if I was a bull rider? What if was a knight? What if I was a circus clown? What if I never realized just how many things I could do in life?

Minds are a powerful thing. Let creativity drive and there is no telling what will come next. Minds can be numbing, also; a convenient excuse to not act. It is all too easy to think these things. Pictures can be easier envisioned than brought to life. But the great artists that we know are not the ones who left a breathtaking statue or life-like painting bottled in their minds. They are the ones who found the tools needed to make imagination into reality.

"What if"s are only the first step.

But why Him?

I've always had strong faith in the words and deeds explained in the Bible. Recent reading of a book called "The Case for Christ" by Lee Strobel has given me expert and scholar quotes to logically back up and defend my faith. But the question I have always returned to is, "Why Jesus?" What was so unique to him that made his death the passageway for my salvation? Obviously and unquestionably he was God on earth, but what about the act of death, resurrection, and belief was so magical other than that's just how God decided it would be done? Something in this book triggered this line of questioning again, but for some reason, I had an answer this time.

The act in the end was of significant importance. What is often forgotten is the choice in the beginning.

I acknowledge without a doubt that before there was existence there was the Trinity: God the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit. And in the beginning, God created man in "their" image, not just as an additional creation like the mountains, birds, or seas but for one specific purpose: to glorify God. To this special creation, he gave a gift that would make their praise that much more meaningful: choice; free will. But with this free will, humans let themselves indulge in their curiousities, their temptations, and as Strobel's book put it, they shook their "puny fists" at the face of God. Until the infamous decision regarding the forbidden tree, God dwelt with man and walked with them. How incredible to walk with God! Arguably, this was most likely God the Son, retaining all deity yet taking human form just to accept the company and praise of his prized creation.

Humans took that privilege and threw it right back in God's face.

Innate in the being of God is that He is above all things as their creator, master, and the One to which all is attributed. To break from Him is not a decision to be taken lightly. As proven with another of his creations, defiance can only be made once. Past this point, the consequence is eternal separation. A beautiful angel named Lucifer felt the same as the humans once. He asked the question of "why do I owe my allegiance to God and his commands?" Why the obvious answer of "he created you" escaped both the angels and the humans, I don't know. But after Lucifer and one-third of the angels approached the throne to state their challenge and analogously bite their apple, they became the first example of defiance leading to separation. God could not be God if others were allowed to even dabble in the idea of equal power existence with their creator. It's interesting to note here that although God is jealous, he doesn't snub out his declared competition by ending their existence. This is something that medieval kings and insecure humans would do to quickly "settle" an overthrow attempt. Instead he grants them the request of independence. However, good with the bad, this includes an independence from God; a separation.

But back to the puny fists.

The decision of our ancient ancestors was no different than Lucifer, a blatant defiance shouting, "I know better than you." As was his historical precedent, God discontinues all walks and direct companionship, leaving man to his wish of becoming master of his own domain, all rights reserved.

But God proves how much he desired the love of his prized creation by setting another plan in motion. He raises up a chosen people through a human named Abraham. And to his people, a tribe later known as Israel, he begins to set them on the path for redemption. Through Moses he gives the people laws that will return their focus to Him; through the practice of animal sacrifice, he develops a method that gives man the opportunity to physically acknowledge who that person is that can wipe them of their ancient and binding choice; and most importantly through prophets, he speaks to them of his plan to return to earth and walk with man once more, this time with the intent of saving man from himself.

You see, as often as I have heard the essential verses from the book of Romans, I never understood their application until they were placed in the context of God as Creator. "For all have fallen short of the glory of God" - a personal decision by man that he knew better than God. As an accepted possible outcome of free will, God let man make this decision even though it meant eternal separation. When man makes a choice that places himself before God, this is defined as sin. "For the wages of sin is death." Man had been promised an eternity with God, but chose instead to go it alone. The consequence was mortality.

But what of God's developing plan? The Israelites went on to organize the laws and prophecies from God into a religion known as Judaism. Tracing these prophecies over time, 48 clues were given to the chosen people indicating who the Anointed One would be and when he would arrive. In Hebrew, he was called the Messiah, translated in Greek as the Christ. His appearance and the records documenting his life were canonized into the New Testament, the object of Strobel's book and the item of his investigation.

The answer of why it had to be Jesus is just the final touch to God's new plan after man chose to deny his power. Instead of dooming man to the inevitable separation required by the defiance of a creation, God stepped in to take the punishment of his own sentence; for only the purity of God could avoid inherent sin and release humanity's bind to eternal separation. By becoming his own creation, 100% man, he gave a new standard to the necessary rules of maintaining the consequences of free will. Through his life, Jesus gave a new set of rules for living. Through his death and resurrection, he gave a new way for living eternally. God maintained free will and now presented his most loved creation with a new choice. All they now had to do was believe Jesus was the Christ, God the Son on earth as was prophesied. And then to receive Jesus as the one and only way to eternal life, practicing their God-given decision of free will.

What it all comes down to is God wants the power of choice to apply to each individual, not just a blanket sentence to condemn a race because of a decision their ancestors made. Each of us has the power to deny the apple. Every single person controls their fate by either responding to God's plea to accept him as Lord and Savior, giving glory to his name for the gift of his creation, or ignoring his call and making the conscious choice instead to go at it alone, shaking a fist to the sky and saying, "I'll do it myself."

Free will was the gift with its two outcomes of either condemnation or eternal life with God. The answer to "Why Jesus" is because the only way to offer this same choice directly to each man was for God to become personally involved. The reason people say in cliche that he "paid the price" is because he was rightfully owed. He offered the angelic rebellion no second chance, but to his loved creation, he designed a way out. Jesus was not a random occurrence. He was the necessary end for God's plan to give each of us a second chance; to be more than a descendant of Adam, to be a child of God.

I hope you turned down the apple. I hear they have a bad habit of leaving a condemning after-taste.

The Deep End

Honestly, I am amazed that I have delayed even this long in posting about what could be my biggest life change to date, a move to Washington, D.C. Due to this, the full amount of detail would just leave your head spinning from overload. I know mine still is.

Each person and each mind is set with their own individual way of thinking. Remember back to a time when your summers were filled with a trip to the local cement pond, the community center pool. It was a place that swarmed with kids of all ages, scampering around the hot concrete as a fish out of water while the lifeguard was set on a repeat cycle of constantly shouting, "WALK!". But focus in for a second on the rounded ledge that ran just above a small tile marked "10" or even "12 feet" for the Deep End, the part of the water that was darker in color and thicker in mystery. What kind of approach did you have when you came towards that side of the pool? Did you defy the red-suited lifeguard, sprint from the far side of the sidewalk rounding the corner at top speed and leap head, back, or butt first into the unknown waters? Or did you cautiously approach that ledge, staring slightly over the concrete to see if you could get a better idea of what was down there and just when you could expect to touch bottom again? I'm the one gazing over the edge, thinking through every possible scenario, analyzing how my jump and impact with the water will affect myself and those around me.

Strange that life at many stages is not much different than a hot, smelly community pool. After two years of walking much too slowly around the outside, I had decided that all the kids who were having any fun made the flying leap into the deep end, scarily enough without thinking the whole jump through.

The initial spark hit me in a phone conversation standing just outside of the North Hulen street Starbucks in Fort Worth. It was a college friend of mine who had worked in DC for awhile and sounded so excited about it. My only experience with the city was a high school band trip in '99, a lifelong fascination of history and even a bookshelf with mini-biographies of some of the former presidents. His response when I asked him what variety of jobs existed in DC was that most places weren't hiring. After that, I decided to do a little investigating of my own. Pulling up the A&M former student directory, I searched for any Aggies around the DC area and faced them with the simple question of "what advice would you give someone searching for a communications or public affairs job in Washington." It is no understatement that I could preach for hours about the spirit and tradition of my great alma mater, but I was never so proud than to receive 20 replies of the 30 emails I sent out within a week. Most had the common theme of encouraging me to look into a job on the infamous Capitol Hill working for a Congressman. The key advice here was to get my foot in the door, gain some experience, and be able to start my own ground-floor campaign of working on staff in a congressional office. Taking my next baby step in the road to DC, I was able to contact several Chief of Staffs on the Hill. Little things can often cause the biggest difference; even a match rolled too far off the fingers can start a torrential fire. I found out on the second day of my summer Europe trip that I had landed an internship with Congressman Joe Barton of the sixth district of Texas. If you want a true experience of shock, transplant yourself into a foreign country surrounded by a different language and be informed that when you return in three weeks you have to leave everything you call home. And leave I did.

After a quick flight and a cab fare, I arrived in Washington, DC with only my two bags in tow to set up shop at the Extended Stay America in Alexandria, Virginia. Unfolding my meager possessions and firing up my laptop, I continued my search of the message boards and classifieds, looking for a new place to call home. As was becoming a common theme in my adventure, God provided. That first night, I found two great guys, one from Arkansas and one from Missouri, who had an empty room in a rowhouse just seven blocks away from the Capitol that I could rent for one month. Security and sanity were slowly returning to my life.

Appropriately, my first week in DC was commemorated with a fireworks show on the National Mall directly in front of the Capitol. With the Washington Monument as a backdrop, the bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that I was finally there. All I could think was, "What in the world just happened? The last thing I remember is a simple little phone call outside of my hometown coffee shop!" See, it was never the point that I had to be able to make that plunge into the deep end on my own. God met me where I was, knew my nature, and still was able to craft my character into something bolder and grander. It wasn't to coddle or to protect; it was to personalize. I was stripped of every comfort except for two measly bags which could just have well been lost en route to DC, and in fact almost were! All I was left with was my faith in a provider, and a choice; take it or leave it.

Since then it has been one thing added at a time. I have learned that each day has enough trouble of its own, so there is no point in worrying over the outcome of each thought or action. I have been given personal evidence that in all things God works for the good of those who love him and have been called according to his purpose. And most importantly, that I can plan my own personal destination, even if I know that I want to eventually end up in that pool, but that God will direct my individual steps. He didn't just provide comfort and counsel in the landings along the way, but he personally formed each jump to meet me where I was and guide me to the ledge. Before I knew it, God had backed me up to nothing but the basics then given me a kick start across the pavement. Once you reach the ledge it becomes only second nature to just jump into the deep end.

By the way, this water feels incredible. Did you see that splash?

Epic Proportions

Modern cinema is currently infatuated with the concept of a timeless epic. Progressing from William Wallace to General Maximus and even to the mighty land of Troy, their boundless stretch for blockbusters has unfortunately led them to the memory of Alexander the Great. Three hours and ten minutes later, I return from the movie theater with a deep sense of boredom and a stomach sick of Raisinets. Still, out of the chaotic and shallow characters, my mind somehow forged a question to ponder: what is greatness? The classic epic generally depicts a man who makes his way to the top to achieve some basic purpose or goal. All too often this involves power or greed, but the truest form of heroic strife is achievement. Sure, these movies sell because they involve dramatic fight scenes for the guys and hopeless, mysterious romance for the girls, but didn't stories like these receive great accolade before there was such a thing as the blue screen or Brad Pitt? Of course they did. Hollywood has it right. Whether they are aware of it or not, I would argue that these plot lines work because the characters send us deeply into a setting where greatness is cut and dry, plain and simple, as man versus man or man versus world. Through annoyed sighs and an overdose of chocolate, I still came out of the movie looking inward and questioning myself and my life.

There was no other professor that taught me more at A&M than Dr. Rick Rigsby in the department of Communications. The proof of his impact was in sheer numbers. He could consistently fill a classroom that didn't require attendance. What is impressive about this is the title of the class was "Rhetoric in Western Thought". We're talking Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, the whole Greco-Roman backstory. But his gift is in taking basic subjects, even as classic as western rhetoric, and relating it to any audience. He knew how to drive at the basic themes and open an otherwise bored mind. I'm furious that I threw away some of his lectures that included some great quotes, but one I remember above the rest.

"Great people do things that other people don't."

I can hear his voice booming across the room. Those who have had the pleasure of being in his classroom, or at least of hearing him speak, know the kind of echo his voice can cause. As a very large man with a looming prescence and resounding voice, he commands respect. I'll be honest that even as he repeated the quote, I thought it sounded a little obvious and perhaps overpraised. But as he knew best, he dissected the words to produce an understanding across the whole room.

The point that Dr. Rigsby made is that to be great, one must stretch their limits, push their boundaries, and take those final few steps where so many others will hesitate. I would venture to say that you've been in such a situation before. Exhaustion of the mind, body, or spirit has set in. All human thought tells you to stop or suffer severe consequences. But for some reason you choose to go on. Great generals make the bold move to strike with an outnumbered force. A nervous boy decides to ask out the picture-perfect girl that everyone else is too afraid to even speak to. An employee makes a risky proposal to his boss where others remain quietly in their chair. Body defies mind. Action crushes idleness. But before the first troop steps toward the enemy or the first syllable is uttered for a date, there is Vision, a guiding beacon that sets the goal of all objectives. This is the part of our minds that formulate alternatives when we feel things are heading in the wrong direction. It's the part of our soul that reaches out to explore other terrains when we become stagnant or lazy. Dr. Rigsby would go on to say, in the analysis of that quote, that great people are more than minds and words, but they are actions and objectives. After all, talk is cheap.

I have a private blog that I don't share with anyone. In fact, I would prefer to not even share its title because even that outlines too much. Typically, I will go to that journal with these sort of questions, the philosophical ones, that, honestly, often tail off into no answer. But I post it here because I think that many of us struggle with this question: "Will I be great?". God made us with a willpower and intelligence of mind that causes us to always struggle for survival, and not just of ourselves but of our humanity. Individuals protect their family with no regard to their own welfare. After all, isn't that the simplest definition of love, someone you would willingly die for. But he also gave us a soul that questions self-purpose and merit, pondering the who-what-when-where-why's of life; a soul that doesn't always accept the status quo but wants to know the meaning behind it all. Those that know me would have no problem attesting to the fact that I can easily be classified as a person of many questions. This is very true. But I will say that I don't ponder why we're here. As best versed in a song: "All of life comes down to just one thing, and that's to know You, oh Jesus, and to make You known." Simple as that. But in the same breath, we were made in God's image, with Adam and Eve each retaining certain aspects of His character. Woman would receive the compassionate and caring concious that nurtures, provides, and seeks to tend to her group. Man was given the harsher spirit of protection, competition, and boldness. Not to say that each didn't take in a little of the other, but these characteristics are often very apparent in even the little things that we do.

A book that I have added to my shelf, but am unfortunately only about half-way through, points to this as definite truth and essential in understanding how to provide God with glory in our lives based on what we were given. It's called "Wild at Heart". I think about the ideas of this book whenever I become engulfed in a movie with the stereotype of this greatness-seeking character. I can see myself as Maximus, defending home and seeking to provide justice for the wrongful death of his wife, son, and mentor. Or in a more modern time as Rudy, striving to surmount all odds, even when all those around doubted his abilities. Or even as Alexander, pushing ahead through countless borders, seeing the deeper motive of modernizing the common mindset to include a change for the better.

The fact is, through all this pondering, that everyday life reaches a point in which it becomes only that; just every day. Will I have the opportunity for that great achievement? How does one push vision to reality? Will I have what it takes when the time is provided to raise the bar? I trust that you have all thought these things, in one form or another, although perhaps not as overstated. A month or two ago, this was something that created a certain level of concern and worry for me. The idea that I could forever be subjected to the mundane and have no control over the outcome or course of my life is a concept that I feel goes against my character and my abilites. But with help from the best source, my comfort came through Psalms 62:5-8. My strength is in God, and my hope is in Him. Achieving greatness is more than a Hollywood movie or an epic tale. It's in the realization that human strength is weak and inconstant, and there is only one source for rock-solid stability. I may not know the exact time that my tests of "greatness" will come, but preparation through vision and movement through action with no fear of my basis of strength is all I need to be aware of.

And God willing, maybe one day my life can avoid being subjected to a crappy screenplay directed by Oliver Stone. Let's have faith that someone like Tom Hanks or Spielberg would jump on the project.

Five Year Anniversary

Before going any further on this blog, let's just acknowledge the elephant in the room. I have slacked in my postings and hope to retain every last reader that may have given up on me during these past couple of months. Although it's no excuse for my blog-laziness, I have however noted that many of my fellow writers have been neglecting their duties as well. Apparently the next big fad is something called a "facebook", which looks at first glance to be a suped-up IM profile. I believe I'll stick with the blog craze that you all introduced me too and try my best to get back on track with it. This thing is just too much fun to toss to the side.

I need to first thank my sister for getting me a ticket to the OU game this past weekend. From the emails I've seen come across the college listserves that I'm still on, I know that it must have been hard to come by. Taking advantage once again of my half-day Fridays here at Basden Steel, I took off towards College Station and arrived there at about 3:00.

It was a lot more active on a Friday afternoon than I expected it to be. I made the obligatory swing by the AFC cubicle in Koldus and was proud to see more than sufficient representation at the famous "Cube". From there, I found myself walking through the MSC and then deeper into campus past Hart Hall, my old sophomore dorm, pre-air conditioning, thank you very much. The summer of 2000 was up to about 114 degrees for the first few weeks, and between that and a gallon of water a day, it turned out to be a great way to lose 10 pounds.

Eventually I found myself past Evans library and walking towards the front corner of campus. I had seen the Bonfire Memorial as I was driving in and intended to see it later, but since I had walked this far, I figured I might as well make the stop now.

Let me say congratulations to the designer and builders of that project, because they gave the event the recognition and justice it completely deserves. From the front entrance of two stones that state so very clearly the pride of the Aggie spirit and the final march-in to Heaven, I began to be transported back to that fall of 1999. The stone path leads you past a marker for every Bonfire from 1909 through 1998, with a well-stated dark stone that is inset to show the year it was disassembled in honor of President Kennedy's assassination. The gravel walkway merges with a large ring that encompasses 12 archways, each facing the direction of one of the victim's hometown. The face etchings and quotes carved inside these portals can't be described properly in writing. At the very center of the display is one circle plaque marking the location of the Centerpole and showing "11.18.1999, 2:42 AM". Just a little over two months into my freshman year, and that day is without a doubt one of the most memorable.

Around 8:30 the night before, Aggie Fish Club met for its weekly meeting. As a fish, I was just starting to get a grasp on the organization and learning more of what it meant to be an Aggie. Per tradition, we went to the Polo Fields as a group to meet with some of the Redpots, or the top leadership of the Bonfire building teams. It was pitch dark surrounding the well-lit Stack as it loomed high above us at about 55 or 60 feet with almost 4 of the 6 tiers completed. Small campfires lined the perimeter of the structure to warm both workers and visitors. Many of my friends, Corps and Non-Reg, were heavy participants with Cut, the process of taking down the trees to be used, and Stack, piling the logs into the wedding-cake design on the Fields. However, it was enough involvement for me to just have a door pounded in every weekend as the upper-classmen in Moses Hall on Northside would blare music down the hallways screaming to get up and out for Cut. You could tell their strict devotion by the multiple expletives they used in encouraging you out of your room. I didn't know much about Bonfire, but I knew that it meant the world to many Aggies.

We gathered around one of the campfires as the Redpots described the whole process. Students could be seen still in action stacking the logs onto the quickly-forming pile. The structure was immense and the work being performed was even more impressive. Some moved the logs into place, others steadied them, while several students sat in swings that were tied from the top of the Centerpole. They would maneuver themselves around the triple-grouped logs and use their wire and tools to connect them to the Stack. As the Redpots finished their talk and answered any questions, the freshmen and counselors stuck around for a while as we roasted S'mores over the small fires. People began to peel off to go take care of other things that night. As part of the last group to leave, I distinctly remember looking up at the stack and just admiring the work that was being done. What an impressive testament to the teamwork and camaraderie that exists at A&M. We left the site and turned in at about 12:00 that night, just as the last Bonfire shift was arriving. What happened after that was no less than a nightmare.

At about 2:45 am, I tossed around in my top bunk as people ran up and down the hall screaming and shouting. If you knew Moses Hall, you'd know that this could have been just another night. At about 2:50, my phone rang but I only barely heard my answering machine. "Hey Justin, it's Anthony your Fish Camp counselor. Hey man, just calling to make sure that you were alright. Call me when you get this." By 2:55, my phone rang again. With the third time as the charm, I woke up and answered the phone to hear my Mom on the other end. "Justin, you need to turn on the TV. Bonfire fell." At that time, A&M used one of its community cable channels for a non-stop broadcast of work being performed on the Stack. It had a camera mounted at the top of the O&M Building, one of the tallest on campus. My roommate and I turned on the community channel to see a slumping pile of logs with people and sirens scattering all around it. Reports that kept coming back to the dorm were incomplete. After all, Moses was one of the dorms assigned to work that night from 12 to 6. We were told that there wasn't much we could do, and no one really knew the immensity of the disaster just yet, so we went back to bed.

The next morning, even the sun was hid as the sky clouded itself in mourning the loss of life. Helicopters could be heard slicing through the air while covering the ground in aerial camera shots. Per routine, I went to my 8:00 class in Blocker, Business Math 141 with Professor Li Chen. Most of the students had shown up at class, but the room was even more silent than usual. A sense of shock covered the room. The professor sat on the front row, crying with a student. I later found out that one of the seriously injured victims was in my class. The workers who built Bonfire wore something called "grodes", a basic t-shirt with blue jeans that would, over several weeks, be covered by smell and sight in the mud and work of their construction. Scattered across the room were various students dressed in a dirt and sweat-soaked clothing who had come directly from the Stack. Within minutes of the collapse, they were part of the sea of students who could be seen running as fast as they could from both the Southside and Northside dorms. Class was dismissed, which became a common theme for the day. Making my way to the Bonfire site, I braced for the worst.

The situation was devastating. It was as if a massive giant had fallen to his knees and slumped sideways over the ground. My first instinct was to question why so many logs still lay in place. Could they not just maneuver the crane towards the stack and begin to clear the area? The tragedy was that students were still trapped among the logs, caught underneath the rubble. Moving just one log in the wrong direction or order would cause the entire fallen top of the structure to shift and cause tragic effects for those still not free. Students desparately wanted to help, but numbers made no difference in the complicated process of freeing the victims. Instead, the rescue workers put willing students in action of relocating what logs they could. Lifting each one typically called for people on alternating sides of the log that would carry weight on the shoulder. The football team could be seen assisting the worried students. Some of the most incredible pictures show them lifting the logs straight over their heads with great strength.

The gray sky continued as Aggies lined the perimeter at all hours of the day and night. Prayers were sobbed, friends were clinging to each other for comfort, and the tragic news continued as rescue workers constantly tended to the stack. The worst times came when several firemen and paramedics could be seen gently climbing the logs with a white sheet. Spreading it out to cover a hole they were creating in an area, the sheet gave some final decency and privacy to a limp body that would be pulled from the grips of the stack. Word circulated and tears continued as students learned of another lost life, often someone that they knew as a friend. No words can describe the chill that would flood down my spine when yet another person was found.

Total count for the tragedy eventually arrived at 12 dead, 27 injured, and thousands of crushed hearts. But the saga had only begun. So many stories exist for me to share. I could tell you how I attended an assembly of students in Reed Arena around the time the last body was pulled out of the stack, and how I've never heard such a still moment of silence, uninterrupted by any stray coughs or sneezes; just awe-inspiring stillness, reflection, and respect. I could tell you about a rousing midnight yell that should have involved the burning of that Bonfire, but instead led the Aggies to Kyle Field where head yell leader Jeff Bailey focused the minds and hearts of the grieving students on the football game against the texas Longhorns, reminding everyone that it was just a game and the memory and lives of those lost deserved our continued respect. I could tell you about the deep-seated rivalry between the Aggies and Longhorns that resulted in a victory for A&M; even though it was only sport, it meant the beginning of a healing process to thousands of students. The stories are too many to address.

But what I have chosen to tell you is because I have too often spoken to Aggies who are current students that do not know anything about the event. The story of Bonfire '99 should not just be locked up within a circle of gravel and walkway of stones. You need to know how it was. My perspective is even less revealing than so many more than me that were dedicated heart and soul to Bonfire and what it stood for. Media and the outside public would only see an event that brought students together to watch a fire, symbolizing A&M's "burning desire to beat the hell out of t.u." What should not be forgotten was that Bonfire was so much more. The Aggie theme in the whole project was not just the night that it burned. It was the whole process of a team striving together to build something greater than themselves, then to see all their efforts consolidate to provide an incredible structure for many to view.

Bonfire's future is uncertain and has been since the minute following its collapse. Reports would eventually find that flaws in its construction had caused the tiers to be improperly locked in place. The logs slid, causing excessive pressure to snap the Centerpole in half and send the Stack to the ground. Outside consultants and administrators investigated the cause through an authorized panel and eventually cited the root of it all with a "reactive" instead of "proactive" philosophy" ingrained in the univeristy's culture. Officials since then have brought issues such as risk management and active review of practices to the forefront of administration priorities.

The debate continues on the feasibility of Bonfire. Some students run a private project as an off-campus Bonfire. My views on this are not the point of my writing today. Aggies need to know what the history is. Others should hear at least one perspective of what happened during those times. And most importantly, I myself don't want to forget it. This event shaped my time at A&M and taught me within the course of a few days exactly what it meant to be an Aggie. My account is by no means the only view on Bonfire. Many were much closer to those who fell and the event that took their lives. But as we approach the five-year anniversary of Bonfire '99, I encourage you to visit the memorial and ask others that were there what it was like. Such a tragic event should never be allowed to survive only as walkways and arches. If you were there, please feel free to add your comments on your personal memories of that November.

The Totem Pole

It's really a lot of fun being the youngest full-time employee in the office. You don't realize the mini-adult community that a university town like College Station has until you go back to living outside of its city limits. For four years, I operated in an environment that is almost entirely run by college students. The streets are populated with young adult drivers, all events center around the 18-23 age bracket, and large university programs such as Fish Camp or the Memorial Student Center are entrusted to the care of a group that doesn't even qualify to rent a car under their own name. But once you step into the ominous "real world", you take a long, quick slide down the totem pole into a place where experience is everything and you don't have any. But used properly, this outsider status can be turned into an afternoon of comedy. As co-workers discussed their memories of Ronald Reagan, I take the opportunity inform them that he was inaugurated just one month before I was born. I particularly enjoy the shock on their face whenever I point out ancient events that they witnessed such as, "You were alive when Elvis died?!" See what I mean? There's a silver lining behind every cloud. Particularly though, my favorite question would have to be, "What in the world did y'all do before [insert new technology here] was invented?"

Email. Instantaneous communication. Irreplacable, if you ask me. With the tap of a few keys and the click of a mouse, away goes a correspondence that will be greeted to the receiver's attention with that doorbell inbox chime. Concerned that someone you sent the email to will lie and say they never got it? You can thank some programmer for the creation of the read receipt. Touche, dishonest email user. But the best feature is being able to keep up with friends and family whenever you want. Some people would say to just pick up the phone, but you know as well as I do that, all too often, a letter is all you need. Just a simple but meaningful piece of conversation to check up on them and see how things are going. My inbox chimed at me just recently with an email from a good buddy of mine, Matt Giese, a great friend I met in college. His message brought to mind a story that needs to be preserved; a tale of three inspired young men who set out on a journey to find the Great Goose, the magnificent creature that would bring fame and fortune into all of their lives. Since what was intended to be a segue of office technology to email to the story of the Giese Goose has turned into a short story of its own, I will hold onto this gem for another day. It's a story worth hearing; just not yet.

Instant Messenger. To my young adult readers, I could have conveyed this to you with a multitude of acronyms. AIM. MSN Messenger. Y!. For the older crowd whose pre-teen children have not yet discovered it, I'll give you a breakdown. To register, all you need is a clever nickname to distinguish you from the millions of others out there who are logged on in scores of other countries. Think of it as a CB radio handle on steroids. Others who have this program need only to be logged onto the Internet and have your name on their "buddy list". Once you sign on, these people are alerted to your presence. Pessimists and nay-sayers to this software would argue that it has killed the personable forms of communication that were once relied on in the past. Conversation has been thrown aside for convenience, and emotion is indecipherable through text. I would argue just the opposite. After I graduated college, so many adults encouraged me to keep in close contact with my friends. The difficulty is not necessarily in calling that person but worrying if you will have enough to talk about. The chat window of an instant messenger frees my generation of this burden. Short, quaint notes are completely accepted through this medium, so it highly increases the number of friends you can keep in touch with, free of the possibility of boring embarassment. For those in college, you know the advantage to organizing a get-together with one quick copy-paste function. Don't share this with too many people but my dorm roommate and I even reached the point of chatting back and forth to each other while we were in the very same room, sitting back-to-back. Sure, it was a joke to a certain degree, but you'd be surprised how effective it was.

Computers. Even in admiring the subtleties that technology has granted my generation, how could I pass over the basic tool that brought it all. So many times I catch myself in the assumption that information was always able to be broken down into binary ones and zeroes. Forget email and messenging; how about just plain filing? To me, sorting involves having two windows open and dragging several descriptive icons from one folder to the next. Treehuggers should be worshipping the early programmers for saving forest after forest by reducing paper to point-and-click files! Just yesterday, as I was grabbing an envelope from downstairs in the office, I noticed a dark-gray plastic box sitting on the shelf, collecting dust. Curious, and honestly just stalling before I went back to my office, I brushed off the casing and lifted the lid. Once the dusty smoke cleared, I found that our office in fact still owned a typewriter. I can't imagine what it would still be used for, but if you ask me, I'll stick with my Microsoft Word and Excel.

If you push aside the heavy layers of sarcasm, you would find a young adult that realizes the tables will turn all too quickly. I failed to mention that the ones I cause to reminisce about actually remembering Reagan's presidency typically have a response of their own. "Your time is coming." Yeah, I know, I know. As fast as these months are flying by, I'm afraid that before I know it I'm going to be 50, having people ask me about the Bonfire collapse of '99 or the September 11th tragedy of 2001. Hopefully they'll quiz me about more positive things like "how cool was it to be around for the theater release of the first three Star Wars episodes." From my front porch gravity chair on the lunar space colony, I'll say, "Now them were the good ol' days. Robots had not yet replaced all human jobs, and Bill Gates and George Lucas still hadn't purchased Europe, Asia, and both Americas." For now though I'll continue to scrape for whatever comedy I can here at the bottom of the totem pole. I definitely am aspiring to rise to the top, so if my twisted humor and knowledge of technology must fall to the wayside, I think that's a consequence I'll be happy to deal with.

Pastime Pleasures

The week has been fairly long and uneventful. I won't complain, because I honestly have no one to blame but myself. My mind has been reprogrammed to think that my new schedule involves working for a couple of weeks, taking a vacation, working for about 14 more days, then vacationing again. Look at my blog history: ranch trip, cruise, Vegas. Now I've stalled out and my expectations of a continuing holiday trend have deflated my daily motivation. Not to worry though. I consider myself very fortunate to not only be able to take the time off but have family, friends, and (the main difference this summer) some money to involve in my summer excursions.

"I think there are only three things America will be known for 2,000 years from now when they study this civilization: the Constitution, jazz music, and baseball." American historian Gerald Early may not be too far off from the truth on this one. I'd probably have to agree that there's nothing I enjoy more on a warm, summer day than chilling out to some Glenn Miller or Benny Goodman, loading up the car with friends and family to make my way to a Rangers game, then capping off the evening with a quiet reading of Article 1: The Legislative Branch. In particular, I love how baseball is classified as the American pastime. Yesterday, I went to the Ballpark in Arlington (I'm sorry I refuse to call it Ameriquest Field, unless they start paying me for that ridiculous endorsement), to watch the Texas Rangers take on the Anaheim Angels. Riding high in the AL-West Standings, the Rangers continued their success streak to beat the Angels 3-2. The excitement of the season is undeniable, especially after the Rangers have been through so many summers with little or nothing to be uplifted about. If it wasn't a terrible losing streak, it was a star player that didn't pan out. If it wasn't suffering the loss of a long-time icon to another team, it was the continuation of a long-time failing tradition known as the bullpen. But seriously, what does it matter? Did I lose any money or health over the Rangers' slumps? Have I gained any personal or individual growth from their extra wins? Some would say that that question is up for debate.

Every now and then I find myself doing this. I am caught up in the moment among the crowd with every other person around me, and suddenly it's as if a hand plucks me from the group and lets the action continue around me. These are the times that I begin to ask the universal question of "Why". I try to use this curse sparingly, as I am well aware that not everything should be brought into question. Not every system needs to be analyzed, nor does every situation need to be evaluated. But I couldn't avoid the urge with baseball. I had sat calmly in Section 41 for the first three innings, content in my seat down the first-base line with my dollar hot dogs provided by Decker, even rising to my feet when Soriano sent one over the wall during his first at-bat. It wasn't until around the top of the fourth that I was suddenly removed from the action and began to view it all as an observer. Very interesting what you can see when you step back from the activity to see the participants. I'm serious, you should try it sometime. Attitudes of the fans varied from leaning in and anticipating the next pitch to lounging back with their feet propped calmly on the chair in front of them. But amongst all the store-bought jerseys and blue Texas-T hats, there was a visible excitement of fans engulfed in the game, cheering their heroes and booing their enemies. No dramatic event caused this revelation, but for some reason I just started to soak it all in. The Ballpark is an incredible place with a touch of antique design to it all, but for those fans it was a battleground pitting good against evil.

On the other hand, there's a certain laziness to the game of baseball. No time clock runs as a deadline to when the next event in the sequence must start. The only real time that matters is the beginning of the game. Even then there's no real haste by any of the players. Every inning has a warm-up involved, as the outfielders toss the ball back and forth and the pitcher loosens up his arm. Before the throw to the plate, he has time to evaluate if the catcher's suggestion is the right call. No rush. And if the batter doesn't like how it's going, well just put your hand up buddy and back on out of that box. The umpire here will hold the game for you. And don't ever let a human resources consultant evaluate the outfield, because there would either be some major paycuts or personnel reductions after he saw the time they get to spend counting the blades of grass. Don't worry, I know their importance, and a comment about the idle outfielder would be taken back when the other team's hit landed where he once stood.

But you have to notice the irony that America's pastime is one of the most laid back sports imaginable. How many surveys do you think would show that the general attitude of this country is "relaxed" or "sedated". Yeah, right. Tell that to McDonald's and the never-ending desire for a faster food line. We're in an outrage if it takes more than 2 minutes to pull into the drive-thru and leave with a greasy foodbag in hand. Then we decide to combine things like driving and eating to subconsciously help make our day more efficient. Time is money. So what causes a person to become irate when they're stuck in traffic, even though they have nowhere pressing to be? Apparently, that same individual can instantly suppress that urge whenever a baseball game progresses at the same snail pace.

Brought back from the outskirts of observation into the view of reality, I would still agree that baseball is rightfully named America's pastime. True, the urgency and headache of meeting a deadline or maximizing a set amount of time is not present in baseball, but the purest representations of American philosophy are clearly there. Choice. The idea that an individual can decide the intent and timing for their personal actions. Bravery. A notion that implies lack of fear, whether in opposition to a team of 9 or in presentation for a group of 39,000. Heroes. That that individual could overcome insurmountable odds to bring himself and others to a point of victory. We are taught these ideas from kindergarten and on, but it seems that with time, politics and lack of integrity start to blur the visibility of its effects. It could be competition, the culture, the atmosphere, or even the individual players that bring you to see a baseball game, but ultimately, I think it boils down to the fact that winner and loser are cut and dry, plain and simple. You celebrate your team, its colors, its mascot, its logo, and even have faith that following a trumpet sound with a "charge" will in some way rally your supported soldiers to stand taller and fight harder.

Don't worry. I'm a spectator, too. Remember, I said I know that not everything needs to be analyzed. In fact, I enjoyed my hot dog and fries, accompanied by my king size soda, with as little thinking and pondering as the next guy. But curiosity got me on this one. The time is now 3:20 pm on Thursday afternoon. I just happened to complete the writing of all of this as I turned on the Rangers on the radio. With the MLB.com highlights window left open on my desktop, I continue to cheer even from the isolation of my office. No foam fingers, no dollar hot dogs, no trumpet charges. Just the hope that my team will end the game in victory. Currently, the score is 7-1, Anaheim. Things are not looking good for the Rangers. But even though I long for the win, there's comfort in the loss. Our lives would be incredibly depressing if our entire destiny rode on any single event. The game helps assure us that there is always another chance. Opportunity, another American trait. If not the next night, then the next season. Confidence is found in the fact that the underdog will never lose as long as he is still playing, always making brave choices and constantly striving for his chance to be the next hero.

Elation

With great shame I do hereby submit this tardy post. I am in the middle of what could be one of my most active summers, and yet, I tend to delay logging in the incredible events that I have been so privileged to participate in over the past few months.

Alright, so it's not that bad. It's just that I've seen some other blogs out there, and as much as I want to know the latest in your life, it's hard to keep checking when there has not been a post on some of those blogs since around March 30! But summer is upon us and you college types are away at your three-month jobs and not glued to your computer chair with multiple windows open on your screen. I'm really curious as to who reads this. I want to tell you the things that I've done throughout the last few days (or weeks), but I'd really like to tailor it to my audience. So I encourage you to leave a comment, or even just jot a quick email to justin@basdensteel.com and tell me you're reading. A published man likes to know who is turning the pages.

So when we last met I was still shaking the cow crap off of my boots and reveling in the pride of having moved multiple head of cattle. It would be a much different and difficult life, but part of me would love to live the life of a cowboy, if nothing else just for the cultural experience of it all. For now, I will just relive my bovine memories and hope for another invitation before too awful long.

Next stop on Summer 2004: Carnival Cruise Lines, funship Elation. My immediate family, along with some family friends (basically another set of parents and siblings we've known them so long) loaded up on Sunday, June 13th and left for the port of Galveston. From Fort Worth, it's long enough to get to Houston alone, much less past it for about 50 more miles. Mallory and Jordan, my sister and brother, survived the trip by turning on Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, not Mal's favorite, but the fact that 3.5 hours would be out of the way was appealing to her. Arriving at the coast, our illustrious floating hotel stood ready for our embarkation. Thirteen decks high and scores of yards long, the Carnival ship Elation dwarfed any ship that I had encountered before. Boarding the boat was mostly comfortable and already involved one picture after another by the Carnival staff. We walked up and up the ramp until we stepped out on the middle deck into the front atrium.

The size and scope of the ship was overwhelming. For at least the first 24 hours on board, I swear I was lost. Think about it, windows are within reach but often times you are just wandering down a long hall. Sure you feel the movement but who in the world knew what direction. Being of the male gender and wanting to quickly know and understand my surroundings, I set out on a trek across the ship with deck layout map in hand. By the end of the walk, I had found the basics of the system. Decks 3 thru 13 were accessible, and there were 3 elevators, forward, middle, and aft. Excited to use my minor bit of nautical terminology, I discovered that even-numbered rooms were located on the port (or left) side and the odd numbers found on the starboard (right) side. I had identified the areas of commerce, recreation, gambling, music, and most importantly cuisine.

It turned out to be a week full of incredible meals with entertaining and attentive service no matter which department you turned to. It seemed that even the store clerks were wanting to make you laugh. Our cruise took us to Progreso, Mexico; Cozumel, Mexico; and Belize City, Belize, each one having a variety of excursions to entertain you for part of the 9 or so hours that we were in port. But obviously a 7-day cruise could not be summarized into a blog of readable size, so I'll leave the nuances to myself. However, how could I have an accurate depiction of the trip without giving the Top Ten things I miss the most about my Carnival ship Elation:

10. The constant sound of crisp, blue water being cut by the bottom of the ship, spraying white waves back into the sea.
9. The chance of being able to step out onto the deck, whenever you felt like it, to have no land in sight.
8. Let's be honest: 24 hour pizza and ice cream. Only way to get that onshore is to camp out overnight at CiCi's or Chuck-E-Cheese!
7. The multitude of cultures and accents among the crew workers, my favorite probably being Romanian.
6. Putting my newly-learned Blackjack skills to the test on $5 tables, but most importantly walking away $75 ahead, including about 9 hours of gameplay.
5. Delicious dinners, complete with the constant care from our waiters Alexsander of Lithuania, and Vladislav of Russia. These guys were incredibly entertaining no matter if they were signing, dancing, describing an elaboarate dish, or forcing several at the table to join a conga line. Let me say, Dad, that I was quite impressed at your willingness to join the dance and do a rather fine job.
4. Strangely, the comforting voice of the elevator in a British accent announcing the deck you had arrived on. I can still hear her voice. "Lido Deck". "Promenade Deck". Yes. Jolly good.
3. Having a show every night after dinner involving comedy, juggling, dancing, or really anything to keep you clapping.
2. The crystal-clear water. If any of you have ever seen the ocean AWAY from the murky and slimy Gulf coast beaches of Texas, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
1. And, of course, day after day of fun-filled times with the family. I will definitely admit that I have an awesome family and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I think it should say a lot that three siblings, no matter what age, can live in tight quarters for 7 days and still come out liking each other!

So all in all, this was a great trip. Each port has an opportunity for various excursions. In Progreso, we visited some Mayan ruins, and then Belize was supposed to involve snorkeling, but the scroching sunburn that I received while at a beach resort in Cozumel kept me boat-ridden for that stop. Seriously, this sunburn was about the worst thing imaginable. My shoulders could've fried an egg, and then my strange condition of the 48-hour Itch set in. This is the second sunburn I've had that two days afterwards my skin begins to violently itch, and scratching only makes it worse. Allergy pills and Tylenol usually knock it out, but there's at least 20 minutes of trying to lie still in a bed while all you can envision are tiny bees running around your skin and stinging over and over. As violent as that sounds, those times were evened out with my top ten above and many more memories.

You see, I had to hurry and write this one because tonight I leave for Las Vegas, just a little trip orgranized by Mike Butts of A&M and Fish Camp fame. With a group of 11 Aggies and a t-sip (to help us communicate with the liberal weirdos), we'll be staying at the Hilton and then going to be there for July 4th fireworks and other festivities. In my opinion, this "having money" thing sure does help to spice up a summer! I'll try not to delay this vacation report like I did the cruise. I hope to return a richer man. So, as the King would say, "Viva Las Vegas"!

P.S. And I would also appreciate your cooperation with the reader census. Email or comment if you feel so inclined. Be back soon.

Cowboy Up

Every one of us has certain things that we hope to accomplish, be they short or long-term desires. Some people actually take the time to create a list or even a small notebook of these goals. But most others just have certain ideas that continually come back to their head as an experience they would love to be involved in. If you've read all the entries on my blog, which I hope you have, you will know that a certain goal of mine has been to participate in a cattle drive. This weekend I was privileged enough to have a slight preview of that experience.

Many of you who know me are aware that I am fascinated by the study of history. If I could have anything in the world, real or fictional, I would without a doubt wish for a time machine. I say this not because I am unhappy in my own era, but I want to know how I got here. My grandfather's cousin has done a considerable amount of research on the Bond family, and my uncle has done the same with my mother's side. Not that any of my relatives that I know of were renowned figures or that all their actions were notable for the history books, but its incredibly intriguing to me to learn about things that came before. You can sum it up so simple as every action has a reaction. Well, I'm living in the reaction, still with the question of what instigated any of their decisions. That and just a simple curiosity of how times used to be keep me a dedicated historian. I can't tell you how often I've been to the Online Handbook of Texas website just to research town names or origins. Living just south of Fort Worth, I can tell you stories about all kinds of landmarks that illustrate how "Cowtown" used to be. With the Chisholm Trail leading into the Stockyards, ranching was a vital industry to the state. Why else would some people from out of state assume that all Texans ride a horse to school? At any rate, I'm a proud citizen of the Lone Star State and all that it represents. In my office, I have a Texas flag proudly displayed on the wall. True, my interior decorating skills leave something to be desired, but at least you get an idea of where my pride stands. (Side note: any of you out there interviewing for jobs, or even just trying to better understand someone in your place of work, take a look at what is displayed in prominent positions in their office. These are the things that are most important to that person, and give you easy conversation starters and bonding topics, but back to my segue into my trip). So when I was given the opportunity to visit Rebecca's grandparents' ranch in Oklahoma to help work their cattle, I jumped at the chance. True, it is not on Texan turf, but the owner of the ranch loves this state, has spent a large amount of time here, and most importantly was willing to have us.

I arrived on Friday afternoon with friends Nick, Rebecca, and Heidi in Frink, Oklahoma, just south of McAlester. Grandma Mary Sue Harden was awaiting our arrival with the "Cowboy Room" and the "Lace Room" having just received clean sheets. We didn't waste too much time before we headed up the road to the Harden Ranch. I've traveled to Oklahoma before but couldn't remember the terrain. The area, in one hyphenated word, was awe-inspiring. Rolling hills of green and spotted yellow grass was interrupted at numerous points with looming trees casting shadows opposite of the cloud-covered sun. The barn stood just across from the old, quaint country home, gated in with steel pipe into an indecipherable maze of corrals and pins. As you would expect, a spotted dog came running out to meet us, happy to see visitors to his spacious backyard. Further proving my point of canine superiority, the barn cats only looked on for a second and snuck back under their building. Waiting for Grandpa Hugh Harden to return from the nearby town of Atoka, we took a quick tour around the barn and met the horses. One large, dark horse walked over to be greeted, shoulders stout and commanding respect. Just behind him was a light-tan, white-spotted horse of a little leaner build. We all jumped over the rails and went to prepare the horses. Nick wasn't sure why his horse kept kicking his back legs as he brushed it out. A lesson learned a little too late was that horses are ticklish along their "flank", which Nick kept disturbing.

Pulling up in the driveway, Grandpa Hugh stepped out of his truck with a trusty blue heeler dog of his own close behind. Quick introductions followed, with the animals not forgotten. Names can tell you a lot about a person if you really pay attention. We'd soon learn just how much of an essentialist our rancher was as we were given a glimpse into his personality through the names of his pets. The blue heeler was appropriately named "Blue". The dark, broad-shouldered horse was named "Red". Still the spotted steed was simply referred to as "that Injun horse". A beige horse on the other side of the barn had been named Cheyenne by the grandmother, who always named her animals after cities. Grandpa Hugh would've named him "Yellow" but he had already had a horse named that not too long ago.

Nick and I took Cheyenne and the "Injun" horse, later named Chief, around one of the ponds down the hill from the barn. They were well-trained and easy to guide, although several times a command for a slight trot was misunderstood by our horses as "Hi Ho, Silver away!" Although I warned Nick, I think I had one-up on him because I made the smart decision to leave the boxers at home and pull out the briefs. Sure, they were at the back of the drawer, but I was thankful for them the whole weekend. Enough said. To allow us to jump ahead in the story, the rest of the evening involved Nick's overconfidence in his apparent God-given steer roping abilities causing him to make out-of-turn comments. Grandpa Hugh quickly humbled him with a pair of gloves, cedar posts, and a fence that needed mending. Needless to say, Nick kept his prideful statements to himself for the remainder of the trip.

The next morning we had a quick breakfast and went back to the barn. This time the pins were filled with large, loafing cattle. Overall, they looked pretty content. I think I would be too if my life involved walking through a buffet line with my family. Sure, my relatives can be quirky at times, but I think that the lack of inhibition in waste removal would scare even them away. Main objective of the day: sort through each group of cows and split off the untreated calves. Basic rule: cows are mental midgets and move in herds out of fear; therefore use that fear to take them where you so choose. The gate system was made more clear to me as we saw that you leave the cattle only one option of where to go. Eventually they find themselves in yet another pin. A few older and experienced relatives were there to help, so Uncle Bob took charge of the gate that released the older, treated cows and moved the younger calves into a smaller pin. Their size was nothing to scoff at, mind you. Calf tends to only mean younger cow, not always significantly smaller.

After that, Heidi and Rebecca brought them about 15 at a time into my even tighter area. Their fear continued to drive them as they all tried to crowd into the corner of the pin. It was at this point that I noticed I had become completely impervious to the fact that I had large animals constantly excreting all over the ground that I continued to walk through. Strange as it sounds, I was a little proud of this accomplishment. The end of the line for our herded friends was just past my post. I would send them one or two at a time down a narrow passageway. This of course involved me jumping in the middle of them, smacking them on the head, neck, or rear with a long stick, clapping and hollering cowboy phrases such as "Yah!" to stir them up, breaking one away from the group to send it in a frightful panic down the chute, then limiting my victory to only one by jumping in front of any others and heading them off until they stepped back to the corner. When Heidi was not in the mix with me, she stood by at the gate to trap in the suckered calf. Nick joined them in the chute to keep them in line and moving towards, what I can only describe as, the Contraption.

Imagine walking down a tight tunnel only to find yourself stopped by another gate. Just when you start to back up you realize that another one has closed behind you and the walls are tightening quickly. Immobilized, you try frantically to kick loose, only to feel no progressing movement and hear only loudly shaking metal. You, my friend, have been successfully maneuvered by several ranch hands into the Contraption. If you were a female, your torture was limited to a shot unfelt in the skin, then a notch placed in your ear to show you had been treated. But the males had a different story coming. For what you once held so dear as a symbol of your manhood was soon to be sliced into with a razor-edged knife, pulled out of their comfortable home, snipped sharply with a set of pliers then sprayed down with iodine. All of the sudden the walls drop and the gate pulls back to reveal a light at the end of the tunnel. Your final defeat comes to a head with your immovable shock. As if the snipping wasn't enough, you're poked in the butt with an electric prod that gives you no choice but to jump free of the Contraption. Have no fear, my friend. It's over. If nothing else, be grateful you at least escaped the fate of the smaller ones who were moved past the first Contraption into the Entrapment, a set of clamps that could disable any movement in your neck or appendages. The ending of course the was the same. Pliers, iodine, the whole nine yards.

The morning ended with a sweet revival of the calves to their mothers. At that moment I wish I could speak Cow because I would've liked to know if all that moo-ing was cursing at us or just relief that they made it through their right of passage. The medication and neutering, after all, was necessary for the ranch and the health of the cattle, but try to prove that to a calf that has been unwillingly coerced into a restrictive metal device.

After a hearty lunch, called of course dinner with supper to later follow, we joined Grandpa Hugh at the roping pin to watch him, this 63-year old man, tear off after steers that were launched out of the chute. Red, his horse, was still in training to replace Cheyenne as his steer-roping horse, but overall they made quite a team. Rebecca left with her grandmother, aunt, and mother to go back to the house, leaving Nick and I with Grandpa Hugh. The rest of the evening involved a string of stories that kept us entertained for at least an hour or so. His advice is more than can be covered in this already extensive story and will most definitely be revisited later, but overall he warmed up to us and began to treat us like men. We took a lot of pride in the fact that he said, "When you got here, the both of you were like a couple of girls. Now you're almost boys." Sure there was some cowboy sarcasm in that, but Grandma Mary Sue reported back to Rebecca after their family reunion the next day. She said all Grandpa Hugh could talk about were his two new ranch hands. "Was he proud of us?" I asked her. "Oh yes," Rebecca said. "Definitely."

Annual Review

So I'm at work yesterday and get to that state of boredom on the computer that you just start clicking icons. One of the first I end up at is AOL Instant Messenger and begin viewing random profiles. I notice that my friend Mr. James Garza of Belton, Texas and Aggie engineering fame has posted an away message begging for emails. Currently experiencing a lull in the day, I jot out a quick note asking about his summer internship. This morning, I am greeted by an email that outlines Garza's feelings about the real world and the small serving he is getting of it for the next few months. Just as often happens with my blogs, my reply to him turned out to help me group together some of my latest thoughts about life in general. For that, Garza, I thank you. Trent had posted a comment about wanting to see more about how I "do things". Well, I can't think of anything better than my philosophy on how I try to handle my post-college activities that consume the majority of my time and effort. This next week I will have been working one year since I graduated last May. I'll be honest with you that I'm very proud of that. I'm proud of where I am and what I'm doing. I'm proud that once again in my life I've made a transition into a totally different environment around completely different people. After all, that's what being an adult all boils down to, doesn't it? Making the most out of the situation you end up in and doing what you can to steer your own destiny. Hope Garza doesn't mind that I'm converting the email I wrote to him today into a blog. Maybe this will help some of y'all with your taste of the real world this summer.

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Excerpt of an Email: Advice to Garza
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Well, glad to hear that you're getting a little taste of the real world work schedule past HEB hours, but I'm sure that some of your older family members have given you a few words of advice. Since I know you have nothing better to do at work than read manuals and emails, I'll give you a bit of my own. Hopefully it may help to tide you over this summer, but it should be a relief to re-read after graduation, too.

- Don't conform. You've probably already found that the majority of workers and the general population feels underpaid, underappreciated, yet overworked. They wallow around in their self-pity and get some sort of cheap thrill off of passing their gloom to someone else, especially a young person. You'll notice that the younger people are much more idealistic and optimistic about nearly any situation. It's like that for a purpose. They need us to spark the monotony that companies put themselves in. Without us, groups would dive-bomb into a rut and just get stuck there. Always keep yourself in check on the emotions you experience throughout the day. Are you frustrated because there really IS a problem with the system, or are you just imitating a learned behavior of sulking? I've always had the belief that if you don't voice a suggestion on how to fix the problem, then you have no right to whine about it. Much of what you experience throughout the day is your choice in how you react to it.

- Know your passion. Sure it was the P in BLIMPS, but it's the one that I think all the others can tie back into (by the way, you'll be surprised how much you can use AFC philosophy in the real world). Think about all the transitions you've made throughout the years. The most notable one recently was high school to college. There was something about what you've become involved in through college that tied to the general passion that you had coming out of high school. It's no different when you step out of academia and into corporate. You need to pinpoint what it is that you are passionate about; that one thing that can drive your day. Use that to help pick your job, but once you get there, do everything you can to find how your passion ties into your work. For example, I'm completely passionate about deeper relationships with people. From a certain angle, my whole job can be based on that. As a manager of a project, I am not the boss of any particular person or department, but I do have to motivate the resources that are given to me to make my job complete in a timely and profitable manner. The better I get to know someone, the more I can tailor my encouragement to drive them to the best ending possible. You'll learn your position quicker, your boss will be impressed, and you'll sky-rocket past all the low-lifes that feel more comfortable with their woe-is-me attitude than stretching themselves to react to the situation.

- Accept the realities. It took about nine months for me to get to the point that I felt like the work world was where I was supposed to be. I started visiting College Station and felt more and more removed. You're right, those early mornings do suck, and it becomes really frustrating that you only have time for dinner and about one activity when you get home before it's time for bed. But understanding that that is just how it is helps to ground you some. Professors preach so much theory that it is very difficult to see how different the practice of it all really is. True, the young people are the ones that should look for the possibility of maximizing a situation and taking out the parts that hinder productivity or morale, but there are certain truths you have to live with. Mornings are early. Work days are long. Weekends don't come soon enough. Life used to be so much easier. Really you only have three choices once you notice these things. You can pout and whine about how much more fun college was and how stressful and time-consuming work has turned out to be, you can do more research and take a job that fits what you're looking for, or you can accept that certain conditions are just part of your environment. Now you have to think in quarters, not semesters. Four years of college somehow led into forty years of work. For so long we focus on what we want to be when we "grow up" that we basically expect a throne and scepter when we cross that stage instead of a diploma. It will take time to get where you want to be. Pay your dues now and focus on your goals for the future.

It's good to hear that you are seeing the differences between college and the work world, because it will help soften the blow once you get there. You're going to meet a lot of unhappy people who had really high hopes and somehow lost them along the way. They shifted priorities somewhere along the line or just had the wind taken out of their sail by someone and never really chose to get back up. But it seems like the ones that are the most successful are those that are not afraid of decisions and choose to give it another shot when they fail. Knowing you, I don't think you'll have a problem with any of it. Just enjoy your summer internship for what it is and make the most out of your last year once you go back to school. Aggieland is in fact the greatest place on Earth, but be sure you use it as a starting point and not as a peak of your "glory days". As a wish for good luck, I leave you this quote that you've probably seen before. Talk to you soon.

"A true leader has the confidence to stand alone, the courage to make tough decisions, and the compassion to listen to the needs of others. He does not set out to be a leader, but becomes one by the quality of his actions and the integrity of his intent." - Unknown

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Cat & Canine, Part 2

Again, a preface to this post. So I'm trying to settle into this new blog setup. Overall, I'm a fan of the updated tools and features, but my comments are still not working. If you don't see a link, drop me an IM at JBondino to leave a few words. I love hearing what people have to say about my most recent post, but lately I've been deprived of it due to some problem in the code. Web design isn't too difficult after you know what you're looking for, and I know my share of it, but when you start talking about moving stuff around and deleting items, forget it. My luck I would go to my Blogger Dashboard to create a brand new post only to be greeted by a blank history. But no worries. Even if they're erased by some fluke accident, my grandmother has started a binder with the paper printouts of my writings. There's not too many people better than someone who admires your work AND is still a step ahead of you. Thanks, Grannie.

When we last met, we had begun to dive into the genuine problem that I have with cats. I have been thinking about you, dear reader, every time that I have come across one this week, but particularly of course last night. Every Sunday night, my friends and I go over to Nick's house to watch The Sopranos and then Deadwood on HBO, two of my very favorite shows. As it is with anything that you hold dear, you often have to make sacrifices. Mine is that I choose for those two hours to share an apartment, and often a spot on the couch, with Zoe the cat. For the majority of the season, she was the only animal in the house and the absolute queen of her domain. What's worse is that she knew it. People sometimes judge that many animals are not intelligent just because we cannot communicate with them. But I would venture to say that that divider only focuses the actions of that creature more on their goal. For Zoe, it's showing that she can do whatever she wants and I can't do a thing about it.

But on one of the happiest days of my life, Nick pulled up the website of an animal shelter in south Dallas. It seemed that one of his friends that works on a construction site had been frequently visited by a boxer puppy. The crew had grown quite attached to the animal, but none of them had any place to take it. Just after they had turned it over to the shelter, Nick came to the rescue. For several years now, Nick has been obsessed with the idea of getting a dog and naming it after his idol and personal hero, Edward Norton. Although we love the actor, we've often questioned his unhealthy addiction. Even moreso we question why he has had his heart set on one type of dog...a mastiff! Do a quick Google search and see that this dog is one link on the evolution chain away from a buffalo. From what I understand, boxers turn into big dogs too, but at least he won't have to rent out another apartment just to hold the mammoth of a creature that he wanted.

Her name was Brooklyn, named of course for a character that Edward Norton is tied to in one of his upcoming movies. When I met her, it was just as I imagined it would be. Her short, stocky body was bouncing around in excitement at our every move. The white from her paws to just above her knees gave her legs four small socks. The rest of her was a light tan with a face that showed complete dedication and loyalty. It was obvious that everyone in the room was overjoyed to have Brooklyn as a part of the group. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, am I forgetting someone? That's right, Zoe! Well, she sat off in the corner, eyeing the new arrival. I wasn't there at their first meeting, but I can only imagine what went through her devious little mind. Do I feel bad for her? Sure, sure, I mean as much as I despise that cat she does have her appealing side. I was just excited about this dog because I knew it would put her in her place. Throughout the upcoming week, Brooklyn definitely made her presence known. Instead of claiming spots around the house like Zoe would do, Brooklyn just tore them up. I don't think there was a room in the apartment that week that wasn't touched. Carpets, blinds, plants, shoes, you name it and the little puppy was there to tear it up. Zoe had the dog scared for a while, until just recently Brooklyn figured out that she's a lot bigger than the cat. I have to say that I smile a little when that dog goes for the cat and then looks at us to see if we're proud of her. Of course we are, puppy.

But just as the cat was put in her place, I was quickly humbled into mine. I guess it's inevitable when I continue to ridicule Zoe for wanting some attention and recognition, just needing someone to appreciate her for what she is. I went over to Nick's house just the other day to go get some dinner with him. Zoe has a routine of scratching on the door to be let out and then meowing outside when she's ready to be let back in. I climbed the stairs to Nick's apartment and found Zoe waiting there for someone to come to the door. "Oh, cat you're so weak and helpless," I thought. With a certain arrogant pride, I loudly knocked several times against the door. After a second with no answer I tried again. No answer. I looked down at the cat. There were those slanted eyes again, and I swear I saw a grin crease her face. Now just plain frustrated, I pulled out my cell phone and called both Nick's mobile and home phone. Getting the answering machine, I tried to talk loud, hoping the speaker would broadcast my desparate cry for help to wherever he was in the apartment. How was my knocking and pleading over the machine any different from Zoe's scratching and meowing, you might ask? It wasn't, and I suffered a personal defeat that day.

Cats are alright, but it's just that dogs are so much better. Sure, I'll love cats for the fact that they're independent and definitely not as needy as dogs. I'll give you that. But I think Zoe knows how I was reduced to her level that day. Somehow I know that she'll find a way to never let me live that down.

Cat & Canine, Part 1

A couple of side comments before I dive into a MUCH needed updated post (I mean, I'm pushing a month lull here folks, which I would say is totally uncalled for). I'm a big fan of the new templates that Blogger is now offering...the only thing is that I guess I have to switch comment tools so unfortunately all my old ones are lost. Just so you know, old commenting visitors, your words were taken to heart and won't be forgotten. I hope to see many more of your witty quips on my new link.

So now that you know a little about me and where I'm coming from (do some back-reading if you don't, people), it's time to explore just what holds the corporate Bond together. Who are the friends and family that make the days worthwhile and the evenings late and memorable? If you really think about it, the people you interact with day in and day out are the ones who shape you and even sometimes have the power to change your mood, actions, and general outlook. Every new group and even some specific individuals I've encountered has seemed to bring out a side of me that I hadn't really found yet. I'll try to do justice to all of them and our experiences over the course of my next few blogs. After all, practically any one of my daily tales involves one of these people.

But, let's give the humans a rest for a change...it's high time you met my arch-nemesis. This is going to offend some people, so brace yourselves: I hate cats. No, no, I don't hate them. I loathe their very existence. The only reason that I can contain myself from just going nuts when I'm around them is giving some credit to the household feline for being part of the same family as a lion. I mean, seriously, that guy is awesome. I'll respect anyone who has a huge mane around their face and is well-known as the King of the jungle...but anyways.

My friends Nick and Rebecca Snider, both to be introduced later, somehow acquired a cat named Zoe, which translated in French means "child of Lucifer". My only real quarrel with cats before Zoe was that they cling to your clothes like a bag of fish hooks when you try to get them off of you. But Zoe reinforced my cat hatred as she quickly took over Nick and Rebecca's apartment. Every spot in the place was hers. "Don't sit on the couch, Zoe sleeps there." "Don't use that ball, that's Zoe's toy." Of course I would put the crowning defeat at Zoe acquiring the guest bathroom. Honestly, that one wasn't that difficult as you can imagine that trying to find that relaxing peace on the porcelain throne is slightly interrupted by a repugnant smell emitted by a litter box that's parked next to the toilet. She continued to strut around the apartment with that typical cat demeanor. Slow and easy walking, shoulders rolling just behind the neck, tail shot proudly into the air waving slightly at the tip, with slight graceful jumps into your lap whenever they so choose. It became ridiculous when Zoe started smelling my hatred. She was only more encouraged to annoy me. I'll be the first to say that a cat is a self-absorbed animal, but they sure know how to scheme. Bored with the rest of the world and showing it, I became her new toy. There could be 8 different people in the room and she would strut right over and lunge into my lap. She'd settle in for a comfortable nap, but only after staring me straight in the face with those vertical-slant pupils. "You're mine now." Don't try to stare down a cat...the rest of the room will think you're crazy and it only fuels the feline's fire. Obviously, I would push her off, doing my best to detach her already-set claw anchors, but my best efforts were to no avail. She was bound and determined to break me. It wasn't affection she wanted. Cats are notoriously independent and couldn't give a rat's tail if you give them your love or not. I was just another piece of furniture or territory in the house to be claimed. Just Zoe's personal prize.

My only hope would lie in the fact that God saw how stuck up the cat was after he created it. In his eternal wisdom of maintaining balance on the planet, God pulled a little reversal on his own name and made the Dog. A gift from the Almighty was soon to arrive to Nick and Rebecca in the form of a boxer mutt named Brooklyn.

To be continued...

Mr. Garrison of Mannford

I know this one is a bit lengthy, but thank you for reading through it. I will definitely admit that life after college is different in a multitude of ways. One of the most prominent is perhaps the scarcity of day-to-day drama. Perhaps its due to the fact that adults just tend to mellow out. After a certain period, they accept the fact that you can't turn your life into a soap opera over every little topic. Besides the fact that you'd be setting yourself up for a nice, messy heart attack, you realize that the people you work with everyday don't want to hear it. Sadly, a lot of them "over-mellow" and just lose passion in anything and everything. These are the ones you see moping through the halls with coffee in hand, beaten to death somewhere along the line when an idea or philosophy they cared about was crushed and they choose to sit out of the fight rather than push on against the crowd. I hear Dani had nice words at the banquet in emphasizing that your passion sometimes may be so strong that others may make fun of you for it. So be it.

But I digress.

Today was one of the drama peaks. Sure it levels out and adults push it to the side, but somehow that becomes almost a type of repressed anger, bound to release itself in some infuriated rage rather than gradual healthy emotion. By "drama" I mean, of course, experiencing highs and lows of the spectrum all in one 16-hour period.

Start of the day, I wake up from some weird dream about College Station of all places. I was driving back to my house from a restaurant dragging an enormous pork chop from the back of my truck that my dad had requested. What? Don't your parents ever eat leftovers? Of course I pass Kyle Field, park and enter the stadium. Embarrased by the fact that I still have my umbrella open, I close it and turn the corner to see Eric Heidt doing some sort of human pyramid gymnastics. Don't ask. Whatever it was, it was noteworthy enough to make the Jumbo-Tron big screen in the stadium.

Back in reality, I make it to work on time, energized from my dry Great Grains cereal I had on the drive in. The day goes well, as Fridays usually do. Only a half-day at Basden Steel, but I serve my monthly duty of staying all day on a Friday. Get to spend some good time with my two bosses talking about an exciting new program for our company that I get to be a part of, leaving our meeting feeling that I am really starting to get a chance to show them what I'm capable of. Something that I have been missing is a clear and accessible outlet to show my passion for the team, or company in this case. I was so psyched about it that I practically drew up every detail of the plan in the next hour or so. Four o'clock rolled around, providing sufficient time to have served my "in the barrel" duties, as we refer to all-day Fridays. Off I go in my nice, gleaming 2002 Red Ford F-150, extended cab. I was fortunate enough to be given a company vehicle last October and had been reflecting on how proud I was of it. A lot different than my Escort that I had been with for 4 years.

With my mind still stirring of ideas and possibilities for the new corporate program, I mounted my trusty steed and away we went down Renfro Street. Up to the intersection with I-35W we came, finding as usual heavy traffic waiting at the light to go straight. Calmly and casually, I guided my gallant truck into the right-hand turn lane that split off from all of the traffic. But I believe it's about time for that drama to erupt, don't you? Approaching on the opposite side of Renfro Street is one Mr. Everett Garrison of Mannford, Oklahoma, waiting to turn left into the Waffle House parking lot. This is not entirely unreasonable as Mr. Garrison is approaching the century mark in his life accompanied by his walker-assisted wife who occupies his passenger seat. Sitting in the back seat are two of his granddaughters and their dog, Princess. What Old Man Everett failed to realize is that somewhere between the invention of the automobile and multi-fuel engines, they invented a little something called right-of-way. This concept revolves around the idea that two objects cannot hold the same space at the same time. Basic physics really. Unaware of this universal concept, Everett proceeds to guide his Ford Taurus between a gap in the long line of stopped cars. However, trusting too much in the car that waved him on, somehow under the assumption that no car or red Ford truck was coming around the bend in the adjacent lane, the Taurus moved into my path.

I'll spare you the details, because I'm sure you know the rest. Needless to say, they involved six startled victims, five of them human, four solid witnesses, three assisting policemen, two deployed airbags, and a Ford truck with a demolished front end.

I wasn't mad at Mr. Everett. I do however believe that age should come into consideration in reissuing licenses on the later years of life as it does with the earlier years, but I was more upset at the fact that it had happened. After I acquired a rental car, the day continued to present situations that tried and tested me. Rain and lightning gave the road a nice, slick condition which makes all drivers uneasy, but particularly those that just smashed into the side of Princess the dog's car. Pulling into my parking lot and truly pissed at the end of it all, as I was searching for about 10 minutes for the house keys I thought I had lost, a song popped in my head.

"This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it."

Strange, yet very appropriate. Let's look at this day from another standpoint, easily overlooked by the self-consumed human mind. I am healthy and have the luxury of eating meals whenever I want. I'm comfortably employed with company-provided transportation and insurance. I've started to find an outlet for the passion I want to show at work. Angels are real and protected an old woman that was broad-sided by a truck going about twenty-five miles per hour; not one scratch on her actually. Protection continued on busy highways as hundreds of people went about their own business, with the freedom to choose where they wanted to be. I have safety and a shelter, keys or no keys. Car damage is fixable, but what a shame it would be if I didn't let it teach me that each day is God-given.

Besides change, the only other constant in this world is unpredictable circumstances. True freedom and responsibility is having the right to choose how you will react to any situation, whether it's full of drama that suddenly begins to boil over or dreaming of pork chops and a gymnastic Eric Heidt. Something to think about.

ADA Recommended

Let's just get straight to the point with my post for today: Visit your dentist once every six months. In the meantime, brush, floss, gargle, rinse, swish, whiten, sandblast, detoxify, or whatever it is that you have to do to avoid getting cavities! Inevitably, the only response to a cavity that will not drop you a class in civilized society is a filling. I firmly believe that any member of a profession which voluntarily chooses to place a drill in your mouth is not to be trusted.

You may have seen a brief mention of my dentist visit in a previous post, but little did I know the magnitude of that visit. Having felt a slight sensitivity to both sweets and cold liquid on one side of my mouth, I thought back to the last time I had visited my kind and honorable dentist. A little concerned at the fact that my most recent visit wasn't quickly coming to me, I scheduled an appointment. The teeth cleaning wasn't bad, and actually a little enjoyable. My pearly whites felt so smooth and sleak. The dentist's aid was very nice and quite attractive. As I sat in that chair, I had been gently and softly seduced into believing that my only problem coming out of that office would be enjoying my newly-found lack of plaque for as long as possible. Her caring eyes and tender touch were so powerful that even after the dentist had done his three-minute evaluation finding four cavities, I was still numbed to the realization.

As the straight-from-the-shop soon wore off of my teeth, so did the sweet anaesthetic of my last visit. I quickly came to and was ready to face the unavoidable task of filling the gaps. I settled into the chair yesterday, fully-equipped with my triple Bounty-thick bib. Sparing no expense, the dentist installed monitors attached by a metal arm to the ceiling which provided in-flight entertainment. Now playing this hour was "Shanghai Noon", starring Owen Wilson and Jackie Chan.

The whole mood of the visit changed as the dentist came wheeling up in his chair wearing some sort of mini-binoculars over his glasses. As old Six-Eyes closed in on me, my seat was lowered back and headphones given to me to hear the movie. "Raise your left hand if you need anything, okay?" they said to me. What would I be needing? A hot towel, glass of orange juice...perhaps to request that they rewind the movie a little bit so I can see Jackie Chan frantically run away from 6 Indians only to catch up with them and whip their butts with Kung Fu.

Then came the needle. They had already numbed me a little with some topical anaesthetic but the shot was what really did it. Since I was lucky enough to have one in each "quadrant", I was able to completely knock out my whole mouth with injections that I swear must have gone through my cheek. Now drooling on myself without the nerves to control my own saliva, the dentist pulled out his mini Black and Decker drill to grind away at my teeth. I was a little amused at first by the fact that I couldn't feel anything in my mouth. The whirring sound was muffled by my movie headphones. That darned Owen Wilson sure is a funny cowboy. Suddenly, I heard the motor kick into high gear and my entire head vibrated as the drill snagged the side of my tooth. My trusty numbing medicine had apparently not had a chance to reach all parts of my mouth as pain shot down my spine. I curled up in my chair, squinting and writhing in an uncontrollable urge to resist the pain. Mind over matter, I'm thinking, mind over matter. The motor spun down as the drill was taken slightly out of my mouth. As I lay there tightened by the shock and breathing a little harder, the dentist just stared at me. Of course, how could I forget.

Slowly, I raised my left hand.

"You feel that, buddy?" he said. No, doc, just showing you my imitation of bacon in a frying pan. "Oh, cause you're not supposed to." You know, I never would've guessed that. I was too off in my fantasy world of pain-free dentistry that I forgot to realize your drill was 2 millimeters from some of the strongest nerve-endings in my body!

Needless to say, I finished the procedure and did my best to not bite the side of my cheek off while it was numb. Let it be understood here that my threshold of pain is slightly higher than a dentist's drill or shot. There are much worse medical procedures, all of which I hope I am never a part of. But this was more of a personal defeat. There's not too many things that I hate worse than something that could have been easily prevented with a little bit of upfront care. I had plenty of time to visit the dentist while I was in school! I kept good hygiene and brushed all the time, but that just doesn't cut it with those back teeth. So the moral of the story is don't put off until tomorrow what you can take care of more pleasantly today. Believe me, a cute nurse beats "Mr. Fix-It the dentist" any day.