What happens when you chat and play Canasta simultaneously...

thetalkingmouse

disgrace

mutesquirrel*

W-wha-?

thetalkingmouse

epic disgrace

mutesquirrel

What? WHAT?

thetalkingmouse

oh, not you

I'm playing canasta

mutesquirrel

Oooh.

Are you failing? 

:[

thetalkingmouse

I just made the most epic failure of a move I've seen since john brown

mutesquirrel

Oh wow. Sad day.

And I had no idea you were around in John Brown's day.

Well, there's always the chance to recover, now isn't there?

thetalkingmouse

if there was, it left me a long time ago

mutesquirrel

Good gracious.

thetalkingmouse

and denny just discarded a six

mutesquirrel

You sound so angsty.

Well, um...boo, Denny?

thetalkingmouse

hahahaha

yes 

I've moved from the state of depression to the state of...   [:0]

mutesquirrel

WOAH.

thetalkingmouse

whatever that means

mutesquirrel

death.

It means...

At least your not to -->   [:#] stage yet.

*you're

I just broke my cardinal grammar pet peave rule.

thetalkingmouse

willi wonka takes every single card I discard

mutesquirrel

I think the world might end.

Um...

Baaad Willi Wonka.

Only I thought it was spelled WIlly Wonka?

thetalkingmouse

mmmmm.....

bad day for us both, I see

mutesquirrel

Uh-huh.

thetalkingmouse

well, that's Willy

this is Willi

mutesquirrel

Oh. Well. Um, hello to Willi, then.

thetalkingmouse

hehehehe

he would say hello, but he doesn't speak to strangers

mutesquirrel

Well, good for him. His Mummy taught him well.

I hope he doesn't take candy from them, either.

thetalkingmouse

he does, actually

mutesquirrel

I see some inconsistent behavior. He ought to go reevaluate his life.

thetalkingmouse

wonka is taking candy from me right now

that's the problem

mutesquirrel

Boo.

This conversation is so ripe with metaphors. It astounds me.

thetalkingmouse

all from a game of canasta too

I *told* you to play more canasta

but no, you wouldn't believe me

mutesquirrel

I wouldn't?

I don't remember refusing to play more canasta...

I just remember some very colorful words exchanged about the game of Presidents.

thetalkingmouse

ha!

well, denisovich just ended the game

fortunately

this also meant the momentary end of my misery

mutesquirrel

Good. It was sounding awfully tragic.

thetalkingmouse

much rejoicing.

mutesquirrel

Quite. I was beginning to worry for all of your sakes. Sounded like a very messed-up crew.

:]

I'm going to Nashville tomorrow!

W-w-woo.

My cousin is graduation; and even though you don't know him from Adam, you should be proud.

thetalkingmouse

Nashville!

spiffiness

mutesquirrel

Quite.

It's one of my favorites.

thetalkingmouse

wait....

your cousin "is graduation"?

mutesquirrel

oops.

thetalkingmouse

talk about metaphors

oh

mutesquirrel

graduating.

Well...

I mean...

thetalkingmouse

I am proud

mutesquirrel

He *could* be graduation himself.

I dunno...

He can be secretive at times

Good. I'll let WIll know.

Actually, I won't.

That would be highly odd.

thetalkingmouse

and I'm also proud of Adam, by way

mutesquirrel

Really? Why so?

Most people tend to thing he really messed things up...

thetalkingmouse

well....he *was* first

man....

don't you know your old testament

mutesquirrel

He didn't have any say in that, though, did he?

thetalkingmouse

just forgotten old texts to you, huh?

he was the only human saying anything, if I recall

mutesquirrel

Yep. Completely left them to the dust bunnies.

Huh?

Humans spoke a lot in the old texts, if I remember correctly.

thetalkingmouse

not when it was just Adam

mutesquirrel

Ohmigosh.

That's just silly.

thetalkingmouse

well...I must be back to another game of canaster

hopefully the result this time will be less tragic

mutesquirrel

And I need sleep for Nashville.

I hope so, too.

thetalkingmouse

thanks for keeping me entertained

mutesquirrel

You can't afford another Epic Fail.

thetalkingmouse

night!

mutesquirrel

Indeed! Night!

*This person's true identity has been blurred so as to prevent lawsuits and other frivolous action...

The Halbrooks Compound Expands (!)

The rumors are true.  While I was away in England, my family launched another campaign against the "good fences make good neighbors" types, and insodoing, increased the Halbrooks boundaries by 46%.  Hailed as our greatest territorial gain in some 30 years, I have attached a diagram to help explain the situation to the uninitiated:

(If that illustration does not explain the entire situation to you at first glance, you may want to have some words with Rand McNally, who labeled this drawing "the achievement of a lifetime").

Now, with one eye on the diagram (so wonderfully drawn by the artistic mastermind that lives in the basement), and one eye on this here text, follow me as I explound.  If you only have one eye, I apologize.  You are simply out of luck.

---

It was a cool, dim-lit April afternoon when it all started.  Higgins was frolicking in the backyard with imaginary sheep, Ma was knittin a new rug for the old chimney, Daddy Buck was talking to all of his relatives at the same time from inside Aunt Dee's car somewhere on 280 (via Skype), and Jenkins was raiding the local grocer for a bag of swedish fish.  But where was Pa?  As the old saying goes, "Pa does the fishin' where the wombat does the wishin'"  

And on this day, the saying was true.

With a can of his favorite carbonated fermented milk soft drink (melon flavoured) and a single vertebrae of a Camarasaurus, the neighbors were no match for his fury.  He paced the perimeter, slid through the loose gate, and waltzed into their living room with a maniacal set of facial features.  In less than 24 hours, the neighbors had all but fled the civilized world, and the house - well, the house was Ours.

---

No.  Sadly, that's not how it really happened.  But as the diagram clearly demonstrates, we *did* purchase the house behind ours, and we *did* knock down the fence in between our yards, and we *are* moving in this very weekend.  Only the gray area on the map is unconquered.  When we do take it over (which will only take a matter of time, if things continue as they have), it will become grazing land for all the sheep I ever wanted.  

That way, Higgins will no longer have to frolic among imaginary friends.

The First *Overwhelming* Experience...

That's right.  

I have returned to my goodly home in the states and have already felt the pangs of culture shock down my spinal column.  And of all the places: Moe's.

While Moe's Knows Burritos, Moe's does Not know how to keep a man who's spent the last four months in Europe as comfortable as he'd like.  Here's the deal:  I came back to the states the day before yesterseve and had a glorious reunion with my family, complete with Mexican food from Habeñeros, which I've been craving all this time (prior to that, I scarfed an o-so-tasty milkshake from Chick-fil-a, which I had not craved, but should have).  So far, all was good.  I was still resetting my circadian rhythm and getting used to the fact that I had four wheels I could put to use whenever and wherever, but other than that I was melding back into American culture like horse carrying a bucket with two stones and a bird.

Until.  

I showed up at Latimer House yesterday (not to be confused with Vladimir House) and Benji and I decided to head to Moe's for lunching and munching.  And lunch and munch we did, though I was, as they say, in fear and trembling.  Why?  I will attempt to explain.

When we walked in, I became aware of three things:

1. everyone there was caucasian, except for the one guy who was about to cook Ben's Phil E. ("the only decent thing on the menu," Jenkins informed me)

2. everyone said things like "y'all" and "corn-fritter"

the third revelation was the worst, though...

3.  I suddenly became aware that here, in the heart of Mountain Brook amongst fellow Moe's eaters, I could, at any moment run into any number of people who knew me.

This does not sound like something that should terrify a reasonable child past the age of 4.  However, you must understand.  Being in Europe with twelve other students for four months conditions you to know, on any given moment, where the other twelve are.  So when you go into a cafe with three of them, you know you'll never meet anyone else in that cafe again probably for the rest of your life.  Before long, this sense of invisibility becomes natural, and you never have to walk into a restaurant and look around to see if Jimbo-from-Middle-school had the idea to chaw a corndog at the same time you did.

At Moe's in Birmingham, Alabama, though, this whole unobtrusive stunt is foiled altogether.  Not only could Jimbo be sitting in the corner, some guy who knew you 12 years ago could pop outta nowhere and ask you why you haven't cut your hair in the past month and a half.  So you know, this proposition is enough to make a person with the same personality as Machiavelli cower in the shadows.  

So as soon as I ordered my Joey Bag of Donuts, that's exactly what I did.

Monkey Heads...

haHA!

And now, the joy of modern technology...even though I clearly posted all of the last seven posts today, I can change a few settings and make it look like I've been consistently posting for the past week and a half.  Victory is mine.

Internship Thoughts...

Dennis still has a long way to go, but it does seem that God is doing something powerful in his life.  I certainly hope so.  And he’s not the only one.  In the course of my time at ECCP, I met all sorts of uniquely challenged individuals – some more sociable than others, and some that just frankly disturbed me.  One elderly man told me once “You know what I’m looking for now?” No, what? “A young man that I can settle down with.”  I inched farther away on the couch.  A few weeks later, after I questioned him on this matter, he explained to me that he wasn’t really an old man.  He was an old woman.  That’s right.  I thought Bryan was male the entire time, but apparently his mother had him go through a sex change at the age of 4 without his knowing.  Confused his whole life about his gender, Bryan finally confronted his mother, who told him at age 50 that he wasn’t genetically a male.  You can begin to understand why these people never really felt like they belonged.  My heart goes out to them, and I’m both blessed and honored to have had the opportunity to experience this other aspect of London: the people on the “outskirts.”  I may never see Bryan or Carl or Dennis again, but I know they are in good hands at ECCP, and I can but pray that the gospel will break them and bring them eternal hope.

I don't think it takes much imagination to figure that these sort of people are everywhere.  The people "on the outskirts," I mean.  But more than that.  Perhaps you'll never get a chance to talk to those sort of people - you'll never get a chance to fill a bowl of pasta for a man that's been through drug-therapy twice this year.  Don't think that also means you won't get a chance to share love with people.  Anywhere you are, whether work or school or in the swimming pool on a hot summer day - there's more than likely someone who doesn't feel like they belong.  See to it that, as far as it is in your power, they do.  It will be well worth the effort.

Part III - The Last Day

Two days ago was my last time to work at the coffee bar.  It was a grand last day, but I hated to have to leave.  Most of all, I wanted to see Dennis off before I never saw him again.  Fortunately, he arrived about an hour into it, and gave me an update on the job search.  "I had a literacy test this morning," he informed me, "and I'm still waiting to hear back from it."  "Oh good!"  We talked for a while about the jobs he's applied for, and I wished him the best, and told him today was my last day.  He brushed off the comment and moved onto something else.  "I'll be praying for you and your job search," I mentioned.  "And I'll pray that you vote Democrat next time," he said in what appeared to be all seriousness.  I smiled, but was beginning to think that a proper farewell with this man was close to impossible - when Victoria showed up.  I'd told Victoria about how the Coffee Bar works, and all the strange conversations I'd had, and how mad the Bible study usually is, and so she decided to come see what it was really like in person.  It was wondrous to have her there - I introduced her to Nancy and Kerry and Enrique, to Carl and Bryan, and finally to Dennis.  "Do you have a minute so sit down?" he asked her.  She was excited to meet him, after hearing about him for so long, and was happy to sit and chat with him while I went off to the food distribution area.  "Why are you a Christian?" he immediately when for the jugular.  I smiled.  I gave Victoria the "there's Dennis for you" look, grinned, and left her to a sure-to-be long and interesting conversation with my friend.  

When I got back from handing out the food (an hour later), she was still there, and Dennis looked at me - "I'm telling her," he said with a beam.  I had to think about what he meant for a second and then said, "Oh! your story.  Great."  So I joined them as he finished up, and at the end, he added a part he'd never included before - his wife.  I'd never heard the man speak so honorably of anyone.  She was loving, kind, did everything for him that he needed, and he knew he didn't deserve her at all.  This was a perfect chance for me to get a last word in about the gospel to him.  "I think that's remarkable, Dennis, that you have such a wonderful relationship with your wife.  And it's so interesting, because throughout the Bible, marriage is put out as a parallel to our relationship with God - maybe God is using your relationship with your wife to give you a picture of his own love toward you.  Do you mind if we pray for you and your job search and all, before I have to go?"  "Well, if it makes you feel better, or does something for you, that's fine."  This was a major breakthrough, in my opinion.  You'd have to know the man, but that he would let someone pray for him was a shock to us all.  So Victoria and I (and Amy, who had joined the conversation just a few minutes before) all prayed then and there, and Dennis said nothing, but shook our hands - "I'm glad to have met you, Dennis," I said.  

"Of course you are," he replied.  Such a Dennis answer.  And with that and a farewell, he was off.

Things Children Can Get Away With...

Victoria pointed out the other day that children can get away with so many things that would probably send an adult straight to the loon-house.  On my way to the airport the other morn', I was unsettlingly reminded of this comment when a small childling sat down across from me with her parents and exclaimed, "Why are your legs so hairy?"

So I decided to make a list adults can no longer do on the way to the airport:

• ask your parents (in a voice the person in question is sure to overhear) "is he happy?"
• sing a song from Shrek unintelligibly and ask strangers if they liked it
• lift up your shirt and show everyone around the glory of your belly-button ("put your stomach away, dear")
• move constantly between two seats (as I sit with my arms crossed in my designated space)
• crawl around on the floor in a b-line towards people you've never met before
  

Part II - Our Friend Returns...

Talking to Dennis again, I assure you, was not a difficult thing to accomplish.  Every Wednesday, week after week, he came - usually bypassing the coffee altogether - (he preferred tea anyways - with two spoonfuls of sugar and the tea bag still in the cup) and went directly to me.  One time I was even modestly chastised for talking to him too long(!).  Needless to say, the first few weeks were a bit odd - always him letting me know how poorly educated I was, always him arguing that Christianity lived through politics and not through people, always me trying to convey to him that just because Christians themselves have failed time and again doesn't mean Christianity has failed, and always Dennis feeling triumphant.  One week, though, we finally got passed all this and he opened up to tell me his story.  I think I asked him why he so utterly rejected Christianity, and he decided to give the long answer.  At the end of his story (which included his nearly dying from epilepsy as a young child, his son getting hit by a double-decker bus, and a multitude of Christians who treated him badly and acted overly pious), he said, "So you see why I'm not a Christian."  "No," I said.  "I can see you've had a very hard life, and quite a number of people have treated you in ways they shouldn't.  But I don't see why you blame God.  Don't you think the fact that you didn't die, and that your son didn't die, are a blessing?"  That was all I got in, because he interrupted me (a move he uses quite frequently whenever the other party is trying to make some poignant comment) and started off on another rant against the faith. Progress, though, progress.  We had now moved from his assaulting me to more personal things, and I no longer dreaded seeing the man, but really wanted to get to the bottom of why he was so hostile.  A few weeks later, everything changed.  Well, not everything, but his attitude did, at least.

I didn't see Dennis for a few weeks, but when he did show up next, he was not quite so volatile as before.  "I walked out on my job today," he told me.  "Why?" I started.  And so we were at it again, talking non-stop for the greater part of two hours.  Eventually, he showed me some numbers that he had looked up of other places that he might be employed.  I went with him to the phones downstairs and we called several of them, who kindly agreed to send him an application.  He showed me how much pension money he was making, how much he already had saved, and how much his job still owed him.  "That's enough money to live on for a few months, don't you think?  I mean, if you were in my situation, you wouldn't be worried, right?"  "Right," I said, "not yet - hopefully those applications will work out and you'll have another job before long, anyways."  "But I'm fine for now?" "I would think so, yes.  Keep me updated on the applications, and if you find any more numbers next week, we'll call them, ok?" "This is how much money they owe me." He showed me again.  He thanked me and shuffled off.  I went back to the coffee bar trying to figure out if that was a good thing for Dennis or bad.  He had hated his job, and he sure seemed less angry at the world now that he was somewhat broken. "Alan," I turned around.  It was Dennis, who'd come back.  "I wanted to thank you again, and I know I've said I appreciate you a lot today, but I wanted to make sure you know I'm on the straight side of the road.  I'm not gay."  This last bit he half-whispered.  I laughed.  "Oh, I know Dennis, don't you worry.  Take care, and let me know how the job search goes!"  It was a good day, no question.

Lesson: The Germans don't like British Pounds...

Unaware of the phenomenon of May Day, I managed to book the first ever flight to Memmingen on Ryan Air.  this means two things...first, that the pilot, who already does his best to make RyanAir flight landings as uncomfortable and terrifying as possible, has never landed at this particular airport.  it doesn't help, either, that when the landing time did come, I was completely unaware, beign entrhralled by a new book I had just purchased a few hours before.  Secondly, it meant that the airport we were flying to was small.  very small.  so small that all the pounds I brought with me to exchange at the airport exchange place were totally useless - there was No airport exchange place.  so I got off the airplane, left the airport, and walked in what looked like the directioin toward the city, with nothing by two euros and 80 cents.  Later on, this would buy me a pretzel (buterpretzel to be precise)  and a bottle of wather that I was praying would not be carbonated.  It was.  The first town I got to was silent.  A silence that was extremely unwelcoming, despite the beauty of the flowers and trees and German buildings scattered hear and there.  every now and then a biker would huff and puff and he peddled by, but mostly it was silent.  I should have taken this as some sort of warning, but I just figured it was a small quite town where nothing ever really happened.  But by the time I got to the next town - a much larger town, this one - one that actually had its own ice cream shop - I was huffing and puffing myself.  And while the ice cream shope was open, nothing else, as far as I could tell, was.  maybe a cafe or two.  and a church.  but not the bank, no, and no change exchange places to speak of.  all the supermarkets begged me to come in with their fruit displays smiling out the windows like an eager child with his face to the glass - but as soon as my eyes widened, they drooped once more.  locked.  closed down.  Do they have a siesta hour here, too?  this was a serious question for me.  finally, I made it to a hotel where a lady kindly informed me that it was in fact, a holiday, and all the banks and such would be closed.  there's an atm around the corner, she poited out. fail.  it had extracted all but 50 dollars from my savings account and it was all in my wallet in pounds.  having noting else to do, I was forced to extract the rest of my funds in euro dollars from the machine and then my journey to munich began.  now I am in the train headed Munichways with 10 euro left and no place to spend the night.  yet.