Turf
I’ve signed up for an outdoor soccer team. Our first game is a week and a half away and I am dreadfully aware that my lactic acid tolerance is at a record low. Tonight, in an effort to prevent my untimely soccer-related death, I took to the field alone in warmups and cleats with body maintenance in mind. I’ll probably be going to bed in a few minutes. Grass smells delicious on cool spring evenings, and mud has never looked more beautiful than it does between my cleats and on my pants. My training regimen will be as demanding as possible for the next ten days; after the first game I’ll evaluate my status: Lean athletic goal machine? Spindly youth pretending to have asthma? technorati : soccer , grass , exercise , mud , spring del.icio.us...
Imitation as Flattery
Ok, someone is clearly plagiarizing CACCC. Now that doesn’t make it a bad idea, on the contrary it is a superbly brilliant idea, but give some respect–recognize the movement that began it all (that would be right here at Infinite Regression). technorati : christian anti christian coalition coalition , plagiarizing , brilliance , pat robertson del.icio.us :...
Mud
Saturday morning found me in strange attire: forgotten pants from the bottom of my dresser rolled up to mid calf, soccer socks for shin warmth and old shoes. I was going mountain biking for the first time this season and was expecting mud and cold. Justin and I set off for the Alum Creek trail, expecting to meet Mike for a time of adrenaline and testosterone-driven biking, Lord knows all three of us are out of shape this early in the year. Problem was that the Alum Creek trail is closed for “erosion control.” $100 fine if you’re caught. We considered the price carefully and decided that we would have to wait to experience the Alum Creek trail. Justin and I had no other plans for the day and decided that we were up for a little bit of extra...
Nonsense
Infinite Regression hasn’t been watered very well recently. I’ve been thinking about the drought a lot, trying to examine my reasons for not writing, trying to find a suitable muse for linguistic companionship. My topics here have all been too brainy recently, or so it seems; nothing but protein and I think it’s probably hard to choke down–at the very least it’s hard to cough out. I’ve been thinking that I need to paint pictures, carve out designs with the words in my mind (Do I think in images or words? Both, but not at the same time, and writing for me is constant transition–it’s like writing computer code, rendering it, and than looking at the graphical interface; or, listening to a song and then transcribing...
In the Edges
I’ve been thinking about fragments and “edges” and “debris” lately. The consensus in the media I’ve consumed in that regard seems to be that wholeness necessarily includes imperfection; i.e. human wholeness precludes perfection, and perfection’s presumption is nothing more than a falsely conceived collection of incomplete parts. The true face of human wholeness is that there isn’t any; authenticity demands that our brokenness be recognized. So, honestly, human imperfect wholeness points to a God who takes the fragments and accepts the edges (without taking them off) and transforms them into a wholeness that is certainly not debris, for it doesn’t pick and choose, rather it takes everything up and puts it in...