The Ultimate Contest

Sometimes this is how it is.

Good News, Please

Home from work.  What’s new in the world today?

Here is CNN’s latest news listed in order as of 7:45pm December 28, 2010: “Ski lift malfunction injures 9 in Maine,” “Skiiers describe moment of fall,” “Flyer charged after bag ignites,” “8 killed in fire in New Orleans,” “5 teens dead in Florida motel room,” “College baseball star charged with rape,” “Man says wife died in sex accident,” (as curious as I was, I thought I would be happier overall in life not reading this article) “Body of burned child found in Texas,” “Boy, 12, vanishes on Christmas Eve.”  Finally the tenth article listed isn’t even an article: “Vote now for 2010’s most intriguing.”  It’s even bad news for Sarah Palin according to the eleventh article!

Man, the world must really be a terrible place.  Although, human nature hasn’t changed in thousands of years, so these things, or things like them have surely been happening all along.  But this is what CNN tells us is most important to know about the world today.  CNN is simply driven by market pressures though.  They give us what we want to read, which means it isn’t the CNN folks who are the sick freaks—we’re the sick freaks who secretly love reading about how terrible the world is!

Refreshingly, there are some good-news-only websites such as HappyNews.com.  There I learned about a Sign-language Santa down in Texas who gives learning-disabled kids a chance to have the mall-Santa experience.  Goodwill was helping unemployed people find jobs, and firefighters handed out free toys to kids in drug-war-ravaged Mexico City.  I even found this cool picture on another good news site

This will do for tonight, but I’m sure I’ll be back to CNN again tomorrow.  That’s where all the sick freaks go.

Humility

I just returned to my cold, dark apartment after working all day at the bookstore in Colonial Williamsburg.  My family is gathered together this evening hundreds of miles away in Coldwater, Michigan.

Today is Christmas.

I’ve recently received many condolences from friends concerning my perceived burden.  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” or “They can’t do that to you!”  One friend was almost ready to go over hill and dale to ensure I would have people to be with on Christmas day—bless her heart. (I did see my family in November at Jeff’s wedding and will see my parents next week—it’s not the end of the world!)

I’ve assured everyone that I really am ok, that I’m not tying a noose, that I’m just in between things in life at the moment, and that it’s only for a year.  In fact, given my career trajectory, I would be surprised if I ever had to work on Christmas again.

But it is humbling not only to work on Christmas, but also to join so many others who work on Christmas every year.  It’s good to have those moments in life that knock you off your high horse and make you realize that you aren’t inherently better than others; some people are just blessed with different lots in life.

Christmas of all days is a day to reflect on what true humility really is.  True humility is when the God of the universe takes off the mantle of His divine glory to take on the form of a helpless, pitiful baby born in a smelly barn, only later in life to wash the dirty feet of His disciples before being gruelingly executed on a Roman cross for a world of people who couldn’t care less.  That’s humility.  That’s Christmas.

I'm Smarter Than An Ant Colony

I think it’s time to clean the ant carcasses off the kitchen countertop.  We’ve been tolerating a controlled infestation for a while now.  The ants have been content to station only a handful of footmen patrolling the countertop for crumbs.  They haven’t felt the need to launch an all-out assault on our food reserves; neither have we felt the need to employ the nuclear option on their nest.  Up to this point, I have simply snuffed out the little suckers one by one with my fingernail—mere skirmishes. 

We William and Mary students pride ourselves in our geeky, over-intellectualization of things.  In this case, I have outsmarted the collective intelligence of the ant colony because I understand how ants patrol for food.  Ants send out scouts to forage, and if an ant returns empty-handed, nothing happens, but if an ant successfully returns with food, that ant deposits a chemical signal alerting other ants to follow that trail for that food source.  Consequently, a few more ants venture out, and as ants successfully return with food, more ants follow that trail in greater number.

So even though there have been plenty of crumbs littering the countertop, my sniping the ants has skewed the colony’s data: they think there is far less food than there actually is.  Instead of sending a big wave of troops, they have kept their footmen to a minimum.  Thus, I have successfully kept the invasion at bay.

That’s how William and Mary students tackle problems—by overcomplicating the simple.  I could have wiped up the food crumbs from the counter a while ago, which also would have solved the problem and kept the counter free of dozens of ant bodies.  But why would I do that?

Maybe this is why I don’t have a girlfriend.

Rich

I’m sitting underneath the overhang of my porch, bundled in layers on a cold, drizzly night with half a butt cheek resting on the corner of a decrepit chair with a hole punched through the middle of the seat.  The pitter-patter of the rain is picking up.  Behind my head, a fan whirrs in the window blowing fresh air into an apartment, which is currently uninhabitable due to the noxious fumes emanating from the window sealant that I applied earlier this evening.  The temperature inside is now in the mid-50’s and plummeting.  It will surely be warm and cozy sleeping tonight!

Across the parking lot a woman adjusts her bedroom drapes—she probably figures I’m sitting out here to spy through her window.  A gnarled cat skirts by and slinks off into the darkness.  A bit of a shiver.  Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…

A few weeks ago someone stole the radio out of my roommate’s car at night.  A few months ago there was an armed robbery in my block of apartments.  Questionable people aimlessly meander through the neighborhood.  On some nights, I sleep with a nine-inch knife next to me in bed.

I had frozen vegetables and cheap pasta tonight for dinner.  That’s what I had last night.  The night before I mixed it up with frozen vegetables and eggs. 

Life is cold at the moment, but life is good.  My friend Chan would point out that statistically I am one of the richest people in the world.

I know.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…

My First Birdbath

Names are so arbitrary…and yet…names are so important. While growing up, my dad used to call me Jaybird—very appropriate considering the running career that I would come to have. (Fortunately not all my dad’s nicknames had such foreshadowing or descriptive qualities. I’m not sure “Bird-Dog” or “Squirrel-Meat” would connote anything good.) In any event, he called me Jaybird.

I have tried to come up with a good name for this blog—something that would capture this blog’s essence. I have chosen “Jaybird’s Birdbath,” and hopefully that will prove to be a worthy name. But why a bird bath?

When a bird settles upon a bird bath, it first perches on its rim. For a brief moment, the bird reflects above the still surface of the water. Then it hops in, splashes about for cleansing and refreshment, probably takes a drink, and then alights in flight once again.

This blog serves the same purpose. It offers a brief moment each day to reflect, to refresh my mind, to drink deeply, and then to resume my day. My name is Jaybird, and this is my birdbath.