I hate mail

And let me tell you why.

Ok, so here's how it starts. A woodsman of some sort in some wood in some far away place looks upon a tree and sets about cutting it down. Soon, it's sent down a river, or carried on a truck, for thousands of miles. This tree then finds its way to a factory where it is cut into pieces of some sort or another, mulched, and then combined with water to make pulp. After that, by a process of compression and more compression, it becomes paper. This paper is rolled or cut and sent all over the world. This paper gets made into an envelope, and that piece of paper gets made into a 8.5 by 11 sheet of everyday, ordinary paper. On this paper is put a message, meant to mean something. A postage stamp is put on the envelope and it is driven or flown more thousands of miles and walked up to my doorstep.

Then, unceremoniously, without care or wonder, the envelope is torn open, the letter is scanned without care and, and this is the part that I hate, it is discarded and forgotten.

Why do I hate mail, then, do you ask? Put yourself in the letter's shoes. Would you like to be sent from an organization in the knowledge that it could very well end up in a landfill? What cause is so important that paper should be discarded like that?

I hate my brain.


!Noah!

OBAMA REELECTED, STILL WON'T PUBLICALLY WALK ON WATER

In a surprising culmination of an absurd quantity of opinions expressed in similarly absurd proximity, our current President, Barack Obama, was asked by the convoluted, but age-old process of "filling in the oval completely and darkly," to become our future president as well. A president of past, present, and future?

Wanton sensationalism seemed lacking, so we consulted the ever-vigilant Mr. Bertilson.

"I've got to say, I didn't see it coming. I mean, I did, but it took me fifteen hours as an election judge to think, 'Oh, snap, we're deader than peat moss in outer space!'"

Wanton sensationalism still seemed absent, so security was sent to the back yard, the roof, and the smelly inside of your sofa, davenport, and couch.

"I'd just like to say this...to all of you out there wondering if the world really will end this December, or if America is a minimum of six inches under already, with good prospect of going significantly more distance under, or if you feel that this election is an example of why Canada isn't such a bad idea, remember this one thing! In our darkest hour, when all seemed lost (and was, actually), we were never choosing between a black man and a white man, or a Republican and a Democrat, or a President and a former Governer; rather, we were chosing between a lawyer...and a pastor."

Wanton sensationalism was found later today with multiple stab wounds and half a dozen misplaced concussions...and mutilated beyond belief...and exploded all over...Facebook.


!Noah!

Idols, Homosexuality, and Other Stuff My Mind Cares Far Too Much About

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

The previous statement is neither a comment on the current political atmosphere, nor a tortilla asking for salsa during, well, a salsa.

Y'see, I put undue hope in the power of the elections. Mitt Romney! Woo hoo! He's Christianish, pro-Life, and most likely headed back to whichever house he prefers to lick his wounds at. Sure, it's not a sure thing at this point, but if Romney wins Ohio and another electorally significant state such that he wins the electoral college...well, I'll go bald 'til the apocalypse blows over.

You can quote me on that.

But on to the point of this post, which, a lot like an actual pin, is simply an assembly of atoms socially awkward enough to shove all of the atoms in your thumb out of the way just by getting near.

YEAH, THAT"S HOW IT WORKS, FOLKS. MEDICAL SCIENCE, RIGHT HERE!

But to the point, no matter how awkward and stupid. Let's see.

Ok, so I want a camera. I want a relationship. Yeah, everyone knows that, and most likely everyone also knows it's not a healthy relationship, desire, hope.

But...honestly, I've never tried. It's not to say I don't realize it won't work, it's just that I haven't had that apparently mandatory process of realizing, oh, right, you're too small for the hole in my heart, so you literally, metaphorically fell through.

I mean, I might say cameras haven't exactly elevated me to my hopeful and dreaming estate of perfection, comfort, and whimsical carelessness. But it's not like I've ever really hated to be "with" cameras, so to speak. Is it an idolatry? I would hesitantly say no, but I'm as liable to trust myself in this sort of thing as an iguana is to become a ninja, however blissful the thought.

So...me and Cameras...we can stay together, right?

Heck, how should I know. You're talking to yourself, noob.

It's a literary device! A crude one, and probably ineffective, but spoons never stopped me from avoiding tomatoes, did they?

But what of undue hopes? Idols and stuff and such. It's all well and good in life until you decide you can't live without running with scissors. I mean, if that happens to be your thing.

Odd though it be, I think I discovered an excellent hangman word. Ok, continuing...

But a girl! A girl! Is it so wrong or stupid or even evil that I should be a Pandora's box of wonder and glory all for God, but that some girl should have the key?

Man, I'm stupid.

How could that be? Why should that be?

I guess it should be obvious to me, with absolute certainty, that not only do I make an idol of a relationship, but also I've sort of never not done so.

It struck me sometime in the last month that saying homosexuals are born homosexual is a bit like saying tomatoes grow. Well, perhaps my stash of analogies has completely depleted, but my point is this.

The first point of Calvinism is total depravity; the idea that, from our first moments, from the beginning of our lives to the end thereof, in every facet of our being, without exception, we are permeated by evil. (while, at the same time, not being total evil, as Satan is)

So my point? I was born with lust, greed, arrogance, folly through knowledge (oooh, juxty, nice to see you!), and who knows what else. Laziness! I know of a specific example of this, from early on! I was a mere toddslerville in the House of Bertil, and one day Mommy chose that we should start cleaning up. (I know! Why?! Just why?!)

And...I proceeded to calmly, silently walk up to my bed, declaring without hesitation or qualm, upon inquiry, that I had suddenly become sick, and could not participate in the cleaning, however delightful the prospect of sweeping, vacuuming, or organizing. It was a hard choice, my life or cleanliness. What would I choose? Solemnly, with much sadness in my heart, I proceeded up the stairs to obtain rest from the horrifying slings and arrows of a sad three-year-old's existence. It was a hard day for this Noah Bertilson.

That said, I think you might get my point. Maybe. Y'see, everyone's born with their specific moral challenges.

"This is different!" You say.

So you're saying me struggling sexually is...normal? Acceptable? Ordinary?

Oh, that's very nice.

My point is that, under a Calvinistic understanding of sin, DUH, we're born with a propensity to homosexuality if we grow at any point in our lives to struggle with it. It's the same as any other sin in its ability to tempt, challenge, and crush us, but in the same manner, it is as easily crushed and utterly destroyed given faith in Jesus and the grace he gives you.

AND I"M TALKING ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY IN A POST ABOUT MY OWN STRUGGLES!

So what? I talked. Deal with it.

Ever temporal,


!Noah!

When God Wants You to Get More Stuff

Ok, so, some point in the near future, I might get a camera. Ideally, this camera would both open up all sorts of options for creativity in the future, as WELL as provide me with some source of income, whether sporadic or constant, significant or pitiful...

But I don't know. Am I really cut out for taking pictures the rest of my life? Sure, I probably will end up doing something else here or there, and I'll be taking pictures the rest of my life non-professionally all the time...'cause that's part of my life.

But this is different than that. Right now, I sort of have about enough money to buy myself...half the camera. And that's spreading the butter thin. My parents have tentatively offered to pay the other half...how much of this is because I'm not in college right now, and probably won't do much more than a community college even if I do end up going...that I don't know. However, they've offered.

What should I do? It isn't exactly a question I feel qualified to outright answer myself, but at the same time, it seems like I don't have a better option. Right now, I'm unemployed, without motivation or activity to fill my day. Were I on the ball, getting up earlier, and caring if tomorrow was full or empty, I'd probably be practicing Taekwondo three times a week. I mean, I'm not earning any money right now, I'm not doing anything useful with my life, I should at least be benefiting from my parents' generosity.

But, the question at hand. Heck, sorry, but I'm going to go on something of a side-issue or tangent now.

Is it possible or right that a person can find meaning, purpose, LIFE simply by getting something, knowing someone, having a new person in their life?

Anyone who knows me knows exactly what I'm talking about...but now that I say it out loud (...not exactly...), it doesn't sound very true, logical, or good. God's my purpose, he made me, and he gave me life. GIVES me life. What then? Am I supposed to simply go on with life dreaming and hoping for a better life that I'll only deny myself because my hope ultimately isn't in God?

It seems to me both sides of that are now thoroughly detestable to me, so I'll move on.

So, I should be doing something with my life. And one thing I can definitely argue I should do is expand my talent and my skill. One of my greatest skills/talents is photography. It's not boasting, honestly, it's just true.

I've got a thing for writing, but she doesn't seem to reciprocate.

Acting, singing, dancing...I can remember there are a few others, but this post is exhaustive as it is.

But ultimately, the point of this post is trusting God. And I don't know if this is one of those times I'm supposed to trust God, or one of those times I'm supposed to NOT spend all my money and put all my hope in a creation.

And that's a stupidly disturbing way to put it, by the way. It's all nice and good talking about idolatry when you're not crushing on a girl, when you've pretty much got everything you want materially, but when you want something or someone, all of a sudden, that person or thing is a freaking demon of deception and...

Well, it's bad.

Oh, yeah. And then there's the fact that, in the end, at least half of this IS going to end up being my parents' money. And I'm not just miserly with my own money. Although abandoning Taekwondo for a month isn't a great habit in that respect.

But the issue at hand. Should I go and spend almost all my own money, as well as an equal amount of my parents' money, on something that really is kind of a horrible bet? Is this one of those times when my faith in God would change my life?

I guess that's a stupid question, when it's put to words.

Help my unbelief, LORD!


!Noah!

The God Screwdriver

Why write? Why? I mean, I feel like it doesn't do anything. It doesn't serve a purpose.

Which is probably true, in this case. It's not going to create a cure to the common cold or even make you laugh, most likely. What am I doing?

Am I good at this? Don't answer that.

I like writing, but honestly, recently, I haven't been writing either frequently OR well. More like infrequently and badly. I mean, if stream-of-consciousness is bad, I'm probably somewhere on the way down the proverbial Grand Canyon of writing.

Oooh, psychoanalyze, Noah! Get with it! Who knows what you could be thinking if you were thinking about how you're thinking?

It feels weird when I write my own name. It feels like I'm talking about someone else.

Ok, so here's the deal. How I'm thinking right now. And this is for me, so if I'm not being honest, it's me who's losing.

Ok. So besides the whole girl thing...which I don't think I need to expound on...I want a job. Honestly, right now, I feel like a guy just freaking waiting 'til he grows a beard, moves to his parents' basement and gains a couple hundred pounds.

And if that's how I feel, forget about me asking a girl out! Yikes, no. Oh, so mature, Noah! Caring for her instead of yourself! Well, yeah, but ultimately, all it gets me is a fantastic opportunity to lose responsibility, become a first-class lazy bum, and do...more of this.

Do I think too much? I think so. I dunno. Maybe the point at which you wonder if you think too much is the point at which you are thinking too much. What would I know?

But, wait! It's all for the girl! Yeah. That's true, really. I mean, I'm ashamed about this and whatnot, but for the last six months, I didn't go to church and/or Bible study first and foremost because I wanted to get closer to good friends or God himself, but rather because there was some chance Girl X would be there.

Yeah. Really. I'm like, "Yeah! She might be there, so I'll get a suit and tie, and maybe she'll be impressed despite the fact that I neither have a job nor the will to get one."

Yeah. I don't know if I want a job, really. I mean, I've been jobless for a while now...well, pretty much since I was born, really...but it's like a freaking...mind labyrinth or something! I want to get a job and stuff because of HER or whoever I actually end up loving forever and always...but I don't. Why?

'Cause I'm made to live for God, not for a human being, either myself or her.

And I know this! I know how that works! I get it! 

Now I'm going to make a stupid sappy analogy that makes a lot of stupid sense.

I like taking things apart and putting them back together, usually with a better understanding and appreciation for them afterwards as opposed to before. I guess with God I can't do that. God isn't a watch or a computer or a dryer. He's God. He can't be disassembled, categorized, understood, and reassembled! He's infinite! There's no end to how complex and wonderful and amazing he is. I appreciate the depth and intricacy of a simple desktop computer, but when it comes to God, it's too much.

I don't get God.

"So?" I ask myself. "Why do you need to?"

At this point, I stare blankly at myself. There wasn't a mirror available, so I used a CD.

"Because I don't yet understand myself."

Cue lyrics from Emma Louise. Yeah. Obscure. I'm such a hipster.

But yeah! I don't understand myself. Looking into my face, thinking about the weird and occasionally cool things I do, I don't get it. I don't get me. C-c-c-c-COMBO!

I don't get God.

I don't get me.

And, honestly, I don't understand how I don't understand myself. Or what part of myself I don't understand.

...

Maybe it's the God part. The Image. Imago Dei. It would make sense, I guess, but it wouldn't help things much.

I guess even in me, I can't unpack God and make him a number.

Should I be a scientist? Feels like I think more like a scientist than not...

But nooo! I think weird. I think about strange things. But...who doesn't? I guess I'm just one of the guys who hands my weird side a titanium spork instead of telling it to shut up. 

I don't get me, I don't get God.

I guess that's a problem.

How am I supposed to figure this out?

!Noah!

In Which I Pretend to Know a Darn Thing(s)

Hey. Let me tell you a story.

...

No. Actually, let me tell you a story.

Which sounds like the same thing (no, it doesn't sound like anything, unless you happen to be reading this aloud, which would be a bit like me reading food aloud without eating it! It never happens!), really, but you can see what I mean.

Now, if you ever saw a guy, you probably know he's either a weird dork, a hot stack of stacky hottitude, or a dorky weirdo. Alternatively, he can be an iguana, but that's rare, a bit like me reading food. But I digress.

A guy! Yeah, that thing. Anywho, you've probably met one, and, depending on who you are, what you've eaten for breakfast (very important), and if you've ever met a tortilla unwilling to commit suicide, you've got a deal! Wait, what?

Yeah, a deal. (sorry, alter egos just budge in wherever they want.)

Budge!

YEAH BUDGE. Anyway, they budge in. Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right! Dudes! Guys! Fellas! Lads! Corking chaps! Fab footrests! I have no idea where that came from!

Guys! You know the type! Typically short-haired, two-legged and armed, not with arms, but arms, goshdarnitall! Bros! Pork chops!

Yeah, so dudes.

I'm kinda rambling here. But I'm getting there, I promise!

So guys. Yeah. We're everywhere! We're in your houses! Stealing your coasters up! 'Cause everyone knows there's no better way to...well, coast. Or be a coast. Coasters are pretty powerful toast, if you get down to the etchy-sketchy of it. They've got all the beverages! Your shakes ain't got nothin' on the fluids these babies hold on a daily basis without parental (or other) consent! Vodka? GOT IT! Chocolate milk? THEY"VE GOT YOU COVERED! WATER? DON"T MAKE ME LAUGH!

Wow, I got distracted there.

Ok, guys! Yeah! Guys! Ever met one? They can be weird, odd, strange, or even BAD! A lot like *quick Wikipedia abbreviation check* that one Russian armored car thing! Yeah! Dangerous, liable to drive right over you, tires and all! It's like it almost doesn't care, or has a chip on its shoulder! Actually, the BAD-2 doesn't really have a shoulder. Maybe it'll be in the movie. OR THE INTERSTATE HIGHWAY VERSION! *WINK*

So it's been a while since I wrote. Well, not really. But I mean wrote! Like the Ejyptians seemed to do so much. Y'know, with those guys just freaking out with their hands and stuff. I haven't really looked at much Ejyptian art, but GOSH TAHT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE EGYPTIAN.

Oh.

G.

*facepalm*

AAAAANYWAY!.

See, I don't write like this often! Just rambling, caring not, and twisting the proverbial fabric of life to squeeze all the slightly more understandable now that I've introduced an analogy drops of life. Gosh, run-on sentences. Self-commentary for the win! OH GOSH NOAH DON"T DO THAT!

HAH YOU CAN"T STOP ME!

Wow, I feel like a dork. That's pretty much...who...I...am...

*sobs into hanky*

I FOUND MYSELF! Oh, wait, I'm just sitting here. Can't have just found myself. That's unlikely.

Well. Anyway. It seems the stuff is happening in the place that's around me. OH OH OH! I'm getting a thing in the mail! I'm being ambiguous because if I outright told you, you'd just 1. Not understand. 2. Shake your head, trying to get the techno-jargon out one or the other of your ears, and 3. Proceed to either (stupid) GO AWAY or (SMART) STAY.

Wo, I'm being all kinds of freakish imposing and stuff.

Y'know, I really like it when she likes to see me. Sorry if I sprung that on you like a slinky on a sloth, but the perennial conversation of my life is whatever grill I happen to be obsessing about at the time, and what the heck just happened. Yeah. I just misspelled girl egregiously. And spelled egregiously right, without using a dictionary, Google, OR spell check! How's that? How 'bout them apples? (apparently spellcheck doesn't think spellcheck is correct. On the other hand, spell check, in fact, IS.)

Yeah, this is probably the longest post I've written this year. DON"T QUOTE ME ON THAT!

"Yeah, this is probably the longest post I've written this year." -- Noah

...

DANG.

Well, people. The thing in the mail? It'll help things. Maybe! I mean, there's another thing that might help as well, but, gosh, this might cook the beans! Or the...IRON ORE.

OR WHAT, YOU SAY? This post is not yet available in podcast format, so you couldn't possibly have mistaken ore for or. Gotcha?

Well, I did, so that's how that happened.

But you know this girl? OH! RIGHT. I think she likes me. It's weird, 'cause she kinda sorta...

1. Kissed another guy.
2. Took a picture while doing so.
3. Posted said picture on Facebook.

HEY, IF YOU"RE READING THIS, YOU, OR YOU, I"M SORRY, BUT I"M A PROBLEMATIC PRAWN! IF YOU DIDN"T WANT TO BE THE SUBJECT OF A RAMBLY BLOG POST BY THE WORLD"S LEAST WELL-KNOWN AUTHOR, THEN YOU SHOULDN"T HAVE POSTED IT ON FACEBOOK! OR TAKEN IT! OR KISSED IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Sorry. Had to get that off my chest. OF GOLD!

Well, actually, while gold is pretty palpable, it would probably make for a pretty sweet six-pack. No fat on the top, either.

AND THIS IS WHERE YOU HEARD IT FIRST!

In another five decades, they'll somehow synthetically create gold and offer Gold-Chestification for exorbitant prices.

So, yeah. That's how I started licking rocks.

Oh, wait. Did I skip the part about being raised by deer? Or deers? I think there were enough of them to warrant a grammatically-incorrect plural.

TAKE THAT, ENGLISH LANGUAGE!

On a side note, completely unrelated, and, might I say...

Ok, I won't.


!Noah!

A Gore-Enjoying Antilogical Moron

Suddenly I know how to talk to everyone but the person I most love to talk to.

It's horrible of me to keep going back to this. It's in almost every possible way a dead dream...I mean, she's not engaged or anything, but still.

I am a blockhead. It's probably not exactly my fault that I'm where I am. Not entirely. Not in the ways I most care about, I mean. I guess I can't really describe it.

It's weird. When I'm with people besides my family, I don't talk much, and I feel like I'm not doing my share of the conversatin'. Then again, when I do start talking, to some degree, I can't stop. I haven't gotten much of a chance in a while, really. I haven't gotten a backscratch recently, either. That's important.

Hoppipolla. There's actually an accenty-thing over the I, but besides that, the name's right.

Sigur Ros. Accenty-thing over the O in that one, as well.

It's really beautiful stuff, but we were talking so fast that when she first told me about them, I didn't even realize what she was saying.

Or is that what we had is gone, and all that was gained through it?

No, I'm different, better because of her. Dang it.

I wish I could tell her, but honestly, my heart is far too confusing a place to just say something like that.

Honestly, I just want to talk to her again. But she's living her life, loving her friends...her boyfriend, and I'm here, wishing I was some small part of that mosaic.

I feel like something went wrong, that, somehow, her life going in a different direction than mine can't be everything. I wish I could go and tell her how I feel, how I wish things could be, and make that happen, like in the movies, but I don't think the girl would appreciate that.

I overthink. I guess I should ask her out.

Except now I'm talking about a different girl.


!Noah!

Ice Cube Tray Logic

I seriously need a do not disturb sign for my computer.

Why?

Because I feel like it. A lot. Maybe not much of the time, but when I feel like hanging a do not disturb sign somewhere nearby, I REALLY feel like doing it.

It's not you, it's me.

Well, that's comforting. To no one.

I once asked how to spell no one, because I thought it ought to be one word.

Noone.

I may have met a girl once by that surname.

More likely it was spelled Noon, but that's beside the point.

So over the last few weeks, I've been trying to figure something out. Namely, who it is who leaves the ice cube tray with either zero cubes, one cube, or just a bunch of broken fragments in it.

Most of the time, I say to myself, Take it, Noah, it's not like you can change them. It's not like it would be profitable to call the family together, ask who does it, and squash that proverbial bug, but I still want to.

What happens a lot is that I say, hey, I'll take two cubes and leave two, and someone else will empty it.

And then I keep thinking, "Karma, Noah, karma."

Because they're always still there.

I tried another method. Simply empty the trays and leave them there.

That didn't work very well either. After a couple days of that, I ended up refilling the trays today myself.

It's stupid that I should ever have to think that I'm the only one who does anything, but I'm guessing it's not just me. Are we all wrong, are we all right, and does it even matter?

I found out within the last couple days that my computer has several flaws. First, two of my four memory slots are nonfunctional. Inserting memory into them results in a total freeze (can't even muster a BSOD) and necessitates a reboot.

Life is so complicated.

Last night I thought I'd start a how-to channel on Youtube, and today I realize that the microphone I purchased mere days ago, combined with the positively awful Realtek audio, doesn't record at normal volume levels unless I amp it up 30 decibels. The alternative is to use one of the dozen or so USB headsets Daddy got a few days ago for a buck apiece, but the audio quality should be much worse.

The electric griddle is flakey.

Daddy turned the proxy back on for our network.

The effect of this is to make a number of things impossible. Some of them are necessary or worthwhile, but most of what it stops is us kids doing fun and useful things. I hate it.

Because of this, I use a neighbor's internet connection to do this. It's faster, most of the time, but it's fickle. People can join it at will, and that probably means a few dozen people are using it most of the time.

I'm not complaining. Not about the internet connection, I mean.

And despite the fact that I don't have enough money to rub Franklin's two cheeks together, I'm spending and thinking about spending all day long.

Everything seems so pointless. Resistance especially. I wanted to DO something with my life, but at every turn it, seems like either I don't have the motivation, or a nuke-proof brick wall is in my way.

And the girl? She kissed another guy months ago. So what? That's what I keep asking, but what possible reason would she kiss him if she not only loved him, but also wanted to...

The possibility has been suggested to me that she's "just that kind of girl." That she'd "play the field," so to speak.

It hadn't really occurred to me before, actually, but it doesn't come as a surprise, somehow.

I just hope she doesn't try to play on my corner of the field.


!Noah!