Cooking for Bachelors: Lesson One

We’re all familiar with the stereotype that portrays bachelors as slobs too horribly incompetent to know how to cook: ex-dorm groupies that end up living on ramen and canned soup and the occasional charred bagel. I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone quite that bad at cooking, but living on my own dime in New York City (and then on a well-stocked refrigerator upon arriving back home) taught me a few things about how to feed myself, and how to spruce up a bland meal with just an addition or two. I also learned a few important things about kitchen tools: which can be fashioned out of something else, and which are absolute necessities for basic cooking.

If you want decent food with little-to-no-effort, the most major tip I can provide is to own a crock-pot/slow-cooker (after that, googling simple slow-cooker recipes can be an absolute cinch). But the following lessons are about actual cooking, which is not just a life-necessity: it can also help you to impress the ladies in your life (sorry, but I'm going to assume that this series will probably be more helpful to men than to women), and increase your self-esteem when you realize you can actually functionally provide good stuff for yourself.

And so, without further ado, I present to you: a few basic tutorials and “cheat codes” (highlighted by **double-asterisks**) on how to Level-Up your bachelor cooking.

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Basic Tools:

Refrigerator, Stove, Microwave, Sink

     Most apartments have at least some meager form of these, so hopefully you do, too. I’m going to function under the assumption that you have access to these four devices.

Fork, Knife, Spoon, Plate, Cup/Mug

     Because frankly, if you don’t have these… you’d better be a whiz-kid with chopsticks. And levitating food.

     Note: Mugs are nifty because they’re microwavable: for example, you can fill them with eggs and nuke up an omelette almost instantly if you’re in a two-minute time crunch.

**Frying Pan** and Spatula

     Believe it or not, this is probably more important than a pot or large bowl. It can actually, in a pinch, function as either. Frying pans are a great way to heat, cook, and melt things quickly, with a bit more flavor and personality than a microwave. By ‘personality’ I mean that crispy-edged sort of goodness that trumps a microwave’s even, processed sort of taste. Compare two batches of scrambled eggs made either way, and the frying pan will almost definitely win.

     But don’t try to work a frying pan without some sort of flat-edged utensil to flip its contents — stuff sticks to frying pans, and spatulas are a great way to scrape and stir at the same time.

Pot/Bowl/Large Bowl

     Any one of these three can be used if you don’t have the other two — the main difference being that a pot can’t go in the microwave, but it can boil water on the stove. And a lid for said pot is pretty important.

Towels, Paper Towels/Napkins

     Because there will be spills. Also, folded towels can function as potholders when handling hot dishes.

Extra-Sharp [Cooking] Knife

     Some foods just require a little more than a butter knife to bend them to your will.

Toaster

     Not a requirement, but a nice bonus. Crispy bread is always more fun. Also, these babies make incredible space-heaters in the winter. Seriously.

     You’re welcome.

Basic Ingredients:

Bread

     If you don’t have this… that’s sad.

Butter

     Some people like spreadable, some people like the real hard stuff. It’s good not just for topping toast, but also for cooking… basically anything. If you want to cook, you need butter to keep stuff from sticking to pans. Or cooking oil, but why spend extra money on that when you already have butter in the fridge? Plus, butter has more flavor and character than cooking oil.

Eggs

     Another staple, which can be used as minor ingredients in a large recipe or as the main course. They’re loaded with protein, and can be cooked hundreds of different ways.

**Dairy** (Milk, Cheese, Sour Cream, Cottage Cheese, Yogurt, Cream Cheese, etc.)

     If you want to get anywhere further than ramen and basic scrambled eggs, you’ll want dairy in your fridge. Whether you’re sprucing up old leftovers, a can of pre-made soup, or whatever the meal may be… one of my favorite cooking rules is, “When in doubt, add dairy.” And if you’re lactose intolerant… I am so, so sorry.

     Milk is a healthy drink and a great addition to thicken up some watery soups or sauces, and any further dairy products will Level-Up most of your meals at least a bit.

     Cheese is a very popular, fairly cheap item that can enhance your recipes especially taste-wise: while there are many flavors at your disposal, I’d say American is probably the cheapest that is also flavorful, easy to melt, and conveniently portioned. (It may not be the most nutritious, but it won't exactly hurt more than a diet of Doritos and Coke.)

     The following two items may seem a bit excessive, but they’re both fantastic additions to otherwise blah recipes. Sour cream is a great flavor boost to anything with meat. Cottage Cheese is a great protein snack and a godsend to perfectly fluff scrambled eggs.

     Yogurt is good protein and great to mix with granola and/or fruit if you ever happen to buy either of those. It won’t be used much in actual hot-meal cooking, though. Cream Cheese is a nice adaptable ingredient that can add a nice tang to both sweet and savory dishes.

Meat (Deli Ham, Bacon, [Kosher] Hot Dogs, Bratwurst, Summer Sausage, etc.)

     Though chicken and pork chops and steaks are all phenomenal to taste, they’re usually pretty largely-portioned and a little more tricky to cook than some beginners can handle. The meats listed above are almost all pre-cooked and pre-portioned, so they can be added to any meal without fear of food-poisoning or excessive leftovers that will grow moldy before they can be finished. (I personally prefer Kosher hot dogs just because we can, in theory, know a little bit more about what they’re made of.)

     Note: Bacon is not usually pre-cooked, but that’s easy to remedy: stick it on a plate in the microwave: one minute per bacon slice. Or, if you’re feeling particularly chef-like, you can throw it in the frying pan [no butter or cooking oil required] and fry it up on high with just some occasional stirring to keep it from sticking to the pan. Voila.

Vegetables (**Tomatoes**, Onions, Mushrooms, Lettuce, Zucchini, etc.)

     Yeah, this may seem like a bit much, but any one of these items is both nutritious and flavorful (as anyone who’s lived on Ramen for a month has come to appreciate). Tomatoes can add a cool kick to anything, and are probably one of the ultimate Level-Up food items: got a plain plate of scrambled eggs? Add a chopped tomato on top or a couple slices on the side, and suddenly it looks like it came out of a restaurant menu! Taste is subjective, but after weeks of plain omelets, it may be a nice change.

     Onions and Mushrooms provide major flavor upgrades. Lettuce is flavorless, but can add a nice crunch to anything lacking in texture. Zucchini can be cooked up by itself with a little butter and cheese as a decent vegetable side-dish.

Fruit

     Though good to have, they probably won’t come up much in cooking lessons (except bananas, which are needed in the recipe for Protein Pancakes: the perfect quick man-snack).

Condiments (Peanut Butter, Jelly, Mustard, Mayo, Ketchup, Barbecue Sauce, etc.)

     Great little Level-Ups. The first two go well with sweeter, more fruity concoctions — the others go well with more protein-based foods. Salad dressings also fall under the latter category.

Spices (Salt, Pepper, Garlic Powder, Oregano, Basil, Cilantro, Chili Powder, etc.)

     A little spice goes a long way: they’ve virtually no expiration date and you don’t generally use large amounts at a time, even when cooking for 5+ people, so once you have a place of your own, a spice collection is a good investment. As Shepherd Book once said, "A man can live from here until Judgement Day if he has enough rosemary."

     Salt and Pepper are two basics I’m sure you’re familiar with.

     Garlic, Oregano, and Basil go great with pastas, vegetable dishes like zucchini, or anything that might have onions or mushrooms in it. (Oregano is the Italian spice: if you smell it, you’ll likely have flashbacks to every great pizza or dish of spaghetti you ever had.)

     Cilantro, Chili Powder, Paprika, and Cumin are found in spicier foods and can add a tongue-burning kick to any boring dish you like — Cilantro, however, isn’t particularly spicy: more like a tangy aftertaste for salsas or sauces. Lime Juice also falls under that category, but I doubt you’ll use much of that until you’re stocked up on other important things. Like flour and sugar and caviar.

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Recipe #1: Hard-Boiled Eggs

Tools Required

Stove, Sink

Pot and Lid

Paper Towel(s)

Plate and Silverware

Level 1 Ingredients

Eggs

Level 2 Ingredients

Mustard, Ketchup, or other Condiment(s)/Spice(s)

Level 3+ Ingredients

Tomato

Bacon

Toast

Lettuce

Cilantro

A. Place however many eggs you want into your pot, and fill the pot with water until the eggs are covered. (Don’t over-fill it; if there’s not around an inch of space or more between the water’s surface and the top of the pot, drops may splash out onto the hot stove when it’s boiling.) (And I know this wasn't on the list, but if there happens to be baking soda in the vicinity, sprinkling a little in the water will make the eggs easier to peel.)

B. Turn the stove on high, and hang around. You can probably fiddle with something else in the meantime, but stay within earshot or so.

     - If you want to create Level 3+ eggs, you can chop up the tomato now. How much tomato you want is your preference: I’d recommend about one spoonful of tomato chunks per egg you’ll be eating (so the average tomato could provide enough material for three or four eggs). Refrigerate it until the eggs are ready.

C. After about four minutes (depending on your stove), the water will start boiling (not little bubbles just starting to rise from the base of the pot: big bubbles will be disturbing the surface of the water). Turn on a timer and then leave the pot this way for five minutes. If water does keep splashing out, you can turn the stove down to medium high or medium — just try to keep it boiling for those five minutes.

D. After those five minutes are up, turn the stove off, remove the pot from the hot burner, and put it on another burner or empty surface. Put the lid on it, restart your timer for twelve-to-fifteen minutes, and leave it.

     - For Level 3+ eggs, now’s probably a good time to stick bacon in the microwave if you want to add it to the final dish: remember, one minute per bacon slice. When it’s done, put it on a paper towel to dry.

E. After the time’s up, remove the lid, take the pot to the sink, and use a spoon to move the eggs into a container of cold water. (Or just run the tap cold into the pot and let it overflow for a minute or so; this process will take a bit more cool water because the pot’s still pretty hot and will warm up the new water at first.) This process is called “cold shock” and will make the eggs easier to peel.

     - For Level 3+ eggs, now’s probably a good time to stick the bread in the toaster. (If your toaster scale is 1-10, a 4-6 setting will probably be best. Most people want lightly-browned and crispy toast, which takes about three or four minutes. Hopefully you already know your own toaster well enough to keep from burning your flat down).

F. Any eggs you don’t want to eat right away can be stored in the fridge and eaten cold at a later date (but note: they can’t be reheated once they’re cooled or you’ll just overcook them). If you want to eat an egg warm, the cold shock won’t reduce their temperature too much, so after the cold shock you can peel their shells onto a paper towel and enjoy Level 1: a plain, hard-boiled egg.

G. For a nice Level 2 twist, cut the peeled egg into slices and lay it out on a plate. Add a squiggle of a condiment like mustard (which goes particularly well with eggs) across the top of the egg or on the side of the plate in any cool design you want, and ta-dah!

H. For Levels 3 and up, add a spoonful of the diced tomato and/or a handful of crumbled bacon (or any chopped ingredients you want, really), and it’s a restaurant-worthy masterpiece with barely any effort involved! Serve it on toast (plain, buttered, mayo-ed, etc.), wrapped up in a lettuce leaf, or garnished with cilantro for extra fanciness.

If your lady came over and you served this to her, she might see a…

Level 1: Snack.

Level 2: Appetizer.

Level 3+: Hors D'oeuvre. 

Amazing what a little garnish can do, right? But don't worry if something goes wrong, even with simple recipes like this one; Cooking is learned by experience more than reading. I mean, I only know most of these concoctions because growing up in our family required near-daily participation in various kitchen duties. That means I've had about two decades of practice: so don't feel bad if your first few tries on a new recipe come out a little wonky; mine still do, every time I try something new (or sometimes even when I go back to something I've successfully made in the past).

Just keep reading, keep learning, keep cooking… and if the mood takes you, then let me know how useful (or awful?) these tutorials are so that I too can Level Up in the future.

It's A Brave New World

This is likely more of an epidemic among the internet generation than among adults in general, but I think it’s still worth discussing.

And for those of you who are hoping to skim down and find the major bullet-points that break down and summarize my article at the same time [don’t feel guilty; I tend to do that, too], there are none. It’s an essay, not a ten-step program.

~

“I used to believe that if I cared about anything,

I would have to care about everything.”

So says Prince Henry in the movie Ever After, one of my all-time favorite adaptations of the legend of Cinderella. For a long while I always thought the remark rather ridiculous; of course one can care selectively about things. Human beings naturally pick favorites. That’s part of why I have so few pairs of shoes; any more and I’d still only wear the ones that I liked, anyway.

But as I merge into a life of adulthood, and as injustice increasingly appears on every screen to vie for my attentions, the more I start to understand what Prince Henry was talking about.

Because more and more catastrophes and moral causes and companies are pushing and shoving to get center-stage in my life and influence me… and the longer I read or watch or listen, the longer I wait… the more I see that many were just fads; scams preying upon the unwary, or misinformed debates that started out fresh but in the end were not as clear-cut as they claimed.

“It takes education and intelligent examination to determine where your dollar goes,” seems to be the observance of many. We hear horror stories about identity theft and businesses that con their customers and politicians that arranged heinous decisions and relief organizations that do more harm than good. We see beggars on the streets and single parents in line for food stamps and orphaned children requesting sponsorship, until we decide that there is only one logical solution to keep from being swindled… and that is to ignore everything.

“Suspicion is the new religion.”

-Switchfoot

Of course, I’m generalizing here. Not everyone has consciously made this decision, but I get the feeling that I’m far from the only person who has. We didn’t come to such a solution immediately, nor is it a choice that I condone. But one day as I scrolled through the world news and daily buzz of my peers, I realized that I was passing over articles on cancer and abductions and terrorist activity because I simply “didn’t want to see them,” and “didn’t want to be fooled” again. I’ve stopped reading all of those “Five Things I Wish I Knew Before I Had A Kid” blog posts with generic instructions that I already knew. I’ve stopped reading those controversial articles that everybody posts or comments on, because they have racy titles meant to draw in readers, like, “I Lost My Virginity Before Marriage And I Don’t Regret It,” which turns out to have some great big positive twist at the end. Not to mention the viral videos with titles the size of Texas, like “This Man Risks His Life To Save A Bear. What The Bear Does Afterwards Is So Touching!”

I’ve grown so sick of faked videos that people claim as real, and I’ve grown sick of the real videos that people accuse of being faked.

I grow angry at people who blindly accept a childish challenge without looking into the stem-cell-based organization that started it, and I grow angry at people who berate the cause instead of trying to find a better organization to donate to.

I grind my teeth at those who treat religious or sexual minorities with prejudiced animosity, and I grind my teeth at those who try to paint the those minorities as underdogs to justify their lifestyles.

We romanticize good and evil when looking back at conflicts like World War II, and we praise those who fought tirelessly to bring down the Third Reich at all costs… yet when Christians in Africa are now being beheaded by ISIS in broad daylight, we hesitate to act because we “could” be taking rash measures.

We obsess over teen movies about distopian societies where freedom has been taken away from the common people, but we forget the eerily-accurate novel Brave New World where people willingly give their freedom away in exchange for pleasure.

Those of us with the means and privilege to live in the modern world are, slowly but very certainly, being led into a gradual state of apathy because bad news has become normal: it’s now just something we ought to grow a callus to. Being hurt by distant tragedies is now an option, not a reality. They’re irrelevant because they’re not happening to us.

But they should be. If every human being is endowed with the same rights and dignity that you and I have, then oughtn’t they to be fought for, tooth and claw, until they receive justice? And if we fail in trying to help, it’s still the thought that counts - but many of us aren’t even bothering with thoughts at all.

“Quid est veritas?”

[“What is truth?”]

-Pontius Pilate, Roman Prefect AD 26-36

When I was in college, I had planned to attend the Kony 2012 march on D.C. to try and influence the government to pay more attention to the act of the LRA, responsible for the abduction of child soldiers and slaves in Africa. For a while it seemed that my schedule would not allow me to attend with my peers… but mere hours before their departure, my docket opened up. We had just enough time to drive to Virginia, attend the march, spend the night, and then drive back the next day. It wasn’t much, but from our point of view, it was all we could do.

Looking back, the march didn’t really seem to do all that much… nor was it totally scam-proof, for that matter. The organization funding it have, to this day, received a lot of flack for a mental breakdown that their leader suffered earlier that year. And while they do still fund efforts to spread “come home” pamphlets to encourage child soldiers to defect, they’re not the most blameless charity around when it comes to financial plans.

But, to be honest… I don’t actually regret going.

Because for one weekend, I felt like I was part of history. I could not only care about a cause, but [try to] do something about it. Of course I learned about the importance of who and what I invest in, but idealism is the privilege of youth. Just because nothing changed that time doesn’t mean that things will never change, even in small degrees. I would rather my heart ache every day at the world’s tragedies than to wake up one day and find out that my heart is no longer capable of breaking because it has grown to hard to feel anything.

Am I suggesting that we give money to every needy person we encounter simply because the sight of their plight makes us feel sorry for them? No. As much as my soul ached every time I saw a cardboard sign during my time in New York City, I knew that handing out anything, even restaurant gift cards, would be a mere band-aid on the bullet-wound of homelessness. Maybe I can’t make a difference that way, but I can find organizations that do function properly to help the homeless that actually want to improve their situation[s], and I can volunteer with them. Maybe I can’t know for sure which charities are truly using their resources wisely overseas, but I can communicate with friends and family who are involved and learn what they’ve experienced in that country and who's helped them the most (I have a nice shortcut in that the brunt of my charity donations can go to my sister's work with European immigrants). Maybe I can’t actually make much of a difference with a Facebook “like” or a blog post like this, but perhaps activism shouldn’t ever be that easy anyway.

In a few decades, I imagine that our children will look back on the horrors that erupted around our world today [not that new ones won’t still be going on]… but unlike some of us, who could brag on our fathers or grandfathers for taking a stand in previous disasters, many of our children will instead hear from us, “We heard rumors about what was happening over there, but we didn’t know for sure.”

“It wasn’t my country/state/city/religion/culture/family, so it wasn’t my problem.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time.”

But perhaps it is a big deal, and it only seems not to be because we’re watching it unfold on little screens… instead of before our eyes. I know that if half of the world’s disasters happened in my backyard, suddenly I’d be a vocal advocate for justice in the world. So instead of waiting for disaster to strike, perhaps I ought to start caring now.

“We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean.

But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.”

-Mother Teresa

I don’t know what my next step is from here. I’m still only a college graduate, waiting tables [yes, I think I've got a job now] and waiting for the story of my life to take off. But I’ve spent over twenty years hearing stories of those who gave up so many comforts and riches to help the world distinguish right and wrong. We who are privileged with wealth and education are perhaps those with the most power, if we would but “sell [our] possessions and follow” Jesus where we would rather not go.

Perhaps that’s what I’m supposed to do, or perhaps I was given these talents so that I could change the world with my career of storytelling. I just know I’m ready to do something. Anything. Anywhere.

Safe and Sound...

Welp, I'm home! I'm in one piece, I made new friends, and I've got some cool stories to tell!

Maybe next time.

Shoes of the Subway

Have you ever noticed how much you can analyze about a person by their shoes?

It’s one of those incredible things that you don’t tend to think about, but once it’s brought to your attention you can never really stop noticing it again and again ever-afterwards. Judging shoes is usually such a subconscious process that once you start taking control of it and breaking down the process, you feel as accomplished as Sherlock Holmes.

You see, I’ve always loved people-watching… but it’s a difficult hobby to do discreetly. I think the idea to judge shoes first came to me while I was in an airport (one of my favorite people-watching arenas), but I immediately knew the process could be applied anywhere. You simply watch the shoes that walk by, try to make some sort of assumption about the wearer (athletic, rich, shallow, relaxed, outdoorsy)… then look up and see if the rest of the person’s clothing or demographic effects the rest of the picture. Or vice versa: how much does a person change in your mind once you look down?

For example, after coming to New York, one day I was sitting on the Subway when a huge man walked in, tattooed and everything. I was worried for a fraction of a second, until I saw his shoes: Doc Marten’s working boots. Suddenly I noticed the traces that this man had been working hard. A blue-collar job, perhaps, but a solid and respectable job nonetheless.

I immediately liked him after that. I didn’t think to start this photography series until days later, but I wish I’d gotten a picture of his shoes. Call me crazy, but only people who earn a decent living can afford Doc Martens… and only people who work hard would ever want to wear them.

And so, during my time here in New York, I spent not a few subway rides trying to take subtle pictures of the floor with my iPhone and prepare this short amateur photography series, entitled “Shoes of the Subway.”

(Thanks to Blogspot's less-than-stellar photo-posting abilities, I'm only showing a small number of the full series.)

Guess which teen the little boy belonged to!

What if I told you this was a teenage girl?
Now what if I said fifty-year-old man?
Funny how it works...

Fast asleep after a long work day.

     

These two women in the above pictures came into the same subway car from two different stops while wearing the exact same shoes, within three feet of each other, and didn't notice.

One of these three came from Wall
Street after a work day.

Somebody wasn't traveling alone...

What if I told you that girl in the flats was two feet shorter than the guy in sneakers?
Now what if I told you she was at least six feet tall?

He asked me for directions.

He wore a turban, and was traveling with his family.

Straight from the parade.

Drunk as a skunk.

Reading Magic Tree House out loud!

I overheard him telling someone that he was high.
Not what I expected from someone with such a put-together outfit.

"He loves me...
He loves me not..."

Two little brothers speaking French. There are a TON of French-speakers in NYC...

Guess what makes these girls particularly different -- besides their awesome fashion sense?

We actually got into a great conversation about her boots.

These were probably my personal favorite pair that I saw the whole trip.

And the best contrast goes to...

Fun fact: my own feet are somewhere in this series.

Movie Reviews: Guardians of the Galaxy

Whoever’s in charge of quality-control over at Marvel Studios is sure doing one heck of a job. The comic-book-based tycoon of a production company has been churning out incredibly complex, touching, humorous action films with an impressive amount of consistency throughout the past decade. Case in point: if any other brand-name studio tried to create a movie featuring classic eighties songs and a talking raccoon, they’d be laughed right into the ground. But not Marvel.

Ever since the first trailers to sci-fi adventure Guardians of the Galaxy came out with “Hooked On A Feeling” playing in the background, half of the current adolescent population suddenly bought the Blue Swede single on iTunes or dusted off their parents’ old Jackson 5 albums. Director James Gunn has created what many are calling a rip-roaring ‘space western,’ the like of which hasn’t been seen since Joss Whedon’s vastly underrated television series Firefly was canceled.

But the truth is, when I finally sat down to see Guardians I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect, because hearing people sing the praises of a Marvel movie is pretty much par for the course by now. In fact, many Marvel productions that are considered ‘great’ compared to non-Marvel films can be merely ‘okay’ when compared to other Marvel projects. This studio has almost created a league of their own in the cinema world. Their work is always witty, complex, and often makes fun of archetypal cliches that audiences have grown accustomed to seeing in superhero plot lines. They’re not perfect, of course, but they’re not a waste of money by any stretch of the imagination.

So the question in my mind when the projector rolled was, “Will this be a great movie? Or a great Marvel movie?” Because I’d honestly been led to believe the latter. 

(And by the way, while I always do my best to produce spoiler-free reviews, in this case I may include some footnotes for those of you who don’t mind some minor reveals).

The movie begins in the 80s, where we see just how the human main character, Peter Quill, ended up hanging with aliens in the first place. In the wake of a family tragedy where none of his relatives think to comfort him (or even keep an eye on the young boy, for that matter), he bursts into tears and runs off, unnoticed, to grieve. At that point, he’s suddenly abducted by a mysterious spaceship, and the childhood trauma likely reaches maximum capacity. Surely whoever he grows up to be, this kid is going to have some serious psychological issues.

But the next time we see Quill, fully grown on the surface of an alien planet, he doesn’t look that much worse for the wear. A little grungy, perhaps, but he’s still grooving to his childhood walkman like nobody’s business. And as it turns out, his kidnappers also happened to be mercenary thieves, so Quill has adapted accordingly: he’s out on his own, performing wild shenanigans and committing double-crosses that inevitably lead to the audience howling with laughter… and to his meeting a pretty motley crew of abrasive misfits. Each of them brings a new form of comedy to the screen, and each has a story: a personal injustice that led them to their current criminal lifestyle. But as time progresses, they up discovering a common cause to believe in, and they decide that it’s worth putting aside their grudges against society (and each other) in order to save the galaxy. What follows is both a side-splitting comedy, a pretty satisfying adventure, and a great movie... perhaps even a great Marvel movie, but that's debatable (though I may be alone in thinking that).

Guardians boasted a largely non-human character list, so it threw around alien names and cultures and terms until I had thoroughly lost track of who planned to hunt down/destroy/avenge/kidnap/double-cross/brainwash/conquer who… and this is coming from someone who can name all thirteen of the dwarves in The Hobbit without breaking a sweat. But even with all of my cognitive powers processing the storyline, I still got turned around a lot. That’s not to say that a second or third viewing won’t clear things up, but generally the reason one watches a movie a second time is to enjoy it, not to catch the jokes that were muttered too quietly to hear, or to figure out the politics that didn’t fully make sense the first time around.

Still, it’s not as if I’m going to have to be dragged into the second screening! I had a great time laughing at the band of delinquents, and was rather proud of them as they tried to trample all over the audience’s concept of what a superhero should look like. There were elements of that where they succeeded (case in point: a psychopathic raccoon who still saved more civilian lives and city buildings than Superman did in Man of Steel), but there were equally as many moments where they disappointed, too: like the required female character who must be tough but still attractive, so they just give her incredible fighting skills and then stick her in leather from head to toe. Or the heart-of-gold mercenary creature who can’t really speak English but is still understood and translated by his partner (can anyone say, Chewbacca?). And of course there were a few cliché moments, too, like when the heartbroken child Quill is somehow ignored by his entire extended family at a moment of peak trauma, or when someone gives a moving speech to his peers about what it truly means to be a hero, or when the villain hesitates in the middle of completing his evil scheme because he gets temporarily distracted by something petty, and so on.**

So on the whole, Guardians of the Galaxy may not really be anything new in the realm of space adventures as it claimed to be. I went in expecting a few more stereotypes to get shattered than actually did (though maybe Firefly just spoiled me when it comes to space westerns). But that’s no reason to consider Guardians a sub-par creation, perhaps even by Marvel standards — it's a perfect Friday night blockbuster for the whole family, and it's one hilarious roller-coaster ride that I can’t wait to get back in line for, many times to come.

**SPOILER BELOW**

…or when Groot has the classic moment of “actual” speech at the climax (seriously, had he just been holding it in for his entire life, or what? It’s not as if saying his usual three-word catchphrase would have made the moment any less emotional, especially if Rocket could translate it)… not to mention his not-so-heartbreaking death that we all knew wouldn’t last, since he’s a comic book character and has a history of re-growing broken limbs. I wonder if all those other twigs will become a little forest of Groots.

SONNETS (On Life and Adjustments)

[You may notice that they're numbered. I've just been numbering my sonnets instead of giving them titles. Trying to emulate Shakespeare a bit, I guess...]

4.

For any man to become truly wise

Before he dare accept something as true

He ought to look through several other eyes

And foster a more timeless point of view.

It’s easy to stand out in one’s own time

Or blend in, one lone letter on pages

But if you look beyond your printed line

And dare to gaze across the many ages

If you should read the book from end to end

To recognize what man has been, can be

You may lose your ability to blend

Into your current day and century

It seems that only history will tell

Whether a man adjusted truly well.

6.

Without any forces to beat us back

Or voices to answer questions we raise,

We’ve no way of knowing a worthwhile task

Or knowing when work ought to merit praise.

From itself a mind has little to learn,

But others are different, reborn each day:

New facets of laughter and trust to earn

That knock you off-course towards a new way

For souls always change and you must re-learn

What guides their decisions and surprises;

If nothing has value or needs be earned

And you had anything that entices,

You'd still find living is simply no fun

Unless you’ve something to do with someone.

On Worship and Imagination

For a long time growing up, I may have enjoyed corporate worship but I still felt a strange sort of awkwardness or dragging to it, on those days when I couldn’t somehow connect to the rippling force of joy that I’ve experienced on other days. I never liked to raise my hands or clap along, but half the time I felt obligated to since everyone else was, or since the songs were talking about raising hands. All I knew was that it didn't feel right. I didn't like being forced to do something just to conform, but I also didn't want to do something that no one else was doing and then get judged for it. No matter what the majority was doing —  kneeling, standing, sitting, with their eyes shut, eyes open, feet tapping, feet still, hands signing, fingers snapping… I just couldn’t find any particular thing that worked for me every time.

Then one day I figured out: that’s kind of the point. No single song or choreographed action is going to work for you every time you try to worship. Some days you’ll be too tired to do anything but sit and read your Bible. Other days, you’ll be dancing and belting out every note until you go hoarse. But often times, the thing that will distract you from worshipping freely is the self-consciousness that comes from being in a big crowd. If no one else is standing, should I really be standing? Raising my hands? Kneeling?

Ask yourself this: if you were either all by yourself in a room where nobody could see you, or else in a huge crowd where everyone was doing something completely different and not paying attention to you, what would you do?

Hopefully, when we come to worship, that’s what’s supposed to happen - whatever ‘it’ is to you, on whatever particular day you come to do it. We’re supposed to enjoy God and tell him how much we love him, with whatever language or actions we want. Dancers should go to the back and dance; singers should sing; shouters should shout; weepers should weep; spinners should spin around! Nobody should bother to pay attention to what anyone else is doing.

So me? Well, I used to just stick to singing. I didn’t like the whole raising-hands thing, because to me it just felt insincere. Sometimes I would have the instinct to sway, like there's a habit or force that's deep in my spine that has to glide along to the music. And even if I didn’t consider myself a dancer, when I shut my eyes and let my voice run free, for years I would still imagine angel dancers. Their feet would stomp with every beat and their hands would writhe into a sort of sign language that confirms every word being sung. They’re all choreographed and glorious, faces painted with great and terrible symbols and robes flowing like ribbons. I loved the beauty of it all, the joyful fury, and I would long to one day join the painted dancers… blending in and swooping about and swinging my arms in wide arches to illustrate just how great God is. But you can’t really do that in a church sanctuary without getting some weird looks.

Then one day, I was in a worship service, but had lost my voice more severely than I ever had before. I knew I would be perfectly fine in a day or two, but I wanted to worship God right then, and for once I couldn’t let my tongue do the work for me. I couldn’t sway back and forth and just listen… I had to do. But what to do?

Since I couldn’t sing, I used my hands: gesturing and signing whatever few words I knew… funny how “signing” need only switch two letters to become “singing.” And even though my body was signing, it was indeed my soul that finally started singing. Without my own voice or the notes to concentrate on, my energies went into finding new ways to express the old words I’d heard so many times. And I’ve found that at least in my case, it’s near impossible to make wide gestures without feeling something. I (and many other human beings) talk with gestures and hand movements all the time… but for some reason when worship starts we either put our hands down or occupy them with a few basic motions. Sometimes our hands are meant to swoop and point and spread out! Sometimes our fists are meant to pound along with the drums! If no one cared, then stomp I would! My hands would do their own interpretive dance, my voice would roam free, and sometimes I would bellow other words beside the chosen lyrics in the current song.

So that’s what I do. When I worship, I ignore everyone else. I join those dancers that my mind invented, and I don’t give a fig for what others might think of my interpretive choreography. Don’t get me wrong, though: often times I stand still for God, simply to check my heart and make sure I’m not dancing or signing to get noticed by anyone else. Better an insincere statue than an insincere dancer… but if you just so much as put your hands in front of you, palms up, something will happen. You’ll feel the need to move them and gesture, as if you’ve received something. At least I do. I barely move in worship if my arms are crossed, but after I open my hands and hold them out for just a few moments, I feel the need to use them just like when I talk. So I talk to God, and when I can’t contain myself, I dance.

Not everyone need imagine the dancers that I imagine.

For some of you, you see lines like soldiers: straight, tall, rapt at attention. Faces held high and hands at salute while music pumps their blood. So stand at attention and salute your King.

For others, you see an empty room where you're the only one, in the dim warm light of ancient candles. And there you can kneel to the floor and whisper. You can write on the walls what you’re afraid to say in broad daylight.

You may be sitting in the home you never had, merely breathing in.

Or strolling back and forth through a garden, belting out each note.

I imagine that Place where thousands have gathered, in a wide empty field where the dawn has just begun and the sun is before us. There is room for all, not just to dance but to kneel, to sit, stand, to move, to spin, to run, to leap, to fly, to lie sprawled out in the tall grass, to slowly change from stance to stance with measured precision, to spin until they collapse without hitting a single bystander… and all the while, the music courses through our veins.

For some of you, you're right in front of the crowd, close enough to touch the sunlight in the center.

For others, you’re standing in the back, to soak in the view of so many others joining together in this Place. Or because if they all have their backs to you, you can feel like a part of them but still do what you wish because they can’t see and judge you.

For me, I'm in the middle. Just another figure in the masses, to move and blend in as I choose. Because nobody cares; all they see and all they wish to do is to soak their souls in the sun. When you come to worship, first put your mind right and go to a place where it doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing, nor do they care what you’re doing. But we’re all doing. Any action is welcome: just focus on the sun.

Even if my body stands still, in my mind I always see at the head the audience those figures dancing incredible dances.  The thunder of the kettle drums pounds into my heart and down to my toes until I beat out the pleas of my spirit with the soles of my feet.

Some days I kneel, some days I sing, many days I dance along. But all days, I can finally worship.

When you close your eyes to imagine the Kingdom, keep mind of which people you choose to watch there. Just maybe that's the section that you really want to join. And you are welcome to run to them without fear of judgement from anybody else.