My Time At SRS

I was raised in an extremely religious household and, it follows, that I attended a very small and extremely religious college. In the interest of keeping the school’s name private, I will call it The School of Religious Superfluity or SRS. Whenever another school runs short of piety, they send off an order and quickly receive a fresh supply via Fex-Ed.

Not only was SRS highly religious, but also rather stringent in the rules department, a couple of which even made sense. One rule that I never appreciated or understood was that every student was required to attend breakfast every weekday morning, whether they were hungry or not. A few years ago, I wrote an essay about my experiences at SRS and I will share my entry about breakfast with you now. Aw, now, please, that wild applause is so embarrassing! *snort*

Breakfast

Students are required to attend breakfast at SRS. Why? Beats me. I always found this little rule particularly irksome. Fortunately, I was saved from this fate for much of my SRS career, since I was an employee of the gatehouse (a job that required me to be up quite late) and therefore was excused from attending. In fact, I worked in the gatehouse so often that once when I hadn't worked, I slept through breakfast and was automatically excused.

I would always stumble through the dining hall door and sit down just in time for devotions. We had devotions every morning at breakfast. This consisted of a student (we were selected alphabetically) standing up and doing the hokey-pokey in bib overalls. Not really. Actually, they would stand and read a passage of Holy Writ and then ask someone to lead in a song. Then someone else would lead in prayer and then I would lead the charge to the breakfast line. It is a strategy that young, inexperienced SRSers may wish to remember. You must either get to breakfast really early or just barely in time. Otherwise, you will have just enough time to reach the front of the line before everyone is seated promptly at 7:00 for devotions. Then you’ll have to start all over again. If you get there just in time, you can wait until after prayer and then take your chances getting to the front of the next line.

When the prayer began to wind down, you could hear the shifting of feet being put into running position. The instant “Amen” was said, two hundred little squeaks filled the room as rubber met tile and students dashed for the line. My gang and I had secured a table right at the front of the room, so it was not uncommon for me make first or second place. We had it down to a science.

While we are on the subject of devotions at breakfast, allow me an observation. There is an ant crawling on my computer screen. No, seriously. Each student grimly kept an eye on the schedule, watching their name come closer and closer. It is also interesting to note that it’s easy to remember while it is far away, but the closer it gets, the harder it becomes to recall, until finally on the big day, you forget to take your Bible to breakfast. We had a lot of lessons from John 3:16, as most of the kids knew it from memory. I trust I am not leaving the impression that breakfast was dull. There were times when it was rather amusing and set the tone for the rest of the day. Allow me to relate some of these.

It so happened that my day for devotions fell on Valentine's Day. Since my last name is Hart, the boy's dorm supervisor, (we’ll call him Phil), naturally found this most entertaining. I had been thinking of what to do for devotions and had come up with what I thought would be a good idea. But it wasn't exactly your normal, run-of-the-mill devotional, so at the last minute, I decided to scrap it and go with a more generic version. However, at 7:00 that morning, Phil stood and said, “Today we have a very special person doing devotions. Craig HART! Heh!”

“All righty,” I thought to myself. “If he wants to play rough, I will oblige him.”

And so, I reverted to my original plan. I stood and said, “You know, I really hate doing devotions. But, hey! As long as it’s free air time, let me tell you about a special sale we’re having down at Craig Hart Studios. Two tapes for the price of one!” At this juncture, I lowered my voice and said calmly, “The scripture for today is I John 4:8. God…is…love.” And then I sat down. I don't remember who I chose to start the song, but it was Jesus Loves Me. I may be corny, but at least I can keep to a theme.

Another interesting breakfast occurred when another guy (we’ll call him Bert) was elected to begin the song. It is common knowledge that vocal cords are not awake at 7:00 am and Bert's were no exception. The song was I Will Bless the Lord at All Times, which has a somewhat pleasant melody. Bert, however, began the song in an unknown key and then, realizing he had pitched it too high, abruptly dove down into the substratum with a sound like an eighteen-wheeler shifting for a difficult mountain grade. There were other instances, but I believe I have made my case.

I'm Strange

If you've been reading this Blog for any length of time, you know that I am a very odd person. Perhaps you have even wondered what could have caused this aberration of humanity. Well, wonder no more. I have decided to give you a peek into my early life, where you may get a sense of all the factors that culminated in my present wretched condition. This post will serve as the first part of this dissertation. If I feel really weird and energetic, further installments may be forthcoming

I'm Strange

I was never one of the cool kids. This is can be determined even now by the fact that I am still using the word cool, even though I believe it is now uncool to do so. I'm still not cool enough to know what the cool words are these days and chances are fair that they aren't worth using anyway. But I digress.

Although you wouldn't know it by my massive bulk now, I was once quite small and rickety and prone to illness. Small and rickety children have very limited opportunities in their social world, it seems, and it didn't help that I also enjoyed classical music and literature. Among my small circle of friends, I was considered to be a good bloke, but put me in a crowded room and I would promptly disappear and, as far as I was concerned, the sooner the better. The athletic, muscular boys would be strutting about the room exuding manliness, while I would be searching for a dark corner into which I could squeeze and while away the evening.

Yes, I was an odd child. At summer camp, the other boys would opt for baseball and make a mad dash for the dining hall whenever the bell rang. I, on the other hand, would prefer to read or draw and become so engrossed that I'd forget to eat altogether. I hated summer camp. I only went once. No, make that one and a half times. I went home in the middle of the week once, because some kid got sick in the night and threw up on my pillow. Deciding that I had pressing business at home, I packed up my stuff and left on the next ride to town.

I was always working on a project, most of them ill-fated. I've long had an interest in writing and newspapers and it was only natural that I would decide to start my own underground press. My father was a pastor and, following the advice experienced writers always give younger ones, "Write what you know," I started a small newspaper about our church, including highly satirical articles about the various members, some of whom had exceedingly thin skins. Feeling pleased with myself, I showed the papers to my mother, who showed them to my father, who quickly shut down the presses before freedom of speech cost him a job. I didn't get into trouble for the venture, however. I still believe that my parents secretly found the papers hilarious and I was, more or less, told so later on. Unfortunately, none of these papers still exist, having been burned along with the rest of history's banned literature. Alas.

to be continued... (maybe)

Devotional of Doom

I wrote this a long time ago, and it's actually been transplanted twice. First, it was an assignment, and then it ended up in my Road to Doom collection (see THIS post and THIS one too) and now it's here! Here's the backstory!

From 3rd grade to 12th, I attended a Christian school called Potter's House. In a rare display of seriousness here, for which I apologize, I want to say that Potter's House and its cadre of skilled educationists, is responsible not only for my formative education, but also for a good deal of my religion.

With that in mind, this borderline sacrilegious piece was an, um...warmup of sorts for an assignment where we were told to write a devotional. My teachers never saw this, and unless they stumble upon this Blog, they never will. Heh.

Devotional of Doom

There was once a boy who was addicted to mustard. His friends all thought he needed some help with his bad habit, but Richard denied this, and went off to do some mustard. His friends decided to go pray for him.

“Dear God,” they said. “Our friend Richard needs help. He has fallen away from you, and we want you to draw him to yourself in a big way.”

All of a sudden, Richard barged into the room where his friends had gathered, and collapsed on the floor.

“Oh my gosh, you guys! I just found the greatest thing! See, it’s like there was this big hole in my life, and I finally found something to fill it!”

“What is it man?” his friends asked.

Richard drew himself up to his full height and put his right hand over his heart. He took a deep breath and said:

“French’s. Guys, it’s the most amazing mustard there is out there! Dang, I thought I was gonna explode!”

And then he did. God got him for his sins. He was being punished for not listening to the prayers and concerns of his friends. You see, Richard is like all of us. We tend to look at the mustard in life, and ignore the good and wholesome things like kittens, cake and hugs. So don’t be like Richard. Find the Richard in yourself and kill him.

Moral: Don’t do drugs.

Now, if that doesn't clean up the druggies out there in time-waster land, I don't know what will! I gotta go now, though. There's some, um... hotdogs...I have to...eat. Yeah. Hotdogs.

Watch Your Language!

The English language (if it truly is a language) is really weird. That may, in part, explain why I like messing around with it so much. It’s really good company. Kind of like a friend who is fun to just hang out with. You don’t even necessarily have to do anything, just goof off and be weird. So, yes, I love English. It’s never boring and sometimes it’s downright hilarious. I’ve been compiling a list of words I find particularly amusing for some reason that, at the moment, completely eludes me.

1. Bean
2. Weasel
3. Gargoyle
4. Bumble
5. Blither
6. Swine
7. Taxes (not really, I just threw that in)
8. Ladle
9. Chigger
10. Opine

Well, there are more, but you get the idea. English is an awesome language. Consider the following question of logic: “If you sweat in a sweat suit, golf in a golf shirt, and smoke in a smoking jacket, what do you do in a wind breaker?”

There are innumerable instances of English being a completely random collection of words from other languages, identically spelled words that mean entirely different things or words that can be altered drastically with the addition or elimination of one or more letters. I found the following on a forum I visit on occasion. Since the poster made it clear that he had collected these from various sources, I can’t give credit to the creators, but I enjoyed their work enough to include it here.

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

There is no egg in eggplant nor is there any ham in hamburger. There is neither pine nor apple in pineapple. English muffins aren’t English and French fries aren’t French. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. Quicksand can work slowly. Boxing rings are square. A guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. Writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham. If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?

One goose, 2 geese. One moose, 2 meese?
One index, 2 indices. One Rolex, two Rolices?
Mouse - mice, louse - lice. House - hice? Shouldn’t one kernel of rice be a rouse?
Why doesn't "Buick" rhyme with "quick”?

You can make amends but not one amend. You can have odds and ends but not an odd and an end. Teachers taught. Preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? People recite at a play and play at a recital, ship by truck and send cargo by ship. We have noses that run and feet that smell. A slim chance and a fat chance are the same, but a wise man and a wise guy are opposites. When the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. Your house can burn up as it burns down. You fill in a form by filling it out. An alarm goes off by going on.

People, not computers, invented English, so the language reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all.

The Man by the Sea

I come before you, dear readers, with my head hung low. You may recall in a previous post where I mentioned my ongoing conflict with the “Little Things.” Well, they’ve been at it again. I have, actually, been quite busy, what with work, the NBA playoffs, and my secret life with the Israeli Mossad, but I realize that is no excuse for my laxity in keeping up my regular posts on this Blog. I beg your forgiveness and offer my sincerest thanks for your patience. (Oh, and Wilbur, thanks for that neat little box you sent me. When the YPS man made the delivery, I shook it and it started ticking. I assumed it must be broken, so I sent it back to you.)

The Man by the Sea

There was once a man named Manfred,
Who lived in a cave by the sea.
Whenever he heard waves crash on the rocks,
He badly needed to pee.

This was a natural instinct
And he wasn’t ashamed for a minute,
But it did get rather annoying
When he did and his dinner guests didn’t.

“Excuse me,” he’d say in a fluster,
Rising and running away.
“I must be about my business.
“Continue your eating, I pray!”

At first it caused not a stir,
The guests were understanding and kind.
But soon they began to worry,
When Manfred made trip number nine.

“I say,” said old Mr. Flaptrap,
Wiping his chin with a fork.
“That chap should lay off the liquids!”
And he scarfed another helping of pork.

The evening wore on with leisure,
As they waited for Manfred to improve.
But at last he shrugged and exclaimed,
“I guess I’ll just have to move!”