Did you know that there is a Searcy, Arizona?

I didn’t think so. That’s because there isn’t.

Last weekend, I decided to buy some shoes online. This is significant for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because I buy apparel about as often as Halley’s comet pays a visit. Secondly, despite the fact that I have grown up with the Internet, I still do not entirely trust online transactions. Because of these things, buying shoes online spooks me slightly, but I bit the bullet this weekend and got me some shoes. Good for me.

However, this process was complicated for a number of reasons. My initial attempts to purchase the aforementioned shoes failed, apparently due to incorrect card information. Even after meticulous reexamination of my card, I could not find any discrepancies. I unhappily resigned to contact my bank the next day to find the problem.

The next morning, I had a realization: I put in the incorrect address, because this card was registered to my Harding box, not my house. After correcting the billing and shipping address to Harding’s address, the order went through. Huzzah.

Shortly after, I was contacted by Visa fraud prevention services. According to their records, I had ordered five pairs of shoes instead of one. Apparently, though my transactions had failed due to erroneous address, the card still registered on Visa’s radar. The Visa guy told me that I should probably contact the company just to be certain that only one pair of shoes had been purchased.

By this point, I am regretting my decision to buy shoes in the first place. I would rather go barefoot for the remainder of my days than run a wild goose chase over the phone. However, I decided to agree with the Visa guy. As I pulled up my order confirmation e-mail, my eye caught something strange. Moments later, I realized in horror that my shipping address read Searcy, AZ.

For those of you who are wondering how my finger somehow slipped so far as to type a “Z” instead of an “R,” it was a dropdown menu. This does not change the fact that I am an idiot. By the time I realized the full measure of my egregious blunder, it was 5:20 and I could not contact the company until the next morning.

So, basically, I ordered four pairs of Sperrys to Alex in Searcy, Arizona.

I think the moral here is to scorn vanity. Or learn what state you live in.

My apologies for an unannounced hiatus from cyberspace. Summer came upon me with swift pinions. Please allow me to catch up:

Immediately following the end of the Spring semester, I entered a two-week Ornithology course, which was one of the more enjoyable ways I can imagine to earn a biology credit. More importantly, though, the birdwatching course opened my eyes to a science [and perhaps an art] that I find wonderful, for both its obscurity and its aesthetic joys. And now I can dazzle and annoy my friends with endless bird identification. [Scissor-tailed Flycatcher pictured. I know you don't care. Just move on.]

From Ornithology, I returned to my annual Summer stomping grounds at Camp Tahkodah for four weeks, explaining my absence. And now I have returned to Harding for a long anticipated reunion with one of my most formative experiences: Honors Symposium.

Developed by Harding’s Honors College, Honors Symposium is a two-week taste of the collegiate environment designed for soon-to-be high school seniors. During the course of the program, students attend classes with some of Harding’s most distinguished professors, sampling subjects designed to challenge their thinking and engage their minds in the humanities and worldview studies. It is my distinct pleasure to return to Honors Symposium, not only as an alumnus but now as a counselor.

Symposium’s continuing effect upon my life is extensive. Aside from early preparation for college, the program opened my eyes to a global perspective, which is perceived as rare in the center of a backwoods [and perhaps backwards] place like Arkansas. During Symposium, I began to understand how wonderfully different we all are, both as cultures and as individuals. My appreciation for the subtleties of mankind grew exponentially, and I have since tried to augment my appreciation by looking though others’ eyes with reason and grace. I can say with confidence that Honors Symposium is one of Harding’s most valuable programs and a significant part of my intellectual development.

I say all that to say that being here is a joy. I’ll try and be around over the next few weeks.

When people of my demographic remark that something makes them “feel old,” I fully realize that such a hyperbole is somewhat misplaced, as twenty to thirty years of life hardly constitute “old.” However, I admit that this Summer has me recognizing the passing of the years in a very potent way.

It was just over two years ago that I reported on the absurd antics trying to secure a passport before leaving for Europe for the Summer. Two years ago to the day, I gave my first report of my semester in Florence.

And yet, most of that seems like yesterday.

Later in the Summer, I will be counseling at Harding University’s Honors Symposium, a program of which I am a 2005 alumnus. With the completion of the full circle of counseled to counselor, I am keenly aware of the progress of time.

Something to think about.

Where were you two years ago?

With another scholastic term at a close, I thought it would be fitting to bookend a couple of subjects I have addressed during this last semester:

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In reference to my unfortunate kleptomania of t-shirts, moving out of the dorm was especially difficult. With everyone’s belongings lining the halls of my residence, I somehow managed to restrain myself from perusing the assortment of clothes. Unbelievably, I even managed to get rid of a few t-shirts of my own in my annual Summer closet purge. There is hope for me yet.

———

In reference to the upcoming Star Trek film, I have not seen it yet. I’m certain I will soon.

Whether you are planning to visit the theater or not, this is amusing.

———

In reference to the ant pandemonium, an acquaintance of mine who is, shall we say, more in tune with the natural world than yours truly decided to give me a paper ant named Gloria as a companion. Soon after Immediately after, Gloria met a fiery end in a bowl of lighter fluid in our kitchen. We left the smoldering paper corpse of Gloria the Ant on the counter overnight and, I kid you not, the ants were gone the next day. Completely. Gone.

In America, ladies and gents, that is known as voodoo.

But wait—there’s more. We left the charred, Glorious heap in the bowl for several more days, still completely without ants. However, with an imminent move from the dormitory, we found ourselves in need of cleaning the kitchen, so Gloria had to go.

And they returned. The. Next. Day.

I resign that ants are evil, arcane creatures intensely connected to some metaphysical plane. And it was with happy heart that I left them behind.

———

And so, I turn the page. Let the Summer begin.

I can assure you that no one is more disappointed than me in my apparent lack of progress on this front. It has been a rough month. However, I did finish a book for the aforementioned Western Civ. that I might as well summarize:

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1. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
2. Between Heaven and Hell by Peter Kreeft
3. The Naked Voice by W. Stephen Smith
3.5 The Longest Day by Cornelius Ryan

I jokingly said that a book on D-Day could not be terribly interesting, as I already knew the ending, but this one kept my attention. Given, I read the book in under 48 hours because it was assigned, but through the frenzied tearing through pages, I really enjoyed the more personal look at June 6, 1944. It was a very human account, making a war that I did not fight seem much more real, which is the goal of any historian, I’m certain.

4. The Hunt For Red October by Tom Clancy
5. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
6. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
7. ?
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If I said I have an “ant problem,” what would that mean to you? It is difficult to give numerical estimates of ants, but I would say that an “ant problem” constitutes several individual ants crawling around unwelcomely, generally in sugar-prone areas. An “ant problem” can be dealt with by a good, sound cleaning of the affected areas. Done deal.

If I said I have an “ant infestation,” what would that mean to you? Much worse than a mere “ant problem,” this level of insect nuisance is both disgusting and frustrating beyond belief. An “ant infestation” constitutes a line(s) of ants in various portions of your living space, particularly in kitchen-type places. The cure for an “ant infestation” requires both cleaning and further prevention, such as traps or other chemical prevention.

I wish I could say that either of the above situations reflected what is currently occurring in our kitchen. Sadly, the most apropos title would probably be an “Ant Pandemonium.“

It all began last semester when our windowsill became a convenient place to absentmindedly leave things, such as drinks. And then they came. At first, only a few, but then more and more starting showing up to share in the windowsill buffet. My roommates and I dealt with that particular problem, but by then the clever devils had already recognized the smorgasbord our room could provide.

Enter the trashcan. The ants discovered this receptacle and had a field day for quite some time. While we also dealt with this problem, we realized too late that if they were in our trash can, they had already traveled to the kitchen. Come to find that, not only had they discovered the kitchen, but they are now originating from the sealing between the wall and the floor. I repeat, the devils are living in our kitchen.

Thus, the Ant Pandemonium began.

Almost overnight, after we ousted them from the trash, they formed ranks and began swarming onto our counterspace, searching for morsels of any kind. They infiltrated every nook and cranny of our kitchen with military precision, bringing more all the time. Our previous countermeasures no longer phased the monster that we had created. I began hiding all food in the cupboards high above the counters, only to find ants there the next morning. [For some reason, I thought that, despite the fact that we live on the second floor, those extra three feet would stop them. Negative.] We bought ant poison; they scoffed and brought reinforcements. We bleached every surface of our kitchen; they endured.

And now, the ants have dominion over our kitchen. They are unstoppable.

It is as if I am living in France in 1942—I am in my homeland, but it is occupied by an insidious foe. My roommates and I have begun considering more radical options, such as scorching our kitchen with lighter fluid. In jest, I suggested that we simply burn the dormitory to the ground. However, I realized that even if we did, the ants would still survive.

And their greatest victory yet—I have even written about them on my blog.

With two weeks left in the semester, I am, regretfully, burying my head in the sand and hoping that the ants will have some shred of mercy upon us.

Anyone who has been around me on days beginning in “T” has probably heard me bemoaning the fact that I am in Western Civilization this semester. While I probably should get over it—after all, it’s only April—I do find it somewhat remarkable that I managed to spend an entire term in Florence and still need credit for history of the western world. Fortunately, I enjoy history more than other subjects, such as any of the sciences, so Western Civ. is not nearly as terrible as I make it out to be. I henceforth resolve to get over it for the rest of this semester.

As this class will likely be one my last courses in history, with the exception of music history, I have taken some time to ponder what history has looked like throughout my educational experience:

I have few consistent education memories until around second or third grade, so there is no telling exactly what history was being pushed into my fertile kindergarten brain. However, if I were a gambling man, I would guess that the first few years of primary school were very similar to the rest: American colonization, Revolution, and Civil War.

Now, there is nothing wrong with studying the incredibly significant events of the United States, but I now realize how narrow a historical perspective I was provided for the first, say, seven years of education. After all, the US has only been around a fraction of the entire span of Western civilization. World War II got some airtime as junior high approached [only so we could understand what The Diary of Anne Frank is about], but elementary history education was, by and large, very ethnocentric. [However, I did managed to escape from ever taking a course in Arkansas History, which I simply cannot fathom.]

The neat aspect of history is that, unlike many other fields of study, more material is generated with every passing day. However, this makes the challenge of teaching history even greater, because as new relevant events arise, most likely some old ones will be pushed to the periphery and possibly lost. I don’t suspect that George Washington will go by the wayside in American education anytime soon, but I would like to see some additions and changes in the American view of history.

Until the ninth grade, I thought the Cold War was a literal war fought in Russia. [After all, it's cold in Russia, right?] Until twelfth grade, I had no idea what the term “apartheid” referred to. I could not differentiate between the first and second World War until the tenth grade, and I could not tell you a single event that happened between the two. Upon my graduation from high school, I highly doubt that I could explain to you what the Holy Roman Empire was, nor could I acceptably talk about the French Revolution and Napoleon Bonaparte.

Thankfully, things have changed since. As much as I complain about Western Civ., I have a healthy appreciation for history these days and I feel adequately equipped to embark into the world. However, had my motivation been any less along the way, I would not nearly so well-equipped; if teachers have only so much time to emphasize certain aspects of history, I would love to see kids understanding the Cold War ahead of memorizing all fifty US state capitals, if for nothing more than to make Western Civ. more enjoyable one day.

I have the distinct pleasure of refereeing soccer for the Searcy Youth Soccer Association. And the pleasure is vastly more than just the paycheck.

Many times, refereeing kids is as if I am watching myself from years ago, running with childhood tenacity in dauntless hope of victory. I relive the frustrations and euphorias of my youth as I watch these small athletes compete. What is most amazing is the ability of the kids to see beyond the scoreboard when it all ends. Every match recharges my love of the game and my appreciation of pure competition.

Sometimes, though, I wonder how pure the competition is in the world today. The innocence is not so present when coaches on the sidelines scream at their nine or ten-year-old players, blaming their changing, uncoordinated bodies for the “failure” of a lost opportunity or lost goal. Very little compares to the anger I feel when I see a child in tears on account of a myopic, selfish, insensitive coach, because I was once that kid, too.

The purity of the competition seems to be vanishing in sports today. I know very little about the world of major league or college sports, save that these athletes are paid a salary that I will likely never achieve in my entire life. Their intellectual, moral, or cultural contribution to society, however, will be considerably meager. And though I am ignorant of the majors, I still know who A-rod is. And that is whom we pay millions? Does that embody the love of the game?

I think sports in general have forgotten what sports are for. If athletic competition is purely for glory and domination, the games will continue to be empty pursuit. No role models will be churned out of a system that encourages vanity, selfish striving, and worship of brawn alone. Instead, sports should truly be about the love of the game, and I admit it is a fine line to walk. However, when we dedicate competition to higher ideals than money and temporary glory, athletics will become a vessel for transcendence in society, not just the object of the neo-Rome.

I truly enjoy sports, as a former player and current spectator/officiator. I believe in the benefits of athletics, but I long for a new age of sports, where the love of the game produces more heroes than scandals.

On that day, these coaches might just calm down.