2014 October — Ramblings

Two men are walking up Dimmitt hill toward Olsen Student Center, one is tall and Caucasion, with a none-too-recognizable face, the other is African with an all-too-recognizable personality.

“Hey, Paul Johnson!” say a couple of girls as they cross paths with the two. The Caucasian man grimaces in embarrassment as he doesn’t know who the two girls are. The African man turns around to speak to the girl.

“Hey Natalie, hey Sarah, how’s it going,” he replies. He seems to know these two very well.

“We missed you at the MAC event last night,” the girl on the right playfully pouts.

“Hey, I had a lot of homework to do,” Johnson defends himself with a smile.

“Suuuure,” the other girl giggles as she walks away with her friend.

The Caucasian man lifts up his head, “How do you know those two, Paul?”

Before he can answer back, the two are greeted by another person who seems to be good friends with Paul…

This is a daily struggle for anyone who may walk to lunch with Paul Johnson: The Most Popular Man on Campus. Very rarely will one find a person on Morningside Campus that does not know the name Paul Johnson. Same goes for the face, the smile, and the laugh, and the personality that go with this character.

His large and attractive personality somewhat contrasts his considerably average-sized and almost standard appearance. At 5’10” with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes, one cannot immediately see why so many people are drawn to this figure. Hailing from Nigeria, Johnson is partially known for being the “only Nigerian that [anybody has] ever met,” according to Josh Doering, the tall man that was walking to lunch with Johnson.

The main reason, though, that Johnson knows so many people in the Morningside College student body is the fact that he holds such a large interest for people. “I’m really interested in people. I like to know more about them… Whenever I meet someone new, I want know where they’re from, what they do, why they believe what they believe…” Johnson explains, “I love diversity.”

Johnson is considered unique among the many people on Morningside Campus, which is sometimes attributed to his Nigerian origins, but he himself says that he is different from other Nigerians. “In Nigeria, if there is a person that is older than you and they do something that you know is wrong and you call them out on it… That’s viewed as really disrespectful…” Johnson goes on to explain how that’s something he did a lot back in Nigeria and that was something that would get him in trouble on multiple occasions. “But I feel that here, in America, people are more accepting of that.” Haters

Medication has kicked in and I cannot focus at the moment. Will continue later. This article will include:

Living on Paul’s Hall and his open door “Paulicy”
A little bit of backstory, including struggles he’s gone through
How he’s different from even other Nigerians
His head balancing talent
More quotes from Josh (he had a lot of gold)
What makes Paul, well, Paul
Puns
And maybe some words from the one hater that Paul has (if I can get the interview).

Competent: Adj. Acceptable and satisfactory, though not outstanding.

That’s how I would describe Thank You for Smoking, a comedy-drama film directed by Jason Reitman and starring Aaron Eckhart, a competent lead actor among a troupe of competent supporting actors. While the film had excellent craft and clever usage of certain cinematographic techniques, it was mildly generic and doesn’t stand out from other films in my mind. It’s the perfect film for one to enjoy when there’s nothing else to do.

The film begins with Nick Naylor (played by Aaron Eckhart), a tobacco lobbyist, appearing on a talk show to defend the usage of cigarettes. Anti-smoking lobbyists attempt to use a cancer-ridden teenager against Naylor and his campaign. Naylor, however turns the scene around as he points how the anti-smoking lobbyists want the teenager to die while he and his company want him to survive. Naylor wins the crowd over, victory for his company, roll intro credits.

Throughout portions of the film, Naylor narrates in order to give exposition. Given that this movie is based off of a book, one can assume that the narration is taken from first person narration in the original book. Personally, I felt that this was a nice touch, as it provided exposition and helped with the feel of the entire film. It made it easier to explain characters and their roles.

My favorite part was the introduction of the “Merchants of Death”, Naylor’s friends whom also work in industries known for killing people. Their conversations provide good foils to each other and their interactions with Naylor’s son, Joey, added development to these characters.

I must say, though, that , was my least favorite part of the film. I didn’t mind his character, but I felt that the child who played him was a little wooden in their acting. It didn’t take away from the film, but it did irk me, somewhat. One particular moment in the film that bothered me was during the Joey’s speech was when he looked straight into the camera and as does a quick zoom to his face. To me, that felt out of character and a little unnecessary.

That wasn’t the only case of out of character cinematography, but I imagine that those were all part of providing emphasis for certain scenes, which makes it somewhat forgivable, but still off key, in my opinion. For the most part, the cinematography was just fine. There were nice establishing pan shots, good usage of stills, and well-placed graphics. Overall, I give this film a 3 out of 4 stars.

Meet Paul Johnson. Some of you may be saying to yourself, “that’s the whitest name next to ‘John Smith’!”; others might be thinking that I am introducing the current coach of the Georgia Tech football team, but most will be surprised (if they have not met this character yet) that Paul Johnson is in fact a 100% Nigerian citizen who is currently double-majoring in Mass Communications and International Communications at Morningside College.

Paul does lots of things. One of those “things” that he’s most notable for is making friends. One walk from Dimmitt to the Caf with Paul Johnson will show you a fraction of the people that he has opened himself up to on campus. This friend-making trend has been exemplified by his involvement in student government, Morningside Mass Comm, Residence Life, Men’s soccer, and much, much more.

Of course, involvement does not equate friendship. Despite the fact that Paul is an “introvert”, he keeps a sign by his frame that reads “Open Door PAUL-icy” to show the he welcomes everyone into his place. Without fail, there is cheerful chit-chat coming from the chamber of our champion. It’s very rare that anyone on Morningside’s small campus does not know Paul Johnson.

Stranger Than Fiction by Chuck Palahniuk… Where do I start?

I must say that it’s quite the text. It’s a series of short stories and articles that were compiled together by a writer who typically publishes fiction work. In order to get the most out of this anthology, one might need to read the introduction; it provides a sort of framing device for Palahniuk’s writings.

The stories range from as wacky and unusual as Testy Festy to as seemingly normal and journalistic as Where the Meat Comes From. Though you can still get more from the rest of the text, as there are so many different stories to choose from.

My personal favorite was My Life as a Dog, due to its suspenseful nature from the very vantage point of the author. Sure, Demolition had some action to it, but the fact that Palahniuk was experiencing the chase himself, rather than just as a view, really helped build tension for me as I read his feelings among all the conflict.

As previously mentioned, Palahniuk normally fares as a fiction author, writing award winners such as Fight Club and Invisible Monsters. This collection of one-shot stories shows off Palahniuk’s non-fiction side. He mentions in the introduction how he alternates between fact and fiction, almost never straying. Starting out with a Journalism degree (noted in Escort), Palahniuk had done what he could to make do, and Stranger Than Fiction shows off the lesser-known fruits of his labor.

There’s no over-arching story for this work. There’s not much of organization, even. Palahniuk simply divides the book into three different sections People (about certain groups he encountered), Portraits (about specific people he met), and Personal (More or less his own life experiences). With this format, Stranger than Fiction can be read in any order and not take away from the full experience.

The style of this book makes it a quick read. The paragraphs are short, language is simple, and Palahniuk avoids diddling with unnecessary details. It’s lack of censorship for seeming journalistic writing gives a nice twist of realism, letting the reader know that they are in fact reading about events that actually occurred.

All in all, I would say that the book is enjoyable. There were some parts that I could care less for, but it’s worth a read. It can give one a broader view of the odd things that go on in this world, so odd, you could say that they’re stranger than fiction.

It should be noted that I tend to have a larger vocabulary when writing. It’s just how I work, and it doesn’t mess up my flow when I read it out loud.

It may be considered normal to do good things to get a reward, be that monetary or that “warm fuzzy feeling”, but I believe that we should do what we can to help others out, even where there is no reward. It’s not so much of a religion thing so much as a make-the-world-a-better-place-to-live thing. This isn’t something that will solve every single problem in the world, but it can very well solve most of them.

The little things can go a long way. When I was in middle school and high school, there was this disabled kid named Amos. He had cerebral palsy and couldn’t fully control his motor functions, especially on his right side. On top of that, he was also a bit socially awkward. He was an open book and would share much of what was on his mind, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

I don’t know how it happened, but during lunch, I ended up being the one who would help him get his lunch tray and all that jazz. It just so happened that I would take the same bus home as him, so he became reliant on me fast. I say reliant because he wasn’t necessarily dependent, but he would take any chance he could to get help from me. It was not a rewarding experience, but I do regret the times that I had made up an excuse to not help him out, simply because I feel like an entitled prick for doing so (and a lack thereof said feelings do not count as a reward, fyi).

Thankfully, Amos is still thankful the time that I did invest in helping him. There’s not much he can give to me to “pay back” for the help, and there’s certainly not a whole lot of warm fuzzies from this event, but it’s reinforcement of my own belief of doing the right thing no matter what you get in return. This I believe, because this is what I want to see in the rest of the world. As put by Mahatma Ghandi, “Be the change that you want to see in the world.”

I have much more I would like to say about this, but I will save that for class time.

I was sitting with my two best friends and one of their roommates in our isolated corner of La Juanita’s. None of us were saying anything, just thinking. We were normally a talkative group, but the circumstances were not the usual ones. We were tired after such a long day

“We should share some of our favorite Patrick memories,” I said, breaking the silence. “I feel like it’s only right.”

“I dunno,” Hunter sighed, “there’s just so many of ’em.” He was probably the closest to Patrick. He knew him the longest and had the most similar personalities.

“Just go with any memory,” Hanna interjected.

“I think I have one,” he snapped his finger . “I remember the one time after a TEC when you were dating Michelle. You two were trying to figure out what to do. I remember seeing Patrick right there and saying, ‘you guys should take me let me join. You know, just to make sure you guys aren’t alone,’ just because I didn’t have anything better to do.” He started giggling. I buried my fave in my palms. TEC is a Christian organization and Patrick was one of the adult leaders there. Hunter had effectively used Patrick’s very presence as a ploy to ruin some good alone time with a pretty girl.

“How bout you, Ben?” Alysa, Hanna’s roommate, asked to change the subject and keep us cheery. “You must have one ready, since you suggested this.”

I didn’t have one ready, but it wasn’t hard for me to come up with one. I recounted the one time I had left Hunter’s house late at night after a night of filming. My gas gauge was always shifty, so I couldn’t tell how much gas was in the tank. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough gas in the tank to make it home. I tried calling Hunter since I had just left his house, but apparently, he had already fallen asleep. I searched through my contacts and found Patrick. He seemed like the only person who was close enough by who would be willing to help.

I called and after a few rings, he picked up the phone, sounding wide awake. I was expecting maybe a sigh or a laugh in reaction to my situation, but he just nonchalantly told me to stay where I am so that he could find me. When he picked me up, he went on to tell stories, as he usually did, that somehow pertained to the current subject. I didn’t have to tell them that the stories weren’t boring; Patrick’s stories were never boring.

We started talking about all of the stories he had to tell. Very rarely would he repeat one unless we asked him to. This was a big reason any of us came to his young adults’ bible study. He had a way of keeping us interested in the things that he had to say as well as make sure that we were making the right decisions in life.

I paused as I went through the beginning of that day in my head. It was a Monday morning, probably the worst I’ve ever had…

I was still waking up I received the phone call. My screen showed my pastor’s Facebook profile picture with his name underneath it. Why’s he calling me right now? Normally, Pastor Terry called me when he wanted to know if I could help out with the worship band that week or not. I had the month of August off, though, so there wouldn’t be any reason for him to call me unless it was important. Did I do something wrong at church yesterday morning?

“Hello?” I sheepishly answered the phone. I knew something was wrong.

“Hey! Ben…” Terry’s voice warmly greeted me over the phone, as if to comfort me about something. “I’ve got bad news.” I couldn’t catch much of what he said. He mentioned something about being in a bad spot for making calls, so his voice cut in and out of the call. The only two words I could catch were “Patrick” and “dead”. Before I could ask any questions, the call dropped.

I didn’t know what to think. I tried telling myself that it was a miscommunication. Patrick didn’t die. He was still spry, even at the age of 63. His wife, Julie, just suffered a bad fall and needed to be taken care of by him; we just saw them at the hospital the day before. My grandmother already died earlier this summer, there’s no way that another loved one has died. I kept telling myself these things to keep my spirits up. I had work in an hour and it would’t be good for me to be there while I’m depressed.

I received another call back. It was Terry again. The call was clear this time, no dead zone. My worst fears had been confirmed. He went on to explain how he didn’t show up for work (which was very unlike him), and Julie tried to get in touch with him. When the authorities had arrived, they found him dead at the bottom of the stairs in his basement.

This was unreal. I hadn’t felt this heavy before. The closest thing to that was when my dad texted me about Grandma Mac, but we knew it was going to happen, we knew that it would stop her suffering. This was different. This was too sudden, too problematic. Patrick took care of so many things around church and even Morningside. What’s going to happen to everything that he’s been holding together?

I hadn’t realized how long I had been silent, “Are you still there, Ben?”

“Yeah, I’m still here…” I gathered the strength to reply. “I just don’t know what to think about this…”

Terry suggested that I tell all of the other people that went to Patrick’s young adults’ Bible study, namely, Hunter and Hanna. He said that they’d probably rather hear the news from me, rather than him.

I decided that I should call Hunter first. As I said earlier, he could always relate to Patrick in certain ways. He felt a certain father-son bond with him that he hadn’t had with anyone else. I remember him being angry at his mother for not telling him about his Grandfather’s passing the summer before. When I told him the bad news, he didn’t believe me at first, thinking that I was kidding, for some reason.

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” I snapped. I had been known to make pranks and jokes that made people mad, but this was too far even for me.

“Oh…” He paused. He didn’t know how to feel about this either. I told him that I still had to call Hanna about it too, so we said our goodbyes after that.

I glad that I called Hunter first. Hanna was not an easy call. When the news sank in for her, she began to cry uncontrollably. My heart dropped farther than I thought even possible.

When she was able to muster up some intelligible words, Hanna suggested that we meet up together to console each other, the three of us. I told her I had work, but that I was off by around 3:oo PM, so she said just to come over to her house afterward. I splashed some cold water on my face, E-mailed my boss to let him know that I’ll be coming in for today, but not the rest of the week, and then made my way to Sioux City.

Thankfully, when I had gotten to Hanna’s house, she wasn’t crying anymore. She told me that she just had to get it all out. We waited for Hunter to show up, as usual, before we figured out what we were going to do. Her family had already planned to go boating at McCook Lake that day, so she invited us to come with her.

“I feel like Patrick wouldn’t want us to be sad about him,” She sighed. “He’d want us to be happy about the life he lived.”

Neither Hunter or I could disagree with that. We knew that to Patrick, death was just another part of life. He knew that where he was going and he wouldn’t want us to waste his time mourning over him. “A dead body is a dead body; they’re soul has moved on, so should you,” he used to say whenever the topic of death had come up. As much as we missed him, we knew he wouldn’t want to look down on us from Heaven and see us being sad about his death.

The boating helped. It was still in the back of our minds, but we did our best to not beat ourselves up over it. Hanna’s family was very comforting and knew how much Patrick meant to us. We knew that he was going to be missed, but we also knew he was a good man. Even people with differing religious views believed that Patrick would go to Heaven. This wasn’t because he practiced other religious rituals; this was because he was such a wise, caring, and helpful man that it would be wrong for him to go anywhere else.

It was a Monday morning, probably the worst I’ve ever had.

I was still waking up I received the phone call. My screen showed my pastor’s Facebook profile picture with his name underneath it. Why’s he calling me right now? Normally, Pastor Terry called me when he wanted to know if I could help out with the worship band that week or not. I had the month of August off, though, so there wouldn’t be any reason for him to call me unless it was important. Did I do something wrong at church yesterday morning?

“Hello?” I sheepishly answered the phone. I knew something was wrong.

“Hey! Ben…” Terry’s voice warmly greeted me over the phone, as if to comfort me about something. “I’ve got bad news.” I couldn’t catch much of what he said. He mentioned something about being in a bad spot for making calls, so his voice cut in and out of the call. The only two words I could catch were “Patrick” and “dead”. Before I could ask any questions, the call dropped.

I didn’t know what to think. I tried telling myself that it was a miscommunication. Patrick didn’t die. He was still spry, even at the age of 63. His wife, Julie, just suffered a bad fall and needed to be taken care of by him; we just saw them at the hospital the day before. My grandmother already died earlier this summer, there’s no way that another loved one has died. I kept telling myself these things to keep my spirits up. I had work in an hour and it would’t be good for me to be there while I’m depressed.

I received another call back. It was Terry again. The call was clear this time, no dead zone. My worst fears had been confirmed. He went on to explain how he didn’t show up for work (which was very unlike him), and Julie tried to get in touch with him. When the authorities had arrived, they found him dead at the bottom of the stairs in his basement.

This was unreal. I hadn’t felt this bad before. The closest thing to that was when my dad texted me about Grandma Mac, but we knew it was going to happen, we knew that it would stop her suffering. This was different. This was too sudden, too problematic. Patrick took care of so many things around church and even Morningside. What’s going to happen to everything that he’s been holding together?

I hadn’t realized how long I had been silent, “Are you still there, Ben?”

“Yeah, I’m still here…” I gathered the strength to reply. “I just don’t know what to think about this…”

Terry suggested that I tell all of the other people that went to Patrick’s young adults’ Bible study, namely, my two best friends: Hunter and Hanna. He said that they’d probably rather hear the news from me, rather than him.

I decided that I should call Hunter first. He had always said that he could relate to Patrick in certain ways. He felt a certain father-son bond with him that he hadn’t had with anyone else. I remember him being angry at his mother for not telling him about his Grandfather’s passing the summer before. When I told him the bad news, he didn’t believe me at first, thinking that I was kidding, for some reason.