So I graduated the other day. Now it's true that I stopped going to school a few months ago, but it didn't become official until last weekend when I actually walked and got a certificate that said "your diploma will be mailed to you." Thank you Taylor University for that lovely parting thought.
So directly after that I went with my room-mate of four years to Chicago where he is going to have a "real person" or "grown-up" job. (It involves computers and typing on them but beyond that I get a little lost in the details.) Well anyway we were trying to procure him a hole in the wall (appartment) for a modest (arm and a leg) monthly fee.
I on the other hand, will be given student housing at Huntington University where I will work while taking gradute courses at Taylor. Do you see the problem here? It's like we're adults!
Now don't be fooled by appearences, we are FAR from adults, but seriously, if you didn't know any better you might be tempted to think that we behaved like grown-ups. Nothing could be further from the truth. But it's interesting that in some ways growing up is very gradual, but in other ways it seems to happen all at once.
Milestones make you feel like you should have changed. But rarely do I ever feel like my maturity has actually caught up to my new role in life. Here I am, a college grad, but I've always envisioned a 22 year old Steven Conn to be a lot more mature, a lot wiser, a lot more prepared to handle responsability, and a little bit taller.
If anyone has a way to gain maturity without acually experiencing things, let me know.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Remember Brandon Fitzsimmons
So an official apolgy goes out to Cortney Korshak for "embarassing" her with a recent post. But she knew what she was getting into when she started dating me.
Anyway, today I just want to introduce you to a video made by my friend Brad. The main character in this "film" is Brandon Fitzsimmons, and I want you to know that parts of this story are absolutely true. I wont tell you which parts though, becuase that might make it less interesting. Enjoy, and remember the day you watched a movie about Brandon Fitzsimmons.
Anyway, today I just want to introduce you to a video made by my friend Brad. The main character in this "film" is Brandon Fitzsimmons, and I want you to know that parts of this story are absolutely true. I wont tell you which parts though, becuase that might make it less interesting. Enjoy, and remember the day you watched a movie about Brandon Fitzsimmons.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Better than Drugs
As many of you know it is one of my life goals to be "flown in" by some organization for a speaking engagement. Sadly, after twenty two years of failure I can only report that my last speaking engagement also refused to spring for my plane ticket. Perhaps this is because it was 4 miles away from my house. But I'm still offended.
Last Friday I was a guest speaker at the "Encounter" youth rally at Highland highschool. And even though I am narcissisticly obsessed with my own words this post will not be about that.
There was another speaker there that day who was possibly more influential than I was. I don't remember his real name but his friends called him "shaggs."
This was your regular "hipster doofus" highschool kid that gave off the impression that he might have woken up from a deep sleep in the last 5 minutes and that cutting holes in his jeans was a higher priority than cutting his hair.
But somehow, his bumbling stumbling fumbling rant turned for forty amazing seconds of lucidity into something beautiful. And he gave the best explanation I've ever heard for the difference between happiness and joy.
His testimony was fresh and authentic. What he really conveyed to me was that he was a young man who usually wasn't very good at expressing himself, but believed so fully in what he experienced that he was willing to do whatever it took to share it with his friends. He told us about a life of drugs and hate. But he was brought out of that life by something better. "If drugs were better than God" he said "I would do drugs." But he doesn't any more, because he knows a better way.
And this kid, this "Shaggs" really moved me. For real. And here I was about to give a half hour speech that I had prepared and practice and that I thought was going to knock the socks off of Highland highschool. But I didn't even feel like I was necessary anymore, I didn't know what else I could say that was worth saying after him.
I saw such a stark contrast between Shaggs and the highly polished and prepared services we see at church. And I saw within myself an ugly feeling of "ownership" over ministry. WE are the ministers. WE have training and technique and paychecks and software. We might even know a smatering of Greek. People ask us questions and take our opinions as "educated" because ministry and God are our business.
Seriously? Do we think that? Of course we would never admit it but as Shaggs took the stage I thought to myself that I was about to witness amiture hour. And instead what I saw was the Holy Spirit move. I recommend that anyone who is in or thinking about becoming involved in ministry to constantly remind ourselves that we do not have the corner of the market on God, and that even though ministry might be our business, God has business that is much bigger than us.
Last Friday I was a guest speaker at the "Encounter" youth rally at Highland highschool. And even though I am narcissisticly obsessed with my own words this post will not be about that.
There was another speaker there that day who was possibly more influential than I was. I don't remember his real name but his friends called him "shaggs."
This was your regular "hipster doofus" highschool kid that gave off the impression that he might have woken up from a deep sleep in the last 5 minutes and that cutting holes in his jeans was a higher priority than cutting his hair.
But somehow, his bumbling stumbling fumbling rant turned for forty amazing seconds of lucidity into something beautiful. And he gave the best explanation I've ever heard for the difference between happiness and joy.
His testimony was fresh and authentic. What he really conveyed to me was that he was a young man who usually wasn't very good at expressing himself, but believed so fully in what he experienced that he was willing to do whatever it took to share it with his friends. He told us about a life of drugs and hate. But he was brought out of that life by something better. "If drugs were better than God" he said "I would do drugs." But he doesn't any more, because he knows a better way.
And this kid, this "Shaggs" really moved me. For real. And here I was about to give a half hour speech that I had prepared and practice and that I thought was going to knock the socks off of Highland highschool. But I didn't even feel like I was necessary anymore, I didn't know what else I could say that was worth saying after him.
I saw such a stark contrast between Shaggs and the highly polished and prepared services we see at church. And I saw within myself an ugly feeling of "ownership" over ministry. WE are the ministers. WE have training and technique and paychecks and software. We might even know a smatering of Greek. People ask us questions and take our opinions as "educated" because ministry and God are our business.
Seriously? Do we think that? Of course we would never admit it but as Shaggs took the stage I thought to myself that I was about to witness amiture hour. And instead what I saw was the Holy Spirit move. I recommend that anyone who is in or thinking about becoming involved in ministry to constantly remind ourselves that we do not have the corner of the market on God, and that even though ministry might be our business, God has business that is much bigger than us.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Back with Shak
Lately people have been clamoring for me to update my blog with more amusing anecdotes. And trust me I intend to. Please let me first revel in the fact that this means people are actually reading my blog. Do you have any idea how happy that makes me? No you do not, because your self esteem is not based on how many people laugh at you like mine is.
But before I do that I must first report some happy news. Despite the fact that personal baggage has turned me into a relational wreck, as of Cinco de Mayo I have found a girl who will actually consent to date me.
That's right, my ex-girlfriend, the lovely Cortney Michelle Korshak, has found it in her magnanimous heart to take me back after I broke up with her and sent her crying to Costa Rica. I admit, this was a bad call on my part. One of the worst I've made in recent memory. But fortunately she believes in forgiveness. That and she's crazy about me. (not sure why but I do NOT argue)
Ever since I spent a semester in Ireland listening to Kim Duncan go ON and ON about how awesome her boyfriend was I decided that I wanted to find a girl who would brag about me until her friends hated her. Whelp, I found her! She has a lot of other good qualities too. For example, she is an amazing baton twirler and was even crowned miss Illinois (of twirling).
She is a Spanish education major and knows all the Spanish in the world. At least I think she does. She has a huge heart for Hispanic people, the poor, and the disenfranchised. And she has a huge passion for teaching English as a second language.
She is a great and supportive friend and I can't imagine anyone so understanding and loyal to a guy like me even when I don't deserve it. Also, she is a smoking hottie.
I could go on and on about her but I wont bore you with all the details, let it just be said that I'm really lucky to have her and that I like her...A lot.
You might think that it's obnoxious for me to write about her like this, but she IS the first reader this blog has ever had....plus I'm a really obnoxious guy, so I don't care
Also, she likes to stick her tongue out in pictures, but I'm used to that by now. And check this out, notice how well she fits into a hug. She' so short (excuse me, I mean "fun sized") that I appear to be the appropriate size by comparison.
(Notice the product placement for Newpointe)
But before I do that I must first report some happy news. Despite the fact that personal baggage has turned me into a relational wreck, as of Cinco de Mayo I have found a girl who will actually consent to date me.
That's right, my ex-girlfriend, the lovely Cortney Michelle Korshak, has found it in her magnanimous heart to take me back after I broke up with her and sent her crying to Costa Rica. I admit, this was a bad call on my part. One of the worst I've made in recent memory. But fortunately she believes in forgiveness. That and she's crazy about me. (not sure why but I do NOT argue)
Ever since I spent a semester in Ireland listening to Kim Duncan go ON and ON about how awesome her boyfriend was I decided that I wanted to find a girl who would brag about me until her friends hated her. Whelp, I found her! She has a lot of other good qualities too. For example, she is an amazing baton twirler and was even crowned miss Illinois (of twirling).
She is a Spanish education major and knows all the Spanish in the world. At least I think she does. She has a huge heart for Hispanic people, the poor, and the disenfranchised. And she has a huge passion for teaching English as a second language.
She is a great and supportive friend and I can't imagine anyone so understanding and loyal to a guy like me even when I don't deserve it. Also, she is a smoking hottie.
I could go on and on about her but I wont bore you with all the details, let it just be said that I'm really lucky to have her and that I like her...A lot.
You might think that it's obnoxious for me to write about her like this, but she IS the first reader this blog has ever had....plus I'm a really obnoxious guy, so I don't care
Also, she likes to stick her tongue out in pictures, but I'm used to that by now. And check this out, notice how well she fits into a hug. She' so short (excuse me, I mean "fun sized") that I appear to be the appropriate size by comparison.
(Notice the product placement for Newpointe)
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Free Fallin'
Remember how I said that I had a big weekend? This Monday I topped it all off by jumping out of a plane.
My friend Brandon is getting married, so we decided, "hey, why not shove him out of a plane?" Not seeing anything at all wrong with this idea me and some of my best friends from highschool went skydiving in Lebanon Ohio.
I'm not going to lie, it was really cool, but It's kinda hard to describe a skydiving experience in a blog. Let me just say that it's really really fast.
It would have been a lot better if I had some pictures to show you, but sadly, I have none. Like a true group of men the six of us came prepared with a total of zero cameras. Now, we could have had a video taken of us by the sky-diving company, but they charge $90 for that service.
So, lacking a better option I have decided to make my own pictures so I could more accurately share with you my experience. I trust that after you look at this picture you will feel as if you had gone skydiving yourself. I have baically saved you $150 with this drawing. And now you can tell your friends that you too have jumped out of a plane.
(Click image to enlarge, seriously)
My friend Brandon is getting married, so we decided, "hey, why not shove him out of a plane?" Not seeing anything at all wrong with this idea me and some of my best friends from highschool went skydiving in Lebanon Ohio.
I'm not going to lie, it was really cool, but It's kinda hard to describe a skydiving experience in a blog. Let me just say that it's really really fast.
It would have been a lot better if I had some pictures to show you, but sadly, I have none. Like a true group of men the six of us came prepared with a total of zero cameras. Now, we could have had a video taken of us by the sky-diving company, but they charge $90 for that service.
So, lacking a better option I have decided to make my own pictures so I could more accurately share with you my experience. I trust that after you look at this picture you will feel as if you had gone skydiving yourself. I have baically saved you $150 with this drawing. And now you can tell your friends that you too have jumped out of a plane.
(Click image to enlarge, seriously)
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Mini (part deux)
This has been the biggest and most expensive weekend of my life. So I'm going to try to break it down day by day.
Ok, so it finally happened. After months of pretending to train, and weeks of actually training--I finally ran a mini marathon.
You might think that I would have learned from last years experience when I was FORCED to run it, and was very happy when I lucked out by tearing a muscle in my groin two days before the race, resulting in what a DOCTOR called "the biggest bruise [he's] ever seen."
(You might ask why that's lucky, and you might ask how I did it. It's lucky because it prevented me from running a mini in which a lot of girls I go to school with were going to kick my butt. I did it by trying to jump over ben blake while playing in the mud. Very manly I know. I believe that there is actually video footage of this somewhere)
But I didn't learn. So I bought the place of my injured friend, Veronika Vlaslov.
For those of you who don't know anything about running races (me) let me explain what happens.
because literally tens of thousands of people are in this race they put you in a HOPELESSLY long line based on how fast you claim to be able to run. Because I had taken the spot of a girl who didn't believe in herself I was near the back in section "V." No, that's not the roman numeral for 5. that's the letter "V", as in Veronika. Coincidence I'm sure, but an inconvenient one. It took me 28 minutes to reach the starting line.
However, this was alright because I was in a group of middle aged women and heavy-set men. In their eyes I was the very image of youth and athletic prowess. For seven miles I sped effortlessly past the elderly and the obese while making smalltalk and jokes with my good friend Andrew Lehr.
What a beautiful and glorious seven mile run that was. We drank Gatorade, we laughed, we passed a guy that kinda looked like Steve Austin, we ran in the Indianapolis motor speedway, and we enjoyed ourselves
I trained to run ten miles. And they say that if you can run ten, you can do thirteen because the adrenaline kicks in. Those people are freaking liars.
I'm not even going to attempt to describe what it felt like to run those last three miles. Because it would be much easier to just hit your legs with a hockey stick until you cried and then made you put on pants made of broken glass before making you take a couple of laps around the track with a station wagon on your back.*
So after about 18 years I crossed the finish line. For the last 100 Meters I was running pretty hard because I was "A" Listening to "Only in Dreams" on my iPod, and "B" was trying to impress Cortney (More on her later) After completing the race my right leg decided to cramp in a fit of joy.
By which I mean it cramped so totally that I was unable to haul my tubby self off the track because I had literally lost the use of my right leg. I was carried away in a stretcher to a tent where I was given a massage by the physical therapy team. this was my favorite part of the race.
In all seriousness though, my time 2:20:30 I might have come in second or third, I'm not sure.
The winner ran in 1:06:00. Yes he was Kenyan, He really was.
(*Also there is someone you hate in the station wagon)
Ok, so it finally happened. After months of pretending to train, and weeks of actually training--I finally ran a mini marathon.
You might think that I would have learned from last years experience when I was FORCED to run it, and was very happy when I lucked out by tearing a muscle in my groin two days before the race, resulting in what a DOCTOR called "the biggest bruise [he's] ever seen."
(You might ask why that's lucky, and you might ask how I did it. It's lucky because it prevented me from running a mini in which a lot of girls I go to school with were going to kick my butt. I did it by trying to jump over ben blake while playing in the mud. Very manly I know. I believe that there is actually video footage of this somewhere)
But I didn't learn. So I bought the place of my injured friend, Veronika Vlaslov.
For those of you who don't know anything about running races (me) let me explain what happens.
because literally tens of thousands of people are in this race they put you in a HOPELESSLY long line based on how fast you claim to be able to run. Because I had taken the spot of a girl who didn't believe in herself I was near the back in section "V." No, that's not the roman numeral for 5. that's the letter "V", as in Veronika. Coincidence I'm sure, but an inconvenient one. It took me 28 minutes to reach the starting line.
However, this was alright because I was in a group of middle aged women and heavy-set men. In their eyes I was the very image of youth and athletic prowess. For seven miles I sped effortlessly past the elderly and the obese while making smalltalk and jokes with my good friend Andrew Lehr.
What a beautiful and glorious seven mile run that was. We drank Gatorade, we laughed, we passed a guy that kinda looked like Steve Austin, we ran in the Indianapolis motor speedway, and we enjoyed ourselves
I trained to run ten miles. And they say that if you can run ten, you can do thirteen because the adrenaline kicks in. Those people are freaking liars.
I'm not even going to attempt to describe what it felt like to run those last three miles. Because it would be much easier to just hit your legs with a hockey stick until you cried and then made you put on pants made of broken glass before making you take a couple of laps around the track with a station wagon on your back.*
So after about 18 years I crossed the finish line. For the last 100 Meters I was running pretty hard because I was "A" Listening to "Only in Dreams" on my iPod, and "B" was trying to impress Cortney (More on her later) After completing the race my right leg decided to cramp in a fit of joy.
By which I mean it cramped so totally that I was unable to haul my tubby self off the track because I had literally lost the use of my right leg. I was carried away in a stretcher to a tent where I was given a massage by the physical therapy team. this was my favorite part of the race.
In all seriousness though, my time 2:20:30 I might have come in second or third, I'm not sure.
The winner ran in 1:06:00. Yes he was Kenyan, He really was.
(*Also there is someone you hate in the station wagon)
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