PCC Memories

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This is a MUCH better solution than Classmates for getting in touch with old PCC college friends:

Check it out... if you can't find someone on the board, you can find someone else who can help you get in touch with them.

The Horton Supremacy

Want to do something that will make you feel naughty, look over your shoulder for an approaching floorleader and bring about a titillating sense of euphoria?

]]> Check out Google's new satellite map feature. It lets you zoom in on the campus for the voyeurism you missed while living in Young Tower. (Remember the double screened swim center and lock-and-key blinds?)

Enjoy!

Graduation Day 2000

I wrote this the night I graduated. I was in a motel room with my parents, and I couldn't sleep. I knew I had to put down in words what I was feeling on this very big day.

]]> Today I plunged my hand into the salty ocean tide;
I grasped and clutched at treasures there below
That mystery of shifting, bubbling waves of liquid glass.
My hands were only helpless 'gainst the flow.
When my fingers touched the finest piece
They only brought me vain release
From the joy that comes from holding friends in love.

Today my eyes were moistened by a salty flowing tear
As helplessly I clutched with arms of care
That mystery of every moving waves of life and time;
The pulling tide is more than I can bear.
As the greatest treasures, moving on,
Exit our dusk to find their dawn.
May our greatest joy in Christ be loving friends.

Morbid, Part 1: Tiny Little Holes

As part of our pseudo-ritual, Kinsey Dickey, Steve Rahn and I would goof around during particularly dry Wednesday evening services. Kinsey marked the beginning of the morbid series by sharing with us her poem, Tiny Little Holes:]]> The world crashed in today
In tiny little holes
So tiny no one noticed them
But me

I am a fool to cry
Yet the tears come anyway
Without my permission
They come marching down my cheeks
In silent ranks

They fill those tiny holes
That were made when the world crashed in.

Morbid, Part 2: The World's Plaything

After reading Kinsey's morbid poem, Steve Rahn followed suit with an even more pathetic poem: The world wants me
They imagine me their plaything
They laugh at my jest
They dress me up
And pinch my cheeks

They pleasure in me but
The pleasure ceases
They dont play anymore
They hurt
They wrap their fingers around me
I turn blue
They drop me
Their salty tears splash on my lifeless body.]]>

Morbid, Part 3: Corpse

Not to be outdone and seizing an opportunity to use my powers of melodrama, I composed my very own piece of literary morbidity:

]]> My rotting fingers clench the world
With a hateful vengeance.
I throw my shredded mess of face toward
The beautiful masses.
I scream silent rasping threats to the crisp and stark businessmen...

One young man stops, stares
And spits.

My arms lie broken and shattered at the foot
Of prosperity.

(in loving memory of Steve and Kinsey)

After which Steve kindly wrote, "Jesse is a freak." Mission accomplished.

Passing Notes

I was looking through an old journal (one of my first) and found this inscription by James Cowart, scribbled during the Sunday PM church service in the Sport Center, with the dim, blocky image from the screen reflecting on the high gloss floors and the echoes making a blessing virtually impossible... This is good stuff, Jesse. It is great to read not only words or pictures but also thoughts, dreams, fears, regrets and prayers. Remember to record it all, good + bad, easy + hard. B/c the day will come when you will look back, + see God! Then you will be blessed to see him even when you did not see him. Like a child looking up at the bottom of a quilt that his grandmother is quilting, so we sometimes look up to God to see the bottom of His work, ugly + confusing. But wait, the day will come when she + He will turn the quilt over + then we shall see the whole picture! It is all in perspective!

Jesse, you been a great friend. And now 11 days till parting I say thank-you for everything. I wish you the best that God has for you. Your relationship [Heather], during + after, has been + great example to me so it was not totally in vain!

Always,
James A. Cowart Sitting there in that impersonal arena, we all felt something very personal. It was bigger than any of us, but made up of all of us. I knew the end of college would mark the beginning of good things, but, like death, it would also mark the end of some good things. Those were indeed good days, the days of friendship.]]>

Stranded at a Truckstop

I wrote this on my senior cuts with Chris Rose; we were headed up to his house in South Carolina when the alternator went on the car and we were stuck at this truckstop that itself seemed stuck. I learned a few interesting Broadway dance steps that night.

]]> The night is bright here with an artificial light. Stale, crisp blue and orange lights flood the hard edges of the trucks and cement, making everything pale and unnaturally colored. The night is also quiet save the enormous growl and snarl of long wide-eyed monsters - dirty, smoking and tired. The air moves inconspicuously from somewhere down the dark road and stops here to explore - to inquire lazily at each gas pump and window. Past the mirrored image of inverse neon signs and deep-orange clouds, two men with matted gray hair and full beards stare into their coffee. A sleepy waitress moves around slowly, aware only of her work; and yet she wears a distanced face as if tomorrow held something dreaded or perhaps pleasant. Everything is so unusually still and somehow I feel much more alive - it is late, but my senses are keenly aware.

The Commons Tree

The melodrama continues, this time with a tree and a fiberglass base...

]]> A tree stands in the Commons. How odd it must feel to be taken from its element – a graceful sapling with roots constrained by a flimsy fiberglass base; yet it stands as always, still and silent. Its tired foliage reflects a unnaturally pale blue, while its cliché trunk marks a hard shadow on the glossy brick. Ivory stones cover the soil to create a more organic look – or perhaps simply to give the slender orphan a sense of security. The branches stand deathly still, shaken only by the occasional puff of an overhead fan. Hundreds of voices assail the quiet form, but there will be time later for contemplation.

Yep, that sapling sure spent a good deal of time thinking about how sorry his life was to be cooped up with a bunch of hypocrites. *sigh* How painful young words are.

Outside Coberly North

Yes, over-the-top. But I thought I'd share some observations I made of the campus while still learning to write.

]]> The air beside Coberly North is thick and humid, moving only to make room for more stiff air. A cricket buzzes randomly on and off, while the air conditioning unit behind the Academic Center drones peacefully. The hard yellow light leaks down from the nearby streetlight, mingling softly with the pale blue light overhead the doors. The campanile echoes against Ballard and blends again with the original tone to create a strange melody. The occasional student passes, shoes clicking and trousers hissing. The palm branches murmur at the wind. Gentle heat and lazy lighting brings a yawn.

Why I Would Make A Good Junior Class Officer

by the one and only Jeremy Killian

]]> Class meeting is a time when the members should feel as if they are part of a unit, a special group that really adds to their college experience. At many other colleges and universities, people go through their entire four years and only get to know a select group of people. As a song leader, I would attempt to promote the unity that I think is so crucial. Also, I am actively involved in speech and music, and class meeting would benefit my performance skills. I realize that there are probably people better for the job than I am, however, if I am elected, I would be more than willing to do everything that I can to help my class grow in the Lord.

I think if they'd have let him play his "Box Lunch" song, students would have rallied in the streets. "Cardboard white... firm but flexible..." We'll save that for another post.

Can I Come Back?

Found this while e-rooting through my hard drive... though it may come as a shock to most of you, I did get kicked out of PCC, and this was my (melodramatic) letter requesting permission to return and finish my degree.

]]> Dean Ohman Pensacola Christian College Pensacola, FL 32503

Dear Dean Ohman,

For three and a half years I attended Pensacola Christian College. I learned many things and grew in many ways, considering it a privilege and a blessing to be a part of God’s work. Over those three and a half years, I accumulated a good deal of demerits—not for anything drastic—simply out of carelessness and irresponsibility. Things that were not Biblically “sinful” in my mind often took second place. I can remember standing before Miss Fowler or Mr. Griffin in discipline committee hearing “five demerits for being up after lights out” or “three demerits for not scanning back in”.

They may seem like small things compared to the situations you have to deal with every day, but they summarized an attitude of carelessness that surrounded the first three and a half years of my college career. This attitude is what led me to visit my girlfriend’s room and ultimately dismissal from PCC. I realize that what I did was foolish and wrong. It seemed so insignificant when I made the decision. Friends supported me and I tried to justify my actions in my own mind; so I went.

This may sound odd, but I cannot thank you enough for dismissing me from PCC. Please don’t misunderstand me. I love PCC and I wish so much that I could come back and watch my graduating class walk. But this sin of making molehills out of mountains needed to be broken, and my dismissal from PCC really changed my perspective. I used to trivialize the rules I disagreed with, but a habit like that will leave me changing God’s laws when I disagree with them. Because you dealt with my actions so severely (and justly), you taught me the importance of obedience even to the rules that I don’t enjoy.

I have learned that partial obedience is still disobedience, and that I need to respect the authority that God has placed over me. I am writing this letter to ask permission to reenroll for the 1999 fall semester at PCC. Thank you for the consideration.

In Christ Alone,
Jesse Gardner

*rolls eyes* I still believe much of it, but did I have to be so durn theatrical?

White Glove Map

Which is sicker, drawing a map in Microsoft Word for white glove, or still having it, six years later?

]]>

PCC Pledge Page

Had to do it for old time's sake... In this paper, every OPINION from someone else has been indicated by a reference number placed at the end of that information. I realize that the mere presence of a reference number does not avoid plagiarism. If I have used exact words, phrases, clauses, or sentences of someone else, I have enclosed that information in quotation marks. If I have paraphrased the opinions of someone else, I have not enclosed the paraphrased portions in quotation marks; but I have stated those opinions in my own words and placed a reference number at the end of the paraphrased portion.

ALL FACTUAL INFORMATION (common knowledge or uncontested knowledge), though not credited with a reference number, has been stated in my sentence structure. I have not used anyone else’s organization of the facts.

This paper is my own work. No one has helped my in the preparation or writing of this paper. I have not written this paper for any previous class at PCC.

Signed:___________________ Date: _________________]]>

Luanne Mutsch (a Jars of Clay Remix)

LISTEN TO IT! - .MP3 | 2.5Mb | 2:45

Voices and Concept: Jesse Gardner; Josh Ludlam; Andy Martin Guitar: Josh Ludlam; Andy Martin

I came up with the words for the two verses one night trying to come up with a creative idea for PH (didn't we do great things for PH?) This is the result. Andy joined in with his amazing guitar skills and provided a fitting bridge and Josh played and sang backup. No offense , Luanne. Some of those quartet operettas on Sunday morning just really were not pleasant.