mardi, décembre 25, 2007
vendredi, décembre 21, 2007
jeudi, décembre 20, 2007
My Mother's Christmas Tree/ Enough.
I've come to recognize that post-processing just makes a good/great shot even better. (For a really good example of this, check out my friend Justin.) I think I shall hop on this boat. I've held off on post processing, firstly because I really do desire to train myself to capture the best shot possible at that moment...not later, while sitting in front of a computer screen. Secondly, I really don't have any software to do so. I was on a trial version of Photoshop for awhile, but now that this trial has expired, I have iPhoto where minimal changes (i.e. colour balance) can be made. Sucky.
I've had quite a few offers for a "free" version of Photoshop (i.e. ripping it off someone else), but if I don't steal (that's right STEAL) music, why would I ever rip something worth 600 times one song (between $600 to a grand)? Soon, I'll pick up a copy of photoshop from the Ontario region C4C (they bought a license) and I'll be able to use it to do some design and such for Montreal and perhaps the Quebec region. But for now, I'll have to wait. A friend offered me to rip his photoshop program until I get a copy... I'm not sure what I think of this. It was very very very tempting... but what if I never get a legit copy? I wouldn't walk into a grocery store, steal something from a shelf because I needed it and then go back a week later to pay for it.
These are huge thoughts though... very debateable, and of course, controversial. For myself, it's easy to see the digital, internet realm as less tangible and therefore less "real" than physical products/objects like food and such. Nevertheless, they're still products, so I'm going to stick to my convictions and just hold off on Photoshop until I come by it in a legitimate fashion. Not everyone will agree with me on this. That's okay.
For now, my photos will remain unprocessed. What you see is what you get. No edits. (ha. kinda like my blog.) No actions. Sometimes, I like simplicity. Other times, I look at my friend Justin's pictures and I am jealous. I guess there is much to be said about dissatisfaction in my life and discontentedness. I am always wanting something more. A larger computer screen, a new lens, a mouse. Then, I look at a picture like this (Alfred Eisenstaedt; Menemsha Harbour, 1969) and I think to myself... in 1969 though there was no photoshop, God's creation was still as beautiful back then as it is now.
Somehow, He always says, "I am enough."
I've come to recognize that post-processing just makes a good/great shot even better. (For a really good example of this, check out my friend Justin.) I think I shall hop on this boat. I've held off on post processing, firstly because I really do desire to train myself to capture the best shot possible at that moment...not later, while sitting in front of a computer screen. Secondly, I really don't have any software to do so. I was on a trial version of Photoshop for awhile, but now that this trial has expired, I have iPhoto where minimal changes (i.e. colour balance) can be made. Sucky.
I've had quite a few offers for a "free" version of Photoshop (i.e. ripping it off someone else), but if I don't steal (that's right STEAL) music, why would I ever rip something worth 600 times one song (between $600 to a grand)? Soon, I'll pick up a copy of photoshop from the Ontario region C4C (they bought a license) and I'll be able to use it to do some design and such for Montreal and perhaps the Quebec region. But for now, I'll have to wait. A friend offered me to rip his photoshop program until I get a copy... I'm not sure what I think of this. It was very very very tempting... but what if I never get a legit copy? I wouldn't walk into a grocery store, steal something from a shelf because I needed it and then go back a week later to pay for it.
These are huge thoughts though... very debateable, and of course, controversial. For myself, it's easy to see the digital, internet realm as less tangible and therefore less "real" than physical products/objects like food and such. Nevertheless, they're still products, so I'm going to stick to my convictions and just hold off on Photoshop until I come by it in a legitimate fashion. Not everyone will agree with me on this. That's okay.
For now, my photos will remain unprocessed. What you see is what you get. No edits. (ha. kinda like my blog.) No actions. Sometimes, I like simplicity. Other times, I look at my friend Justin's pictures and I am jealous. I guess there is much to be said about dissatisfaction in my life and discontentedness. I am always wanting something more. A larger computer screen, a new lens, a mouse. Then, I look at a picture like this (Alfred Eisenstaedt; Menemsha Harbour, 1969) and I think to myself... in 1969 though there was no photoshop, God's creation was still as beautiful back then as it is now.
Somehow, He always says, "I am enough."
mercredi, décembre 19, 2007
christmas prep/pickles/plane ride.
(can someone tell me why the colour fades when I upload my pictures online and how I should resolve this?)
***
I am going home today. I tend to call Edmonton home, even though there is nothing remotely home-esque about it except for the house i grew up in, and more importantly me mum and dad. I was sitting here waiting, at the clock struck four pm. I had not eaten yet. So, I went to the grocery store next door to my friend's apartment (where I've been staying) and bought a wrap that was labelled, "Roast Beef picnic wrap." How exciting. I went home...and bit into it...the first couple of bites were dull. But then...CRUNCH! I bit into something that I couldn't place...but all of a sudden the wrap tasted heavenly! At the end of the first half of the wrap, I realized that I had been eating a PICKLE! You see, I hate(d) pickles. I really do. Can't stand the darn things. Hadn't eaten one in so long..that I couldn't even place the taste. I don't know if it was my hunger or desperation...but the pickle made the sandwich HEAVENLY! I am now considering retracting my hatred for pickles.
***
update.
I am now back in Edmonton. I checked myself in early last night, and managed to score the infamous seat 12F. You know, the emergency exit with lots of leg room. I wanted to see if I'd prefer it to having a seat in front of me (which, oddly enough, I really enjoy). Just as I was settling in, a man, well over 6 feet walked on board and looked at me and said, "How'd you score that seat?" The longing in his voice was tangible. So, looking at my short legs, and realizing that other than for curiosity's sake, I fully didn't need that leg room ( I can't even reach under the seat in front of me when my legs are fully extended in normal circumstances), I offered him my seat. His gratitude and relief were palpable. Probably a good thing for me too. I ended up with no one on my right (because of the emergency exit just behind me) and no one on my left (empty seat). So I watched the Joy Luck Club in French, cried at its beauty,crocheted a scarf and worked on some christmas cards. Everytime i looked next to me and saw his legs extended beyond my seat, i thought about how nice it is to be nice and generous and all that jazz.
(can someone tell me why the colour fades when I upload my pictures online and how I should resolve this?)
***
I am going home today. I tend to call Edmonton home, even though there is nothing remotely home-esque about it except for the house i grew up in, and more importantly me mum and dad. I was sitting here waiting, at the clock struck four pm. I had not eaten yet. So, I went to the grocery store next door to my friend's apartment (where I've been staying) and bought a wrap that was labelled, "Roast Beef picnic wrap." How exciting. I went home...and bit into it...the first couple of bites were dull. But then...CRUNCH! I bit into something that I couldn't place...but all of a sudden the wrap tasted heavenly! At the end of the first half of the wrap, I realized that I had been eating a PICKLE! You see, I hate(d) pickles. I really do. Can't stand the darn things. Hadn't eaten one in so long..that I couldn't even place the taste. I don't know if it was my hunger or desperation...but the pickle made the sandwich HEAVENLY! I am now considering retracting my hatred for pickles.
***
update.
I am now back in Edmonton. I checked myself in early last night, and managed to score the infamous seat 12F. You know, the emergency exit with lots of leg room. I wanted to see if I'd prefer it to having a seat in front of me (which, oddly enough, I really enjoy). Just as I was settling in, a man, well over 6 feet walked on board and looked at me and said, "How'd you score that seat?" The longing in his voice was tangible. So, looking at my short legs, and realizing that other than for curiosity's sake, I fully didn't need that leg room ( I can't even reach under the seat in front of me when my legs are fully extended in normal circumstances), I offered him my seat. His gratitude and relief were palpable. Probably a good thing for me too. I ended up with no one on my right (because of the emergency exit just behind me) and no one on my left (empty seat). So I watched the Joy Luck Club in French, cried at its beauty,crocheted a scarf and worked on some christmas cards. Everytime i looked next to me and saw his legs extended beyond my seat, i thought about how nice it is to be nice and generous and all that jazz.
dimanche, décembre 16, 2007
vendredi, décembre 14, 2007
It is late. I want to write this memory down before I forget.
The journey with Abinoam.
"Is that the old testimony or the new testimony?" he asks, gesturing to the open bible on my lap.
"It's both," I say, assuming that he means testament.
"The old testimony and the new, they cannot go together." He has a thick Jewish accent.
Prior to this, I was annoyed that someone had sat down next to me. I often pray that I'll have a whole row to myself.
Coming out of Montreal, it looks like I'll be lucky. The train makes its stop at Dorval. I say a quick prayer: "Lord, please let me sit alone." I want a row to myself, but I also do not desire the onus of having to start a spiritual conversation. A man with a thick, greying beard, blue coat and beige toque sees the seat 6c and sits down. I am in 6d. I blink with annoyance. My first thought is, "I hope he's not a crazy." There is a loud, boisterous man sitting four rows up, and I pity the woman sitting across from him. I'm annoyed from four rows behind. I do not wish to face the same predicament, the same misfortune of sitting next to a loud, talkative man. I want to sit in quiet. Get some work done. Have leg room.
This will no longer happen. Thankfully the man goes to sleep. So do I.
Sometime later, I wake up and pull out my Bible. I read Acts and am busy contemplating. The man stirs and sits up.
And so the conversation begins. I reply, "I believe that the Old Testament and the New Testament go hand in hand. The Old Testament is a foreshadowing of what was to come in the New Testament."
"No." he replies resolutely.
"Even in the Old Testament, there are many prophecies about the character of a Messiah, Jesus."
"Jesus was just a good Jew."
"Are you religious?"
"I am a Jew. I am visiting from Israel."
We chat for awhile about how cold it is. About his visit. But soon, we get back into religious talk. What do I do, he asks. I tell him I am a missionary, working in Montreal. He asks me if it is my mission to convert. I tell him that I cannot force conversions, but that I hope that students in Montreal will come to know Jesus as their Messiah, their Saviour. He asks me pointedly, "So your goal is conversion then."
"Yes," I reply unapologetically, "I suppose it is."
He tells me he is a Jew by birth, but he does not believe in God. Does he believe in heaven? He says that one must follow the rules to enter into heaven. There are--he scrounges up his face in an attempt to remember-- 713 rules, he claims.
"Have you broken even one of them?" I say, silently noting his lack of yarmulke.
"Yes. I am not going to heaven."
Defiantly, he asks, "Will you? Do you fast for forgiveness? Religious Jews fast "
"Yes, I do fast, but I do not fast so that I will be forgiven."
"Jewish people fast for forgiveness," he states.
I reply that I do not fast so that I can be forgiven, because Jesus forgave all my sins, past present and future the moment I placed my faith in him. I tell him I fast out of obedience and a desire for greater intimacy with Christ.
He says, "Jesus was just a good Jew."
We have apologetics conversations over the character of Jesus. The validity of the Bible. Coffee. I share the gospel, chopped up in different pieces many times. In my head, I marvel at such an opportunity, despite my rebellious nature. A blessing despite my stubborn laziness.
The conversation continues until slightly past Kingston.
He goes back to sleep, and after attempting a Sudoku, so do I, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train and motion sickness.
We reach Toronto, and as we stand to get off the train, I say, "I missed your name." I want to know his name so that I can pray for him, without having to refer to him as "the man i met on a train."
"I didn't tell you my name."
I do not know how to reply.
He smiles, offers his hand and says, "It's Abinoam. A name from the Holy Testament."
Barak's father. Father of kindness.
The journey is over, at least the one to Toronto is. Abinoam, on the other hand, may be just starting his journey. THE journey. The only one that will ever matter. I think I will pray for him, so that at the end of the day our destination becomes the same.
The journey with Abinoam.
"Is that the old testimony or the new testimony?" he asks, gesturing to the open bible on my lap.
"It's both," I say, assuming that he means testament.
"The old testimony and the new, they cannot go together." He has a thick Jewish accent.
Prior to this, I was annoyed that someone had sat down next to me. I often pray that I'll have a whole row to myself.
Coming out of Montreal, it looks like I'll be lucky. The train makes its stop at Dorval. I say a quick prayer: "Lord, please let me sit alone." I want a row to myself, but I also do not desire the onus of having to start a spiritual conversation. A man with a thick, greying beard, blue coat and beige toque sees the seat 6c and sits down. I am in 6d. I blink with annoyance. My first thought is, "I hope he's not a crazy." There is a loud, boisterous man sitting four rows up, and I pity the woman sitting across from him. I'm annoyed from four rows behind. I do not wish to face the same predicament, the same misfortune of sitting next to a loud, talkative man. I want to sit in quiet. Get some work done. Have leg room.
This will no longer happen. Thankfully the man goes to sleep. So do I.
Sometime later, I wake up and pull out my Bible. I read Acts and am busy contemplating. The man stirs and sits up.
And so the conversation begins. I reply, "I believe that the Old Testament and the New Testament go hand in hand. The Old Testament is a foreshadowing of what was to come in the New Testament."
"No." he replies resolutely.
"Even in the Old Testament, there are many prophecies about the character of a Messiah, Jesus."
"Jesus was just a good Jew."
"Are you religious?"
"I am a Jew. I am visiting from Israel."
We chat for awhile about how cold it is. About his visit. But soon, we get back into religious talk. What do I do, he asks. I tell him I am a missionary, working in Montreal. He asks me if it is my mission to convert. I tell him that I cannot force conversions, but that I hope that students in Montreal will come to know Jesus as their Messiah, their Saviour. He asks me pointedly, "So your goal is conversion then."
"Yes," I reply unapologetically, "I suppose it is."
He tells me he is a Jew by birth, but he does not believe in God. Does he believe in heaven? He says that one must follow the rules to enter into heaven. There are--he scrounges up his face in an attempt to remember-- 713 rules, he claims.
"Have you broken even one of them?" I say, silently noting his lack of yarmulke.
"Yes. I am not going to heaven."
Defiantly, he asks, "Will you? Do you fast for forgiveness? Religious Jews fast "
"Yes, I do fast, but I do not fast so that I will be forgiven."
"Jewish people fast for forgiveness," he states.
I reply that I do not fast so that I can be forgiven, because Jesus forgave all my sins, past present and future the moment I placed my faith in him. I tell him I fast out of obedience and a desire for greater intimacy with Christ.
He says, "Jesus was just a good Jew."
We have apologetics conversations over the character of Jesus. The validity of the Bible. Coffee. I share the gospel, chopped up in different pieces many times. In my head, I marvel at such an opportunity, despite my rebellious nature. A blessing despite my stubborn laziness.
The conversation continues until slightly past Kingston.
He goes back to sleep, and after attempting a Sudoku, so do I, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train and motion sickness.
We reach Toronto, and as we stand to get off the train, I say, "I missed your name." I want to know his name so that I can pray for him, without having to refer to him as "the man i met on a train."
"I didn't tell you my name."
I do not know how to reply.
He smiles, offers his hand and says, "It's Abinoam. A name from the Holy Testament."
Barak's father. Father of kindness.
The journey is over, at least the one to Toronto is. Abinoam, on the other hand, may be just starting his journey. THE journey. The only one that will ever matter. I think I will pray for him, so that at the end of the day our destination becomes the same.
jeudi, décembre 13, 2007
push, pull.
in a little while (i.e. 2 hours) i will be leaving montreal for a good three weeks and one day. Week #1 will be spent working from Toronto and visiting friends, week #2 is Christmas out West and week #3 will be a frenetic week of serving students at our annual winter conference in Toronto and taking a photoshop course to enhance my design skills.
i woke up this morning and thought to myself, "I'm going home today!" Upon reflection, Toronto is no longer home. It's a place to visit. To see old friends. But it isn't home. In fact, apart from seeing good friends, it's a hassle. Living out of a suitcase as a guest in someone's house gets tiring. The friends make it worth it, and the city itself makes it worth it. But it isn't home. Going "home" to Edmonton will be nice. We're not a huge Christmas family, but it'll be nice to see my parents, and get caught up on making Christmas gifts. But aside from my parents, Edmonton isn't home either.
There is a tension that exists. I'm happy to be going "home" to all these places. But somehow I am dreaming of January 4th, when I'm back here in Montreal at home and in a regular routine. I am also longing for a day when I see my true home and greet my Master face to face for the first time.
in a little while (i.e. 2 hours) i will be leaving montreal for a good three weeks and one day. Week #1 will be spent working from Toronto and visiting friends, week #2 is Christmas out West and week #3 will be a frenetic week of serving students at our annual winter conference in Toronto and taking a photoshop course to enhance my design skills.
i woke up this morning and thought to myself, "I'm going home today!" Upon reflection, Toronto is no longer home. It's a place to visit. To see old friends. But it isn't home. In fact, apart from seeing good friends, it's a hassle. Living out of a suitcase as a guest in someone's house gets tiring. The friends make it worth it, and the city itself makes it worth it. But it isn't home. Going "home" to Edmonton will be nice. We're not a huge Christmas family, but it'll be nice to see my parents, and get caught up on making Christmas gifts. But aside from my parents, Edmonton isn't home either.
There is a tension that exists. I'm happy to be going "home" to all these places. But somehow I am dreaming of January 4th, when I'm back here in Montreal at home and in a regular routine. I am also longing for a day when I see my true home and greet my Master face to face for the first time.
mardi, décembre 11, 2007
holes.
This is a hole in our ceiling.
Actually, to be more correct, this is a hole in the ceiling of my housemate's bedroom. It was sagging for awhile from a leak. But when the snow started to melt on our roof.... it began sagging even more. One day, "Ploop" was the sound we heard...and..
VOILA!
a hole!
I seem to attract holes.
Luckily, my room does not have a hole.
I shouldn't speak too soon though. I mean, in the one month I've lived here, there has been a break in, and a peeping tom (who was most likely a roofer). A hole in the wall is just that little maraschino cherry on top of the cake. A bigger hole COULD happen. MAYBE someone will use dynamite and blow a hole in our wall. Now THAT would be a fantastic end to the 2464 household epic saga.
This is a hole in our ceiling.
Actually, to be more correct, this is a hole in the ceiling of my housemate's bedroom. It was sagging for awhile from a leak. But when the snow started to melt on our roof.... it began sagging even more. One day, "Ploop" was the sound we heard...and..
VOILA!
a hole!
I seem to attract holes.
Luckily, my room does not have a hole.
I shouldn't speak too soon though. I mean, in the one month I've lived here, there has been a break in, and a peeping tom (who was most likely a roofer). A hole in the wall is just that little maraschino cherry on top of the cake. A bigger hole COULD happen. MAYBE someone will use dynamite and blow a hole in our wall. Now THAT would be a fantastic end to the 2464 household epic saga.
lundi, décembre 10, 2007
church.
I woke up this morning, with a sense of dread. I didn't want to head outside in the cold air and head to a church, seemingly equally as frigid. I'm sure it's not as unfriendly as I perceive it to be; I've met people who have been willing to help me put up my bookshelf, my boss and his wife go there, a girl I disciple goes there. Yet, the only person who has ever really reached out to me, without making me feel like a burden, is the pastor's wife. In the five or so weeks I have attended, I have met some people, but each week, I sit alone. Being new is hard. It requires a lot of proactivity. I am not a proactive person when it comes to meeting new people in an unfamiliar setting. January will be better, I tell myself. I will start going to Sunday school, and I will get plugged into a small group. Today was my last Sunday there until the new year. I was late coming in, sat alone, and left right after service. I didn't want to face the aloneness. There was a sense of relief to not have to play the 'new person role' for a couple of weeks.
As I think about this, I think about the recurrent theme of loneliness this year. Edmonton was a lonely time, and even before that, loneliness was something that seemed to follow me around. A shroud. I sat in service, realizing that this year, so many things have been stripped away, leaving me naked, exposed and confused. Somewhere in the midst, Jesus is there. The only constant. I am not alone.
He says, "Follow me."
This journey excites me.
I woke up this morning, with a sense of dread. I didn't want to head outside in the cold air and head to a church, seemingly equally as frigid. I'm sure it's not as unfriendly as I perceive it to be; I've met people who have been willing to help me put up my bookshelf, my boss and his wife go there, a girl I disciple goes there. Yet, the only person who has ever really reached out to me, without making me feel like a burden, is the pastor's wife. In the five or so weeks I have attended, I have met some people, but each week, I sit alone. Being new is hard. It requires a lot of proactivity. I am not a proactive person when it comes to meeting new people in an unfamiliar setting. January will be better, I tell myself. I will start going to Sunday school, and I will get plugged into a small group. Today was my last Sunday there until the new year. I was late coming in, sat alone, and left right after service. I didn't want to face the aloneness. There was a sense of relief to not have to play the 'new person role' for a couple of weeks.
As I think about this, I think about the recurrent theme of loneliness this year. Edmonton was a lonely time, and even before that, loneliness was something that seemed to follow me around. A shroud. I sat in service, realizing that this year, so many things have been stripped away, leaving me naked, exposed and confused. Somewhere in the midst, Jesus is there. The only constant. I am not alone.
He says, "Follow me."
This journey excites me.
dimanche, décembre 09, 2007
Breathing. ~Lifehouse.
I'm finding my way back to sanity again,
Though I don't really know what I'm going to do when I get there.
Take a breath and hold on tight,
Spin around one more time,
And gracefully fall back to the arms of Grace.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
Where I want to be.
I'm looking past the shadows in my mind into the truth and I'm,
Trying to identify the voices in my head.
God which one's you?
Let me feel one more time what it feels like to feel alive,
And break these calluses off of me,
One more time.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside your door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
I don't want a thing from you.
Bet you're tired of me waiting for the scraps to fall off your table to the ground.
'Cause I just want to be here now.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
Where I want to be.
Where I want to be....
I'm finding my way back to sanity again,
Though I don't really know what I'm going to do when I get there.
Take a breath and hold on tight,
Spin around one more time,
And gracefully fall back to the arms of Grace.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
Where I want to be.
I'm looking past the shadows in my mind into the truth and I'm,
Trying to identify the voices in my head.
God which one's you?
Let me feel one more time what it feels like to feel alive,
And break these calluses off of me,
One more time.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside your door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
I don't want a thing from you.
Bet you're tired of me waiting for the scraps to fall off your table to the ground.
'Cause I just want to be here now.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
'Cause I am hanging on every word you say and,
Even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright,
Alright with me.
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.
Yeah.
Where I want to be.
Where I want to be....
vendredi, décembre 07, 2007
lundi, décembre 03, 2007
snow.
It is snowing outside. Not just snowing, but like, hardcore snowing! There is a car parked next to my house. I do not think it'll be going anywhere, anytime soon. If I weren't heading to Ontario for training today, I'd probably go snowboarding RIGHT away. The pow would be AMAZING.
However, since I am going to training... i feel like the next best thing to snowboarding....will be... going shooting. So i am going to load up my camera and head outside!
Toodles for the week!
P.S. Today is my friend Warren's birthday. If you see him, tell him happy birthday. If you do not see him, tell a random stranger on the street that it is Warren's birthday. DOO ITTT NOW!
It is snowing outside. Not just snowing, but like, hardcore snowing! There is a car parked next to my house. I do not think it'll be going anywhere, anytime soon. If I weren't heading to Ontario for training today, I'd probably go snowboarding RIGHT away. The pow would be AMAZING.
However, since I am going to training... i feel like the next best thing to snowboarding....will be... going shooting. So i am going to load up my camera and head outside!
Toodles for the week!
P.S. Today is my friend Warren's birthday. If you see him, tell him happy birthday. If you do not see him, tell a random stranger on the street that it is Warren's birthday. DOO ITTT NOW!
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