(Link) I wrote this article on Suite101.com.
June 22, 2009
Bad Jokes
Bad Jokes
Kenneth Burchfiel
Started 6/22/2009
An ongoing list, whether you like it or not!
Bill: There’s a fine line between “brave” and “foolish.”
Mark: But I’m brave enough to cross it!
What do a newspaper company and a fan company have in common?
They both want to improve circulation.
French currency is deflated so badly that, in France, “six cent” means “six hundred.”
June 22, 2009
Making a cross using “instrument design rules”
Making a cross using instrument design rules
June 22, 2009
Kenneth Burchfiel
(“Instrument design rules” is simply the process of designing a graphic using numerical measurements and references. Instead of visually designing an object, an instrument designer enters measurements and proportions to create it.)
(A pica, a measurement used in design, is one sixth of an inch.)
Step 1: Load a page measuring 51 picas in width by 66 picas in height (letter size).
Step 2: Create an object measuring 48 picas in height by 7 picas in width. Its base should be 63 picas below the top of the page; its center should be 25.5 picas from the left of the page.
Step 3: Color the fill of the box with the following swatch (or hue): 15 cyan, 30 magenta, 75 yellow.
Step 4: Add a 1 pt. 100K (black) stroke (border) to the box.
Step 5: Create a text box measuring 24 picas in width by 7 picas in height; its center point should be 25.5 picas from the left of the page, and 27 picas from the top of the page.
Step 6: Write “For God so loved the world” in 22 pt. Times New Roman font in the text box. Center the text horizontally. Add a baseline shift of -31 pt.
Step 7: Color the fill of the box with the following swatch (or hue): 15 cyan, 30 magenta, 75 yellow.
Step 8: Add a 1 pt. 100K (black) stroke (border) to the text box.
The result should look something like this (click on the link): For God so loved the world IDR
June 20, 2009
Life Lessons at 18
Life lessons at 18
6/20/2009
Kenneth Burchfiel
et al.
(In no particular order)
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Make sure you do things because you love doing them, not because you feel obligated to do them or because you are afraid not to do them. Do only the things you love, and you will be surprised at how much you can accomplish.
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Do not wait until the future to feel accomplished, satisfied or happy. Find reasons to feel accomplished, satisfied and happy in the present.
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Consider stress one of your worst enemies. Reduce it whenever possible.
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Seek help constantly. There is no bravery in enduring something alone.
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Keep organized and reduce clutter. Do not let yourself be overwhelmed by material things.
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Build a network of relationships—spiritual, human, animal. Others need you just as you need others.
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Incorporate plenty of physical and mental rest into your schedule. Do not be afraid to do things that may seem like a waste of time for others.
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Make use of the skills which you have been given. If you have a talent for writing, write. If you can teach others, teach. An ability is wasted unless it effects something.
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Put others before yourself. You will never know just how many others have put yourself before themselves.
10. As Reverend Edward Miller once suggested, “Give Jesus a try.” The outcome may be life-changing.
June 20, 2009
Huegel (a fictional city)
Huegel was made on Adobe In-Design CS3. The design process took about 18 hours.
Click on the link below to view the PDF. (The file is large, so it may take time for Huegel to fully load.)
June 15, 2009
What is Constant
What is Constant
6/15/2009
Kenneth Burchfiel
[The following was written without much editing or thought (as I was rushing off to a graduation party). It's just a short reflection on graduating high school and looking ahead to what comes next. Hope you enjoy!]
I am at that age where so little seems constant and so much feels turbulent. Friends are rushing off to college; high school is fading out as college takes its stand; interests and hobbies shift weekly. The changes are fast enough to make life seem blurred—and to induce mental nausea in anyone going along for the ride.
But there is one Constant for me, and for everyone—even if not all acknowledge it. This Constant has remained the same through millions—perhaps billions—of graduations—this Constant is not unsettled by a change in schools, or friends, or interests, or locations. And even when life seems confusing, the Constant is always there for guidance, support, faith and love.
But just as our eyes focus on the objects in motion while overlooking the stationary, our minds tend to focus on what is different rather than Whom remains the same. In the last four years, I have put so much in front of the Constant that it is a wonder He still cares to listen and guide. And there have come days where, crying and distraught, I have searched all around for the Support that was right by my side.
God is more than a constant. He reminds us that, amidst the frantic whirl of one’s teenage years, there is a truth so beautiful and profound that it renders all the “profound” changes in our life all but inconsequential. And that truth can still be heard amidst the changes of everyday life—if one cares to listen.
The changes that accompany a teenager are a beautiful thing. But they pale in comparison to what is constant—and Who is Love.
June 8, 2009
Shaken
Shaken
6/8/2009
Kenneth Burchfiel
Each bookshelf held exactly three novels, three nonfiction books and thirty-three magazines–in that order. The books were ordered from thickest to thinnest, as were the magazines. On top of the bookcases stood a feather duster, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a dustpan.
A fruit basket sat on the table in the exact center of the room. Three apples were aligned due east; three oranges pointed south. Whenever one rolled out of position, the owner of the room would scramble to push it back in place. Around the bowl were thirty chess pawns, each spaced twenty-two degrees apart from the bowl. He had measured the dimensions with a compass
There was not a drop of water, a speck of rug fluff, a stray candy wrapper to be found. The floor tiles were polished with antiseptic once a week. The man screened the shelves daily for dust and other impurities. And he made sure to shower three times a day, lest any germ or virus find its way into his body.
He stood with his knees and hands on the floor. There was a pesky stain on one of the tiles, one which defied his efforts to remove it. He resolved to soak the thing in isopropyl alcohol and rub it off with a sponge. A few more hours sitting there, and it could have given him the flu. Or AIDS, even.
He whipped his head to the rear of the room. One of the books—”Advanced Organization Strategies”—had slipped out of place. He pounced up from the floor, rushed over to the bookcase and slid it back in line.
With his heart pounding, the man opened up his cell phone and called his mother.
“Mom?”
He sighed with his relief upon hearing her voice.
“You’re alive. Okay–I just worried that I might have caused your death. The book again. No, I really was endangering you. Bye.”
He put down the receiver and shook his head. How could he be so careless, especially with his mother’s life on the line?
The man walked back over to the fruit bowl. A piece of hair (ridden with germs, he imagined) lay on the table. He picked it up with a pair of tweezers and dropped it in a waste bin.
He considered himself a bit on the cautious side–and for good reason. After all, any piece of dirt, hair or food could have AIDS plastered all over it. That was why he kept a pair of gloves around; they came in handy for opening doors and turning on the sink.
What he really feared, though, was poor organization. Whenever something was out of place, he had visions too awful to explain: his mother drowning, his aunt dying in a car accident, his sister burning to death. The pictures had begun after his father’s funeral.
He concluded that his lack of organization was endangering his family, something that he could not allow. And so the man ordered as his intuition led him. As long as something was paired in threes, it could not harm his loved ones. And if food was aligned with a compass rose, no tragedy would befall his family.
He took a feather duster and cleaned off the bookcases. No chance for the flu virus to reach him.
The books began to vibrate.
He looked in shock as a pair of cleaning manuals fell to the ground. As he bent down to pick them up, a dustpan fell on top of him, pouring dust and grime onto his shoulders.
The rattling only continued. The fruit bowl clattered to the edge of the table, then spilled its oranges and apples onto the tile with no regard for the compass rose. Another dustbin fell right where he had been sitting. A violent shake threw the thirty-three magazines to the ground.
The man put his hands over his head and screamed. So much disorder! So much contamination! He made a mad rush for the faucet, but tripped over the fruit bowl and fell flat on his stomach. The precisely aligned novels toppled onto the floor.
The rumbling and shaking came to a close, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
He lay on the ground as a turbulent stream of thoughts rushed through his head. Surely there was an infectious disease in that dust and dirt! Surely his family was dead, now that the apples and the oranges and the books and the magazine were out of position—why, they were probably strangled, drowned, stabbed this minute!
The anxiety had turned into torture. He saw visions of his mom bleeding from the heart. He saw his future self in a hospital bed as doctors explained that he would die within hours. The viruses were already leaking into his head—and his family? He was afraid to call.
Twenty minutes passed. Shouts and sirens sounded from outside.
But something strange happened to the anxiety. It began to leak out of him, pool into the room and drain out through the heating vents. The thoughts of contamination proved less and less potent. After half an hour, he was not even fazed by the images of his sister’s death. His mind appeared to grow tired of them.
In time, the man stood up. He looked around the room at the magazines scattered on the floor; the oranges on either side of the room; the chess pawns captured by gravity. There was no urge to organize; no urge to cleanse. He had no idea where it went.
He smiled, broke out into laughter and kicked an orange at the wall, where it burst and leaked juice onto the sanitized floor. He ripped one of the thirty-three magazines in half and threw it at the floor. The fear was gone! And in its place rose a sense of freedom that had evaded him ever since his father died.
The man pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number and pressed the thing to his ear.
“Mom? It’s Evan. Yes—I think I’m okay. I think I’m finally okay.”
